#and I immediately thought of geto | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

screampied · 3 months ago

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#OOHMAMI! g. suguru

☆ sum. cuban link, diamond cross—you’re a big fan of suguru geto, the top street racer in tokyo. he doesn’t wanna win any more races, he wants to win you this time. keep at it and he might have to fuck you on the highway.

wc. 5.7k

warnings. fem! reader, street racer! geto, pwp, unprotected, suguru has a (dick) piercing / tats, semi-public, riding, brief ōral (f! receiving), you get eaten out his window lol, overstim, dirty talk, praise, size kink, impact play, petnames, drive safe, continuation here :)

an. chase atlantic inspired me ¯\_(ᵕ—ᴗ—)_/¯

“you, yeah you. wanna ride?”

stop thinking dirty, stop thinking dir—

you stop dead in your tracks, hearing the deafening vrooming of a certain nissan skyline gtr along with a raspy deep voice. you knew that voice, in fact you’d be a fool not to recognize the voice of the suguru geto, infamous street racer who’s won more races around the world than you could count. he’s got a big hand on the steering wheel with his dark purple helmet cracked open. growing pathetically sheepish, you could barely get any words out before you start to feel your feet gradually dragging toward his rumbling car.

“really?” you mumble, barely even pressed up against his tinted window and you could smell his loud rich cologne from there. you couldn’t help but fangirl—and oh, did he look so much better in person. geto’s got pretty long tresses of black hair that’s usually down, but in every race it’s always pinned back. a few loose strands run down his face, peeking out of his helmet and his glove grips tightly against his bedazzled steering wheel that had ‘s. geto’ carved into the material as it flawlessly spiraled around the wheel.

“reaaally,” he tauntingly repeats your word, cocking his head to get a better look at you. you could smell the thick puffed smoke that weeps out of his silvery flashy tailpipes and he hums. slouching back against his seat manspread, his foot eases off from the break and you watch as the flashy racer’s seat flies open on its on, and you step in. “i take it you’re here to see the race?”

no, no you weren’t.

you couldn’t lie to yourself—you were here to see the race, but you were to here to see geto also. you’ve only seen him during his interviews, magazines, and sometimes on tv where his races would be broadcasted for the entire world to see.

but, you managed to snag enough money to actually see him in the flesh.

without a second thought you make your way inside. on the inside, you were screaming. you were currently living every one of his fangirl’s dream. immediately once you sit down, you’re surrounded by the balmy welcoming warmth of his beloved str. you assumed it was an older model but he made it work anyway — it had cushioned seats with blaring speakers and oh, the smell . . it’s almost as if the vehicle had a signature cologne scent of its self. it’s really masculine and it makes your thighs squeeze together once you recline back a bit. his seats warmed up your backside automatically and you glance around the rest of the car, taking in its glitzy beauty.

it’s pretty, you’ve only seen pictures. ogling near his rear view mirror, you see fuzzy dice dangling as he’s adjusting it. the rest of the cars usually gathered near the meet up spot before the race actually starts.

“she’s pretty, isn’t she?” geto snickers, noticing you gawking at the inside of his car.

indeed, you heard about how geto built this entire thing from scratch. before doing street racing as a little side hustling hobby, he used to be a mechanic. a well known one, but that wasn’t as fun as actually racing.

geto tosses an arm behind the head rest of your seat, preparing to go in reverse. “had her for about two years. haven’t lose a match, since.”

“not one?” you murmur, wanting to call his bluff. sure, you’ve never seen anyone covering him losing a match but that was a bit hard to believe.

“doubtin’ me, sweetheart?” he rasps, and you feel the rough jittering of the car. geto’s backing up safely, curving his wheel briefly to drive out of one of his many garages.

sweetheart, you don’t know why but that single pet name had you feeling hot for a moment. once your eyes dart back toward him for a split second, you spot a toothpick sticking out from the corner of his crooked lips. he’s so pretty — he’s got a natural smirk that’s tugging against the corners of his lips. as he starts to drive toward the starting point for the highly anticipated race, a gloved thumb taps against his furry steering glimmering wheel. with a low hum, he glances at you. “seatbelt, silly girl.”

shit, you snap on your seat belt moments later and notice even his signature’s all over his seatbelt covers. ‘suguru geto’ in bright bold letters.

drafty air wafts against your skin as he’s still creating distance with just a few miles. once he reaches near the starting line, you hear his foot tapping against the break.

one, two, three . . three, two, one . . he’s bored.

geto positions his rear view mirror for the millionth time before noticing you zeroing your eyes at his gear shift that glistens from the dozens of rhinestones that glue against the cover. countless diamonds stick up and down the leather skin of the handle and it’s so pretty.

“hold on, sweetheart,” geto purrs, his eyes slowly locking onto the flagger that’s stood in front of the row of cars.

geto’s still got a firm hand gripped onto his wheel, his right foot just barely hovering over the gas. come on, he just wanted to get it over with. you could almost smell the competitiveness dripping from his body.

it was intense, you could almost feel the anticipation as if you were in the driver’s seat. the tall woman that’s dressed in nothing but sheer black carries a hefty checked flag, swaying it in the air every few seconds. as she safely spaces herself between the cars, she does it two more times and you realize it’s almost time for take off.

the cars that were lined up beside and next to geto start to rev their engines and so does he. it’s a roaring groan, and his rousing wheels burn into the hardened cement, his gold pipes coughing up clouds of purple smoke. geto gives his wheel one more tap with his thumb before glancing at you with a cunning grin. “lie back, i take off pretty fast, heh.”

and he wasn’t kidding.

the moment the flagger does a final up-down sway motion with the flag, all race cars accelerate quickly past the starting point. you sink back into the plushy seat as he meanly yanks back his stick shift.

his engine’s loud, and within seconds he’s already in the lead. it’s like he wasn’t even trying. frantic turbo spits through his rusted pipes and you can feel his car speedily pass through each poor vehicle that tries to get in his way.

vroooooom, he’s flying by each checkpoint and you could almost smell the adrenaline that’s coursing through his pulsating veins.

the thrill . .

you felt it all ghost through your own veins, feeling the frigid air roaming through his vents tickle against the hairs that stand up on your arms. geto makes a few sharp turns, keeping an eye on the time every so often. his personal best was around five minutes and seventy-seven seconds. with a coarse grip, he’s tilting his steering wheel while the thunder of his engine growls louder and louder within each whizzing mile.

over time though—you can’t help but be a bit nosy. your eyes shift toward the racer and god, you’re just now noticing how handsome he was.

geto usually wore sweats along with his street gear. he didn’t have to wear his helmet but he preferred it just in case. its all black with a splash of purple—you can see his signature lazily signed near the very top. outlined beside his name was a curling design of smoke. the part where he sees through was all darkly tinted so you could hardly see his face unless you squinted or he took it off.

it’s like it added more to his appeal in a way. he sat manspread and doing so, it gave you a one way ticket to stare straight down at his barely hidden bulge.

fuck, your mind started to ponder. you had so many unanswered questions. isn’t it painful driving around that hard—

“hey,” your raunchy thoughts get rudely interrupted and you don’t even realize how many minutes had passed from you being cooped up in your own lewd fantasm. geto’s driving a bit slower now, around sixty mph instead of his usual two hundred. he’s way in the lead, first place. one hand’s lazily on the steering wheel and he fakes a yawn.

oh he’s cocky.

with a quick glance out his mirror, he knew the other cars were far behind him and he now starts drifting near the freeway. with an intrigued hum, he notices just exactly what you were staring at. his lap. “don’t tell me this was the ride you thought i meant, sweetheart.”

“i—”

it’s like his cologne got louder.

you choked on your words, wondering if you were hearing right. suguru, the suguru geto was flirting with you?

and the thing that got you the most was that he wasn’t even looking at you anymore—every few seconds, you’d lock eyes against him near the ear view mirror, feeling hot once his eyes slowly rove down your figure through his dark tinted helmet.

not only was his cologne loud but so were your thoughts—shamelessly, you did think he was referring to that kind of ride minutes earlier.

and the more you stared at his hardened bulge through his grey sweats, the more you started to think. .

but, little did you know your dirty wish would be granted.

not even a few moment later, you’d find yourself fucked - literally.

geto positions you on his lap, halfway pulling down his loose sweats just so you could ride something else entirely.

instead of riding just his car — you rode his dick, and fuck was he just ridiculously big.

too big, and he knows it. geto groans once he’s buried full inside, lodging his thick cock in between your slimy gummy walls. “shit,” he’d hiss, his head occasionally tossing back once the ring piercing that’s stuck on his tip tap tap tap’s away against your precious g-spot. it swirls all around the inside of your cunt and your thighs struggled to stay open. it tickles, but you were far from laughing. he’s so big, easily rearranging your insides and be barely even had to move a muscle.

he’s ruthless - but your hips were even more ruthless though, far more.

geto knew all too well that this was dangerous—just one swerve from the swerving stimulation of bodies smacking against his and game fucking over.

you moan, burying your face into his neck as your hips continue to move against him. he’s still burning gas as your cunt’s just merrily drooling all down his length from each slapping thrust.

belatedly, your brows furrow, almost forgetting why you even showed up to this event. well, part of why you came. “f- fuck, what about t- the race?” you speak in a breathy tone, your tempo becoming more and more relentless. the salaciously enticing jerk of your unsteady hips gradually turn into rough unstable bounces and he kisses his teeth. geto feels the convulsing veins that run down his cock pulse right through him and between your walls, you feel it too.

“oh, sweetheart,” he huffs, his back of his helmet hitting against his headrest. looking at you with hazy hooded eyes, he flashes you a sleazy grin. “technically, i already won,” and you gasp, feeling him reach a gloved hand down between your rickety thighs. his touch was so gentle, you felt yourself shuddering from both twin digits that drag further down your chest. he cups one of your bouncing tits that pop out of your tank top, brushing a thumb against your sensitive nipple. “god, what a pretty fuckin’ body. look at you girl,” and he’s still got a hand on the steering wheel.

a trembling whimper dies out your throat at the feeling of his swollen fat cockhead vigorously thrusting in and out of your dribbling entrance.

you’re just so soaked. it’s like you can’t help but be sopping wet on his lap and he loves it. sloshes of sobs echo out of your pussy and your legs pathetically quaver directly on top of him.

both of you groan in complete unison and a big hand of his creeps further down, giving your ass a teasing squeeze. “fuuucck, reel those nasty hips. ride it baby, ride me, yeah,” and you hear the grumbling revs of his engine ring against your ears louder. it makes the entire car shake a bit despite him pushing down a few miles. with widened dewy eyes staring at the back of his car, you squint, seeing dozens of cars trying to catch up to geto.

they didn’t have a chance,

they looked like tiny splotching dots in the far distance. geto even had the audacity to not do his usual speed and yet he was still dusting the other racers.

typical.

