#and if you're looking for something to get up in arms about don't worry i got you covered:

[cherie-doll]

Hellu, could you maybe do a drabble or hc or whatever you feel comfortable with, of the cod men reacting to reader being in a car crash??

(I was just in a car crash, my head hurts, I’m coping 💀)

If not then that’s okay ❤️❤️

my goodness, are you okay dear?? ૮ ㅇㅁㅇ ྀིა

𓏲 Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

🝮 Price finally got some downtime to rest and catch up on his sleep debt at home. You insisted he stay home while you go to the grocery store only a few blocks away. Now imagine how his body tenses and he's up from the recliner in a heartbeat the moment he receives the phone call about your accident. He's supposed to drop the tense and hard face off while he's at home with you but this is worse. He's trying to keep calm on the surface but a can of worries within, just wanting to spill out. Thankfully, the accident didn't result in fatalities nor major injuries. He's holding you and checking you all over, listening to everything you're saying. Does something hurt? Feel dizzy? Need water? He's taking you right home, don't worry about the wrecked car.

🝮 Simon's mood when he picks up the phone initially is that he's annoyed, his answering "yes?" is a little sharp because you had just had a small argument over him once again not paying attention to the list of items you insisted he take when grocery shopping but didn't. So now you had to pause everything and go get the thing yourself, which means he'd have to wait at least another hour before he could eat dinner. Your voice over the phone was weak and scared, your frail voice that barely answered because your mind was all over the place and fading. You couldn't think straight after the crash. Simon dropped everything and staying on call with you made it faster than the cops would've. He carried you out of the car and cradled your body in his arms even in the ambulance, all the while muttering lowly how reckless you could be and how stupid and idiotic he was for letting you drive while mad. He swears he'd never let it happen again.

🝮 Johnny wasn't expecting you to answer with "was in a car crash" to "how was your day?" Like why are you telling him just now that you're arriving home. He gets off the couch he's by your side in an instant. Why didn't you call him? Because you thought it was nothing big? He almost thinks you're bluffing, why he can't help but assume the worst or imagine a terrible accident. You're sitting down this instant and- did you go to the hospital? And if you did he's surprised they just let you walk out. You argue back that you barely got a bruise but he insists you're going again and getting an examination done just in case. You have to tell him these things else he'll have a hard time letting you go out alone again.

🝮 The only thing Kyle knew was that you'd be hanging out with friends. And that's how it was supposed to be, he could expect you to come home late in the evening or maybe nearing night. But the clock marked the midnight hour and you hadn't walked through the front door yet; very unusual of you. He paced the living room from one wall to the other, he had the right to be worried so he wasn't being a controlling nor clingy partner if he just wanted to know where you were past midnight. The worry only increased when he called and it went straight to voicemail. Okay, maybe your phone died. And he kept trying to come up with plausible reasons as to why you weren't home yet when the bell rang and he threw the door open to a distressed looking friend of yours explaining the car accident you had been caught up in. You were conscious when taken away but in pain, your friend was still explaining this when Kyle grabbed his shoes and was already walking to the driveway.

🝮 Roach and you frequented bars pretty often and usually took a cab home. You hadn't had more than one drink however and decided to drive home while he dozed off in the backseat. He woke up to the sound of tires screeching and before he could make out what was happening his body was jerked and thrown forward. Groaning and rubbing his neck he called your name only for you to weakly respond. A soft gasp left his lips followed by his fingers reaching out to the bleeding gash, blood staining his fingertips. When he called emergency services and had you taken to the hospital, the cops has questioned how the accident happened and he was ready to take the blame on insisting you drive despite both having consumed alcohol. He knew there wasn't any other believable lie he could sputter, surely the one drink you'd had would show up on the tests.

🝮 Alejandro didn't think it'd ever happen to you. An accident bad enough that you had to be taken to the hospital? He's there as fast as he possibly could get there. He ignores the nurses who are trying to tell him that you're okay for the most part, just a little shaken. But he's checking you all over and almost loses it when he sees a bruise, demanding for the doctor. It takes you forcibly holding him back and holding his head so he can meet your eyes and see that you're fine, you're not in severe pain. From now on you're not driving anywhere alone because he doesn't another scare like that to happen again.

🝮 Rudy is worried sick when you insisted on driving the last stretch of the way home, at night too. Your driving skills are passable during the day but at night it can be difficult to tell from the high beams of other car's lights flashing at you. When you tried braking at a stop sign you saw last minute, due to the ice already forming on the road the car didn't come to a complete stop and nearly skid off the road. His hand instinctively reaches across to hold against your body, making sure you don't fly forward despite you having the seatbelt on. It's just instinct for him to protect you in every situation. He gets off, running over to your side and the time doesn't matter anymore. He'll sit out on the hood of the car however long you need to recover from the close call until you're ready to go back home. Except he's not letting you drive.

🝮 Phillip was waiting at a second location for you to come pick him up after his car was getting fixed for something. He wouldn't have bothered you but the repair shop was half an hour drive away, something was just bound to happen. And he doesn't realize this because his mind is so preoccupied with the petty shop owner over what was the problem with his truck that when his phone rings and he picks up he sounds a little mad, not at you though. Soon he hears a dispatcher's voice instead of yours his mind goes to the worst place. Don't know where he gets the car from but he's speeding down the highway praying that you're fine and he gets to you. But he gets there and sees you sitting on a strip of grass off to the side of the mess and holding an ice pack to your head.

🝮 Makarov is hiring a chauffeur to drive you everywhere and anywhere you need from here on out and finding out who was the idiot who rammed into the back of your car while at a stoplight. He can't believe you didn't ask the other driver for their information, doesn't matter though, he'll get the information later. Maybe you should quit going out altogether, no? Okay it was worth a try, whatever you want. From now on you have to promise to not ever get into an accident ever again. "How am I supposed to control tha-"

🝮 Keegan didn't freak out after you told him you just veered off the main road and were now stuck in some rundown road. He calmly gathered whatever tools he thought he might need and started his truck. The scene he encounters when he arrives is somewhat off, you're waving him over, sitting on the hood of your car with a sheepish smile. He walks around the car and finds the dent on the side and back of the car. And before he can ask what the hell happened- shit, you're bleeding? You're going to have to start from the beginning if you don't want him ignoring your requests and taking you to the emergency room instead.

🝮 König left the car parked with you waiting for him in the passenger seat, and when he came back he sees his car in pieces, absolutely destroyed from a car speeding off the road and ramming into the side. He panics, tries to pry the door open to get to you, even breaks a window before you're tapping him from behind. "I'm right here" He turns around, lifts you off the ground and lets out a sigh of relief. He seriously thought he would have to search through the wrecked car for you. How had you even gotten out? You saw stray cat and got out before the car had been hit. But now you have to be the one worrying over König's hand and forearm which has glass embedded.

🝮 Horangi blames himself for the car crash. He wanted to teach you to drift because you'd seen how he does it and you're eager to nail it too. Things escalate rather quickly and it's no longer a smooth Saturday drive when you loose control and drive off the road, the tires slipping onto the grass and slamming sideways into a tree. He's holding your head, not knowing if you're got knocked out unconscious or not, but his mind doesn't fully register the bigger dent is on the rear doors not the driver nor passenger side. With one hand he's holding your head to his chest, his other shaky hand attempting to dial emergency services, feeling faint himself before you come to and look around confused. He's grabbing your face in his hands looking you all over making sure you didn't receive a single bruise.

🝮 You assumed Nikto would be cross if he saw the state his car was in. He was hesitant to let you drive out alone knowing you still went a little hard on your turns and it had been raining frequently. The moment he arrives, you're fixed on his eyes, carefully determining whether he's already thought of what he'd do to you the moment he saw the disaster his car was. But you're surprised and speechless when he strides over to you, silently looks you over, barely assesses the car and just picks you up. "Aren't you mad?" "About what?" "Your car!" And he barely glances at it, shrugs and drives you home.

[lumitoiile]

xiao : [crapbag.]

☆ — fluff; he takes care of you while you're sick. gn! reader (no pronouns.)

"achoo!" 

you sniffle, nose red as you stare up at your ceiling in annoyance. ugh. you've been bedridden all morning, sneezing and coughing up a fit. you can't even remember how you got sick in the first place... it's all a blur. your head feels light and your thoughts have started to grow delirious. 

"this sucks," you groan, reaching over for a tissue on the nightstand and nearly falling off your bed in the process. why'd you have to get sick today, of all days? you'd been planning to visit xiao this afternoon, but...that's obviously out of the question now, given the circumstances. you barely even had enough energy to walk to the bathroom this morning. 

you sigh, leaning back onto your pillow after loudly blowing your nose. after trying your best to make yourself a little more comfortable, you gently hover your hands over your eyelids, keeping them shut. mmn...cold hands. that feels nice. a yawn escapes your mouth, satisfied tears brimming at the corners of your eyes. "i wonder what xiao's up to right now," you whisper. 

well, it’s not like the two of you are particularly close or anything—you hardly even qualify as friends, and knowing him, no progress was going to be made there any time soon. ‘human interaction is quite troublesome,’ so he says. but something about him feels…lonely, in your eyes. or maybe it’s sad? you can’t tell. it’s hard to get a good read on that guy, mister ‘i don’t feel emotion like you mortals do.’ 

“it’s you.”

you jolt at the sudden voice, sitting upright and frantically scanning the room for its source. and low and behold, there he is, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. uh oh. he looks irritated.

”xiao…?” you blink a few times, rubbing your eyes to try and convince yourself he’s actually real, standing here before you. up until he spoke, you hadn’t even heard or noticed him. “wh—where the hell did you come from?”

he lets out a tired sigh, gold eyes narrowing. “you called out my name, did you not?” he says it like it should be obvious. “but you don’t seem to be in any danger…why have you summoned me?”

”what are you—“ oh. that’s right, you remember him saying something about that…whoopsie! you give him a sheepish smile. “s-sorry,” you mutter, voice raspy and laced in sick. “it was an accident. nothing's wrong, j-just feeling a little under the weather is all. you should leave before i get you sick too…”

he looks like he wants to roll his eyes. “you shouldn't worry over something so foolish. we adepti do not get sick," he scoffs. 

you nearly facepalm. ah, right. he said pretty much the same thing about sleeping a little while ago. regardless, you stumble out of bed, struggling to steady yourself as you plant your feet and lean onto the nightstand. "i still don't want to give you any of my icky germs. you should...you should go."

you're tempted to start pushing him toward the door, but that would defeat the purpose of trying to keep your germs away. he notices this and stares at you for a moment before letting out another sigh, speaking in a low voice. "you're in no condition to be left here alone."

"w-what are you talking about? i'm completely fine," you lie, holding back a wicked cough and chuckling awkwardly. "really, you don't to stay here. its...not even that bad! see?"

his gaze on you is intense and his eyebrows furrow. "your complexion is scaring me. please sit down."

"i'm telling you, i'm fine—" you try to take another step toward him, as if to prove that you're capable of doing so, but the archons don't seem to be on your side today because your knee gives out and you fall over again.

oh shit.

xiao's at your side in an instant, catching you and wrapping an arm around your waist, holding your own over his neck as he keeps you steady. "i told you," he scowls, eyes narrowed. "you need to be more careful." 

you start hastily start sputtering out apologies, but he pays you no mind as he effortlessly lifts you back onto your bed, pulling his touch away quickly as if he might hurt you somehow. "just—stay here. don't move," he mutters. "i'll...look after you."

your heart nearly stops and you start to feel your face getting warm, though this time it isn't from your sickness. did you hear him correctly? "y-you don't have to do that! i'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself...really, i'm sure you have other things to do."

he doesn't say anything. instead, he takes note of your red face and leans a little closer, very carefully brushing his fingers against your forehead. this, of course, only makes your cheeks heat up even more. he frowns, oblivious to your embarrassment as he pulls away. "you seem to have a fever...have you taken any medication?"

you nod, face flushed. "um...yeah, i took some a little while ago. i really am fine, you don't need to—"

but he's already dashed off to who knows where, the sound of rummaging through cabinets and water running easily heard from down the hall. he returns a moment later with a cold wet rag, wrung out for your use. he stares at you awkwardly for a moment before handing it to you. "...here."

you give him a soft smile and take it from him, gratefully draping the rag over your forehead with a content sigh. "whew. that feels...a lot better, actually...thank you. the cold feels nice."

he nods, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. "do you...need anything else? can i perhaps make you something?"

you bite back the urge to snort. "what, like cook? you know how to cook?" 

his expression changes, and if you didn't know any better, you'd say he was nearly pouting. "i'm not incompetent. of course i can cook. though i'll admit, it isn't particularly my favorite thing in the world. its not like i have any need for food in the first place."

you let out a soft chuckle. that's right...he doesn't need to eat. strange. he seemed awfully happy back when you made him that almond tofu...well, as happy as he can get, at least. he's so pissy all the time.

you nod at his question. "i was gonna make myself some soup earlier, but..." you shrug. "i've been stuck in bed all day and never actually got around to it."

"soup..." he gives you a single nod as he walks away back into your kitchen. oh, jeez. here we go...you call out a thank you as he leaves, really hoping he wasn't lying when he said he could cook. you can hear the opening of cabinets as he rummages through your stuff, looking for everything he needs.

a moment later, you call out to him again. "hey, xiao?" 

he stops what he's doing and the noises pause, perking up at the sound of his name. "yes?"

you smile softly. "please don't burn my house down."

[thewitchblue]

"I'm curious about something."

Jason asked you one snowy November. You turned away from your computer to face him with a fond smile on your face. You were working on a case for him by researching the deceased and locating their soul to speak to the victim. He approached you and leaned against the desk. You asked,

"What's up, buttercup? What's on your pretty mind?"

You noticed his hand trying to hold yours, but you turn ghostly to prevent him from touching you. You're a grim reaper, one of several scattered throughout different continents, and very dead. Hurt flashes in his eyes, but he asks as casually as possible,

"Is it true about the embrace of death?"

Well, that's a new thought you didn't expect to hear him ask. You blinked in confusion before answering vaguely,

"I'm a Reaper, pretty boy. Consider me one of the Valkyries from Norse mythology; I'm here to guide souls to their specific place. I don't embrace or kiss the souls. Their soul is often already floating around when I get there. That's why some people experience after-death moments with loved ones. Grandma's last kiss, a child holding their mother's hand, parents embracing their newly orphaned children, little things like that."

You weren't sure how to explain your job in a way that makes sense for the living, but you tried. Jason seemed unsatisfied by your answer, so you asked kindly,

"What did you really want to know, my love?"

He frowned at your ghostly hand. Is it really too much to want to touch his partner? He paused and said after a beat of silence,

"I... want to hold your hand and kiss you, but you always pull away. I want to know why."

You gave him a sad look and softly admit,

"I've never touched a living soul since my death. I'm worried what will happen to you if I did touch you."

He grumbled and offered his father as a sacrificial lamb to find out what happens, but you laughed and softly said,

"If you can stomach Bruce being the first man to ever touch me post-mortem, I'll touch him."

You knew that wouldn't be the case. He huffed and pouted, but softly admitted,

"I want to be the first man you ever touch since your death."

You look at him seriously for a moment. You know Jason would drop the topic if you told him no, but part of you wanted to say yes. You weren't sure if you wanted to let this go. You want to hold his hand on a cold winter day and kiss him thousands of times to make up for lost time.

With great hesitation, you touched Jason's arm. He was warm against your timid hand and so muscular. You slowly run your hands along his arms while watching him carefully. You waited to see if he was feeling anything negative. You weren't sure if you felt his life force leaving him or his pulse racing under your hand as you held his wrist in your fingers.

Jason shivered under your light touch. You were freezing cold, but he didn't feel any different than he felt before. You looked in awe that you could touch a living soul without consequences, and he was so smug.

He had a feeling it would be okay to touch you. He thought it was adorable that you wanted to protect him from your ghostly touch, nonetheless. He was only 87% sure he would have been fine. He didn't know if you could turn your power on-and-off like he hoped and now knew was possible.

You hadn't known people could be this warm. You've been dead for so long, you had forgotten. Souls are cold, so you're never warm.

You grin at him and immediate pull him into a kiss. You could kiss him! His soul isn't being pulled out of him! You were ecstatic. Once you started, you found you couldn't stop.