“s- suguru,” you whine, the undersides of your thighs sticking against him. each time you bounced back on his cock, each ruthless ‘pap pap pap’ of your skin mashing against his and the clingy recoil never fails to leave you brain dead for a few seconds. he’s so thick. you swivel your hips around him, gasping every time his dick piercing scrapes against your clit. the cold material makes a good portion of your thighs quake and you can’t help but coo out a few sweet ‘ooh’ or ‘ah’s right next to the shell of his ear. your panties were lazily shoved to the side and he didn’t even bother taking them off.

yet.

“so fuckin’ big, shiiiit.” you’d whimper, trying to swerve your way all around him. he’s just too big, you were even surprised he fit. you had to go down slow, aligning yourself against him — every few seconds his cock would pop out of you, making that cute squelch sound that makes his suck his teeth in annoyance.

“mhm, ‘n you’re takin’ it so well. you’re a big girl, fuckin’ take it,” he rasps in a hushed tone, nipping a few teeth near the inside of your neck. his helmet along with his toothpick ends up falling near the side of his seat with a loud thud.

your hips were killer.

unlike any opponent he’s had to go up against. you’re happily squeezing around him like a vice, taking in his curved inches like a champ. “f- fuck, who taught you how ‘ta ride? heh, tryna give me a run for my money, hm pretty?”

your whiny moans only pitch louder once he grips a nice chunk of your ass with one hand, peering at his bedazzled dash. the speed was a bit over one fifty now but it didn’t even feel like it.

“ugh, ‘m gonna cum,” you gasp, growing more and more dumb the faster you bounced on his heavy throbbing cock. his peeling sack hangs from underneath and he’s so swollen, you feel it.

maddened angry balls entirely reddened and puffed up from the delicious stimulation. with every sharp pull of your hips bouncing up and down, he feels himself shriveling — he’s so sensitive inside of you, and he can almost taste his own pleasure. whilst you continue to twirl your ass around in rotation for him, you couldn’t help but shamelessly salivate at the thought of imagining just how full he might be.

“sugu—fuuuckk,” and a bead of sweat races down the side of your face. geto’s primarily focusing on the road, it’s an easy straight shot and with how it was practically the middle of the night it wasn’t that many cars except for the one’s participating in the annual street races.

“bet you are. sloppy girl,” he huffs, groaning at the echoing loud smacks of your ass. you’re mercilessly clamping down his lap over and over, preparing to gush all over the dick that’s currently nestled inside of you. he’s got such a mouth watering curve of his cock that makes your stomach twist and churn.

the kind of curve that doesn’t involve his motor vehicle, that kind.

geto’s dick knew how to do swerves on its own, it even knew how to carve an entire bumpy race track allllll through your insides with his fat pink tip. “touch yourself, pretty. gimme a show before you mess up my fuckin’ seats.”

you could hear the sass in his voice along with a drip of vex and you’d giggle if you weren’t being ruthless stuffed full of inches. “o- okay,” you breathe through clenched teeth, guiding your hands up and down your body. geto’s dark eyes stare at you intently.

he stared at the way your hands caress your pretty plump tits, feeling down the valley of your exposed chest. his eyes flicker toward you then back at the road, then at you again - he repeats it, feeling his own muscles starting to tighten through his clothing. “ngh, suguru. can’t hold—”

your addictive slams against his cock got more intense until he’s fully buried balls deep inside of your squeezing cunt. you hear the saturated plops that’s squealing out of your pussy and you can’t even believe that’s you that’s sounding like that.

your poor sweet cunt was louder than his radio, completely shrieking over some random chorus of a heavy metal song you didn’t even know was playing in the background.

“fuck, cum then. cum on me, girl,” he grunts, one hand grabbing a nice fat piece of your ass again before spanking it.

you moan, the sharp brief twinge of elation sending you a shiver that immediately sends convulses between your thighs. lewd filthy thoughts foil at your brain and pretty soon, the car steams up with steamy clouded fog.

erratic sharp breaths match each other’s pace and you’re left breathless. geto feels your legs on the verge of giving out and he snickers, bringing a gloved hand to stroke against your sopping pussy. “go on, don’t be shy. should make ya lick up the mess later anyway.”

whimpering, your release comes and fuck, a sharp scream ripples out from your throat once you’re finally coming undone on his cock. the wrinkled skin of his base continues to stick against his sack due to you bouncing against him.

it’s hot, literally.

with both plush mounds of skin harshly plummeting on top of each other, the heat of the car made it feel like the air conditioner wasn’t even on. “thaaat’s it, work those hips, goddamn,” and abruptly, he cuts off from his words after feeling his mushroom tip reach a certain spongey spot that’s buried way inside of your gripping walls.

you gasp once you feel him throb inside with a soft upward shimmy of his hips. milliseconds later, your thighs collapse down on him and you feel yourself succumbing. you’re creaming down his shaft with your slippery slick while at the very same time, struggling to catch your breath. as you weakly try to continue your grinding with your feeble knees, geto uses a single hand to quickly make a detour.

he was close.

the race car makes a swift turn to the left lane, driving a few more miles before he then turns the opposite direction — pulling over safely. with a cooing skrrrrt, his rubber tires come to a cruising stop and geto groans, gripping at his tensing bouncing thigh with his glove. the finish line was just a few feet away but he could care less.

once he puts his car in park, geto falls back into his seat with own sable dark eyes flickering back to the very depths of his skull.

you rode him good, good to the point where he doesn’t even know what to say for a hot second. blinking twice, geto smears his glossed lips together before exhaling, “phew,” and he swats another palm against your ass. black unkempt strands of hair tape against the center of forehead like glue whilst he’s finally got a good grip on your hips. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum too,” and your puffy folds continue to dribble with honeyed slick.

you’re damping his cock and the squelches you make, they were loud.

so wet and slimy. he could listen to it all day, just the sound of your sweet cunt whimpering out sweet sloshes of nothing. the overwhelming sensitivity leaves a sourly candied taste in your mouth and you whine, feeling him squeeze a hand against your right hip. with a raspy out of breath tone, he strokes a thumb underneath your quivering bottom lip. “ ‘s okay if i cum inside, pretty?”

“y- yeah, please,” you babble out in broken cries, feeling your tummy frantically heave in and out.

as he grabs your hips, steadying you—you intake a breath, remembering how many inches he was buried inside. your tummy tucks inward and you whimper, feeling him preparing to shoot pure blanks. with a size like his, geto’s cock never failed to leave its sloppy infamous mark.

you’re just marveled at how fat his tip is, it’s voluntarily french-kissing up against sweet beloved cervix that’s screaming out curses just as much as you. he’s got two hands on your veering hips, smooth fabric of his racing gloves sliding up and down your wobbly. with pouty compressed lips, you moan, bringing your hands to grab onto his shoulders. “cum, cum in me—fuck.”

geto huskily groans, tossing his head back once your hips zealously reel into him right as he gives you the final perfunctory thrust that finishes him off. immediately, he’s shooting out ribbons of hot cum that pour into you. you’re panting as he slows down, glossy eyes raking at his body. you could see a bit of his tatted sleeves peek from underneath his shirt - his tense muscles bulging.

“god, better take all of it,” he groans, pretty black lashes sticking against his droopy hooded sockets.

it spurts out slowly but surely.

globs and globs of frothy cum bubble down the swollen sides of his cock and you feel it all. it’s toasty and warm and as he’s pouring his all into you, painting your gummy walls his pristine-white color, you couldn’t help but lean in.

geto’s matching your breathy irregular pants before he feels your trembling lips crash onto his. “mmf,” he moans against your lips, tilting his head back slightly to a certain attractive degree. a hand of his reaches toward his radio, turning the middle notch all the way down just to hear the squelches of his own seed slobbering down your slick cunt.

he tastes sweet. you moan at the lingering taste of fresh cooling mint that lives on his tongue, feeling his hands tighten around your waist.

oh, he’s obsessed—

screw the race by this point, all he wanted at this moment was you.

geto’s still got such a large load that’s dumping into you raw and it even oozes down past your thighs, a few creamy droplets plopping down on his velvet seats. he grunts, both twisting tongues ferociously tangling against each other whilst your pussy’s still squeezing down on him like a vice. a glossed translucent ring forms around his base and he feels you trying to touch yourself with two curious fingers.

with a slight smack, he swats your hand away and you whine in his mouth. “heh, hands to yourself,” you pout because earlier he let you touch yourself but now, no. he teases, breaking away from the hot kiss. a stringy cobweb of saliva tears back from both lax plump lips before he playfully nibbles on your chin. geto notices how slumped out you were and a broad open hand of his crawls between your legs. “ooooh,” and he lifts you up from his swollen flaccid cock, gazing at just how much of a fill he’s pumped into you. “well look at that,” and you whimper, feeling him strum a thumb down your drooling cunt. “would be a shame if it all went to waste,” then he quirks a brow, sliding a tongue across his lips. “princess, stick your head out the window for me real quick.”

“out the wind—”

and not even seconds later, you find yourself literally being bent over, halfway hanging out of his rolled down tinted window. geto wasn’t done, at least not yet.

your sheeny glossed lips immediately part into an ‘o’ as a sweet gasp leaves your lips. with clammy hands, they grip onto the edge of his window and you whimper once he delves his long tongue inside of your cunt. your fingers gripped against the window so hard that it ends up leaving dozens of your cute fingerprints against the tinted glass.

“oh my goddd,” you babble out in elongated sweet syllables. with your pretty eyes bulging, you gasp at feeling the tip of his tongue swirl all around inside of you.

geto lowly grunts, lapping his twitching pink muscle down your runny folds back and forth. between your legs—he’s a menace, and it was no prying him off.

at all.

he doesn’t even bat an eye at the simple fact that he’s eating his own cum out of you, unapologetically savoring the bittersweet taste that lands right on his flavored tastebuds. your legs were so weak and you can feel his warm breath continuously fan against and on your sopping folds as he chuckles.

“my my, look at her. this prize’s way better than some money,” he hums, using a leather thumbed glove to swipe down your entrance. he’s slow, dragging it all the way down just to watch spurts of your slick pop onto his digit. you’re just so wet, metallic fingers of his ghost further down your clit before you whine. geto sees your cunt pulsing from the sheer thrill and he snickers, smacking a palm right against your slobbering core. “she’s fuckin’ nasty today, yeah?” and his eyes flicker toward your drooling cunt, giving it a teasing suck. “mmph, listen to her with me, gorgeous,” and one spank against your pussy turns into one, then two, then three.

growing quiet, you listen to the weeping sounds purring out of your own cunt. so loud, so shamelessly loud. you could hear it and he barely even had to touch you. you’re drenching up his seats and you couldn’t help but bite your lip, feeling your heart pound ruthlessly out your chest. his tongue knew just where to go—it’s creating a path of its own, laying flat against your clit before sucking against every tender spot. your legs were on its final hinges. you felt like they were about to snap shut. you’re staring out the window, still not seeing any cars which was good.

if anyone saw you like this, being eaten out in this kind of position, you don’t know what would happen.

geto resumes to flick his long tongue down your swollen slit, lapping up the last few droplets of his own cum that tries to dribble down the crevices of your thighs. another final swat from his mean palm sets against your clit and you let off a cute squeal, your tummy instinctively caving in. “so much back talk from a pussy this fuckin’ sloppy. oughta teach it some manners, pretty girl,” he grumbles, and your eyes blissfully roll back once you hear him starting to sluuuurp.

geto had no shame — it was decided, this was far better than any race he’s ever had.

his teeth nip near the inside corners of your thighs before he trails back to munching on your clit, burying his nose deep. “mhm,” he groans, and it only takes a few seconds before his jaw finally locks. geto reaches down, giving his cock a few solid pumps. his pretty reddened tip was angry, it still had dried spurts of cum racing from the sides and he grunts at the memory of being inside of you only just a few minutes ago. whilst his face’s shoved right between your thighs—you don’t even realize you’re trying to reach back to grab onto his hair. you’re hesitant though, and he finds it cute. departing his wet slick lips briefly, a wry grin spreads against his lips. “kinky,” the dark haired man flicks a tongue across his lips, savoring your juices that smeared against his mouth. “don’t be shy. do it,” and you moan once he teasingly whistles against your pussy, kissing against your nub. “pull my hair girl. pull.”

you give it a good yank and his head pushes forward into you—geto’s lengthy tongue dips further inside your cunt and you whimper, gnawing the inside of your stiff jaw. “fuck,” you gasp, and as his tongue gradually curls various bubbly letters inside of your pussy.

it multitasks, continuing to send your entire body a plethora of fluttering butterflies. he was so sloppy, seeping from the corners of his mouth with your slick and just your slick. his head moving side to side eagerly and every few seconds, he’s got to flick away long shaggy strands of his hair. geto’s proudly devouring you entirely whilst you’re just literally hanging out his window.

“oh, come on. harder, sweetheart. even i can do better than tha—ngh.”

with more force, you tug roughly on his pretty black strands and you heard the most sluttiest moan pour from his lips. god, he was so close that you could literally feel that infamous smug grin spread against his lips. geto brings a fat round thumb to run down your drooling cunt, giving it a ‘good job’ kiss. “atta girl. that’s my girl.”

geto ends up coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of over and over and over again.

he’s mean with his tongue, slurping everything out of you until you had no more - nothing more to coal his chin with. his favorite thing to do was to playfully bite against your clit, feeling you writhe and shiver all because of his mouth.

you end up leaving his entire chin with a pretty stream of your syrupy slick. geto’s panting, falling back after talking you through your nth orgasm, and with a peek through his rear view mirror, he spots the remaining race cars that were finally approaching the finish line.

“ah, about time,” geto rolls his eyes, sliding his lips near the corner of his chin where a bit more of your slick laid.

he acted like it was nothing, like he didn’t just have his tongue shoved inches deep inside of your cunt, stuffing his race gloved fingers in and out of you until you gushed right down his lengthy thick digits. you’re just sat on his lap, and you’re too dumb to move an inch. “heh, comfy?” he purrs, dragging his seatbelt across both stacked bodies. you fall against his chest, inhaling his signature manly scent and feel the car jolt once he puts it back in drive.

needy silence was your only reply and he tsks, resting his chin on top of your head before driving toward the finish line. it was barely even a few feet away, and waiting there was a bunch of fans that were awaiting to greet their new winner.

geto couldn’t care less though—he had you on his lap and he could already feel himself bulging again.

he found it cute how you were just clinging onto him now.

maybe you were delusional—maybe it was the fangirl in you screaming, begging for more, but your body wasn’t just begging anymore, it ached for more.

he drives you back toward the car meet up spot, helping you fix back your skirt. with wobbly legs, you step out of the flaunting vehicle with the help of his burly arms wrapped around you. “t- thank you,” you pant, trying to catch your breath, even still. geto stands up tall and he completely towers over you. you feel so small all of a sudden, watching as he puts his helmet back on.

“anything for a fan,” he coos, and he brushes a thumb against your lips. just a single gesture just as that felt so intimate. your eyes lock with his for a long moment, and just before you could say anything more, he mumbles. “oh, you probably want an autograph?”

your eyes light up and you grow sheepish, awkwardly tugging on the vip-checked lanyard that wraps around your throat. “yeah, please.”

“such manners like a good girl, cute,” and you bring out a magazine with his face plastered on it as a headline for this week’s up and coming races in tokyo. “nah,” he waves it away, and as your brow quirks, he takes out a sharpie. geto slides the cap in between his teeth before he glances at you. “pull your shirt down real quick, sweetheart,” and without a second thought, you tug down the hem of your shirt, barely exposing your chest.

geto’s eyes rove down your skin before he swiftly signs right against your left tit. the ink softly runs against your skin and you gasp, watching as he marks up the upper part of your chest. “aaaand, perfect,” he concludes, adding a ‘xo’ at the end of his signature. geto puts the cap back on and he flashes you a sly expression. “so i’ll see you at the next race?”

he starts walking away before you could even reply and you feel the weight of your shaky legs grow heavy. “y.. yeah,” and with dewy eyes, you watch as he steps in his car, playfully revving his engine at you.

the cool air sets against your skin once more as you stood there with shaky legs. the car meet slowly gets more crowded as the rest of the racers pass the finish line.

but, your brows furrow once you realize you felt a bit . . . empty between your legs.

with a soft gasp, you squint near the inside of geto’s car before he pulls off.

hanging over his rear view mirror instead of the fuzzy dice you once saw—was nothing other than your panties,

his real prize.

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alexiroflife · 6 months ago

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jjk men when you aren't feeling well but try to hide it...

"hello! i was wondering if you could write an angst but w comfort fluff headcannon w the jjk men? i was thinking reader has an injury or is sick but she hides it, but they find out. it would be great if you can, but if not i totally understand. your writing is amazing!!!" -anon

gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna

satoru gojo: (sprained ankle!)

you're fucked.

you know you are the moment you go to pick yourself up from your boyfriend's hardwood kitchen floors and wince in pain in reaction to the pressure in your left ankle.

you hiss, immediately stumbling back to a sitting position. You look over your outstretched foot to find that your ankle is rapidly swelling, and you curse under your breath.

this is so inconvenient. of all times to injure yourself, you of course had to a day before an important mission. you never handle injuries very well. you are always so quick to brush them off, or at least be in denial about them because you can't stand the thought of feeling helpless or incapable.

especially not when satoru gojo is your boyfriend, who unfortunately knows you far too well to overlook something like an injury to your ankle.

damn. what are you supposed to do? satoru will never let you out of his sight, let alone allow you to go on this mission if he finds out about your injury. as much as you love the way he looks after you, you're not in the mood to accept the fact that you may not be able to walk for a few days without his help.

you try to stand again, stubborn with determination. you grip onto the countertop and rise slowly on your able foot, then lean to press your injured foot down slowly. okay... not so bad! Maybe you can add just a little bit more pressure, and-

"fuck," you curse, sharp pain throbbing through your foot the moment you try to walk. You lift your leg immediately and whimper, leaning your body against the counter. "god dammit," you pout.

you should ice it, you think, but icing it will only make the injury more real. maybe it's not so bad, right? maybe if you just sit down for a bit and push it to the back of your head, it will go away?

you know it's not smart, but truthfully, you don't have the time to worry about a stupid ankle. you're sure you only irritated it. with some rest, you'll be fine.

you hop your way up the stairs with your hand gripping the railing tightly to your shared bedroom and ease yourself into bed. you decide you'll take a nap while you wait for satoru to come home, ignoring the simmering pain in your swollen ankle.

"babyyy!"

you wake suddenly to the sound of satoru's voice singing through the house. you jump and immediately hold in a whimper of pain when you accidentally shift your foot beneath the covers. you can tell solely by the lack of mobility in your ankle that it's, unsurprisingly, gotten worse.

you panic, moving quickly to prop your back up against the headboard. you fix yourself in the most normal possible position you can without agitating your foot, and you turn to the door with an innocent expression the second satoru bursts through with a beam.

"hey, pretty," he walks in and immediately crouches over the bed to wrap you up in a hug. you cringe as his lips meet every crook of your face, his body enveloping you in warmth. "missed you so much today," he sighs.

"missed you too, toru," you wrap your arms around his back. "how was your day?"

"same old same old. the higher-ups only get more annoying each day, if that's even possible," he grumbles into your ear, slumping against you. "what are you doing cooped up here all by yourself? you taking a nap?"

"yeah, I just woke up," you tell him with a hefty exhale, his lips meeting the crook of your neck lazily as he nuzzles into you. "you wanna take one with me, you big baby?" you giggle.

"god yes," satoru agrees. "but first, I'm starving. did you eat while I was gone?"

"nah, I waited for you, toru."

"well, you normally cook, baby, I was waiting for you."

you momentarily freeze and he pulls back reluctantly, not before dotting one more kiss to the crook of your jaw. you had completely forgotten about making dinner, but seeing how you couldn't even walk, those cards were off the table.

he looks down at you with his arms propped on either side of your figure on the bed. your ankle continues to throb, and while you try to hide the pain that you are currently in by shifting ever so subtly beneath him, his sapphire eyes catch the twitch in your brow and the motion of your body beneath his blindfold.

"not that I care if you cook or not. obviously you were tired..." he trails off. "you okay?"

fucking hell, damn those six eyes.

you nod despite yourself, keeping a soft smile as you brush your fingers over satoru's hair. "yeah, of course. just tired like you said. I'm sorry about dinner, it slipped my mind."

"don't you dare apologize," he ducks down to kiss your cheek loudly. "we can go out to eat. make it a date before your big mission tomorrow, yeah?"

you internally deflate. the idea sounds amazing, but going on a date would mean getting up, getting dressed, and walking out the door. you're unfortunately physically incapable of doing any of the above at the moment.

satoru watches the way your shoulders slump and your lips part as if to protest, and he tilts his head in slight confusion. "...or not..." he says slowly.

"sorry, toru, it's not that I don't wanna go, i just don't have the energy..." you excuse pathetically.

satoru's face tells you that he doesn't buy your words, but he complies nonetheless. "that's no problem, baby, we can order in instead."

you sigh and nod with a gentle smile. "that sounds great."

"someone's feeling real lazy today, huh?" he teases, hooking his finger into his blindfold to peel it from his face, revealing his bright irises gazing curiously down at you. "you sure you're just tired?"

"yeah... why?"