You gave him thousands of kisses as he chuckled. He's never seen you so happy. You held both his hands in your scarred ones.

Your soul shines in happiness, which makes him grin. He loves you and loves the confirmation you loved him, too. Your soul tells him everything you're feeling, and he's never seen you this happy. It's reassuring to see your love for him pulsing throughout your ghostly spirit. It's like you couldn't keep it in.

Your eyes lit up at the new revolution. You were bursting with love and adoration. You tell him as you held his face in your hands,

"These hands are forever yours. You're going to be stuck with me now onwards."

He laughed at the serious tone and kissed your hands with a grin on his face. The lights in your apartment flicker in response to your happiness, but you can't help it. Your powers charge and pulse when you get emotional.

You murmur as you caress his face in your hands,

"I love you."

You run your fingers through his hair while he buries his face in your neck and wraps his arms around you.

"I know, pipsqueak."

He nips your neck playfully, partially surprised you let him. You kiss his forehead and draw him closer with your arms,

"Good. You deserve to know."

[junedenim]

wrap my head around it all

a whole new thing

warnings: it's just fluff

word count: 3k

You're eating a bagel. He's drinking a cup of coffee. There's an ache that's been relieved. It feels this way whenever he comes home and he's been home for a month now but he still feels just how good this is, looking across at you as you scarf down a bagel so quickly he fears you'll choke.

"It isn't going anywhere." He chuckles at his own joke. He's ashamed of himself, you don't have to tell him.

And you know that. You wipe your hands on a napkin and throw your head back with a groan. "I'm so hungry."

He grins. "Do you want me to get you another one?"

You hum in thought, taking your time like you're concentrating on solving world hunger. Then, you sigh, your shoulders slumping as your hands return to what remains of your bagel. "No. I'll spoil lunch."

He chuckles and rests his head in the palm of his left hand. His gaze is soft and relaxed, focused on you. "I hate to break it to you but we're way past noon. That is your lunch."

You whine and rub the cream cheese off the corners of your mouth. "Fine. Then, I'm spoiling dinner. How would your parents like it if I didn't eat anything?"

He laughs at your worry and picks up his cup of coffee, dragging a sip from it. "I think they'll understand. Plus, I highly doubt you won't be hungry by dinner time."

Your shoulders slump as you chew the remains of your bagel. "I know, it's dreadful. This constant state of hunger I've been forced into."

"We all appreciate it," Alex assures, hiding his amusement from your frustration. "At least you're not retching every 20 minutes."

You lean back in your chair and drop the dirty napkin with the rest of your bagel's trash. "Small favours, huh?"

"Do you want me to get you another one?" Alex offers again. His attentiveness to you has only grown through the years. Perhaps, now, it's at an all-time high. But he likes being able to take care of you. It's the least he can do.

You shake your head. "No, I'd like to walk around a little now." It's cold, windy, and slightly raining. People are rushing into the cafe from the cold, but you want to walk around in it. He supposes there is where you lose him but he'll tighten his coat, put on a hat, and slip on some gloves if it's what you want. Besides, if it'll stop you complaining about how hot the cafe is then he can't complain.

He fixes the askew hat on your head and opens the door for you. As you two walk down the street, he places his hands in his pockets, forming a loop of his arms. You slip your arm through it, tugging him close, brushing your side up against his. "It's going to rain all week," Alex comments on the weather patterns.

"I like it when it rains." You are smiling through the gloom. In that smile, there's a lifetime of love and it is so strange that it feels so normal for him to feel this way. It was never a gradual thing. It was sudden the first time you talked to one another and he felt that he could reach out to you and you would never push him away. Silver lining is cheesy but all that tension he builds throughout his life is somehow relieved in the glimmer of your teeth.

The mundanity is the craziest. Everything felt like it had to be a big show of things. He had to slick back his hair and play make-believe in every moment but now, it's a sigh of relief. To come home to someone—to come home to you and not have to play pretend anymore. To roll out of bed and not have to decide who to play today, instead, decide where to go for breakfast.

Maybe it's getting older, but he thinks it lies in learning the importance of caring for someone else. He always has with his friends and family and past girlfriends but there's something different here. It's him relinquishing himself to that, allowing you to look after him. To wake up and find you've made coffee or come home and find you've bought him a new shirt. It's simple. Doing the laundry, cooking dinner, grocery shopping. It's so dull but in fact the greatest thing ever. That feeling has only grown as of late.

"Where are we walking to?" He asks.

You shrug and look over at him. "I don't know. We could...window shop or...," you think, tapping your finger on your chin, "go to the park or—"

"In the rain?" He questions, an eyebrow raised.

You smile and lean closer to him. Something you know gets him all twisted up around your finger, and you are willing to do anything you decide. "Why not?"

"Because I don't want to," he reasons, but the grin is already playing on his lips and light chuckles ripple through him as your lips grow closer and closer until you're hovering over his.

"Fine," you decide, shocking him.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'm cold," you declare. You cuddle closer to him all pouty. It's the way you've been as of late whether the cold of winter or your hormones. "Let's go baby shopping."

"Baby shopping?"

"Yeah, we haven't really done it yet and we could look for cute itty bitty baby clothes," you reason.

The baby is new. Or rather the pregnancy. It's the reason for dinner with his parents. It wasn't planned but it wasn't unplanned. You'd been together for years, married for two, and, well, you, him, and baby makes three. 

You found out a couple of weeks ago. It's changed things for him with the whole caring thing. He's always cared, obviously, but now he finds himself interested in every little aspect of the pregnancy. He'd never thought he'd be that guy who reads the books and talks to your stomach (which you don't know about, he's too embarrassed to do it while you're awake), but things change and he'd never thought he'd be a father but here he is walking into a baby clothing store to buy clothes for his—well, your—baby. 

He still hasn't processed the whole "baby" part of things. He knows there will be a baby but he can't yet imagine having the baby. You being pregnant doesn't even quite feel real yet. You're barely showing and he only feels it might be real when he talks to it. That feels weird to call it it. But he's tried calling it he or she but that's a mouthful. You don't like him calling it it so he started calling it names. 

First, it was normal. "Mary," "John," "Elizabeth," "James," but you didn't like that either because the baby didn't have a name. The baby hasn't even developed that part of them yet. So, he calls it "tot," "bug," "pumpkin," and his personal favorite, "the fetus." You're not sure why but he makes him laugh. Maybe it's the boyish part of him that still thinks boobies are the coolest thing ever.

"Should we really buy clothes if we don't know the gender yet?" He asks as you search through the girlish items.

"A baby isn't modeling for the cover of Vogue. We just need to find an outfit to take the baby home in. A hat and a onesie." You pick up a cute pink one with little pink bows printed across it. "Look how cute and small this one is."

"What if it's a boy?"

You roll your eyes. "Real men wear pink, you know that better than anyone."

He chuckles. "Touché."

You point the onesie back and state, "Besides, we're probably going to have a girl anyway. My family is filled with girls."

"Well, my family has guys," Alex points out.

"What? You?" You laugh at him. "Yes, statistically your parents did have 100% guys."

"Shut up," he mutters as he comes closer and lands a kiss on you. There are the moments that count, that are embedded and embossed deep into his mind. They are small but mighty. It's right up there with shopping for a new shower curtain. It's stupid but it's real. Arguing over whether it should be flowers or ducks (he really wanted the ducks for some reason). You compromised with polka dots, not that that part matters much. It was more doing it with you. He doesn't know why other than it's fun and he loves you. 

You move further down the aisle, looking through bees, princesses, and truck designs. "The baby will be born in August. What screams August to you?"

"Sweat," he replies.

"Be serious," you urge him, your eyes staring strongly at him. He can feel the pupil blaze through him like a laser.

"I am," he says, "I think of sweating, the heat, sun."

"Aw," you coo as a smile grows on your lips. "Cute little suns and if we have a son then it'll be like son and sun. Get it?"

He smiles down at you, struggling to process all of this. "Yeah, I get it." A son, a daughter, a child. It knocks him off his feet. He gets hit with these waves. It's nerves but it's also excitement. The idea that a baby will be in that small onesie. A part of him will be in the world, running off, getting into nonsense. He has a few years until that. Hopefully, he'll catch up by then.

You buy the onesie with suns on it and leave after that. There will be plenty of time to spend plenty more money at the store but for now, you head to the bookstore next door. It's small with aching floors and dusty shelves. You're just trying to kill time until dinner and this seems like a good place to start.

You drag him by hand to the children's book section because despite it being another few years until the baby can read, but you like the idea of reading to the baby every night, even if they can't understand a word of what you're saying. Between Madeline and The Giving Tree, you say, "You know, these are the last couple of months of our lives, it'll be just the two of us."

He picks up Curious George, distracting himself by looking through the pictures. "You say that like you want me to panic."

"No," you assure him, placing your hands on his shoulder, giving them a squeeze. "This is such a special time in our lives. We'll never experience something like this again. Shopping for our baby, nervous, scared, anxious, happy, excited. And I get to do it all with you."

He shakes his head and puts Curious George back on the shelf, turning to you. "You really have a gift."

"What?" You ask eagerly.

Alex takes your hands off his shoulders and squeezes them. "Nothing. You just always know how to make me feel better."

"I know it's hard for you to believe but it goes both ways. I'm panicking too, you know? I have to push a whole human being out of me."

"I know. How selfish am I to be the one who's scared."

"No. It's perfectly reasonable. It's a life-changing thing that'll cry, poop, pee, and spit all over you. I guess, I just take comfort in knowing I have you to hold my hand."

He takes a deep breath and tries to let the stress go. "You're going make me cry next to Harold and the Purple Crayon."

"Well, this is my way of guilting you into changing all the diapers so it works out pretty good."

Alex then gets carried away by a Batman Lego set and despite the knowledge that it can't be anywhere near a child until it's no longer a choking hazard. Perhaps, it's more for Alex than the baby. He doesn't get it because he doesn't want to carry it around for the rest of the day but he's not saying he won't come back for it.

You leave with Harold and the Purple Crayon for memory's sake. The rain has stopped but the wind is still cold and the pavement is soaked wet with puddles. You huddle close together once again.

Alex asks, "Are you cool with the whole giving birth thing?"

You laugh at him. "I don't have much of a choice. Why? Do you want to try?"

"If I could, I would."

"No, you wouldn't, but I appreciate the sentiment. Besides, it's kind of cool. A special thing that only I get to experience. I mean, the thing is growing in me, that's crazy but cool."

"Yeah, the tot is a part of you."

You hum. "I want french fries."

He smiles. "Okay. I could go for a burger."

Fast food being on every corner does have its conveniences. McDonald's is warm, separating you from the world's chill. "My mother had short labours. How long was your mother in labour for?"

"I don't know. You can ask her at dinner."

"I'm definitely getting an epidural. I don't care if it slows the process down. You know I'm in pain from just a headache. I wouldn't survive natural labour."

"Good thing for modern medicine."

"If it was the 1800s you could just give me a bunch of morphine and knock me out."

"I'll tell them to have some ready for you."

You sit in a booth that is mildly sticky but he'll ignore it if it'll ease your feet. He bought the large fries with the intention of it being shared between the two of you but instead, you take it for yourself. He enjoys his burger.

"We should have gotten a Happy Meal," you joke, dipping the fry into the ketchup pile. 

He smiles because despite being freaked out 99% of the time, the 1%—the idea of doing things like this, buying a Happy Meal for his kid—outweighs it all. "Yeah, would've gotten a cool toy too."

"Well, as long as you eat your apple slices." You smile up at him and he blushes. He's been with you for so long and yet he still gets flushed under your gaze, lost in your eyes, falling in love over and over again. It's cheesy and cliche, but that doesn't make it untrue.

He steals a fry away and asks, "What should we name the tot?"

You shake your head. "No clue. Is it weird that that is what terrifies me the most?"

"No, they're going to carry it around with them for their whole life. It's the first major life decision we’ll make for them. Well, after, you know, making them."

You giggle at him with a mouthful of fries. "Yeah. If it's a boy should we name it after you?"

"God no." There doesn't need to be another Alex Turner in the world. That would make things far too confusing.

"What about for a middle name?"

"Nah, the kid is already getting my last name."

"Should we go away? Like a babymoon or whatever it's called?" You ask.

"Sure, if it's anything like our honeymoon." You went to Bora Bora. You didn't see much of Bora Bora. It was your hotel and the water pretty much of which Alex insisted on giving an equal show of things, which you'd be mildly embarrassed by if you weren't so turned on by it. Besides, you came back with no tan lines.

"Shut up," you wish upon him.

He laughs because he really is just a teenage boy who still finds sex to be funny. But it's a lovely sight to see with the crinkle by his eyes and the smile lines forming. You always like him like this. He can be moody and pensive a lot of the time. When he laughs, it feels like he fully lets go, if only for a moment. 

"Where would we go?" He asks.

"A cottage in the woods or something. I don't know. I might be too pregnant to fly by the time we do it."

"You're going to be so cute with a belly."

"Please don't turn into some pregnancy fetishist, Alex," you warn him.

And, no, he won't be going up to pregnant women on the street and asking to touch their bellies but there is something inherently attractive about you being pregnant. It's probably some biological design.

"I can't help it if I want to fuck you."

"Alex!" You scold looking around the McDonald's in shame. Much wilder things have been said in places like this but you still turn red whenever he gets suggestive, especially in this vulgar way like some need has overtaken him and he needs to have you right now. Like he'll take you on the red paint-chipped table. 

He chuckles and bites into his burger. So nonchalant in every way like nothing affects him. It's easy for him to be casual about these things. He's pretty sure a corner of his brain is thinking about things like that all the time. He's pretty sure he thinks of your boobs every night before bed and wakes up thinking about your ass. Again, he's pretty sure it's that inherent biological man thing.

"In a couple of months, you'll be so pumped full of hormones you'll want me to fuck you in the bathroom of this place."

You reach across the table and start smacking him but he just laughs more and more, getting a real kick of this. "Will you shut up?" Truthfully, you kind of want to go jump his bones now.

*

a/n: sigh, just a little something for now. trying to write more but my finals have been a bitch. but winter break is soon...

[icarusredwings]

Baby Eveyln small update

Tw: Mentions of miscarriage, child loss, voices, mental illness, argueing.

Logan is starting to get worried. A little too worried. Some of the things he is saying make far too much sense, the way he holds the baby, becoming way too serious to be simply coping. If anything, Evelyn was making him cope less, forcing him to spend most of his time with her, taking her to the park, taking her to the store, and even to work. It was getting to the point where Eve was "crying" during class and began to freak out some of the students.

"..but.. Mr. Wade.. she's a toy."

"She's crying!"

The silence was loud to them, but not to Wade, who was now on paid suspension for two weeks to try to settle his mental state but now Wade couldn't even sleep without the doll. He didn't laugh as much anymore. He didn't take many merc jobs anymore. Hell- he didn't want to take any jobs at the moment, even bringing up the idea of being a stay at home dad. This, of course caused an argument.

"Wade, you cant be a stay at home dad if we don't have any kids! If you want to take a break thats fine, but you can't use her as an excuse, shes... shes plastic, honey. You need to realize that. Shes not real. You are making the crying on your own."

"I'm not! An-and she IS crying!"

"All she does is cry apprently! It's not healthy, Wade. Something is wrong!"

"She laughs too! S-she giggles at me! It's real! I-i can hear it!" He cries, still holding the doll in his arms, yelling back like a tired mother in a Drama who just found out her husband was cheating.

"If you don't want to be part of this family.. t-Then don't! Leave us alone! Go! She dosn't need a father like you anyway!" He screams, wearing nothing but his silk nightie robe and a pair of boxers... storming off into their room.

Slamming the door..

So, It leads him to consult an expert in Wade's manic depressive episodes. Vanessa. Wade mentioned them both taking parenting classes to see if they were ready for a kid but the way Wade was describing it... there may have already been one.. Infact that's why he called her here.

At first, he pitter pattered around the subject. Lightly implying, and then beat around the bush, beating the bush finally when she ignored the question, acting as if she hadn't heard. Logan knew already by her avoidance, but he needed her to confirm. To be sure.

"Were you... ever pregnant?..while with Wade, I mean.." It's a whisper, in the corner of some run down diner. He had bought her a piece of strawberry short cake and a coffee in hopes to soften things over, he himself a coffee and buttered pancakes.