"i'm just askin," he says. his eyes dart over you one more time before he pushes himself up with an exhale and tugging at your arm. "come on, let's go to the living room to order."

why the hell does he want to move around so much?!

"um- why can't we just order here?"

a smile quirks on Satoru's lips as though you've made a joke. "cause, we'll be downstairs once the food gets here," he says.

you pucker your lips slightly and tilt your head. "can't we just eat it up here and you can go get it?"

gojo's eyes are now slim with suspicion as he pulls himself back over to you. "i mean, of course i can but you never eat takeout in bed, we always cuddle downstairs and eat."

"I'm tired, can't i change it up today?"

"you know i have no problem doing what you want and pampering you baby," satoru starts slowly. his eyes dash to your legs, and he suddenly notes that he has not seen you bend them in the few minutes he has been home. in fact, you had been rather stagnant instead of running up to clobber him when he entered the room, whether you were previously asleep or not. "but you're acting a little weird."

"no, I'm not," you deny adamantly. you have always been a poor liar, but in the face of Satoru Gojo, your lack of talent in the arena only proves to be more prominent. "you think too much, you know that?"

"you think so?" he raises a brow at you, a hint of playfulness remaining though it is steadily fleeting the longer he examines you. "you think i'm thinking too much if i feel like you're lying to me?"

you press your lips together tightly. "...yes."

"hm," he nods. "come here for a second, pretty," he requests, stepping back a bit to give you room to stand. "just real quick, then you can lay back down and I'll get us that food."

"why do you want me to stand?"

"i wanna give you a big hug," he opens his arms widely. "c'mon, give your loving boyfriend a hug. you'd never deny me that after such a long day."

"come hug me here, then," you roll your eyes, turning to look the other way as heat overtakes your body.

"i want to hold you and pick you up," he argues, knowingly. "just stand and walk to me for one second."

"no."

"no?!"

"no, i don't want to."

"don't want to or you can't?" he accuses, face falling along with his arms. he moves to sit at the edge of the bed beside your legs, resting a hand over your uninjured one. "why can't you get up?" he asks, this time a tad more serious.

"i don't feel like it, satoru, god," you murmur in annoyance, growing agitated with his swiftness to notice that something is wrong.

"don't 'satoru' me, baby, you're the one not telling the truth," he says. "what's wrong with your legs?"

"nothing."

"then stand up."

"no, satoru. stop telling me to stand."

"i will if you tell me what's wrong."

"nothing's wrong!" you shrug harshly, crossing your arms and suddenly taking interest in whatever is outside of the bedroom window. satoru stares at you intently for a moment then back down at your covered legs.

he gazes harshly between the two, pondering, before reaching over to rip the comforter upward to reveal your bare feet. you gasp slightly, jerking to stop him, when your swollen ankle is revealed.

his brows immediately angle and he leans to hastily look over it. "(y/n), what the hell?! what happened to your foot?"

you grow embarrassed suddenly, moving to brush his hands away. "it's not that bad, stop," you say, going to move your leg to the side when you hiss sharply.

"not that bad? baby, your ankle's the size of a golfball!"

"satoru, you're being dramatic."

"what happened?" he asks, concerned. "did this happen while I was gone?"

"it's fine, relax."

"(y/n)," satoru begins sternly. you can tell that you've pinched a nerve. "i'm about to lose it if you don't tell me how this happened and why you were trying to hide it from me."

you frown. "But-"

"Now."

you hug your arms around yourself with another meek shrug. "it's humiliating..." you murmur.

satoru softens slightly. "baby, humiliating? i'm worried about you getting hurt."

"yeah, but-" you sigh and close your eyes, your emotions suddenly getting the best of you. you hate feeling small and weak, as though you can't handle yourself, and you swear every time you injure yourself or get sick, it's the worst possible thing that could happen in the entire world. "i don't know. whatever."

"uh uh uh," your white-haired boyfriend tuts, leaning over the smooth his hand over your leg comfortingly. "it's not 'whatever.' i know exactly how you are. you can't fool me. is this about your mission tomorrow?"

"it's not just about the mission, toru, i just don't- i hate it when i can't do stuff on my own."

"you don't have to tell me something i'm already well aware of." you give him a look. "don't look at me like that. i know you like the back of my hand, and i especially know when you're uncomfortable."

"i get it, toru," you frown.

"why the attitude, hm?" he asks, leaning over to prop his elbow on the other side of you, his body resting against your lap as he peers up at you gently. "it's okay to get hurt- well, no, it's not okay for you to get hurt because it makes me wanna die, but you get what I mean."

your lips twitch in amusement momentarily, leading satoru to grin widely.

"there's that pretty smile."

"it's just-" you huff. "it was such a stupid thing... i rolled my ankle stepping down from closing the cabinets and when it started getting worse, i thought it was so dumb that something so small did that to me so i left it alone. now it's probably twisted, and i just feel really..."

"you're not weak," satoru interjects urgently. "if that's what you're saying, which i'm pretty sure you are. you're far from what i would call weak."

"still. it still made me feel weak. and i'm supposed to go on that mission tomorrow, and i don't know what the hell i'm gonna tell yaga-"

"forget the mission."

"...satoru, i can't just-"

"you can and you will. you have an injury, baby. you can't walk. it's okay, i'll talk to yaga and he'll get someone else on the assignment while I take care of you."

"but the fact that you even have to do that because i was clumsy!" you shake your head and look down. "it's so ridiculous. and i knew you were gonna worry..."

"of course i'm gonna worry, (y/n). no less than you'd worry for me."

"but you're you."

"so? do you worry for me any less because of that?"

"i mean... i know you're always gonna be fine, but... yeah, i guess."

"you guess?" satoru scoffs. "to think, my girlfriend doesn't care about me..."

"oh shut up," you nudge his head away. his grin remains, face turning back to you as he captures you in his soft gaze. "obviously I worry."

"then, there you go," satoru says. his free hand runs over your hip. "i know you can handle yourself just fine and that you're strong as hell, but whether you're going on a mission or stubbing your toe, I'm worrying 'cause i love you."

you pout slightly. "I love you too."

"i know," he beams, kissing your thigh. "so stop with that. as if you'd ever be weak for getting a little boo boo."

"yeah, but now you're not gonna let me do anything," you whine.

"is there really such a big problem with that?" satoru smirks. "try hiding an injury from me again, and you really won't be able to do anything. now let me see."

he pushes himself up to round the edge of the bed. he kneels down and cradles your foot in his hand delicately, fingers grazing the area of swelling. his brow angles. "can you move it?"

you shake your head slowly. "not without it hurting."

"in all seriousness, baby, you need to take better care of yourself. why didn't you ice it?"

"...i wanted it to go away."

"and you walked up the stairs after rolling your ankle?!"

"i wanted to get into bed!"

satoru lowers his head. "what am i gonna do with you? you're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days."

"it's really not that serious. i just need to rest it a bit and then I'll be fine-"

"i'm gonna go cook you some dinner, okay? then we can eat in bed and cuddle, and then I'll run you a hot bath later."

"satoru, i just said it's not that serious! please don't go burning down the house because of my ankle. we can literally still order food," you try to convince him, but the blue-eyed man is already on his feet, by your side, and kissing your lips.

"not another word. you're practically dying, now, i have to look after you."

"toru-"

"i'll be right back, i'm gonna grab you some ice and a pillow for your foot."

"satoru!"

but when you call him, he's already zooming out of the room and down the stairs. you sigh and plop your head back against the headboard with a soft smile. as humiliating as you find it to be injured, you can never say that gojo doesn't do everything he can, if not excessively more, to look after you when you are.

suguru geto: (cold!)

shit.

you step into the bathroom for the umpteenth time today to blow your nose, clearing your searing throat as you do so with a groan.

something in you knew this morning that you were coming down with a cold when you woke up to that dreadful scratch in the back of your throat, but the idea of getting sick physically ails you more than actually being sick does.

you're far too busy today to be weighed down by some common cold. you're in between meetings at work as you toss another tissue into the women's trash. You have paperwork to finish filling out by midnight, and you have to pick up the girls later from daycare.

how can you be sick of all things?

you know it's likely because you run yourself ragged more often than you need to, and suguru always tells you to slow down and take a breath, but you rarely listen to him. your life moves at a quick pace, constantly on the run from one task to the next, and you truly do not feel that you have the leisure of giving yourself one second to rest.

you're on the verge of earning a new promotion, and you need the money. you need the opportunities, and the accomplishments to care for the family you've built with geto. just as suguru works tirelessly to manage his cult, you work tirelessly to keep a living for yourself.

you're proud of the work you have done, truly you are, but at times it feels as though you are amounting to nothing, chasing promises of a higher position that have yet to come. despite the haziness of the path ahead, you push harder and harder each day.

suguru hates it, how you drive yourself to the brink of insanity day in and day out, but you can't help but be an overachiever. you can't help but work hard for those who may not even deserve it.

and now, of course, you're sick. you can feel your temperature spiking, your nose is stuffy, and your head is pounding. you want to go home and curl into bed, but you have responsibilities to fulfill. just a few more hours... then you're home with geto, with the girls, safe in bed just to wake up and do it all over again tomorrow.

you jump when your phone suddenly rings in your pocket. you pull it out to see your boyfriend's contact, and you straighten yourself up as best as you can to make it sound as though you aren't struggling to breathe through your nostrils.

"hello?"

"hey, babe, how's work going?" suguru's soothing voice echoes through the phone and you sigh, clinging to the comfort his tone provides. you miss him. you want to go home already.

"it's good," you lie. "i have a few more meetings. then some paperwork to finish, but I'll be able to get mimi and nana on time."

"actually, i called to tell you not to worry about that. i got finished up here with the group pretty early, so i'll be able to get them later."

you're relieved that you won't have to expose the girls to your germs in the car. "okay, thanks for letting me know. you need me to pick up some food on the way home?"

"no, we're gonna make pizzas later. the girls have been dying to try it making it from scratch forever, so i'll take them to the store once i get them."

"...oh. okay..." you nod. "there's nothing else you need me to do then?"

"just to come home in one piece," suguru says. "i'm trying to take some stuff off your plate, (y/n). you've been exhausted, and you can't tell me otherwise."

"sugu, I'm fine," you dismiss him, only to turn your head into your elbow to muffle a cough. you forget to mute the call when you do so.

"what was that? are you okay?" the dark-haired man questions quickly. "you're not sick, are you?"

"no, no," you deny fast, voice slightly hoarse. you clear your throat quickly. "something was just- stuck in my throat. but I'm fine. i'm not sick."

suguru's quiet for a moment, and you chew on the inside of your lip while you wait for him to respond. you know it's impossible to fool suguru, especially when it comes to matters regarding you or the girls, but you can't handle him worrying over you right now. his concerns would only bring you back to reality, pulling you from this cycle of overworking you've fallen into. you need to keep going. You can't stop, and if suguru knows you're sick, he will make you stop.

"suguru? you there?" you finally say.

"oh yeah, i'm here," he responds rather quickly, and you internally curse yourself. "what time do you get off?"

"uhhh..." you think about it for a moment. it's 3:30 now, and technically you only have an hour and a half left, but since the girls will be picked up by Suguru, you realize you can finish your paperwork in the office. "today's kind of a long day... so I probably won't be home until... 7?"

"(Y/n)."

"i know, i know, but listen, i just have to finish up this paperwork. that's all."

"weren't you just gonna do it at home?"

"well, yeah, but since you're getting the girls, it's kinda easier for me to finish it here..." you start mumbling lowly, knowing that whatever explanation you give is not one that suguru will willingly accept.

"babe, please just come home at a normal time today. you can't keep doing this to yourself."

"i promise it won't be past 7. i swear. just let me get this done, and I'll be home."

suguru releases a hefty sigh, and you can picture him rubbing his thumb against his forehead in stress. "7 o'clock, (y/n). i mean it. if you're so much as five minutes late, i'm coming over there myself with rainbow dragon."

you chuckle softly. "i promise it won't get to that. i'll be fine, alright? i'll text you when I'm headed out."

"okay. I'll see you in a bit."

after your meetings had ended, your cold symptoms grew worse. your coughs were more frequent, a pile of tissues were stacked at your cubicle, and the glare of your computer screen felt as though it was burning a hole into your already aching head.

you feel miserable, and as luck would have it, your boss placed a new stack of papers onto your desk to finish filling out before you went home on his way out of the door.

you're alone in the office now, surrounded by excess assignments, and you can hardly breathe through your nose. you check the time, and its thirty to the time you told suguru you'd be home. you groan, rubbing your hands over your face.

you're tired. your bones are aching. you want to be with the girls, you want to be home, you don't want to do this anymore. you're so burned out, it hurts, and you want to cry and collapse face-first onto your desk at the same time.

just then, your phone lights up with a message from suguru. you open it eagerly to be greeted with an image of the girls beaming up at the camera in the kitchen, hands covered in tomato sauce as they display them to the phone. beneath the photo, suguru types.

we miss you :(

you break, placing your phone down and shielding your face in your hands as the tears flow. god, you miss spending time with them. you're hardly home anymore because you've been so busy with work, and you're yearning to be held by your boyfriend, to hear the girls laugh, to sink into the bed combined with your deteriorating physical state makes you feel worse.

you miss having a life.

you don't know how long you spend crying in your empty office before your body shuts down on you completely. the energy you exerted shedding tears in addition to your long days at work send you into a deep sleep. before you know it, you're knocked out with your cheek pressed against one of your unfinished papers.

the second you failed to answer Suguru's text, he knew something was wrong. he calls, and calls, and calls after twenty minutes, but you don't answer. He wastes absolutely no time in calling up manami to look after the girls before trekking out of the house to you with rainbow dragon, just as he promised.

he's prepared to break a window when he sees the janitor leaving the building. he takes the opportunity to swoop in through the doors after grumbling something about his girlfriend being inside, before making his way up to you.

when he reaches your office, he finds you lying in the only occupied cubicle. His eyes go wide as he studies your slumped figure, walking slowly to where you're seated. he notes the tissues and cough drop wrappers crowding your space, then the tears that coat your lashes when he kneels down.

"jesus, (y/n)," he murmurs, swiftly getting to work and clearing your desk of all your trash. when he's done, he crouches by you again and runs a hand over your back. "baby, wake up for me. come on," he coaxes softly.

you stir, face tightening in discomfort. suguru sees the bags under your eyes and his frown deepens. Eventually, you wake with furrowed brows, adjusting your blurry eyes to the sight of suguru gazing down at you worriedly.

"sugu...?" you mumble weakly, only to be interrupted by a few coughs that rack your chest. suguru's heart aches.

"i knew it," he sighs, eyes hardening as his hand strokes over your warm forehead. "why don't you listen?"

"what are you doing here?" you grumble, picking your head up slowly. you're greeted with a retched reminder of your headache, and you wince, pressing your hand to your head.

"we had an agreement, remember?" he reminds you, and you slowly recall. you move to grab your phone and the time reads 7:15. "i wasn't joking."

"suguru..."

"stop," he immediately cuts you off. "look at you, (y/n). you've made yourself sick."

"it's just a- a cough," you murmur, rubbing your irritated eyes harshly.

"that's bullshit, baby," he tells you rather firmly. "i don't know why you're trying to hide this from me when i knew something like this would happen. we're going home."

"no, wait, Suguru, i didn't finish my paperwork yet."

"do you think I give two shits about your paperwork?"

his tone comes off rather harshly, and both of you notice. he blinks his eyes tensely and readjusts himself, attempting to reel in his anger. his anger for you, over your lack of care for your wellbeing, at your fucking boss for letting you work yourself like this.

"you've been killing yourself for weeks, (y/n). i won't let you anymore. this is the last straw."

"hold on," you urge. suguru looks down at you, befuddled. "i really can't just up and leave my work behind like this. I'm sorry, I can't."

"what's more important to you, (y/n)? being healthy or working yourself to death?" he proposes, almost pained by the latter. "if you cared about your well-being, you would have asked for an extension or at least had a conversation with your dick of a boss about doing this another time. anyone can see that you aren't feeling well, and someone who cares will tell you that enough is enough."

"don't make me do this, suguru," you whimper. suguru's face relaxes when he sees your eyes glossing over. "don't make me stop. I can't stop."

"baby," he curls his brows, holding your cheek in his hand as he kneels before you. "why are you doing this to yourself?"

"b-because, I have to..."

"no, you don't. i've been telling you this for years, you don't have to do this."

"but I need to make something of myself. i have to keep going. i can't just quit, because if I do, then what will any of this have meant? why have i been doing this?"

"you're breaking my heart, baby," suguru exhales. "this job doesn't define you. i see how hardworking, smart, and strong you are. i see the effort you put into everything you do. i see the commitment in your heart. i see it everywhere, all the time, and that is one of many reasons why i love you so much."

your lips wobble as you look into his hazel eyes as his voice and words melt you into his palm. you've been moving so fast all this time, you've been trying to prevent yourself from falling into suguru's warmth, which has always had the power to make you do anything he says.

"but I can't stand to watch you make yourself sick because you think there's more you need to do. this isn't good for you. you know it isn't."

you nod, red nose flaring as you sniff. "i know," you admit.

"so please, please take a break. i'm literally begging you. you need to come home and rest. i'll take care of everything else, just come home. lay down. come back to us. to me."

your shoulders jerk as a few tears drop from your eyes. "sugu, i can't do this anymore," you finally give in. "i don't even feel like myself. i just want to go home."

"then let's go baby, come on," he stands and takes you with him in his arms, pressing your body to his as he holds you. you sink into him, your exhaustion and your sickness finally crashing down over you. "i'm gonna fucking kill your boss," he murmurs into your hair.

you laugh weakly against him, closing your eyes. "later. just take me home, now. please."

"yes ma'am," he nods, kneeling down to pick you up into his arms. you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face into his chest.

"m'gonna get you sick," you mutter.

"we can be sick together," he chuckles. "the girls and I can make you some soup. they've been obsessed with cooking lately," he says, leaning over to shut off your monitor before carrying you off to the elevators.

"that picture of them you sent earlier made me so sad. I miss you guys so much."

"i'm sorry baby, i didn't mean to upset you that much. i was only trying to guilt you a little into coming home early."

you slap his shoulder pathetically. "asshole."

"i know, i'm sorry," he kisses your head. "gonna get you all better in no time."

kento nanami: (low iron!)

you have always been a little anemic, and of course that never really posed as a terrible challenge for you until you ran out of iron supplements.

it is your responsibility undoubtedly to keep track of when you run out and when you need to restock, but recently, you've found yourself neglecting the habit.

you never did like taking iron pills, or any supplements for that matter. you feel as though they take too much out of your daily life, as though they're a burden to your existence, and the harder you think about it, the less inclined you are to keep track of it.

it's been about three weeks since you last took your iron, and while you would like to say that you have improved significantly, you would be lying.

perhaps the first few days of not taking your supplements was fine, but as time droned on, the symptoms kicked back in rather quickly. you are extremely tired all the time, you feel lighter on your feet as if you are going to pass out at any given moment, and your hands and feet are ridiculously cold though it is now the summertime, and the weather outside thoroughly contrasts your body temperature.

you're in denial about the changes, of course. you want to be able to feel fine without the crutch of your pills, but the reality of the situation is that you don't, and it's crushing you for some reason.

what's crushing you more is that you know how disappointed nanami will be to find out that you haven't been being responsible in stocking up on your supplements. he would normally keep track of when you run out in addition to you, but he's reeled it in a bit over the past few months because you wanted him to trust that you can handle taking care of something that you've managed all of your life, so he did.

and yet, here you are, trying to hide the symptoms of your iron deficiency that are only proving harder to veil. nanami has already asked you a few times if you are feeling okay over the past few weeks, therefore you know that he suspects exactly what is happening, but you brush him off each time.

"i'm good, honey," you'd tell him. "just had a long day. what about you? how are you feeling?"

you feel like shit lying to him, but you're afraid of being truthful for some reason. he would scold you, and you'd have to resort to the aid of your only weakness all over again.

god, why can't you just be normal?

you've even tried to ween off of the strict iron-sufficient diet that you've been on practically all your life because you feel like you have something to prove, especially in this world of jujutsu. how can you be a sorcerer with low iron? how can something so smell render you so weak? it's pathetic.

you don't want to think about it, in truth. you want it all to just go away. you want to be fine, to feel fine without eating certain things constantly or taking those damn pills, and you try to force yourself to, but it only grows worse the longer you hide it.

you stumble into your home after a long day of teaching and press your back to the door with a sigh. you know nanami won't be home for another forty or so minutes, so you kick your shoes off, go grab a water, and plop down on the couch.

you feel so tired. you pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes, leaning back. this is stupid, you think. you're being stupid. just reorder the damn pills.

but something stubborn within you refuses. something within you that must prove you can push past this.

you decide to watch some tv to distract you as you wait for nanami to return home. he suggested cooking for you tonight, so you rest until you hear him walking through the door.

"hi honey," he greets. you turn to smile gently at him as he rounds the corner. your cheeks pinch with happiness, your current turmoil momentarily forgotten when you see your husband approach. you go to stand and walk into his open arms, just like you normally do when he comes home.

you put the remote to the side and shoot up. your mind is occupied only by nanami as you move toward him, but you see his face drop and your vision turns upside down, and suddenly, you're falling.

kento is quick to react, ducking down impressively to catch you in his arms before you can hit the ground. you collapse into him, head dizzy and breath suddenly gone.