"What? No.. why would you think that?" She says, but looks away, quickly taking a drink of her coffee, looking longingly out the window.

"...Ness.."

She glances at him with such wide eyes, frowning. "What is it, Logan?"

"I won't tell him." He states, watching as she swallows, looking around before whispering.

"...It would destroy him."

That's what Logan thought. An internal sigh washed over him as he glances down at the table. "I know.. but with Eve-"

"That stupid babydoll he carries around to torture me with? What about her?" She grunts, by now her eyes teary, begining to look at the ceiling, clearly angry that she couldn't have what she wanted, and yet Wade could play with the doll.

Ooh... that made sense as to why Vanessa wouldn't play mommy and daddy with him. His brows crease upwards, head lowering as he looks at her with such sympathy. "Yeah....Why didn't you tell me? I can put her up when you visit.. so.. It's not as painful..."

"He can't know. No one can know. If he found out, he'd-" Her throat tightens, cutting off as she took a deep breath, now staring at him in his eyes, serious and biting her tounge.

"...Promise me."

"I won't tell him... I promise." Taking a napkin, he passed it to her. "I just.. I need to know what's going on so I can get him help. By helping me, you're helping him." He whispers, letting things sit like that for a while, silently starting to eat his food, waiting patiantly.

Finally, Vanessa took a breath. "Don't let this be for nothing.."

"I won't...Do you know if anyone else could possibly-"

Vanessa gave him a glare. One that said 'Ive been engaged to this bastard for 10 years and you think he has a kid with someone else?'

So Logan nodded. "Got it."

But now this leads Logan to wonder... Did Wade deserve to know? It was his kid afterall...

[sknnyvanilla]

The Chic Diet by kit olsen

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Diets

The Baby Food Diet

Ohmigod, tell me more, right? Enter: the Baby Food Diet.

You don't have to chew anything since the blender did that for you. Portion control won't be an issue either since all of the stores carry single-servings with really low calorie counts. And, like, I guess that babies need clean and well-rounded food or something because, like, all of the ingredients are things that you've heard before and are actually good for you. It's like a juice fast, but with a little more substance and a little less lawnmower drippings. But, like, waaay more affordable, so you can use all of the money that you save on some flavored Pedialyte, which is really just like a zero-calorie coconut water.

Plus, thanks to all of the crazy and demanding yoga mommies decked out in Lululemon with their obscenely expensive strollers, Whole Foods has really upped their game in the baby food aisle. There's seriously a flavour for whatever type of mood that you might be in so don't even worry about the lack of variety. It's like chic girl heaven. Make sure you get there early though, so you won't have to fight with the colicky toddler in the Missoni Bugaboo over the last "zucchini banana & amaranth."

Ella's Kitchen and Plum Organics are good for your basic blends of fruits and vegetables, but I swear that the marketing team at Earth's Best was targeting chic/orthorexic adults when naming their product lines. "Antioxidant Blends?" "Super Fruits?" "Gourmet Meals and Seasonal Harvest?" Um, yea, okay. Like 6 month olds care about that kind of shit.

So, apparently, Tracy Anderson (bless her heart) suggests that one should consume 14 jars per day. Um, no. It's not like we're headed into famine or something. A couple of jars or pouches should suffice and, even then, you should be watching your carb intake. That means NO all-fruit blends, you fat fuck. Make sure to pick vegetable-heavy varieties, though those can be sugarific also. I mean, even "spinach + apple + rutabagas" has 8 grams of carbs after adjusting for fibre. Ugh. Who knew that babies were such sugar whores? It's just, like, really unfair for all of the other customers who are trying to watch their figures.

Take a good look at Abbey Lee Kershaw and Hedi Slimane. See their jutting cheekbones and bulging eyeballs? Yours can totally be like that too, so long as you're willing to adhere to the uber cutesy diet that these two effortlessly chic Skeletors have been known to follow.

Now, everyone that knows that digestion isn't very glamorous. The act of mastication is, in itself, so very vulgar, and then that nasty bolus of caloric horror settles into your distended stomach, stirring up a whirlwind of has and discomfort as it waits for hours to be broken down. After that harrowing process, a trillion fat globules get sent directly to your upper arms and inner thighs. And then, well, you know... something really un-chic happens in le toilette.

But what if you could bypass all of that unpleasantry and just follow a really adorable diet that consists of only a few hundred calories a day? And, like, your stomach will stay flat since it's not filled with festering kale and noxious fumes.

The Air Diet

Every wannabe Carrie Bradshaw (or Charlotte York if you're really annoying) yearns to achieve maximal chicness with minimal effort. And nobody can do posh like the French, right? Even their diets ooze superior elegance that we ugly Americans could only aspire to attain.

Like, take the Air Diet, or L'Air Fooding as French Grazia dubbed it. God, even the name is so chic, I DIE. So anyway, you basically pretend to eat whatever the hell you want, without actually allowing it touch your lips. Naysayers and physicians will be like, "Ohmigod, that's called anorexia!", but, um, no. Anorexia is what my roommate, Sydney, has, and she won't even go near food without having a twitching episode. This is, like, a lot healthier psychologically.

I mean, I totally get it. Everyone knows that enjoying food is an experience and this diet allows you to immerse yourself in the whole process until the actual eating part. But you still get to order your meal, pay for it, cut it up, smell the aromas, and Instagram pictures of your drool-worthy plate. You just don't absorb all of the calories and fat associated with ingesting the actual food. It's like you're a chic French diet mime who traded eating for the right to talk. Ooh, maybe you can buy a really cute. A.P.C. striped shirt to go with your performance. So authentic.

It's not like you don't eat at all, either. You still get to binge on all of the la soupe a l'eau (translation: chic soup with an uber pretentious name) that you want. Oh, you want to know what's in it> Um, I had the recipe right here. Hold on. Oh, here it is. Boiled water and sea salt. Hm. But sea salt has, like, a lot of minerals in it, right? How nutritious.

So, yea. It seems like the majority of my friends have been on this diet for a really long time. Like even before that issue came out. What trendsetters. I mean, it's a great way for cutting calories, you know? As a bonus, it's not even restrictive! Like, you can help yourself to all of the fancily named soup and air that you want. And, like, a variety of air at that. Just stroll through the perfume section at Barney's or traipse through Le Labo when you're feeling bored with the plain, bourgeoisie oxygen around you. And if you're feeling especially ravenous (um, binge eating disorder, anyone?) you can practice some yoga breathing. It's like dietary meditation. Kay, now Ocean Breath, everyone.

The Paleo Diet

While cavemen might not have been very fashion-forward, they apparently knew how to be skinny motherfuckers. The Museum of Natural History really needs to slim down the mannequins in the exhibit to reflect this don't you think? So inaccurate. Anyway, this hunter-gatherer-centric diet is very simple in that it has one rule- only eat shit that Betty Flinstone would have prepared.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with history, this means that Kettle Chips and peanut butter are no-goes. Anything processed, such as Lean Cuisines, or foods that require relatively modern technology to produce, such as grains, are not allowed. Neither are dairy products, refined sugars, legumes, potatoes, processed oils or alcohol. Yup, even alcohol. No, they did not have "Stone Age" vodka or sugar-free "Bedrock" Red Bull back then. Yes, I am positive.

Anyway, you're basically allowed to have wild seafood, organic eggs, grass-fed game, vegetables, fruits and some nuts. The idea behind this style of eating is that humans, as a species, have not greatly evolved since the era of our cave dwelling ancestors. That is, our digestive systems are largely genetically similar to those of dinosaurs and are still not fully adapted to the vast changes in diet that have occurred since the dawn of the agricultural age. Simply put, we're not that great at digesting the majority of the shit foods that line supermarket shelves today. Yes, even the shelves at Whole Foods.

By following the palaeolithic diet, however, we would be providing our bodies with ideal foods to which our digestive systems are genetically adapted, When we are better able to process and absorb nutrients from these easily digested foods, we would be more capable of achieving optimal health.

But who really cares about primal strength and surly shit like that? Not me or any of my friends, despite the fact that everyone I know has "gone Paleo." What we love about this diet is the amount of control and restriction that it provides the user. You can basically reject most foods so long as you can come up with some inane reason as to why. "I'm only channeling cavewomen who lived in the Northern Hemisphere, and I don't think those were native to that region," you can say with a dismissive sniff as you swat away a platter of seasonal stone fruit. Um, apricots have a lot of carbs, didn't you know?

Plus, the diet itself is just really trendy. It's like the new Dukan Diet, which was originally the new Atkins, which was basically the new Cabbage Soup Diet. You'll probably be consuming the same meals that you normally are, but can now affix the hip label of "Paleo" to your dietary habits. But don't do that shit where you put goat's milk butter in your coffee or inhale bushels of avocados in one sitting- no=carb calories are still calories, after all.

The Ridiculously Low Carb Diet

In the world of the chic, all of the inhabitants are consumed with keeping their carb intakes as close to zero as humanly possible. Throw any generic food product at a chic girl and she can spit back its estimated carbohydrate content in mere seconds. And, as if she were a neurologist treating childhood epilepsy, she knows the ins and outs of the ketogenic diet like the back of her Rodin Crema slathered hand.

Though she may have no idea what mitosis is, or how photosynthesis works, ant legitimate chic girl could pass a PhD-level Nutrition exam with flying colours. "In order to get into a state of ketosis, you need to deplete the glycogen stores in your liver and muscles before even tapping into your fat energy sources. To do that, you have to keep your net carbohydrate intake below 25 grams a day," she will prattle off expertly, though she may not even have the faintest idea what she is actually talking about.

Basically, she knows that the lower your carbohydrate intake, the more fat you will end up burning. Thus, being the borderline-psychotic overachiever that she is, she will set an upper limit of approximately 5 grams of net carbohydrates per day for herself.

Plus, carbs are totes unnecessary. No one has ever looked cute while gorging on a slice of pizza or inhaling a burrito. But nibbling on a piece of asparagus or noshing on a sliver of pecorino is just adorbs. They're like low glycaemic pieces de resistance that compliment your Zac Posen cocktail dress. Bread used to be the official food of peasants, just so you know.

"I only eat foods that are green or white," were the first words that my soon-to be-future roommate, Lauren, ever muttered to me. No mention of her name, age or hometown- nothing. That's how seriously a true chic girl take her carbohydrate consumption- it defines who she is.

"What do you mean?" I had asked innocently like a clueless martian. Mind you, I still wore leggings and thought Greek Yogurt parfaits were healthy at the time. (I know, I know- don't judge me.)

Lauren, bless her heart, had then taken me under her wing, expertly gu8iding me into my current status of perpetual ketosis. We basically subsist on kale, spinach, avocado, egg whites, cheese, white fish and chicken breasts. And what can I say? I'm obsessed. The far just melted off like butter (which is totally allowed, by the way.) Like, I never want to belong to any other metabolic state of mind. It's just so simple, and everyone's doing it. I mean, just saunter into a Fashion Week after party and it'll reek of Chanel Chance and ketones. So chic.

So you can go the high fat route a la Atkins, or limit your fat consumption in the way of Dukan practitioners. Either way, you'll lose the flab and be super taut. But you can never go wrong with the Green and White Diet, the secret weapon of fashionistas in the know. And, while trends may come and go, there is one combination that will always be in style- ketosis breath and look of death. #Chic

The Strategic Starvation Diet

"You just don't eat for, like 18 hours a day," the chic girl will explain when concerned friends inquire about her new stringent diet du jour. "But you totally get to have balanced meals for the other 6! It was on the news. They tested it on mice and they, like, totally lived longer. Ew."

Intermittent fasting is like a godsend for the chic. Apparently, it's actually really healthy and has a bunch of scientific studies published to back it up. Not that the chic girl will ever read them, of course. But if positive results actually exist, then there's actually something to validate her cray.

I mean, what kind of diet condones extended periods of starvation? It's as if this way of eating was made up specifically with the chic bitches in mind. Not to mention that i's supposedly uber effective! Like, in clinical trials, researchers found that overweight participants how utilized intermittent fasting lost way more fat than those who ate the same meals spread throughout the day. I knew that whole "6 mini meals a day" adage was total bullshit!

Of course, the chic girl is just an extreme case of human, so she'll narrow her eating window to 2 hours or so. Some deranged bitches may even aim for 20 minutes! Talk about efficiency.

There's an even wackier version of this method that's been named the "Bulletproof Diet," whatever that means. Basically, you drink black coffee with butter or coconut oil stirred in so that you don't get hungry while in your fasted state. Um, that sounds like a lot of unnecessary calories. And chic girls don't get plagued with hunger- we like to refer to it as "getting of track.: Lile, seriously? Drinking butter> That's not even real fasting. People have no willpower nowadays.

Supporters of this way of eating suggest that people snack on healthy foods during their feeding periods, like bananas and apples. Um, bananas are super starchy. And apples? Did you know that apples don't actually have much nutritional value> The only real benefit that comes form apples is from pectin, which will help to regulate digestion. but since chic girls already consume astronomical amounts of fibre, they won't be receiving many benefits from munching on apples. They can totally get their Vitamin C from elsewhere. Ohmigod, you're learning, like, so much from me. This might as well be a textbook!

I suggest that you nibble on a piece of cheese or some veggies during your allotted eating time. That way, you can totally maximize ketosis and burn as much fat as fucking possible. I mean, Emily Blunt's character in The Devil Wears Prada totally knew what she was doing. She was just way ahead of her time. Like, don't you want to be one stomach fu away from sample size too?

The Raw Food Diet

This one's for the extremists, of which there are many in the upper echelons of the chic. Basically, you stick to a diet of uncooked veggies all day long, with the occasional piece of fruit thrown in. As expected, these bitches are skinny as fuck and look great in just about anything. They also absorb, like, maximal nutrients and have beautiful skin and hair. Plus, they get to lecture and judge others all day long about the importance of enzymes and whatnot. These skinny twigs can also consume bushels of allowed foods and still keep their daily calorie counts in the hundreds. Totes ideal, if you can stomach it, I mean. But have you ever tried raw broccoli or mushrooms? Ew.

If you've lost all sensory input from your taste buds, as can happen when on frightening amount of amphetamines, this is the perfect lifestyle for you. You can be like a super svelte panda bear and nosh on stalks of celery or fistfuls of curly kale all day. You'll lose heaps of weight and will have a spotless digestive tract, I'm sure. Just be proactive about taking, like, 15 Beano with each meal. Gas isn't cute, even if it's being caused by adorable produce like grape tomatoes and baby carrots.

Some people will get all technical and allow themselves to have sashimi, but staunch raw foodists will shake their heads at this practice. I don't see what's wrong with it, especially since sushi is, like, so yum. Anyway, soaked nuts and sprouted seeds are allowed, but make sure to watch how much you eat. They're still packed with calories and, this, aren't totally conducive to rapid fat obliteration.

People on the raw food diet love to chirp about mental clarity and feelings of euphoria, but I think that they're just really happy because they can slip into Gareth Pugh leather leggings without putting up a struggle. I highly doubt that weeping into bowls of raw radicchio and consuming bland vegetables dressed in the salt of my tears would make me feel vibrant and more alive. I mean, I would be completely ecstatic about sticking to a strict diet of copper pennies and shards of glass if it, too, left me with a 3-inch thigh cap. But to each her own, I suppose.

It's also well known that a lot of working models are technically raw foodies since they basically just consume cauliflower smoothies and piles of wilted spinach. No wonder they always look so sad. But have you seen their hip bones? Um, yea.

So I totally just ordered a raw organic vegan Kale Dulse Salad and a cold-pressed coffee from Seamless. They better fucking hurry before all the nutrients break down. Ooh, do you think calories can break down over time too? Let's hope so. Enzymes, here I come!

The One Food Diet

Basically, anyone who lacks even a smidgen of self-control should consider this dietary tactic. It allows no leeway for excuses or exceptions so long as you follow just one simple rule: consume only one type of food.

When you define vague dietary rules, such as allowing low-carb or liquid items, you'll find that the hungry fatass within will convince herself that certain foods fit the guidelines. I mean, butterscotch pot de creme is technically liquid, right? And an entire stick of butter covered in guacamole is totes low-carb. Inhaling, like, three bowls of blood orange sorbet doesn't constitute cheating on a raw food diet, either...