"sweetheart?! (y/n) are you alright? are you awake?"

you groan, shifting in his strong arms as they cradle you securely. when your vision regains focus, you're staring up at nanami's worried face, your body resting over his lap. you blink rapidly before realizing what just happened.

"oh shit," you whisper.

"(y/n)," nanami says your name again, caressing your cheek sweetly. "are you here with me now?"

"y-yeah," you nod, moving to sit up and press your hand to his chest. "i'm alright."

"absolutely not," he stops you immediately, pressing against you to lay you back down on his lip. you frown, looking up at him. "don't even try sitting up like that right now."

"kento," you start, growing worried by the tense look on his face. "i'm okay, really. i just sat up too fast."

"i know," he affirms, his thumb still smoothing over your skin. "and care to tell me why that alone is making you pass out?"

you can't find the words to respond as you stare at him, likely as guiltily as you feel. he hums knowingly.

"right," he sighs. "(y/n), how long has it been since you've taken your iron?"

and there it is. the very question you had been dreading.

"...i'm not sure what you're-"

"don't. really, don't," he interjects firmly and you shiver, rather unfamiliar with this side of your doting partner. "i'm still trying to adjust to the fact that you haven't been truthful with me. the least you can do is tell me how long it's been."

your heart drops. "kento..."

"i'm not in the mood for stalling, sweetheart. go on. out with it."

the sternness of his voice hardly matches the way he is holding you and stroking your cheek, but nevertheless, you feel awful. you avert your gaze and shrink into yourself. "three weeks."

"three?" he repeats incredulously, and you nod in shame. "i knew it had been over a week, but three, (y/n)?"

"i know," you mutter.

"why? after you told me not to check after you, to trust that you'd take care of yourself," nanami questions. "this is why i tried to help you. i know it can be a hassle sometimes, and forgetting is one thing, but to deliberately stop taking them when you know how much i worry about it... when you know how important it is for you?"

you bite hard on your lip and look away, brows curling. nanami notices immediately and softens himself, leaning down closer to you.

"my love," he starts. "i don't mean to upset you, but this is very upsetting to me."

"i know. i know, i'm sorry..." you whimper.

"but not because it's about me, (y/n), because it's about you. and you've been hiding this from me, of all things. i don't understand."

"i just didn't wanna take them anymore, ken," you say quietly.

the blonde furrows his brows. "you didn't want to take them? have you not been taking them for years?"

"i have but that's the problem. i'm a sorcerer now, and..." you exhale. "the point of being a sorcerer is to not have anything weighing you down, and this weighs me down."

"if anything, (y/n), not taking the supplements weighs you down more."

"no, i just mean- all of it, the whole iron deficiency, i hate it," you confess. "i'm tired of relying on something to be strong. i'm tired of being tied down to this. i wanted to see if i could overcome it, but i can't. i'll always have this problem, and it sucks, ken," you ramble. "if i could go without taking these pills and still do my job like i always have, then just maybe.... maybe i could be better. and i could prove that i... i don't need those stupid pills, or the extra greens, or the- whatever. just all of it."

nanami looks down at you rather sadly. "i had no idea you felt this way."

"i haven't always felt this way. it's just lately, i don't know, i feel pressured to go beyond."

"darling, your iron-deficiency doesn't make you any less talented than other sorcerers."

"i know. i mean, i should know, but i can't help but feel that way."

nanami presses his lips together, smoothing a knuckle over your cheekbone. "i'm sorry you feel like this."

"it's not your fault, ken. and i shouldn't have kept this from you, i know. i'm sorry. i just felt humiliated by it."

"there's nothing for you to be humiliated by," he reassures you. "your deficiency is no different from any of us having to feed ourselves or drink water in between missions to keep ourselves alive. it's a necessity, and though we are sorcerers, we live off of necessities to keep ourselves physically and mentally able to work. you have a responsibility to yourself. just like the rest of us. just because your iron's a little lower doesn't mean anything about who you are as a sorcerer."

"...i never thought of it like that. i've just been thinking of it as a burden."

"it's only a burden if you view it that way. you are a grade one sorcerer who i have watched climb the ranks effortlessly since we were in high school, all the while with an iron deficiency that you have always taken supplements for. that never stopped you," he says. "the problem comes in when you don't keep up with yourself and take care of those needs. just like how i'd be unable to work if i decided to skip my last few meals and drink less water."

"that makes sense," you mumble, capturing his soft brown eyes with yours.

"good," he nods. "(y/n) you can't neglect your needs like this."

"i know."

"i'm being serious. i'll start checking behind you again if i find out that you're not doing what you need to do to take care of your body."

"i know, ken, i'm sorry, i-" you stop yourself and shake your head. "i just let my insecurities get the best of me."

"then, let me handle taking care of your insecurities. you handle taking your supplements. do we have an agreement?"

you nod slowly. "yeah. we do. i'm sorry for lying again, ken."

"please don't do it again," he sighs, ducking to kiss your forehead. "but i know you wouldn't lie to me about anything else, and that you hiding this was solely out of fear."

you slowly move to sit up, and this time, kento helps you very gradually. he guides you back to sit on the couch and cups your face gently, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "i'll go order some more iron and then get started on dinner. alright?"

you hum with a soft smile. "alright. i love you, ken."

he returns your loving smile. "i love you more, sweetheart."

choso kamo: (broken finger!)

it had fully been an accident.

you should have been paying more attention to what you were doing and at the same time, so should have panda.

it really was an honest mistake. you were standing in the doorway as everyone left the classroom, your fingers clutched around the frame as everyone filed out. you were asking around if anyone had seen your boyfriend, and yuta mentioned that he saw him with yuji earlier that day.

you thanked him, and just as you were about to pull your hand away, panda, who was the last out of the room, slammed the door shut behind him thinking you had already moved out of the way.

but you hadn't.

the door flew into your index and middle fingers and you screamed bloody murder. the cursed corpse as well as his classmates whipped their heads around, and to panda's horror, you were knocking your forehead against the wall with tears in your eyes as your fingers trembled in the doorframe.

"(Y/N), HOLY SHIT I'M SO SORRY!"

you hadn't expected panda to actually break one of your fingers, but you give the freak credit for his unnatural strength. you later find out that yuji and choso had gone out to grab food for you when you see a text from your boyfriend pop up asking what flavor ramen you want the second you learn that shoko will not be available until late tonight.

for the time being, you're given a finger splint and pain medicine as though you aren't freaking surrounded by jujutsu sorcery.

and god, did it hurt! like, really, really hurt. your fingers are throbbing, and the one that isn't broken is bruised and stained with some blood. you wish you could be angrier at panda, but his groveling before your feet on his knees eases your frustration a bit. after all, it hadn't been on purpose.

you're sent home and you are given no choice but to wait until choso returns, and you're... nervous. choso never handles the ailment of his loved ones very well. his spiritual and physical connection to his brothers wellbeings' often causes him to lose his mind every time yuji gets accidentally punched in the face during training, and when it comes to you? well, choso is just the same if not somehow worse.

you remember one time you got a papercut and winced when your finger made contact with soap. choso was quick to your side, grasping your wrist and looking over your hand as though it had been severed off.

one thing you have come to know in your relationship with the brunette is that he would (and has) killed someone for the sake of the people closest to him. he does not mess around when it comes to his family, and he certainly doesn't mess around when it comes to you.

and while you think he can be a bit excessive with making sure you're alright when it's hardly necessary, it's first and foremost endearing, and it only makes you realize that he will go ballistic the second he finds out that someone broke your finger.

he doesn't naively think that you can never go unharmed, though he would be incredibly content with the notion if it were plausible. he's familiar with scars, wounds, fights, and battles, and he knows you're in the very center of it just as much as he and his brother are. but still, he hates it when you're hurt. he wants to protect you as best as he can, or to at least prevent you from suffering any more than a sorcerer already has to suffer. he only wants you to be safe.

so to prevent him from having a heart attack, you decide it's better if he doesn't know about the incident. when you answer his texts before heading home, you mention nothing about your poor finger in hopes of him not finding out at least until after you're healed.

that plan of yours, however, fails when choso comes barging through the door three hours earlier than you expected him to return. your eyes go wide from where you sit on the couch, and you have no time to even go to hide your fingers behind your back when choso marches up to you, agitated.

"uh-" you're cut off when he grabs your arm gently and lifts it into the air, your taped crooked finger showcasing itself to him. you press your lips together at how poorly the plan to conceal this from him has failed. "cho-"

"were you gonna tell me about this?" his violet eyes fly to yours in a fury, and you're almost stunned by how aggravated he looks. his voice is calm, low, but his face is wrecked with concern and almost betrayal.

"...i was, but i wanted to wait because i didn't want you to freak out..." you say slowly, watching him softly. "like you are now..?"

"that's not fair, (y/n)," he frowns and you furrow your brows. "that's not fair at all."

"woah, hold on... are you mad at me?"

"i don't know," he answers you honestly, looking between your face and your trembling hand. "i'm... upset."

"who told you about my fingers, love?"

"yuji got a text from yuta," he tells you, moving to sit down on the space beside you with your hand still cradled in his. "he said that panda was begging me not to kill him, and this was after i had talked to you."

"oh..." you sigh. "okay, yeah, i can see how that looks."

"why didn't you tell me you got hurt? and pretty badly too? where's ieiri?"

"she won't be back on campus for another hour," you explain. "i didn't want you to worry, cho, i figured i'd just tell you after it was better, but..."

"why would you try to hide something from me?" he asks you, suddenly sounding hurt. it's clear on his face that he doesn't understand why you would conceal something as important as your health from him, whether it was small or not. you tell each other everything, and that shouldn't have stopped now of all times because you don't want him to worry.

"i didn't know you'd get so upset, cho, honestly," you tell him. "i-" you stop when a sharp pain shoots through your fingers and you gasp. choso's face drops and he gently sets your hand down to his lap, panicked.

"i'm sorry," he apologizes. "shit, you must be in a lot of pain."

"it's nothing i haven't experienced before," you try to reassure him, giving him a tight smile.

"why does that matter?" choso drags his brows together. "pain is pain. i don't like when you feel any of it."

you melt. "i know. i know you don't, i don't like when you feel any of it either."

"so don't... keep stuff like this from me, (y/n)," he says sternly. "please, i need to know. i don't have the same connection to you that i have with my blood brothers, but i'm still connected to you all the same. when you hurt, i hurt."

"i get it cho, i'm sorry," you nod bashfully. "i wasn't trying to make you mad. i just don't like it when you're stressed out."

"i'm always stressed out," he says flatly, and you raise your brows with a halfhearted smile.

"yeah, i know. so why stress you even more?"

"i'd rather be stressed about you if i'm stressing about anything," he says, looking over your face as the hardness in his gaze washes away. "you know you're everything to me."