Stop. Just stop. You obvi have issues with following rules, oh voracious one. Technicalities are just fancy excuses for the dietarily inept, and one shouldn't be allowed to make risky, body composition-altering decisions when starving and delirious. So do as the OCD-inflicted waifs do and pick one food with which to thoroughly familiarize yourself to the point of disgust for the next two weeks.

You won't have to waste time obsessing over meal planning or calculating nutritional contents. It's basically like putting your diet on auto-pilot ass you graze on your one allowed food in a fat-shedding haze. Honestly, yo can pick whatever you want, since you'll likely get sick of it as time goes on. Like, did you know that Uma Thurman once went on an ice cream diet? She lost 25 pounds over a six-week period. On ice cream. ON ICE CREAM.

Now, I don't suggest that you pick the congealed, sweetened mucus of dairy cows as your food of choice, as that' s just, like, not really a good starting point. Pick something like tomatoes, or green apples, or avocados, Bananas and grapes work also, but do keep in mind that they are quite high in sugar. My personal choices are either eggs or grapefruit with Splenda. Whatever you choose, make sure to stick with it. That's all there is to it.

Some proponents believe that partaking in the consumption of only one type of food allows your body to become more efficient at digesting and metabolizing it, but I'm not sure. I mean, I guess it makes sense. But who really gives a fuck about all of that health-boosting mumbo jumbo? The real reason that this diet is so attractive and effective is because it helps to teach you a lesson in discipline and restraint. By sticking to this diet for just a short while, you'll see that you're more than capable of controlling yourself when it comes to impulsive food-related decisions.

It's like dietary therapy, but without having to visit an overpriced psychiatrist who just nods along and asks you obvious questions about how you feel about that time you ate a lobster roll. Um, I feel like shit, okay? You didn't need to remind me. That's why I'm allowing myself zucchini slices for the next month, duh.

The Two Cup Diet

Did you know that your stomach is only the size of your fist? So why are you stuffing it until you can't breathe? Um, I don't care if you're a firm believer in Volumetrics- that method only works if you're feasting on organic iceberg lettuce and sparkling water.

Now, getting a bariatric surgery done costs roughly $30,000. Trust me, I went to go get an estimate. The doctor was actually really rude and scoffed at me during the consultation, which I really took offense to. He was all, "Um, you know that this is for, like, clinically obese people, right?" So I was like, "Er, yea. It's called preventative medicine, natch." And then he, like, totally rolled his eyes at me and said in a condescending tone, "You obvi don't qualify for the procedure, especially since your BMI totes falls into the underweight category. Sorrz." I'm not an expert in medical law or anything, but I think that's called discrimination. Horrible bedside manner, not to mention illegal, no? I really need to call my dad's attorney about this.

Anyway, my friend, Melissa, found a totally cheap alternative to getting your stomach stapled until it's the size of a walnut. She learned it from a group of 14 year old Latvian models that she shared a room with during Milan Fashion Week. You basically take two tiny Dixie cups and fill them with whatever food you might please, though preferably of the low-calorie, low-carb and low-fat variety. Then you can enjoy your mini feast without worrying about portion control. It takes the stomach roughly four hours to empty, so you can set an alarm on your iPhone for four hour intervals to remind you of when you're allowed to have another two cups. Um, genius, right? And who said that teenaged models needed to stay in school to have good heads on their shoulders?

Don't abuse this system by using the red plastic cups of beer pong infamy, though. You're not an obese retired frat boy living it up in Murray Hill. By Dixie cups, I'm referring to the uber cutesy 3 oz. waxed paper ones that are meant for gargling in the bathroom. If you want to take it to the next level, you can also use tiny utensils, like oyster forks, to slow down your consumption and increase satiety. There w as this one girl that I interned with who carried around a tiny Tiffany & Co. silver baby spoon with her everywhere. Totally crazy, yet totally chic. Did I mention that she weighed, like, 85 pounds?

So who cares if you look like an unhinged betch for scarfing down tiny bites of wild mushroom fricassee from a mouthwash-delivery vessel using a toddler's fork? You'll be laughing all the way past the antiseptic-scented waiting room of a really rude weight loss surgeon's shabbily decorated Upper East Side clinic while your critics slowly begin to qualify for Lap-band installation. Um, who said that preventative medicine had to cost a year's worth of college tu8ition? People with no self-control, obvi.

The HCG Diet

Only a batshit cray person would willingly stab herself repeatedly while wincing and bellowing in pain, right? Um, yes, but that mentally unstable waif wielding the 25 gauge needle sure is tiny. Enter the HCG Diet, a regimen in which one is required to inject oneself with a variety of vitamins and hormones while subsisting on a maximum of 500 calories per day. HCG, or Human Chorionic Gonadotrophin, is basically a hormone produced by pregnant women soo after conception for... I don't know. The guy who came up with the idea to implement it in a weight loss regimen said that it suppresses your appetite and helps with fat loss, or whatever. Anyway its use as a weight loss agent is, like, really frowned upon by the FDA, which everyone knows must mean that it totally works. Like, remember ephedra? And phentermine? Uh, yea.

It's really easy. You basically follow an ultra low-calorie, low-carbohydrate, low fat, high-protein diet (uh, don't we regardless?) and give yourself daily injections of Vitamin B-12 and HCG in your hips and thighs, respectively. A physician or medical professional has to hand then over, so expect to pay a pretty penny (or 60 thousand) for a three-week program. If you're feeling super ambitious, you can also drag the whole thing our for six weeks!

Everyone will be like, "Er, of course you're losing weight. You're only eating 500 calories each day!" Ohmigod, really? Thanks for the news flash. I totally didn't know that. Um, of course anyone will lose weight on a 500-calorie diet, you observant twats. But who (other than an anorexic ballerina) actually has the discipline to stick to those numbers? Uh, a really chic girl who just blew one week's pay on dietary heroin, that's who.

So even if HCG isn't actually clinically proven to assist with fat loss or appetite suppression, who really cares? Even if you had spent hundreds of dollars on sterile syringes filled with Flinstones vitamins diluted in Diet Sprite, you would still have an obligation to stick to the accompanying regimen. I';s called financial responsibility, people!

But, oh Chic One, how come we can't just use the homeopathic drops that they sell on Amazon? I don't want to hurt myself, you say. I really don't like needles, you cry out. Um, in case you haven't been paying attention, there's a concept called "No Pain, A Lotta Gain." And it's just, like, totes legit? I mean, just because you rub to botulism toxin all over your skin doesn't mean that you're going to do skit about your crow's feet or laugh lines. You're just going to have a really dirty face. But inject some Botox all up in those crevices? Um, hello Bruce Jenner!

Besides, didn't you know that "homeopathic" is just Latin for "faker than a Canal Street Kurakami Multicolore Monogram Speedy 25?" Ew.

The Cabbage Soup Diet

"I lost, like, 10 pounds in 3 days," the chic girl will announce with widened eyes to all of her entranced comrades. "I didn't even know that I had that much to lose!"

Going on the cabbage soup diet is akin to complaining about having to fly home for the holidays or binge drinking over Memorial Day Weekend- it's just ingrained in American culture. Eating disordered betches of yore have passed this timeless diet on from generation to generation and, as unglamorous as it may be, it still prevails as a magic bullet of sorts to this day. So when you need to get skinny stat, show a little patriotic spirit and boil up a giant vat of cabbage and under-seasoned water. Your tummy won't thank you, but your thigh gap sure will.

You can binge if you'd like, but I'm sure you won't want to. The soup isn't particularly enthralling to the taste buds, but the parboiled vegetables will help to satisfy the vacuous pit that is your empty stomach. And, even if you stuff yourself senseless with the tasteless broth, you'll still probably only consume a couple of hundred calories a day. Just don't try to stand up too quickly, or you might just faint from chic overload!

Some variations of the diet allow other foods, such as bananas and meat, but you really shouldn't stray from tradition. Like, what would your ancestors say? They would likely shake their pin curls in disappointment.

The basic recipe calls for cabbage (duh), celery, mushrooms, tomatoes, peppers, onions, carrots, pre-made bullion cubes and your seasonings of choice. Sounds super yum, right? Um, this is when you're supposed to nod and be like, "Ohmigod, delish."

Anyway, I wouldn't bother adding onions or carrots since they're uber starchy. I just don't want you to get kicked out of ketosis, you know? Come to think of it, throw those tomatoes out too. That bouillon just seems totes unnecessary also. Okay, so our soup will basically consist of mineral water and cabbage, I suppose. But now we're, like, totally doing the One Food Diet, too. And Paleo! And, like, this is uber vegan-friendly. Gawd, talk about multi-tasking.

The "I can't see it!" Diet

If you're a fixture on the fashion industry's party circuit, you are well aware of the au courant set's penchant for microscopic portions of distinguishingly decadent food, I mean, what exactly is the purpose of serving miniature cupcakes? Is this a test? Like, what's with the tiny sandwiches and cheeseburgers? Is the bread just there to keep your fingers clean? And someone please explain to me the obsession with canapes and fried puffs. All I see are fat and carbs sharing real estate on a tray smothered in grease and shame. It's actually really confusing yet insulting yet intriguing yet tempting yet cute yet revolting, all at the same time.

Am I supposed to eat it? I think I am. I mean, these kind caterers have already done all of the hard work and cut everything into tiny, guilt-free smidgens. And how terrible could everything be when the portion sizes are so adorable? That grilled truffle oil-infused gruyere sandwich can't be so bad for me, right? It's only, like, half the size of my Amex card. And that microscopic scone? It's the size of a quarter! Having one doesn't make me irresponsible.

Wait a minute. Ohmigod, are people watching? Do I look poor and desperate? How come no one else is eating? Should I not be eating either? I think I just saw that blogger pop a tiny piece of fried macaroni and cheese into his mouth. Or did he? I repeat, is this a test?

There is a reason that all of the offering at such glamorous parties are bite-sized enigmas of congealed cheese and bacon grease. They're your cheat treats! Enjoying a few tiny morsels of forbidden food is totes acceptable, so long as you don't carry around a plate laden with them. As a reward for all of the other 364 days a year that you deny yourself of such scrumptious evils, you are allowed this one window of glorious opportunity to indulge in two or, daresay, three pieces of wanton abandon.

Oh, but the fashion crowd is a clever one. While each itty-bitty hors d'ouevre might seem relatively innocuous, it is still a miniature recreation of something that you would never be caught dead eating in front of Anna Wintour. Thus, you must wolf it down as surreptitiously as possible while still keeping your composure. And in that is where the genius lies.

After committing such a deplorable act as inhaling a mini brownie in three seconds flat while crouched down behind a crowd of fashion photographers, you are overcome with remorse and shame. What has come of you? Have you no self-control? It wasn't even worth it! That's it- no more food for the rest of the night! Then you will ration out a mini green juice for the rest of the evening in hopes that it will at least help to dilute your transgressions.

Do you see what just happened? You got your junk food fix, yet your calorie count for the day will be kept low by the guilt that overwhelms you. If you're lucky, the remorse will spill over into the next day. Maybe even the rest pf the week! D you know what just happened? It's called psychology.

The I'm-fucking-rich-and-glamourous Diet

For the impossibly chic girl, it's raining oysters, sashimi and tartare every night, with a guarantee of accompanying champagne showers. She loves to order seafood towers for the table and is obsessed with rhubarb mignonette. "I'm basically on a raw food diet, as you know," she will explain to her friends as she persuades them into doing a $300 caviar tasting. "Just a really fancy one."

Or is black & blue filet mignon considered raw? Whatever. The chic girl loves her steak, especially if it's of the Kobe Wagyu variety. She'll do lobster or butterfish or even sea bream, but forgoes salmon because it's "so 2011." "I only do lox when I have Eggs Norwegian at Balthazar," she will say with a sniff as she pursues limited menus with disdain. "And I'm talking about Paris Balthazar, not the one on Spring."

She is like a culinary hipster in the sense that she basically shuns anything that wouldn't be available to the general public at Food Emporium. Um, farro risotto? With fucking kale? You better back away slowly before she scratches your face in frustration. How dare you offer her that. She doesn't do proletarian foods; didn't you know?

Basically, she will turn up her perfectly rhinoplasty job at the foods of mere mortals, rolling her eyes if someone suggests going out for pizza and snarling in disgust at the mention of gourmet burgers. "I tried a cheeseburger for the first time whilst on holiday in London last year," she will say as she lets out a harrowing sigh. "It was the worst experience of my entire life."

"Cava is not champagne!" she will vehemently cry out, snatching the menu away from the basic bitch who had the audacity to suggest it in her presence. "And oysters from New Jersey? Get the fuck out of my face."

This emaciated diva loves herself a good tasting menu, even if it consists of, like, 18 courses. But haven't you noticed how all of the nicer restaurants, like Per Se and Daniel, are basically just never-ending parades of microscopic low-carb morsels? Obvi the people in the kitchen get the picture! And as for dessert, this lavish betch never partakes- she's just so full, you know?

So be it foie grais brulee, organic rabbit rillettes or diver scallop carpaccio, this extravagant girl knows how to execute the zero-carb diet in style. And while other chic ladies around town may have to sacrifice pricey food in favour of fashion, this is never an issue for this rich bitch (or, perhaps, her sugar daddy). For the girl on the FRaG Diet, compromise is never an option.

[kaiseamr]

"S-so good..."

virgin! Luffy X afab! Reader ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─── ! ! MDNI ! !

'Twas a regular day on the sunny... The sound of the waves, the crew talking, everyone doing their normal routines. You were enjoying a mouth watering margarita made my Sanji and reading a book while breathing in the fresh air. Then your captain, Luffy uses his devil fruit to stretch his way towards you. "Hey! Whacha reading!" He giggles. "Oh it's just a book about a murder mystery." You put the drink down and give your full attention to Luffy. "Hmm... Sounds boring you should come with me!" He blushes, but just a tad. "You feeling ok Luffy?" You put your hand on his head. "You look a little red, you feeling sick?" Luffy quickly shakes his head. "N-no! I'm fine... Even if I wasn't I would go straight to Chopper!" He looks away trying to avoid your eyes. "I know but you can tell me..." You frown and look concerned. "Listen, I just feel weird! I don't know what's happening with me but I keep feeling something, and it happens every time I'm near you! It's like you're poisoning me!" Luffy shouts. You're a bit startled by his sudden outburst but quickly calm yourself down. "Luffy... What are you feeling." "I don't know... My heart is beating fast, I'm sweating. And I feel like my pants are shrinking!" He looks at you shyly. "O-ok... Uhm. I don't think that's normal, and what do you mean your pants are shrin-..." You look down a bit. "Oh... Luffy don't worry forget what I said about this not being normal. This is actually quite common. I just can't believe you don't know..." You get a little flustered. "What do you mean?" He looks confused and puts his hands on his hips. You get up and take his arm and walk to a room. "Where are we going?!" He yells at you. "Hey this isn't funny..." He pouts. You bring him to your room. "Luffy I need you to tell me you 100% want help." I look at him seriously. "Yes! I do want help." He folds his arms. You move him to your bed and make him sit down, you pull down his pants and his underwear, he's already hard, extremely hard. "W-woah! That's my private!" He looks flustered. "I'm gonna help you Luffy..." He bites his lip when you touch his cock. You hear a little whimper escape from his lips, you just lose it and start stroking his cock. "A- Aaahh~... That feels weird but good!" He moans out. You wrap your lips around his cock and tease his tip. "God! S-so good... You tongue feels so good!" He tangles his fingers in you hair and tugs. He immediately comes, you can't blame him though. This might be his first time. Suddenly his grabs you and lays you down on the bed. He quickly pulls off your clothes. "L-Luffy! What are you doing!" You blush and moan. But he doesn't answer, he just smashes his lips on your lips. The kiss is very sloppy but he doesn't care, he just wants to get all his frustration out. He moves one hand to your breast and squishes it. You moan in his moan and he understood that what he was doing made you feel good. He moves the hand that was kneading your breast your cunt. He doesn't know how to touch you because he's only touched himself before so he takes off you panties and pulls away from the kiss. You both are panting. "Luffy... Please." He's not even listening to you anymore he just wants you, he needs to be inside of you. He lines up with your hole and thrusts in. How did he know what to do? Maybe it's like second nature because he's a guy? You thought. But you can barley think when a dick is going in and out of you so you just moan and whimper for more. You only onto his neck. "Please Luffy! It's so good, feels so good!" You scream into his shoulder. "Yeah? God the way you squeeze around me!" He moans into your ear, its like you just vacuumed his voice into your brain. He begins to move faster and harder. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Yeah I'm done 😭

[kolyasangel]

A LIGHT NOT FAR AWAY FROM US

synopsis: it's a restless night for both you and nikolai, which makes room for late night talks—maybe the two of you have more in common than initially thought.

content: ch. 5 of icarus falls - main navi / wc: 8.1k

Restlessness is not what you thought would accompany you tonight.