"i know, baby," you push out your bottom lip, pressing your free hand to the side of his cheek and leaning in to kiss him. his ears burn when you pull away, and he sighs heavily.

"don't offend me by trying to hide stuff like this. it won't work."

"i'm sorryyyy," you giggle and choso grumbles incoherently under his breath.

his gaze goes back to your fingers and his brows curl. "how the hell do you slam a door on someone's hand?" he hisses.

"it was an accident, cho, he didn't mean it."

"i know, and i shouldn't really be angry at him but i can't help but be irritated because you're hurt..." his fingers graze the tape. "how bad does it hurt?"

"cho, it'll be okay."

"that wasn't my question."

you roll your eyes at his attitude with a soft smile. "it hurts as much as a broken finger would."

"right. sorry," he murmurs.

"you're okay, love, you don't need to apologize."

"i still wish i- nevermind," he refrains himself from discussing how he wanted to be there to protect you from such an unpredictable occurence. "is there anything i can do to help you feel better while we wait? do you need anything?"

"ummm," you try to think. "actually, could you grab a new pack of ice from the freezer? and... the snacks you got me earlier."

the brunette's face brightens slightly with the thought that he can do something to help ease your pain as you wait for shoko to return to the school.

he nods in determination, carefully sliding your hand into your lap and kissing your cheek before hopping up to run to the kitchen. he returns with the items you requested, placing the snacks down beside him and lifting the bag of ice over your hand.

"like this?" he eases the bag down and you wince, nodding.

"mhm. yeah," you strain out. choso watches your face sadly, hating the fact that you're hurting.

"i'm sorry for getting upset," he mumbles. you turn to look at him curiously. "i just love you a lot."

"i love you more, cho," you smile gently, leaning your head against his shoulder. he sighs, resting his chin atop your head as he ices your hand. "and don't worry, i get it. i won't try to hide injuries from you anymore."

"i really hope so."

"now can you pass me those chips please?"

toji fushiguro: (knife cut!)

toji is going to absolutely kill you, and you are dreading the moment he does.

he has always told you not to touch his weapons. even if you see any of them lying around his place because he never bothers to clean up in between jobs. his one rule when you're over is to leave them alone and to let him handle them when he gets back. he doesn't care how much you protest, he doesn't care that you want to help him pick up after himself.

no touching. that is all he asks of you.

and of course... one afternoon when he's out sorting out some finances with shiu and one of his knives is glaring at you from where it lay on the kitchen table, you can't help yourself.

you don't really think anything is going to happen. after all, you're not a baby, nor are you an idiot. you know how to handle a freaking knife and you know where to put it, and yet, somehow, you allow your arrogance with the task to distract you. you're not handling it as carefully as you should be, and the second you hear the keys jingling outside the front door, you panic.

the blade, naturally, fumbles in your grasp, and swipes through the air, over your palm, and to the carpet. you jump, stepping away as quickly as it falls. you feel a sting in your hand and look down to see the fresh gash stretching over your skin. you gape as blood slowly simmers from the wound, befuddled as to how something like this even happened so quickly.

you have no time to clean it when you hear the key inside the lock. you hurriedly pick up the knife with your unwounded hand, place it back on the table where you first saw it, rip a napkin from said table to press to your bleeding palm, and clench it into a fist just as the door opens.

toji immediately greets you with a raised brow, jade eyes eying you oddly as he steps in. "the hell are you gettin' into?" he asks, confused by the way you are standing against the wall when he enters.

you're quick to move into his space to distract him from the vision of his knife and from looking any further downward from your face. you lean up on your tiptoes, normal hand on his forearm as you kiss his scarred lips. "what do you mean?"

"why were you just standing there like that?"

"can't I wait by the door for you to come back?" you bat your eyelashes, and toji grunts, gazing down at you with lidded eyes as his hand comes around the small of your back. "i'm just happy to see you."

"you take a pill or somethin', doll?"

you glare at him. "now why would you ask me that?"

"you're just acting a little too nice, that's all."

you scoff. "i don't know what you're talking about, i'm literally always happy to see you."

"yeah, but i was gone for thirty minutes and you never make a show of it like this."

"why are you making it sound like i don't show you love? you're the one who's mean all the time," you retort sassily.

a smirk captures toji's lips as he ducks down to kiss you again. "that's more like it," he murmurs against you. "still ain't answer my question though."

"i literally did. i told you i was waiting for you."

"sure," he says, unconvinced. his eyes drag down your body and momentarily go to your fist when you swiftly wrap both arms around his neck, pulling him down to crash your lips into him once more.

his brows narrow and as you kiss him, and you can feel the blood on your hand seeping through your napkin. you curse internally, lowering your hand back down behind him as he pulls away.

"not that i'm against this," toji starts, voice dangerously low against your mouth. "but it feels like you're tryin' to distract me from something."

"why would i be doing that?" you ask gently, looking up into his piercing eyes. he hums, dragging himself away from you. he grabs your chin softly and tilts your head left and right, looking over your face. "what are you doing?" you ask.

"lookin' for whatever you're hiding."

"i'm not hiding anything, toji."

"uh huh."

shit. it's never a good sign when toji doesn't even try to pretend to believe anything you're saying, and the way he's looking over your face let's you know that he at least suspects you've done something to yourself that he should know about.

you keep your fist to his back as he looks over the rest of your body with a rather relaxed expression, which only means that he doesn't suspect you touching any of his weapons. yet.

you have to keep his attention away from the knife on the table so that he doesn't figure it out.

"can you stop messing around already? i wanna go take a shower," you try to say, but toji doesn't listen.

"turn around f'me."

"huh?"

"huh?" he mimics you, looking at you unimpressed. "turn."

you suck your teeth. "i hate when you get like this."

"and i hate when you lie, now turn."

you grimance. you can't turn around with him looking down at your hand, and you're sure by now that the napkin you hold is coated red. your eye twitches in that moment when you feel a line of blood drip down your wrist.

god dammit. you're so dead.

nonetheless, you try to keep your palm facing inward as you slip it from his back and turn over your left shoulder, which connects to the uninjured hand. the second your back is to him, you bring your bloody hand in front of you.

"yeah, no," you hear toji gruffly say. your heart hammers in your throat and you know what's coming next. he moves around you to wrap his hand around your wrist and tug at it.

you cringe, allowing yourself to accept your fate when he pulls forward your balled up hand.

"open."

"can't we just-"

"open."

you sigh heavily, slowly peeling open your palm to reveal the red-stained napkin balled in it, the line of blood rushing down your inner arm, and the slice that stretches across your hand.

toji's eyes blow wide, and before he asks you anything, he throws his head over his shoulder to locate the knife that sits on the table. "are you fucking kidding me, (y/n)?" he growls, turning back to face you angrily.

"okay, let's not act like this is so crazy!" you immediately defend, throwing your other arm up. "you leave your shit lying around all the time!"

"and every single time, i tell you that i'll take care of it. what the fuck, do i have to go child-proofing the house now because of you?"

"if you would just be more mindful of how you leave your space, you wouldn't even have to worry about shit like this! you shouldn't even have knives lying around in the first place."

"i'm a grown man, (y/n), i know how to avoid cutting myself with the weapons i use daily."

"you're being a prick."

"oh baby, you must not know me because i'm about to be worse," he grunts, eyes heated with fury, and you frown.

"toji, come onnn, it was an accident."

"what do i always say about my weapons, (y/n)?"

"i just wanted to help you put it away, is that so crazy?"

"what. do i say. about my weapons."

you deflate slightly, uneased by the rate at which toji is growing angry with you. "...not to touch them."

"so why the fuck did you touch them?" he growls, picking up the napkin in your palm and tossing it over his shoulder. he looks over your wound and clenches his jaw. "fucking hell, (y/n)."

"look, i'm sorry."

"shut the hell up and come on."

despite his rage, he leads you to the bathoom with surprising care.

when you arrive, he flicks on the light with his free hand and swipes up a cloth from under the sink. he turns to you, pressing it down to your wound to stop the bleeding. once it seems like it's done, he puts the cloth down and turns on the faucet. "put your hand under," he orders, guiding it to the cool water nonetheless.

the water hits your open wound bitterly and you jump, watching the blood run through the drain as toji washes your arm as well.

"sit," he nods over to the bathtub, shutting off the faucet.

you oblige mutely, shuffling over and holding out your hand. you sit slowly on the ledge of the tub and watch as toji shuffles through his cupboards for a bottle of peroxide, some bandages, and ointment. you dread what is coming, for you know your hand is gonna sting like a bitch.

toji thuds over to sit hunched on the closed toilet lid, leaning over to grab your hand again. you stretch your fingers out and he sighs, shaking his head. "so fucking hard-headed," he murmurs.

you watch him screw open the bottle of liquid.

"go slowly," you plead.

"it's gonna hurt all the same, doll," he tells you, and you pout. "you should listen next time, then maybe you wouldn't have to go through this."

"shut the fuck up."

toji clicks his tongue, glancing at you momentarily before leaning down and holding the bottle over you, grasping your wrist loosely with your hand above his knee. "keep still."

the peroxide comes flooding out of the bottle and onto your hand, bubbling instantly over your gash. you whimper, tensing your body and scrunching your eyes at the sting.

"i know," toji mumbles, smoothing his thumb gently over your wrist. "you're alright."

your fingers dig into your thigh as it continues to burn. toji leans over to put down the bottle and continues to caress your arm, lowering your hand to his lap. he blows over your palm slightly as the peroxide dries, and you eventually open your eyes.

"not so bad," he tells you. he leans himself back to reach for a new cloth then pats it around the gash, drying your hand and your arm. he reaches back again for the tube of almost empty ointment he found and twists it open, squeezing it over your wound. "shit, hold on," he stops. he lets you lift your hand as he rushes to wash his own before coming to sit back down at hold yours on his leg again, now with bandages in hand.

you watch him gently as he works the bandage over you with such attentiveness, a dip in his brow proving his focus. you suddenly feel guilty for making him worry.

"i'm sorry," you finally say again, this time with more meaning.

toji's green eyes snap up at you amidst his wrapping. "yeah?"

"i really was just trying to help you. didn't mean to stress you out."

toji sighs, pausing his movements to look you in the eye. "you need to be more careful. i tell you not to touch my stuff because it's not your responsibility. obviously i know you can yourself, but some of my shit's really dangerous and i don't want you gettin' hurt," he gestures to your hand. "it could've been a lot worse, but still."

"if you don't want me touching your weapons, toji, you should probably clean them up more," you quirk a brow and he exhales loudly.

"i'm seeing that now, yeah," he says. "i'll be more careful if you are. don't need my doll getting a bunch of scars 'cause of me, now."

you smile softly. "yeah. i won't touch your stuff anymore, i promise."

"...how about instead i just... teach you how to handle 'em the right way?"

you perk up. "really?"