The sound of your bedsheets rustling was becoming increasingly tiresome at this point. It feels like the hundredth time that you are shifting to the opposite side, hoping that, this time, it would be the more comfortable spot—though you're sure you already have your answer.

You don't usually have trouble sleeping at night, but something unseen is bothering you, like an invisible force compelling you to stay awake.

Frustrated by your futile attempts to fall asleep, you reluctantly leave the warmth and comfort of your bed, dragging your feet on the wooden floor as you head to your front door to seek solace in the calming night air. You put your slippers on and open the door, expecting an empty balcony at this hour—only to see a certain someone already standing on the balcony with his arms folded on the railing, gazing into the distance, looking at nothing in particular.

"Nikolai?"

Startled, Nikolai turns to face you with a flicker of surprise in his tired eyes.

"I'm sorry for spooking you," you say, the corners of your lips turning upwards at his reaction. "What are you doing up so late?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he replies with nonchalance.

Taking in Nikolai's exhausted appearance and red eyes, it becomes evident to you that maybe he was also struggling to sleep.

"I couldn't sleep for some reason, so I just wanted some fresh air," you explain to him, moving closer to stand beside him on the balcony, mirroring his stance and resting your hands on the railing like he's doing.

He seems taken aback at your response as if he didn't expect that to come out of your mouth. "I couldn't sleep either."

It's like your presence is making Nikolai feel on edge, evident from how he isn't facing you and the tight grip of his hands on the railing. Wanting him to ease up, you place a gentle hand on his back. “Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah! Don't worry about me," he reassures with a laugh, finally meeting your eyes.

There was a magnetic pull, the way his eyes locked onto you and your appearance. It's hard for him to tear his gaze away like usual when his eyes trail and notice how you look this flawless, even when you're just wearing a simple loose t-shirt and pajama pants. He loathes that even for a second he liked seeing you like this, your bare-faced look with tousled hair.

Stop it.

He scolds himself internally and forcefully turns his head the other way, realizing it's too risky to keep staring.

You pull your hand away from his back, returning to rest on the railing when Nikolai shifts away from your touch. "Don't you love the smell of summer night air? There's just something about it that's unique and refreshing," you say, looking at him. "I guess it isn't really summer anymore though.. since fall is practically here. The weather changes so quickly, don't you think?"

He nods and remains silent but listens as you continue to speak aimlessly, your voice filling the void.

"It's still summer in my heart, though," you add, a grin forming on your lips as you run your fingers through your hair to smooth it a little. "I find it hard to decide what my favorite season is. As much as I adore summer, sometimes the heat gets to me and I can't wait for winter to start. Every season is charming and unique in its own way, so I can't pick one over the other."

A soft, almost wistful smile forms on Nikolai's lips while he listens to you sharing your thoughts. "I like winter," he confides. "I personally think it's the best season."

"Oh, I never would've guessed that!" you laugh with surprise at his unexpected response, your hands retreating close to your chest again in delight. "Do you like the cold?"

He nods almost immediately. "It's familiar to me. Where I'm from, it's always cold, so winter feels especially comforting."

A grin pulls at your lips with his choice to concede. It encourages you to go on. "Now I can't wait for winter to arrive, just so I can see the pure joy on your face."

Your remark elicits a laugh from Nikolai, a sound that quickens your heartbeat and brings a subtle warmth to grow in your cheeks. It felt like a rare chance to talk to Nikolai like this, so you made the most of it with what you could. These infrequent moments of connection were precious to you, and you wanted to seize every one of them and hold them close.

"Maybe we can go ice skating when winter comes around," you propose to him impulsively, heart racing with spontaneity. "I've always wanted to learn how to ice skate."

"And what makes you think I know how to skate?" he retorts, a teasing edge to his voice. Yet, there’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, his expression softening a bit at your suggestion, momentarily replaced by one of intrigue instead.

"I just.. thought it would be fun if we could try it together, that's all." you giggle, warmth blooming in your chest at the mere thought.

"Yeah, thought you would say that," he slyly says before his gaze returns to the starry night sky.

Your eyes follow his. "Aren't they pretty?" you ask him, referring to the stars that twinkle like tiny beacons in the dark, tilting your head in fascination.

His attention shifts from the sky to his own hands in front of him, which rest on the balcony railing. "Yeah.. whatever," he shrugs with disinterest.

A thought pops into your head, nearly making you laugh out loud. "Do you think wishing on stars makes dreams come true?"

"Are you kidding? Of course, they don't. Maybe if you're five," he responds, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I was just curious to see what you would say," you giggle lightheartedly at his skeptical reply. "It doesn't hurt to hope though, right?"

That couldn't be more false.

He thinks you must be blissfully unaware of the double-edged sword that is hope. The emotional investment, the attachment that is linked with hope—they all contribute to and amplify the hurt and heartache of unfulfillment that follows. It's a painful reality he's already come to face, though he supposes you wouldn't know anything about that.

"What's your biggest wish?" Nikolai asks you, deterring the current topic.

You ponder for a moment before answering, reflecting on his question in the stillness of the night. "To be wanted.. no, needed. To have someone in my life who understands and loves me unconditionally," you reply, looking at him with a smile. "I think we can agree that everyone wants that, right?"

Nikolai nods half-heartedly as he absorbs your words, more so as a tepid response rather than an earnest sharing of sentiment.

"What's yours?" you ask him.

"What's my what?" he shoots back at you, confused by your question.

"Your biggest wish?" you pout jokingly. "I told you mine, so tell me yours!"

"Oh," he sighs, slightly overwhelmed by your encouragement and the playful spark in your eyes. He felt as if he'd been detached from society for years and didn't know how to interact or talk to people like a normal person anymore.

Actually, he isn't sure if that's ever been easy for him anyway.

"I don't have one."

Your lips press together at his response as disappointment flits across your face. But you change the topic, feeling as if he'd appreciate that. "Nikolai, I saw this park nearby on my drive back from work today.. and I think it would give us a great view of the stars," your voice turns quieter with nervous anticipation as the next words leave you. "Do you want to come with me?"

Nikolai shakes his head.

He doesn't really feel like going anywhere right now, not with you especially. So when he hears shuffling beside him and sees you stepping back inside your apartment, a lightweight sigh of relief escapes him as he realizes that you probably went back to sleep.

But a few minutes later, he hears your door creak and open again. He sees you emerge, changed out of your previous sleepwear.

"Where are you going?" he asks you, confused. A sense of curiousness swims in the depths of his light-colored irises, shadowed by a hint of something deeper.

"I want to go myself," you respond to him, your voice growing fainter with each step you take toward the stairs.

Panic.

"Are you crazy? It's not safe for you to be out alone this late at night," his voice turns stern with no care for the other sleeping neighbors as he watches you walk further down the steps, half-expecting that you will turn back at any second.

Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes piled into a mountain of dread that turned more unclimbable as time continued to pass. It was uncomfortable—the sensation of a certain unease that claws at his chest the longer he waits. Yet amid this feeling, an opportunity opened up for him. He realizes that if anything were to happen to you, it would no longer be of his concern—it wouldn't be his problem anymore, and he would be free of the burden that has begun to weigh so heavily on him.

But just as quickly as that surfaces, another hits him like a cold wave—you aren't coming back. A sort of alarm washes over him, so in a sudden rush, he hurriedly heads back into his own apartment to put on his shoes. He feels the roughness of the soles beneath his fingertips before he frantically pulls on a jacket, snatching up his keys and wallet just in case as an afterthought.

"Fuck.." His frustration was clear as he made it down the stairs, the irritation manifesting in the furrowed lines above his brows and the tense clench of his fists. He didn't have to follow you, but if he didn't, that didn't feel right either—the idea of letting you go out alone gnawing at his conscience.

He wants to be strong and unyielding, to resist the pull of his feelings and the impulses that guide him as an insurgence to rid the soul of its hell. But it's as if his heart and mind are engaged in a relentless tug-of-war, each vying for control over his actions and decisions. His want to stand firm and resolute seemed futile when his own emotions betrayed him at every turn, leaving him feeling ambivalent and astray from his own self.

He reluctantly follows you, scuffling with internal clashing desires, torn between the urge to resist and the unknown fervor brewing within him.

Like a moth disoriented by a flame, he follows.

— ✦

The moon embellishes the dark velvet sky with nothing but the rhythmic tapping sound of footsteps against the pavement echoing in the air, a slight breeze caressing your face as you stroll.

"I didn't tell you to come, you know," you turn to Nikolai who is now walking beside you, accompanying your walk with his hands buried in the pockets of his black jacket.

Honestly, you were thankful for his sudden change of heart and that you hadn't made it that far before he caught up to you. You were glad that he had decided to join you in the end because even if you didn't want to admit it, you didn't want to venture out alone in the first place.

"I didn't think you would actually go out by yourself." A low grumble comes from next to you, breaking the peaceful quiet.

You bit the inside of your cheek at his words, teeth bitterly pressed down to stifle a reaction and hold back a response, even if you weren't completely sure of how you would respond to that either.

So what if you did? Why did it matter to him if you went alone?

It made little sense to you. You couldn't understand why he would be irritated over this when he made the decision to follow you himself, a swirling mix of frustration and confusion brewing within you at the thought. It feels like no matter what you do, you are blamed for only doing what you want to do. He was under no obligation to accompany you. Yet, you still think he was kind for doing so anyway, even if it feels tainted by the unspoken tension.

Most of the walk was spent in silence, which surprisingly suited you just fine this time. Silence as in no words were being spoken, only the sound of the dead fiery-colored leaves that had started to fall from the trees crunching beneath your feet.

However, the silence did bother someone else.

It didn't go unnoticed to Nikolai that the look on your face was the same one from earlier in the day. It didn't go unnoticed that this silence was just like before, and he didn't understand why it bothered him despite it being a good thing for him. If you don't speak to him, he doesn't have to listen to you rambling nonstop. If you don't speak to him, he doesn't have to go through hell and back trying to decide whether or not he should respond to you or not. All of these are good things that he should want.

But he can't focus on anything when that same feeling of suffocation arises within his chest again, and it drives him to do something about it quickly to alleviate it.

The two of you came to a stop by a vending machine, its bright light casting a glow that illuminates both of your faces in the darkness.

"Do you want anything?" Nikolai asks you while he's reaching to pull out his wallet from his pocket.

You get closer to the vending machine and peer at all the drink options offered, a strawberry fizzy drink catching your eye. "This one please," you request as you point towards the glass.

He inserts a bill into the machine, the acceptor buzzing as it eats his money. He then pushes a button for the strawberry drink you chose, along with a melon cream soda.  

You smile to yourself when you notice his choice of drink. You don't know why, but you find his drink options cute. He could pick something like coffee or something bland, but he seems to prefer sweeter flavors.

Nikolai collected both of the drinks once they fell, handing you yours before continuing to walk along beside you. But he notices how you look at the can in your hands instead of cracking it open like he does.

“What’s wrong?” he asks before bringing his drink to his lips.  

“I feel bad,” you confess to him.

“Why?”

“Because you bought this for me, and I want to pay you back somehow..”

He doesn’t understand how you could feel guilty over such a simple thing. And he couldn’t decide whether it was admirable or pathetic either, though he was leaning towards the latter.

He is just confused. You always manage to find a new way to confuse or shock him, and he found it amusing above all. It wasn't like he hadn't ever felt guilty about money either, although for very different reasons. But he couldn't be concerned about something so insignificant anymore when there was a bigger issue at hand, standing right next to him.

“You don’t need to feel bad, just drink it. I already bought it for you, ‘kay?” he reassures you, an uncertain look swimming in his eyes.

A smile crept onto your lips.

It felt like a gift.

— ✦

"Guess what kind of flower this is!" your cheery voice fills the air.

"Let me take a wild guess. A white one?" Nikolai's monotone voice responds as a contrast while you're eagerly pointing to a bloom you happened to come across.

"No! Well, you're not wrong.."

Nikolai's arms are crossed while you're fascinated by the flowers that decorate the bushes. He finds it amusing that you can be so interested in something so ordinary, so trivial.

"You like flowers a lot," he states, his observation unable to stay confined in his mind, almost wanting you to say something to satiate his hidden curiosity.

"I like to care for and look after things that are delicate, that need me. It gives me a purpose," you turn to look at him as you both start walking again. "I find that whenever you have a purpose, life is more bearable."

If he was being honest with himself, Nikolai is at a loss for words. You seem so put together and have everything set in stone compared to him. You seemed to have achieved everything you wanted in life without grueling difficulty compared to him. You seem to have everything so easy compared to him.

You seem content. He wishes he could be the same.

He envies you.

The glow of the lamp lights illuminates the bench in the middle where you both return to, each footstep echoing softly in the quiet air before the two of you sit down, across from each other.

"When did you start working at that flower shop anyway?" Nikolai asks you with genuine curiosity before taking a sip of his drink, feeling a slight chill from the cold metal against his lips.

It probably wasn't a good idea to drink something this late at night, especially something sweet. But the drink wasn't as sugary as he expected it would be. Moreover, he was already awake anyway, so he found little to no harm in doing so.

And besides, this was certainly one way to kill some time.

"Only a year ago," you answer. "I was really unhappy about where I was in life but I ended up finishing my degree and graduating anyway, only to end up where I am now."

"Parents probably weren't pleased about that, I'm guessing?"

"Of course not, but why do anything at all if it doesn't make you happy?" you say, tapping your nails against the aluminum can.

Happiness.

Another putrid emotion. Why not choose freedom of the soul?

However, you seem much more open-minded compared to many other individuals he has ever met in his entire life. He had to wonder about something—if he were to enlighten you about his goals, would you accompany him on his journey? Would you understand him like he did?

No, nobody does. Nobody has before or since then, and nobody will.

He is a fool for even thinking so. But he had to admit, he was a bit astonished by your bold statement.

Extremely envious, even. Because you're stronger than him.

The words start to come out of his mouth, thinly-veiled. It didn't help that it was late either—his head getting fuzzier with each passing hour, the words flowing from his mouth with little inhibition.

"I think you're brave."

A subtle flush creeps up your cheeks, taken aback enough to stop your tapping when you hear the sudden words come out of Nikolai's mouth. "What?"

He freezes after seeing your reaction, a profound realization of what he just told you immediately settling in. It feels like time has paused for him—a moment suspended in disbelief at his own words, knowing it's too late to take anything back. There was no taking back what he had laid bare, no taking back the words that continued to come out of his mouth with no stop.

"For wanting to do your own thing, to follow your own path no matter what others around you say or think. That's a very brave thing to do, you know," Nikolai finishes off quietly, his gaze averted elsewhere as if searching for something else to direct his focus on.

Your voice is barely above a whisper as you let the sincerity of his compliment soak in. "Thank you," you shyly tell him while fiddling with your fingers before finally resting your hands in your lap. "That's the first time someone's ever told me that."

It’s impossible for him not to shift his gaze back to you as you speak softly, your voice mellow. "You weren't scared at all?" he asks you, resting his elbows on the table and crossing one of his arms over the other.

"I felt lonely, that's all," you admit in a voice more hushed, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you nervously gnaw at it.

You still do, but you didn't want to admit that to him out of shame. The humiliation that would come with doing so was something you feared, his reaction to the knowledge of it.

What would he think of you if you did?

Although recalling the events of earlier in the day, you think it's a little too late and even pointless to be worrying about that now. However, you still didn't have your answer, and you weren't sure of why you wanted it so badly either—why his opinion held so much weight.

Your eyes drift back to the star-studded sky above, which looks like a vast canvas painted with shimmering diamonds. But it's something you can't fully enjoy when a small chill creeps up on you, an elusive beauty dulled by a brisk breeze rustling the trees and passing by the both of you.