"i don't see why not. i'd rather you know how to use some of it than see you scrape yourself up because you don't know how to hold a knife."

"don't be a smartass."

toji smirks, continuing with his wrapping of your hand. "i mean it. i'll sit down with you sometime to show you."

"...how about after we're done here?"

"don't fucking push it."

ryomen sukuna: (fever!)

you wake up in a cold sweat, shivering.

you groan in displeasure, rolling over, slightly discombobulated. it can't be any later than 7 am, but you are boiling hot. you press your hand to your forehead and curse. you're sweating profusely and you feel incredibly lightheaded.

you don't even have the energy to get up, but you know that you need to take your temperature. you shudder, carefully shuffling out of bed and wincing as every brush against your skin feels like the stab of a thousand pins and needles.

you lethargically make your way to your bathroom, the cool air hitting your neck and sending you into a fit of shivers. you cling to yourself, teeth chattering, and reach into your cabinet for a thermometer. with half-open eyes, you pop it under your tongue and make your way back to your bed, bundling up in your blankets and curling into a ball.

it feels like hours before the beep resounds, and you slowly lift it from your mouth to read the little digital numbers.

102.4. perfect.

you shudder in pain, tossing the thermometer to the side and nestling your face in your pillows. you feel like absolute shit, but you can't bring yourself to do much else. you need medicine, water, a cool compress, but none of those things you have access to currently.

you close your eyes as your mind swarms, body throbbing and shuddering with chills though the last thing you need is to be cuddled under the covers. you think maybe it will go away if you get some rest. maybe you just need to relax, to take some time in bed. you'll let sukuna know when-

shit! sukuna.

there's no way in hell or on earth that sukuna will allow you to go untreated if you tell him, but god, you don't feel like letting him know. despite his likely haste to make sure you have everything you need, you can only imagine the snarky comments about your fragility, your strange body, your vulnerability that he''ll spout.

you don't want to hear it. you don't want to hear any of it, because you're sure that if you do, you'll start crying. you're already worn down, clearly, and the last thing you need on top of a fever is your boyfriend joking about your weak state.

you elect to stay in bed and tell sukuna you'll see him another time if he pesters you today.

which of course, he does.

a whirlwind of alarming dreams that you almost thought were hallucinations are disrupted by the persistent buzzing of your phone on your dress. you groan, reaching out a shaky hand to blindly grab the device and answer the call, pressing it to your ear with no knowledge of who you're speaking to.

"yes?" you croak.

"can't answer a telephone call the first time it rings?" sukuna's voice thunders through the mic, and you lift your brows.

"kuna?" you try to say his name normally, despite the constant chatter of your teeth.

"who the hell else would it be?"

"sorry... i was asleep."

"at this hour?"

"...what'dy'mean?"

"jesus, woman, it's 2 in the afternoon. why the hell are you still in bed?"

you reel momentarily at his words. 2 pm? it was just 7 in the morning! have you really been sleeping all this time?

"oh..." is all you can manage to say before a chill wracks your body again. you cringe, curling into yourself and holding the phone away from you.

"oh?" the king of curses repeats. "what is the matter with you?"

"n-nothing," you respond quickly. "i guess i was up late last night. i was c-completely knocked out..." you tremble.

"last night you told me you were going to sleep early because you were tired, you brat."

fuckkkk.

how could you have forgotten about that? you hadn't been feeling well last night, which is likely the reason why you feel so much worse today, so you turned in early. "i- couldn't fall asleep until later, though," you mumble.

"you are attempting to deceive me," sukuna grunts. "care to explain why?"

"m'not, kuna," you sigh halfheartedly.

"what exactly do you take me for?"

you're really not in the mood for this. you're aching at this point, and you can tell your body temperature has only risen. you're so weak. you can barely even process the fact that you're on the phone, and you can't handle sukuna's attitude. not if he's not going to help, which you automatically assume that he won't.

"i'm going back to bed," you say softly.

"what do you mean back to bed?!" sukuna fumes. "seriously, what the hell is the matter with you. you sound ill."

"i'm not i-ill."

"then why do you keep stumbling over your words, woman?" he questions, his voice mellowing out into a steady intensity. "what is it now? your monthly plague? whatever you people call allergies?"

this is exactly why you don't want him to know. he handles these things too crudely, as if it's a burden upon his existence. "y-you ask too many damn questions."

"i wouldn't have to if you answered them. now talk."

"i'm fine, sukuna. i'm just gonna go back to sleep."

"you hang up this phone, i'm at your door in two seconds."

"that's impossible."

"try me."

you know he's serious, but you don't have the energy. you can't stay on the phone with him any longer, trying to speak like nothing's wrong. it's cold. so cold, but you're so hot. you're probably drenched in a pool of your own sweat, but you can't feel it. you want to sleep. you just want him to let you sleep.

your vision grows dizzy as you stare ahead, brows arching in discomfort. you think you press the end call button, but you can still hear his voice picking up in urgency... is he shouting? are you even on the phone anymore? you aren't sure.

your vision suddenly drifts into inky blackness as the phone rests beside you on your pillow. the last thing you are aware of before you slip into unconsciousness again is banging at your front door.

sukuna bursts into your apartment mere minutes after you stopped answering him on the phone. he looks about ready to kill, crimson eyes wide and pupils shrunken as he breathes heavily, looking all over your apartment.

he's stomping to your room and throwing the door open when he sees you laying in the bed. "(y/n)!" he barks, searching for some response from you, but all he recieves or nonsensical murmurs.

he moves quickly to the side of your bed and grabs at your shoulder, turning you over to find your sheets drenched and your face tight with discomfort. he falters, heart jerking at the sight. "...the fuck?"

he presses a hand to your sweat-drenched face and furrows his brows in concern. you're hot. too hot for the temperature of a human being, and you're sweating like crazy, mumbling things under your breath in your sleep he can't even hear.

"the fuck did you do?" he grumbles, starting to internally panic. he scrambles to remember what this could be. he knows of plague, of pestilence, so maybe you're suffering some form of that?

hell, he can't tell. not from a glance. he's not even sure if he knows how to help you. you're entirely too hot for him to brush this off like it's nothing, and you passed out in the middle of speaking to him.

he looks over and sees the thermometer on your sheets and leans over to pick it up. the screen reads a high number, which he assumes is the temperature of your body. curious himself, he prods open your jaw and tucks it into your mouth, pressing the button the way you had shown him when you had the flu to reset the time.

"come the fuck on," he growls as seconds tick by before it beeps, and he pulls it from your lips to read 104.7.

he doesn't know how far it is from your usual temp, but he knows it's high. too high.

he's quick to dial uraume for some more information, and the second he hears that you need immediate medical help, he's picking you up and making a run for it without even thinking that uraume can likely help you.

when you wake, you're blinded by nauseating lights blaring down overhead. "ugh," you groan, feeling light and disoriented. you turn your head to the side and blink, to find sukuna's face staring directly at you rather harshly.

you jump slightly, startled. "what-?" you start, scrunching your eyes to adjust to the sight before you. "sukuna? what are you..." you trail off when you realize that you aren't in your house, nor are you at sukuna's estate. instead, you're in a hospital bed hooked up to a series of fluids.

your eyes go wide as you sit up suddenly, only to be hit with a sudden dizzy spell that sends you leaning back into the bed.

"don't move," he orders, and you turn to him in confusion. never would you have expected to see the day that sukuna sits in a chair beside you in a hospital.

"why are we... what happened?"

"apparently you had a high fever," he answers harshly, fist-propping his chin up over his leg. "too high for you to be seen in my care, and too high for you to be lying in bed as though nothing was wrong."

your heart sinks. "how high?"

"when we got here, tipping past 105."

"...are you serious?"

"i had to come bust down your door to make sure you were alive. i put you on an empty roller downstairs because these fucking dumbass doctors can't see me and i had to get their attention so they could notice you. yes, i am serious."

he sounds pissed. and you hardly want to think of what he means by ‘getting their attention.’

"what do you have to say for yourself? for daring to lie to me? for pretending like you weren't on the brink of a much worse fate?"

"...i..."

"you're so lucky you're unwell, girl, because you don't even want to imagine the things i would do to you as punishment for putting yourself in such a ridiculous situation," he growls. "all you had to do was tell me and i would have taken care of it before it got worse."

you blink, almost dumbfounded. you still aren't all there, but you can tell that your fever has gone down significantly. you're no longer sweating and fewer chills wrack your body. "...huh?"

"did that fucking fever scramble your brain or what?" he fumes, eyeing you sharply. "you should have told me."

you part your lips slightly as you look at him. "honestly, sukuna, i didn't think you'd really... i don't know-"

"care?"

"no, not care. i just didn't think you'd handle it well. i didn't even handle it well myself."

"you believe me to be incapable of tending to sickness?"

"no, i just thought you'd like... not take it seriously."

sukuna's eyes darken, and you realize that you may have said the wrong thing. "in what reality would i fail to take any threat to your health seriously, whether you are frail or not?"

"see, that's what i mean. you always have to slip in something about me being frail."

"because you are. as a member of your species. look at where you lay currently," sukuna grimaces. "that is not an insult to you, it's an observation. it's an insult, however, to everyone else who isn't you."

you relax slightly. "then you were actually worried?"

sukuna scoffs. "why the hell do you think i'm sitting in a human hospital with your sick ass right now? i thought we were past you believing i do not concern myself over you."

you suddenly feel foolish, having forced yourself to suffer in your isolation and simultaneously made sukuna, of all people, worry over you.

"hm. feeling foolish, are you?" he says, reading your mind.

"shut up,," you whine, only to clutch your stomach suddenly with a groan. sukuna sighs as he gently eases your head back onto the pillow.

"i told you not to exert yourself. you give me a headache."

"kuna," you mumble.

"what?"

"can you... take me home?"

sukuna raises a brow. "home?"

"to your place," you clarify. "i don't wanna be here. i just want to be with you. want you to hold me."

"you're such a needy thing," he exhales, toying with a strand of your hair as he leans over and gazes gently at you. "you have medications you need to take."

"then bring them with."

"and if you get sick again? you've only been here ten hours."

"ten?!" you exclaim.

"you were very ill, (y/n)."

you groan. "ten is long enough. i hate hospitals. take me home. i feel better anyway, and if i get worse, i’ll just go to uraume."

sukuna sighs, standing slowly. "after i get these tubes out of you without further damaging you, i will take you home," he says, looking over the IVs that you're hooked up to.

you close your eyes tiredly and nod in acceptance. "okay," you murmur.

he grunts. "let me find some damn instructions.”

"kuna," your hand weakly reaches out to catch his wrist and he stops, turning to look down at you.

"what is it?"

you open your eyes to look up at him fondly, exhaustion welling in your gaze. "thank you."

the king of curses clenches his jaw. he smoothes ahead over your now warm forehead and leans over you. "don't do some shit like this again."

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