Nikolai notices you shiver. He knows you're cold.

But all he can do is grip the jacket on his frame and hold it closer to himself while looking down at the ground, where the earth seems more interesting than the unfolding situation.

He would not surrender to these feelings.

"You should tell me something about yourself too," you say with excitement bubbling in your voice to catch his attention again, but your gut signals you to back that sentence up with something else. “Only if you want to..” your words come out deliberately and carefully so as not to overstep boundaries that stretch between you.

Hesitance. Nikolai was practically hanging by a thread here.

What is he doing?

This was precarious. He should know better not to speak any further, to step further into this dangerous territory he knows he shouldn't explore. Still, he can't seem to stop himself like he normally would be able to when an unfamiliar urgency grips him to unravel his usual self-control.

"I do have one wish," he tells you, his fingers unconsciously curling around the now-empty can as if seeking comfort in its solidity, something he wishes he could possess in this moment.

Your eyes widen a bit in surprise, but you nod to let him know that you're listening, undoubtedly interested in whatever he is about to admit to you.

"Freedom."

Freedom.

The word rings in your mind. It was so simple, yet it seemed so ominous.

"Freedom..?" you repeat in a way that makes it seem like a question directed back at him.

A nod confirmed it once more. "To be free from any attachments, and everything that bounds me," he reveals.

Nikolai's sudden seriousness took you by surprise. He was never one to open up about his feelings or his past, but now he’s telling you something that seems to hold importance to him, so casually at that. Maybe the two of you have reached a new level of closeness.

You've wondered about Nikolai's guarded nature and hesitance to open up about his emotions before, more times than you would like to admit. However, you never thought it would be because of such an unpredictable reason. His reluctance to share anything about himself with you could be a reflection of a deep-rooted apprehension due to this so-called freedom he was referring to. It's the earnestness with which Nikolai shares with you regarding his wish for freedom that alludes to something, but you try not to ponder on it for too long.

"Like a bird?" you ask when the thought flits across your mind like one.

He looks up at you, almost confused that you caught onto him so quickly. A hint of admiration imbues his tone as he begins to speak. "How did you know?"

"Cause birds fly freely, and that was the first thing that came to my mind when you mentioned freedom," you explain, a lilt in your voice.

"Yeah, that's precisely what I mean," he acknowledges and smiles, visibly content that you could comprehend it from his perspective.

"Aww, Nikolai, I know you so well!" you exclaim your happiness, catching the small glint in his eyes when you do so.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I didn't expect you to understand where I was coming from," he tells you, unable to control how the corners of his lips turn upward.

"Why wouldn't I?" you sulk playfully to feign offense, causing a giggle to escape from Nikolai.

Nikolai shakes his head like he isn't sure how to respond. This whole thing was definitely a change of pace for him. Someone attempting to understand the way he thinks wasn't only rare—it was something completely unexpected.

"When did you first know that you wanted freedom?"

He feels his throat tighten at your question as if the words resisted escaping. In truth, Nikolai was far too young to be thinking of such things. But it wasn't like he had a choice given his circumstances at the time.

"At a young age," he replies regardless, his voice tinged with an unshakeable uneasiness as each syllable spills out like a reluctant confession.

What does he mean?

You had no choice but to contemplate why he felt so strongly for freedom since a young age, as he had just admitted to you. You were forced to wonder what blossoms such a strong desire in the first place.

How long has Nikolai been fighting for freedom? What exactly lies beneath his calm face?

More and more questions swirl in your thoughts, each one tugging at your curiosity and swelling an urge to understand him more deeply, to sift through his layers.

"But.. don't you think it's difficult for a bird to fly if it's been confined in a cage its whole life?" you ask gently, an ache growing in your chest at the thought of him dealing with hardships.

He feels as if everything around him crumbles when your words reach him, leaving him unsteady. "What are you trying to say?" he replies, a steely bite sneaking into his voice.

"The bird only knows what it's been surrounded by its whole life," you explain further. "You're striving to reach freedom, but what will you do when you get it? What if it's not what you had hoped for?"

In a heartbeat, Nikolai is speechless, his expression a mixture of different emotions. Your words cut deep, carving into the layers of his mind through his convictions and inscribing new ideas into it that he'd never entertained, unfurling deftly and intertwining with the beliefs he had cultivated for so long.

How dare you.

How dare you force him to rethink everything he's ever known.

To him, your innocent appearance was such an intense contrast to how effortlessly you could rake your fingers through layers of defense he'd hardened over the years, cutting into a wound that he doesn't think will ever heal. You look at him like you're peeling back each layer one by one, exposing the tears underneath that aren't meant to be seen by anyone other than himself.

He's convinced someone or something has sent you here to him to contest everything he stands for.

He doesn't know what it is, but he's afraid.

He felt like he was being cornered while clinging onto his idea of freedom, no matter how small he felt with your question that was like a dagger to his soul. Yet by feeling this way, he was only prolonging his stay like a bird stuck in its cage, the sharp, cold metal confining him inside with no release in sight.

The lack of response from Nikolai signals that maybe you said something you shouldn't have, your hands falling to grip the sides of your thighs in anxiousness. But rather than him being irritated like you expected, you notice that he only looks sad. Noticing this makes you feel so bad because it wasn't your intention to make him feel upset.

"So, you wish to be free from everything.. does that include your emotions too?" you ask, intrigued to know more and to ease some tension that started to cloud over.

"Exactly," he affirms, humming in agreement. "The mind is a cage. You'll never be truly free as long as your emotions tie you down and keep you captive," his tone softens while his eyes are still avoiding you.

A certain dread suddenly fills you, sensing something unsettling lying beneath the depth of his words.

"I guess so.." you respond, trying to understand it from his perspective for something he clearly cares a lot about. "Sometimes I wish my emotions didn't control me so much either.. I wish I didn't have to feel hurt or pain or anything like that," you breathe out, releasing a soft sigh to collect your thoughts while also making sure not to spill too much. "It's hard, isn't it?"

His head shoots back up, eyes widening as they meet your face as you continue to speak.

"But I think it's all right to feel like that occasionally because we're only human. It's natural to feel emotions and I shouldn't push myself too hard to resist against that." Your gaze trails over to him, observing the subtle shift in his demeanor.

Nikolai is still looking at you, his expression changing to one of astonishment at your words and the fact that you didn't judge him at all for what he deemed important. He wasn't sure that you could fully understand him or the complexities of what he felt. However, the absence of such judgment in regard to his goals and the thoughtful attempts you're making to try to understand him is what strikes him most, as it's something he doesn't think he's ever encountered to such an extent before in his life. Instead, you embrace the very facets of his existence, ones that he doesn't even bother to explore much himself.

You lock eyes with him, allowing you to notice a sparkle flickering in the depths of his trembling irises that you haven't seen before. Maybe it's the faint shimmer of the stars reflecting into them, or perhaps it was something else—it doesn't matter, because either way, his eyes have never looked prettier as you found yourself unable to look away from him like a pull is holding you in place. The way shadows dance across his features only accentuates the sharp lines of his jaw and the softness in his usually intense eyes, giving him an aura of fragile strength. There was something deeply evocative about his stunned expression, a depth that pulled at your heartstrings—a raw honesty that takes your breath away for a second.

It felt like you said something that changed his whole rhythm.

You don't know what comes over you, but you're so overwhelmed by an inexplicable urge that the words tumble from your lips before you can stop them, soft and earnest.

"I like your eyes.."

Thump.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Nikolai's mind begins to whirl. It's hard to ignore the heat crawling up his neck and the erratic pulsing of his heartbeat, each thud echoing in his ears as the weight of your words settles around him. The moment hangs heavy as you're disrupting fragile boundaries, unknowingly pulling at the strings of something he'd carefully constructed for his own protection. He tears his eyes away to rest his head on his arms, which are folded over each other on the bench, giving zero mind to the discomfort of the metal. He couldn't be bothered by it when it granted him a reprieve from whatever you just stirred in him, taking the chance to escape the intensity of your gaze.

God, why did he have to be so fucking pathetic?

As if his former jester persona hadn't tattered him completely, he'd soon quickly donned a mask of a different type, one more draining than he could've ever imagined being. This facade of pretending to be unbothered and emotionless was one very different from the eccentric one he'd taken on years ago—an exhausting never-ending performance that lasted years.

But he's tired. He couldn't take it anymore, so he abandoned the former.

It was so easy to wear a mask of laughter then, easier in comparison to the one he was wearing now. How such a thing was possible was beyond him, but the difficulty of maintaining his present condition only rose when you appeared in the picture. Now, standing on the precipice of something real with you, the confusion and conflict only sharply twist deeper within him like a knife. 

What would it mean to let you in?

That thought terrifies him.

Fear grips him tightly—fear of vulnerability, fear of disappointment, fear of losing himself as his sanity as he knows it is slipping through his fingers like sand. 

Being around you only fed into such things, as well as the anger that came after the realization of it. It was a matter of time before he'd regret his actions again. He really does try to control his resentment, but his patience is wearing thin. He'd already unraveled too much that day he spent with you, and he wasn't going to unravel anymore. For obvious reasons, of course—but there was one that flits into his mind and out just as quickly, the ache in his chest persisting.

“Nikolai?” you ask, your voice breaking into his turbulent thoughts.

But he doesn't raise his head even after you speak up.

It alarms you, your lips rubbing together in nervousness due to this troubling situation you're put in. You decide to take matters into your own hands and channel some bravery—bravery you didn't even know you possessed yourself until tonight.

His words ring in your mind again, louder than the initial time.

You rise on your feet and walk over to his side, taking a seat next to him while also keeping in mind to not get too close to bother him. His braid fell over his back in such a way you considered far too perfect to be candid, far too perfect for someone who was struggling with sleeplessness. You had to take a second to admire him—and maybe it was wrong to do so while he seemed troubled, but you couldn't help yourself.

Your hand moved on its own, fingers sliding against the cold metal of the table. "Nikolai," you begin softly. "We can go back now.." Your hand reaches to his shoulder, gently kneading it with heedfulness.

One could mistake the caution instilled in your movements as fear, but that couldn't be further from the truth. You weren't scared of him, not at all. Your main focus was to keep the atmosphere light, to maintain what you had right now—fearful that anything you did could push him away at any moment, leaving you to face the silence in your life that felt all too heavy. You didn't want to upset your friend in any way. That was truly the last thing you could ever want.

"No.." he groans softly and shifts away from your touch.

"Hm? You don't want to?" your rubbing comes to a halt, just barely feeling the material of his jacket underneath your fingertips. You try to avoid touching his hair since you don't think he would welcome such closeness, but with a subtle movement from Nikolai, his braid falls and brushes against the backside of your hand, sending a shudder to course through you from its silkiness.

He lifts his head slightly, immediately prompting you to move away from him so he can have the space he most likely wants. You're very aware of the need to respect his boundaries and space, but when he looked so distressed you couldn't help but want to comfort him and soothe whatever was troubling him.

Nikolai's eyes are still avoiding you, looking in the opposite direction as he feels your hand move away from him. It wasn't your touch that he was so bothered by, but rather the feeling he gets when you do so and the ache that lingered in the absence of it. Not to mention, the words that came out of your mouth were dangerous. It's like you knew where it hurt the most and purposefully pushed his buttons, intentionally pressing those raw, aching spots of vulnerability. Yet, beneath the surface of that impression he wanted to believe, he was painfully aware that couldn't be farther from the truth.

He recalls the events of earlier in the day, those gentle, unintentional touches shared between you both that kindled something in him. The way you looked at him while he was in your apartment, the playful banter and laughter shared. The way you treated him with so much kindness despite him not doing anything for you. In a weird way, it felt like a dirty secret—one that not even he was supposed to have knowledge of.

"Are you okay?" you ask again, feeling concerned for him.

"Of course I am," he fleers as if it was ridiculous that you were even asking him such a question. He presses his lips together and relaxes his eyebrows, returning to his usual, placid expression. He slowly gets up from the table, slipping a hand in his pocket to feel for his keys.

You're momentarily a little startled by the sheer strength revealed to you when he takes both empty cans and crushes them with no trouble before tossing them in a trash can near the bench.

"Come on, let's go," he tells you before walking back in the direction of the apartment complex, pretending as if nothing ever happened.

Maybe it was for the better.

— ✦

1:54 a.m.

Your phone makes a click noise as you turn it off after checking the time, the brief glow of the screen diminishing in the darkness.

The walk back home was silent too, for the most part, momentarily broken by crispy leaves falling apart as the earthy scent of decay pervades the air.

"We should do this more often.." you smile at Nikolai who's walking a little ahead now. But he doesn't turn to look at you, the silence wrapping around the both of you like a blanket. The unresponsiveness makes you turn your head down, eyes drifting downward to look at the ground you're walking on instead. They trace the uneven pavement as you walk, examining each crack and stone after another.

As Nikolai navigates each step, he can feel the subtle heat rising over him again. It seems to worsen whenever he tries to distance himsel—a smoldering intensity that gets hotter and hotter, threatening to swallow him. He glances back at you, your figure slightly blurred by the fog of his unease. Each time he meets your gaze, it's as if you ignite something within him, a flicker of vulnerability he desperately tries to douse out. The last thing he wants is to be burned by whatever he's feeling right now—it's a flame that could easily turn to ash if he allowed it to grow.  

When you raise your head back up, you notice his gaze and quicken your pace to catch up with him so that you can walk side by side. You peek at him with a look of concern etched all over your face, a silent invitation for him to share what weighs on his mind.

“Stop, I'm fine,” he replies with an edge to his words, but even to his own ears, the words sound unconvincing and hollow. The reassurance falls flat, yet he presses on as if trying to not only convince just you, the uneasiness simmering just below the surface.  

Regret already started to settle in.

It was only now that he noticed there weren't many people out at this late at night, which gave him a strange sense of relief—that maybe you would've been alright by yourself. But, at the same time, he would've never known if he never came along either.

The image of you wandering alone in the darkness was one he couldn’t shake despite outwardly convincing you—and perhaps someone other than you—that he’s indifferent about the choices you decide to make. As much as he didn't want to admit it, each option felt equally as worse than the other and caused him to suffer a great deal, like a blade slicing into his skin no matter the direction he took. He feels trapped, resenting this reality where these new blooming desires collide with his autonomy.

As you both reach the apartment complex, he steadies himself. Just a little longer—he tells himself, to keep holding tight to that mask. He swallows hard, trying his best to suppress the intimidating heat slowly looming over him. He can’t afford to let himself get scorched. Not now, not again.  

Reaching the last step of the stairs, a hand slides into his jacket pocket to pull out his key to return to his apartment—something that needed to happen more than anything, but his fingers freeze in the process. Instead, he turns on his heel, drawn back to the balcony rather than his own door.

He can't help but sense someone's gaze fixated on him, confirming his suspicion when he turns his head to see you looking at him.

"What?" he asks you, his voice caught somewhere between the lines of curiosity and sensitivity.

"You're not going to bed?" you ask while following his movements as if tethered to him, reluctant to return to your apartment yourself.

He shakes his head as if he's not feeling tired. You, on the other hand, do feel weary, but you didn't want to leave him alone just yet.

"Nikolai.."

He listens as you begin to speak, your voice soft, your lashes fluttering like delicate wings. It's so difficult to ignore everything that he should, the ache in his chest growing sharper with your presence.

"Yeah?"

Even though the sun had already gone down long ago, he still felt its warmth right beside him. And with every passing moment, he feels drawn closer to that warmth, yet instinctively pulls away.

"Do you believe in fate?" you ask him, your voice carrying a sweet curiousness.

Fate? Why would you ask?

He isn't sure what he even believes in anymore.

He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know what to think, his head clouded and fuzzy in a haze, his stomach twisting with warmth. He only shakes his head as his eyes are still peering into yours before quickly glancing away. On second thought, perhaps it would be better to stay outside for a little longer until his thoughts turn void and senseless.

There wasn't anything stopping you from retreating to your apartment yourself right now, yet you felt determined to stand in this spot until the both of you went to sleep. The silence hung heavy, a comforting yet laden awkwardness in the air. You don't know what to do but to look at Nikolai in this moment while your fingers twirl the ends of your hair, wrapped up in the shared silence.  

"Go to sleep, I can tell you're tired," his voice slices through the silence, breaking your trance as you blink repeatedly to expel some heaviness weighing down on your eyelids.

"But what about you? You need some sleep too," you tell him, a fine thread of concern weaving through your words. It feels important to you to let him know that he's not alone in this exhaustion.

"I'll sleep in a little bit," he reassures you, standing still in his place.

You don't have much energy left to muster up a protest when drowsiness slowly starts to overtake your senses, causing you to yawn and rub one of your eyes. "Alright, alright.. whatever you say," you reply with a smile and reach over to pat his shoulder lightly, taking his word for it.

"Don't stay up too late, okay?" you chide, your finger moving to give his shoulder a little poke. When you tilt your head up to meet his eyes, he looks back at you with a bit of surprise at your touch. The innocence of the gesture feels like a shared secret, and a grin breaks across your face at his adorable reaction—so infectious that it makes his lips twitch slightly upward as well.

Whether or not he was naturally shy was a mystery to you as it was difficult to read him—but you found these moments where such behavior was present endearing nonetheless, beautiful even.

Nikolai turns around and watches as you walk to your apartment door, gulping when you turn to him and flash him one more coy smile that somehow sparkles in the dim light.

"I hope you get your wish soon, Nikolai. Goodnight."

His mind blanks for a moment, overwhelmed by his surroundings, by everything.

Too overwhelmed.

"Goodnight.." he returns a fragile smile to you and watches as you close the door, the creak of the wood failing to bring him some solace like he thought it would.

"I hope you get your wish soon."

He would've. That was if you hadn't made it a hell of a lot harder for him, dragging him back on this earth to be shackled another day. His longing to escape the ground from below, his refusal to be consumed by the intense heat of his emotions again—they've all become increasingly difficult to preserve with your mere presence. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to explain to you that you're the very hindrance to his path to freedom, the bane of his existence?

It wasn't as if he wasn't used to difficulty, though. No—that's something he's something he'd come to terms with a long time ago, to the fact that true freedom was never easily attained. But when the weight of such difficulty relentlessly pressed down upon him, he feels lost in the end. It feeds into hidden doubts, places in his mind where he doesn't want to wander.

Nikolai is nothing without his goal of freedom. Yet, tonight, you had torched a fear he dared to never confront—a paralyzing dread of inadequacy once the chains were removed.

What would it feel like? When would he know? What would he do?

Is freedom even real?

But amidst all this, the strange sense of security and comfort that also came with your presence was unforeseen. This mixture of emotions was something he couldn't quite solve, much like an intricate puzzle with pieces that refused to fit together. That overwhelming, unidentifiable ache for something unknown he's experienced in the past is slowly creeping back into his core, but it seems more intensified around you for some reason—something both thrilling and terrifying.

He's getting too comfortable. He needed to save himself before it was too late.

But it was as if he couldn't help but get closer. To be able to see your face and hear your voice again was something he'd never find himself to be relieved over. He's never felt more pathetic and weak in his life over this very fact. It's like he turns into someone else when you're near him, awakening a dormant part of him—someone he had tucked away many years ago. He feels like a child again when he's with you, lively and unguarded, free from the weight of his burdens. Yet, he wasn't. He was exceptionally far from that reality.

You're making things unbelievably worse for him.

He doesn't think he's been this miserable in a long time.

Since..

Since...

How difficult things have come to be since his whole world had twisted into something indiscernible, burdened by troubles that seemed insurmountable. He doesn't want to believe that the light will evade him again, leaving him clinging to nothing but empty promises.

If only there was a way to reach the light without the danger of getting burnt.

He tries to distance himself from that lingering heat, but he knows deep down that avoiding the fire won’t extinguish its glow. It’s there, alive and threatening, every time you look at him with those gentle, unassuming eyes. And despite his best efforts to maintain his composure, he knows the blaze will one day demand to be felt.

© kolyasangel 2024 - no reposts. do not copy, steal, or translate. reblogs are appreciated.

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Bad luck

Yandere!Jake Lockley x afab!reader

Cw/triggers: Darkfic, yandere themes, dark themes, failed escape attempt, mention of blood, Jake shot someone.

Summary: You tried escaping from your three captors, but it didn't end well.

A/n: Hmm, Marc is already pretty dark if he wants to be, but Jake? Good luck with him. He is the bad side of Marc and the brutal side of Steven.

The pouring rain on your skin gave you a head start with how dense and hard to see through it was. But to your bad luck, it was around 3 AM in the morning when you decided to make your run.

Your lungs were burning with how far you've ran through the rain already, your legs were about to give up from all the exhaustion.

Thankfully your spotted a car with its headlights on in the distance. The hope you felt gave you already exhausted body a little kick, you knocked impatiently on the drivers window, catching the man off guard as he rolled down the window.

"Hey are you okay?"

"Please just get me away from here!" you pleaded, looking back over your shoulder as if feeling something bad about to happen.

The man spared no second, instructing for you to hop in fast. But as soon as you were inside, you heard a sudden impact on the car with one of the headlights off, then the other one followed quickly.

You and the man were equally shocked.

"Drive, please just drive!" you begged.

Just as your savior turned the gear, you noticed a faint shadow outside in the rain making it's way to the drivers side.

Suddenly the door opened and the driver let out a painful sound, you noticed a red substance running down his leg before he was grabbed and pulled out.

You were too paralyzed to even move. The person leaned down, peering at you from outside the drivers side.

"Did you really thought we wouldn't catch up, cariño?"

It was Jake with a smirk on his face.

"Now get out of the fucking car before I come around to drag you out of there myself." he threatened.

Your shaking hands moved to the door handle, opening the door and slowly getting out. Jake came over swiftly, grabbing your arm firmly.

"Let's get you back where you belong, sweetheart. And don't worry about trying that shit again, it won't happen." he said calmly, starting to drag you with him, passing the poor man Jake shot in his leg still clutching the spot that has been shot.

You tried to yank your arm free but that only earned a frustrated groan from Jake.

"Baby you better stop. You don't want to get on my bad side now, you're already on Marc's and Steven's bad side, stop being a brat about it."

It didn't take long for Jake to get you back, closing the door and locking it in the process.

"Welcome back home."

-------------------------------

Tags:

@nekoyin @iolaussharpe-24 @steven-grants-world @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

@krakenkitty @buckyssugarchick @alexxavicry @mochiitoby @klillaah

Wanna get tagged?

[gabgabwrites]

LOLITA | Patrick Zweig

4 -> LIBERTY

summary ⇝ it’s hard to avoid your constant wet dreams, especially when they’re in the form of your neighbour, but you had hoped that the infamous American celebration and your brother in town would help subdue your ludicrous thoughts.

warnings ⇝ language, drinking, smoking, sexual themes! (FINALLY), fingering, cum eating, light choking, dirty talk(?), finger sucking, outdoor sex, mdni

Time had passed, and it was a couple of weeks since the talk between you and your dad. You'd been keeping true to your word, not going near Patrick. It had not been easy at all. Every time you heard his name or saw him from afar, a small part of you longed to walk up and talk to him. But you didn't, you stayed strong, determined to respect your dad.

On the bright side, your older brother was coming to visit, and as you prepared for his arrival, you found yourself looking forward to the distraction.

While your dad went down to the local corner store to get corn for your corn bread you offered to make, one of your two contributions to tomorrow's day of festivities, you waited on the swinging sofa on your porch for your brother. A family friend had offered to fetch him from the airport and drive him down to the park.

As you waited on the porch swing, your ears perked up at the sound of a car approaching. The familiar scent of gasoline and the low grumble of the engine signified your brother's arrival.

You stood up from the swinging chair and walked towards the driveway, a mixture of excitement and nervousness bubbling up inside you. Your heart thumped in your chest as the car stopped, and the door creaked open, revealing your long-awaited brother stepping out.

He locked eyes with you and grinned, a familiar smile that instantly eased some of your nervousness. He sauntered over to you, wrapping you in a tight hug.

He was wearing his old college jersey, he was the only one who could afford it, the expensive cologne wafting into your nose. "I've missed you, Charlie." You mumbled into the fabric.

"Missed you more, sis," Charlie said, before removing his arms. "Is pa home?"

As he pulled away, a mix of affection and banter, you nodded, a small smile playing at the corner of your lips. "He's grabbing some supplies at the corner store. He should be back soon."

You studied Charlie for a moment; there was something different about his appearance... The cologne, his clothes. It all added up, and your heart leaped in your chest. He saw your gaze, and a sly smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I take it you've noticed the changes, huh?" He chuckled, knowing that you weren't oblivious to his newly acquired finer taste in cologne and clothing.

You rolled your eyes and gave him a light punch in the arm. "Yeah, I have," you replied. "You look all grown up, all college-y and sophisticated."

Charlie laughed, rubbing his arm dramatically. "You're just jealous I finally look like a real adult." He flashed a cocky grin, clearly enjoying your reaction. You couldn't help but smile, the banter familiar and comfortable between you two.

"Oh okay, mister. Since you're all real adult now, you can help me start on my raspberry pie."

He raised an eyebrow playfully at your comment. "Yeah, just what every real adult wants: pie-making at the request of a younger sibling." Despite the lighthearted tone, he was clearly willing to go along with your request.

"You get it, now let's get your bags and then we can start, don't need to worry about jet lag." You said, walking to the car, greeting the family friend before going to the trunk. Once you had everything in the bags, you closed the trunk, taking a moment to look at your brother. "Ready to start on that pie, oh mighty adult?"

Charlie rolled his eyes. "So much attitude, but yes, let's go."

You laughed at his eye roll, enjoying the light-hearted banter. "Alright, grumpy adult, follow me then.” You led the way into the house, your brother trailing behind you with his bags.

He set his belongings in the living room before following you into the kitchen. You gave him the job of picking the raspberries while you got the pots and pans ready to make the jam.

Charlie settled into his task, grabbing a basket and heading to the nearby raspberry bushes. once he picked each ripe berry, carefully placing it in the basket, he kept up the conversation. "So, any gossip I've missed while l've been gone?"

He asked as he walked inside, placing the decently full basket down by the sink to wash. You nodded. "Janice is pregnant with her sixth."

Charlie winced at your words and let out an exaggerated, sympathetic groan. "Sixth? Man, you'd think she'd slow down after the fourth, right?"

You snorted. "Ay, maybe it's some sort of an...interest, to have more kids. Oh, we also have a new neighbour." You kept it at that, you didn't want to say anymore.

You could practically hear the gears turning in his mind as you mentioned the new neighbor. He raised an eyebrow questioningly. "New neighbor, huh? Anyone interesting?" Charlie leaned against the counter, clearly intrigued.

You turned to hide your flush while you poured sugar into the saucepan. "You can say, he isn't really around much."

Charlie's interest piqued even further, and he chuckled at your attempt to downplay whatever was clearly on his mind. "Not really around? Sounds mysterious," he crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. "I've got a feeling there's more to this guy than you're letting on."

You shook your head. "Nope, he's just a regular guy. His name's Patrick, and that's honestly all I know." You looked over to Charlie who began to mush the berries.

Charlie raised an eyebrow at your response, clearly unconvinced by your claim. "Come on, you can't expect me to believe that's all there is to this 'Patrick'," he gave you a knowing look, his expression a mix of curiosity and skepticism. "You're keeping something from me, I can tell."

You gave him a look. "He's new, and I don't know him well, we haven't spoken except when I greeted him once." You lord through your teeth, saved by the door opening, revealing your father, carrying two, small shopping bags

Your father entered the kitchen just in time, providing a welcome interruption to the conversation. He noticed the tension between you and Charlie, but didn't comment on it, simply focusing on unloading the groceries.

Charlie's gaze lingered on you for a moment before turning to your dad. "Hey Pa, how's things?"

Your dad looked up, a rare, broad smile on his face. "It's good, better now that you're back."

You rolled your eyes. "I don't know, Pa. He's a real adult now, he says, he does real adult things, like pick berries." You snicker.

Charlie chuckled at your sarcastic remark, amused by your attempt at banter. "Hey, don't knock berry-picking. It's harder than it looks."

Your dad let out a small laugh but then spoke up again. "Alright, both of you behave. Let's not start arguing already."

You turned the oven on, and started scooping the berries in the saucepan to make the jam. "We aren't, this is sibling love."

Your dad nodded, his smile widening slightly. "I know, I know. Just no arguing over who gets more pancakes again, okay?"

Charlie rolled his eyes at your dad, then turned his attention back to the jam. "Hey, I get the first pancakes, right?"

"Ha! You wish, I obviously because I'm dad's favourite."

Your dad let out an exaggerated gasp. "Who said I have a favorite, young lady? What a ridiculous idea."

Charlie snickered, clearly enjoying the banter. "Yeah, who would even suggest such a thing?"

You clicked your tongue, focusing on the jam. "Whatever, you two can leave, I'll make the pie and cornbread, go talk about women and sports or something."

Your dad's smile deepened, clearly enjoying the sibling banter. "Alright, alright, we'll give you some space then."

Charlie rolled his eyes at your words, a smirk on his face. "Women and sports? You've got it all wrong, we're grown men now. We discuss much more sophisticated topics."

A laugh bubbles from your chest. "Right, go talk about politics and berry picking."

Charlie fake gasped, playing along with the banter. "Excuse me, berry picking is a serious and manly discussion topic."

Your dad chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that, boys." The two disappeared leaving you to finish up the two dishes, and store them in the oven for tomorrow.

Speaking of tomorrow, it was the day of all American pride and glory; Independence Day, meaning you'd have yet another communal day together. This time it was a lunch and party situation, and was originally planned by your mother, before it got handed over to Lucia, the nimble, quiet lady who's close friends to Miss Higgins.

The next day came soon, and you felt ecstatic. The outfit you picked was perfect for the occasion: a gingham bikini top that provided a bit more coverage than your previous choice, paired with denim shorts and your cowboy boots. The red and blue ribbons in your braided hair added a touch of patriotic flair, tying in with the Independence Day spirit. It was a stylish and comfortable outfit, and you felt complete in it.

You looked in the mirror, studying your reflection, and a smile spread across your face. You were ready for the day ahead. You laughed at the sight of your brother's shirt, which was absolutely plastered with graphics of the American flag. It was a bit over-the-top, but that was part of the fun of the occasion. You couldn't help but find it amusing and a bit endearing.

After a somewhat of a long walk, carrying your two dishes, you found the party area where there were throw tables open in rows, and plastic chairs ok each side. Red, white and blue balloons were tied to some chairs, and a red, white, and blue table runner stretched down the length of each table, creating a lively and patriotic atmosphere. It was clear that the host had put in a lot of effort to make the day a celebration of Americana.

There was the familiar sight of neighbors gathering together, their voices mingling with the chatter of others in the distance, forming a collective hum of conversation.

Music played in the background, and the scent of food cooking wafted through the air like a promise of delicious sustenance. Everyone seemed relaxed and in good spirits, enjoying the simple pleasure of being together.

Everyone sat down, and you found yourself nestled comfortably between your brother and your father. In front of the crowd, Lucia stood on a chair, carefully balancing herself as she prepared to address the gathering. Her petite frame made it a bit comical, and you had to suppress a smile.

"I would just like to say a thank you for everyone's effort for today. It truly is lovely to be apart of a community so loving. I know Natalie would be extremely happy."

Her eyes found yours, your heart twisted at your mother's name, however, you managed to muster a small, forced smile in response to Lucia's words. The others in the crowd nodded and murmured in agreement, appreciating the sentiment.

"And it is thanks to her, that we get to carry out this tradition. But before we eat, l'd like to say a prayer." Lucia spoke, her voice clear and strong despite her precarious chair-sitting position. The other people in the group nodded and murmured in agreement, taking a moment to focus on the upcoming prayer.

You were about to put your head down when your eyes caught those that stared at you. Patrick had been lucky, or unlucky enough to sit in the same table as you, a few seats down. Your heart leaped at the eye contact. The brief eye contact made your heart skip a beat, and you had to take a quick, subtle breath to regain your composure.

He had an easy smile on his face, his gaze fixed on yours for a moment longer. There was an undeniable pull between you two, even from a short distance. The sight of him filled you with a mixture of excitement and anticipation.

You rapidly blinked, turning your gaze down to your lap and try focus on the prayer. Despite your best efforts to divert your attention back to the prayer, the memory of the connection you'd shared with Patrick lingered in your mind. Your hands clutched the material of your shorts, and you did your best to concentrate on the prayer, but his presence kept nagging at the edges of your thoughts.

The prayer concluded, and you breathed a slight sigh of relief as the attention shifted to the vast array of food spread out before you. Your eyes widened as you spotted all the delicious options, from burgers and hot dogs to a variety of salads and sides.

You ate yourself full, you indulged in quite a few beers, and the combination made your words come out just a little bit slurred.

Your balance was also similar to that of a new born gazelle, it was ungraceful but you tried to maintain your posture as you walked, and mingled with other people.

"I'm afraid," you hiccuped, "I'm going to have to find," another hiccup, "a washroom, sorry." You apologized to your neighbor with a slight shake of your head before excusing yourself and moving towards the washroom. Each step brought a slight stumble, your balance still off from the combination of alcohol and food. Your head was starting to feel a bit fuzzy, and you couldn't help but laugh at yourself as you made your way towards the restrooms.

Your trailer was far down, worst case you'd go to the tucked away, communal toilet, but you didn't feel like maneuvering your way that far in your current state. You needed a bit of support to walk straight without stumbling, and the walk would be quite the challenge, given your balance and the alcohol in your system.

You walked until you collapsed onto something, onto someone. A gasp ripped from your throat as you were awkwardly splashed over someone's lap, trying to get up and apologising profusely.

"Fuck, sweetheart. Look at the state of you." The familiar grumble of a voice came from the person.

You quickly regained your bearings, sitting up straight on his thighs before hastily standing up. His words were sharp, but there was a hint of concern beneath the sarcasm. "Um, I should stay away..." you hiccuped, "From you, Pa's orders." You mumbled, though didn't bother to walk away, instead, standing in front of Patrick with an awkward angle to your shoulders.

Patrick had a smirk on his face as he studied you, taking in your slightly sloppy appearance. "Oh yeah? What was the order? 'Stay away from me’? Didn't seem to be too effective, did it?"

"I tried to, you're just in the way." You motioned to where he sat on a camping chair, behind a trailer while he smoked a cigarette, empty beer bottle next to him, before your hand dropped and another hiccuped rolled out from you.

Patrick chuckled at your attempt to shift the blame, his gaze never leaving your face. "In the way? I could say the same about you, stumbling into me like this," Patrick sat there. He took a drag, the smoke curling up around his face as he watched you with an amused expression. "Looks like the alcohol's hit you pretty hard, sweetheart. Can you even walk straight?"

You nodded. "Yeah, see?"

You began to walk in a short line, nearly tripping over your own two feet, landing you falling back onto Patrick, who in an instant, caught you effortlessly, holding you steady so you wouldn't fall to the ground. His strong arms wrapped around you, preventing you from tumbling over.

"You shouldn't touch me." You mumbled, fingers toying with the collar of his red shirt while the other was ok his shoulder.

Patrick chuckled, his grip on you remaining firm, steadying you against his chest. "Sure, sweetheart."

You fidgeted with the red fabric of his shirt, your fingers playing at the collar. He glanced down at your fingers for a moment before looking back up at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You shook your head. "No, it’s not right," you muttered, taking the cigarette from his lips and holding it between your fingers. "This's not right." You repeated.

Patrick smirked, when you seized the cigarette from his mouth. He continued to hold you pressed against his chest, his strong arms securely around you. "Oh, I'm well aware that it's not right. But sometimes, things are more fun when they aren't."

He raised an eyebrow teasingly, looking down at you as you repeated your words of disagreement. Your eyes flickered down to his lips, straining to get them to look at his eyes again. "More fun..." you mumbled, a small pout forming on your lips. "…I still think about that day by the river."

"Yeah? And what, exactly, were you remembering from that day at the river, sweetheart?" His gaze followed the direction of your gaze, watching your eyes struggle to avoid his lips and return to his eyes instead. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for your response as his voice lowered slightly.

"How you touched me. How your thumb was in m'mouth." You looked down, ashamed.

A low laugh rumbled in Patrick's chest as you recalled the memory of his touches, his thumb lingering in your mouth. He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as he leaned in, his voice dropping an octave. "That day by the river. It has a tendency to linger in my mind as well, sweetheart."

Your eyes flicked up to his, they were dark and hazy as they stared back at yours. "I want you to do it again." You admitted.

He held your gaze, the intensity in his own widening. "Is that so?" His arms tightened their grip around you, drawing you closer, his voice a low, gruff whisper. "You want me to touch you, like I did at the river?"

"Please?" You whined.

"Please?" Patrick echoed, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he heard your needy whimper. He studied your face, watching the way your eyes pleaded with him, how your voice trembled slightly. It was hard to resist when you looked at him like that. "Hmm, I suppose I could oblige, sweetheart. But only because you asked so nicely."

His hand came up to your face, his thumb running gently over your lip, mimicking the movement it had made by the river. The pad of his thumb pressed against the fullness of your lip, tracing its shape.

"Like this?" Patrick murmured, his voice thick with want. He leant forward, bridging the tiny gap between you, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours. His breath was warm against your skin, the words leaving his mouth a barely whispered husk.

You eagerly tipped your chin down to take his thumb between your lips, nipping at the tip before, this time, taking the whole digit past your lips, groaning out at the feeling, and letting your eyes flutter shut.

White, hot pleasure went through him, his breathing growing ragged. He was enjoying this far more than he should, the feeling of your mouth around his thumb, the way your eyes fluttered, the way you let out that low, guttural sound.

"Sweetheart..." He spoke quietly, the word a soft exhale in the quiet space between you. "That's it. Open for me sweetheart." His voice was a low and gruff, a commanding quality to the tone.

Patrick's head tilted to one side as he watched your mouth eagerly move against his thumb. It was clear that he wanted more, wanted to feel more of your lips against his skin, but he was waiting, letting you take control for the moment.

"Go ahead, sweetheart. Take your time." His gaze never left your mouth, his thumb pressing a little harder against your tongue.

So, you began to suck his thumb with a bit more vigour, head bobbing up and down while you gave him a very picturesque sight.

Patrick's breathing grew even rougher, a low and guttural groan rumbling in his chest as he worked his thumb further in your mouth, until his other fingers hooked onto your head, drawing you nearer.

Daringly, you let your eyes open, pupils meeting his, your eyes connecting with his dark, lustful eyes. He met your gaze without blinking, his own pupils dilated.

Patrick's fingers gently tightened their grip in your hair, tucked underneath a plait, tugging your head back slightly, exposing your throat.

He studied your face for a moment, his gaze tracing every feature, from your rosy, glossed lips to the way your throat bobbed under your skin.

Patrick drew closer, his breath hot against your skin. "You're a sight to see, sweetheart. All wrapped up in my fist and on my lap," You gave him a small grin, thumb still in your mouth. "Keep looking at me like that and I won't be able to keep my hands to myself for much longer, sweetheart."

You whimpered at the thought, your fingers tugging harder at his collar.

"Ah, that's it, sweetheart. Pull at me." Patrick felt your fingers tugging at his collar, at the fabric of his shirt. He held your gaze, watching the way your pupils darkened at his words. He could feel the heat rising through him, wanting to feel your touch, wanting to feel your body against his.

He was becoming increasingly impatient, and the feeling of your mouth wrapped around his thumb wasn't helping.

"Looking up at me," he paused for a moment, his breath catching, "mouth wrapped around my thumb." Patrick leant in, his voice a low rumble in his chest. He could feel heat coursing through him, a need for you growing with each second.

You gave his thumb one hard suck before removing your lips, a string of saliva connecting them to his thumb.

The sound echoed through the small space between you, the sight of your mouth trailing an invisible thread of saliva to his thumb sending a jolt through him.

Patrick released your head from his grip, watching you with darkened eyes as he reached up to wipe the saliva away from his finger. You felt more brazen with alcohol in you, so with a ragged breath in, you leant in close. "Remember at river day when you asked me if I had sinful thoughts, and I said yes?"

He looked down at you, his expression shifting to one of curiosity and lust, the answer to your question was enough to spark his attention. "I do indeed remember that question, sweetheart."

You swallowed, your bottom lip brushing his small beard. "I think about you, I've thought about you since that day. Sinful thoughts... bad, bad thoughts…"

Patrick's gaze darkened, the lust in his eyes growing stronger at your admission. He leant in closer, his body tensing as he drew you closer, pressing you against his chest once again. His hand tangled in your hair, tugging on it gently. "Oh, sweetheart," he rumbled in response, his voice dropping an octave, "I've thought about you as well."

"Tell me, tell me please? I'll tell you what I've thought."

Patrick held your gaze, his body still pressed close against yours, his hand still hooked in your hair. He hummed, a low and gruff sound in his chest, as he looked down at you, studying your face. He let out a sigh, his voice a gruff whisper. "You want to know what l've thought about? You really want to hear it, baby?"

You eagerly nodded, shifting your hips and trying to ignore the bulge pressing into your thigh. "Yes." You breathed.

Patrick watched you for a moment, taking a breath to steady his mind. He was struggling to control himself, the feeling of you against him and the words that followed were beginning to wear down his sanity.

"I've thought about you, a lot," he began, his voice a low whisper, his mouth close to your ear. "About the way you look at me, and the way you feel against me. I've thought about what it would be like to actually kiss you. I've thought 'bout those lips, on mine..." he glanced over at you, seeing you tentatively listen. "About them prettily sucking my cock, I thought about using you, fucking this cunt so many times."

You gasped at his utterly vulgar words, feeling something stir in your lower belly as he spoke, something thick and hot coil in your tummy that burnt hot like coal.

Patrick chuckled, the sound low and gruff. "Oh, there's that noise I like to hear..." He reached up and cupped your chin, his thumb gently tracing your bottom lip. "Did you like that, baby?"

"Yes, I do," you said, an aroused tone in your voice. "I've thought about all those to, about your fingers," you moved to toy with his fingers. "On me, in me. I've...I've thought about your... your cock too." Heat flashed in your cheeks as you spoke.

Patrick couldn't hide the smirk that pulled at his lips at your words. His eyes darkened, the desire within him growing, fueled by your confession of thoughts. "You've thought about my fingers, my cock, have you?" He let out a low, gruff laugh, his hand wrapping around your wrist, stopping your movements. "You've thought about them where exactly, sweetheart?"

You leant back, grabbing his wrist and moving to towards you, until his fingertips brushed the seam of your shorts. "Here." You told him.

His breath caught, the air in the small space suddenly feeling far too thick and hot. Patrick's eyes darkened, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly as he felt your words and the movement of your hand. He watched as you moved his fingers, his eyes tracing the path they made.

"Here?" He repeated, his voice a low, gruff whisper. "You want my fingers here, sweetheart?"

He pushed up, the action was only slightly felt, but it was enough to have you choke on a gasp. "Y-Yes, and more."

Patrick felt the way you gasped and the sound was like music to his ears. He relished in it, relished in having that sort of power over you. He held your gaze with a heated look.

"More?" he repeated, the word rough, almost predatory in tone. He leaned in, his mouth close to your ear. "Like what more, sweetheart?"

"You know." You were to shy to say, hips trying to shift on his hand, your gaze drifted to the side while you gave him a small, bashful smile.

"I know?" Patrick feigned confusion, his voice a low, gruff rumble, as he tightened his grip on your wrist, keeping his fingers against the seam of your shorts. "Use your words."

You glanced to your side, not seeing anyone before turning back to Patrick. "In me, I think about your fingers in me a lot, how they’d fill me, feel me."

Patrick chuckled softly at your words, the sound low and huskier than before. He knew what you were referring to, knew exactly what you wanted, and he was more than happy to oblige. He held his breath for a second, watching as you glanced away, the sight of you looking so shy bringing a small pang of affection through him.

"Is that right, hm?" He continued, his hand still in your wrist. "You think about my fingers..." he began, "Here?" He moved his fingers up, enough to pinch your zipper and bring it down, enough to give him space to slip the tips of his fingers past the fabric and find your soiled underwear.

You moaned at the contact, fingers clenching around his wrist before releasing it and planting both hands on his shoulders. "Further...in."

That sent another glimmer of arousal through Patrick, his fingers curling up in response. Patrick savoured the way his fingers made contact, feeling the way your body responded, the sound of your moans in his ears. A grin split on his lips, feeling your hips push back onto his hand. "Someone's eager." He murmured, his voice gruff but still carrying a tone of amusement.

"Someone might see." You whined, thighs clenching when you felt his other finger brush the side of your underwear, where your leg met your cunt, having you shiver and lean forward, pressing your face into his chest.

"They won't see," Patrick replied, his voice still low and gravelly. He chuckled slightly as he felt you clench, the sound of it muffled by his chest. "Look around, sweetheart. Nobody's here."

"They can hear, someone might hear. Oh, god, what would Pa think?"

He snorted, the sound coming out a gruff chuckle. "What would your father think, indeed," he replied. His hand moved in a circular motion, his focus remaining on the task at hand, but he couldn't help the teasing tone in his voice. "Don't worry sweetheart. This will be our little secret."

Patrick had to bite back a groan when he decided to shift your panties to the side, feeling your bare arousal drip onto his fingers.

He watched your expression closely, studying the way you responded to his touch, the sounds you made, the way your body trembled slightly.

Patrick let out a low, guttural sound in his chest, the sight and sensation stirring something within him. He moved his free hand to the front of your jaw, his grip firm but gentle. "You really are sensitive, sweetness..." He rumbled.

Your fingers curled and you whimpered when his finger dipped no less then half an inch into your weeping hole, the thought of him being there drove you wild, and the feeling of him pushing the boundary of being there made you more wild, bucking your hips down. "A little more, Patrick."

"Impatient, are we?" He teased, a hint of amusement in his voice, his other hand gently stroked your back. "I'm just as eager as you, sweetheart, but l've got manners." He murmured into your hair.

Patrick dragged his finger out before pushing it back in, this time to the second knuckle, another finger dancing at the edge of your hole, waiting to join. You sighed out, melting into him as you relished him working you open.

"There, now does that feel better?" He teased, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.

He could feel the way your body relaxed into his, the sound of your sighing, the heat between you growing as he continued his slow, deliberate movements.

"Almost." You rasped out, gasping when his finger bent, pushing against that one sensitive, spongy spot within you.

"Almost?" He repeated, his tone a mixture of amusement and gruff determination. He felt the way you tensed when his finger bent, how you gasped, and he couldn't help the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips. "You want more, darling?"

"I want it all," you mumbled, mind beginning to haze as a second finger pushed in, making you wince, but craze it more. "Please?"

Patrick chuckled softly at your response, loving the way you were starting to come apart beneath his touch.

"Oh sweetheart, you're so impatient, aren't you?" He purred, his hand stilling for a moment, as he watched your reaction. "You want more?Then I'll give it to you, baby," he replied, his voice a gruff, gravelly murmur. "Lift that pretty little head off my chest," he continued, his hand moving up to gently grasp your chin. "Look at me."

You raised your head and looked at Patrick with low, sultry eyes that held a sense of eagerness to them.

"Good girl," he said, his free hand coming up to caress your face. "I want you to relax, okay baby?"

"Okay." You mumbled as you shifted, your body adjusting into a comfortable position. Patrick could see the eagerness in your eyes, and it made his heart skip a beat. He moved, his hand still on your chin, holding your gaze.

"That's it, just like that, sweetheart," he murmured, his gruff tone filling the space. "Just relax. You trust me?"

You looked deep into his eyes for solidarity, the dark hues swirling honey in the light. "Yes, I...l trust you."

"That's my sweet girl," he murmured, his voice a low, gruff rumble. "I'm gonna give you just what you want, now."

He pulled his wrist back before he sunk two of his fingers in you, the thick digits giving you a pleasurable pain.

Patrick looked down at you, his eyes locked on your face, his gaze burning with a dark intensity. He noticed the look in your eyes, the way they were filled with trust, and it filled that feeling within him even more. "Perfect," he murmured, his tone soft. "That's my sweetheart."

Your head tipped back as you moaned when he began to piston his fingers in and out of you, the sopping, wet squelches of your cunt and your breathy moans filling your ears.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice a gruff mix of arousal and awe. "Imagine what your poor daddy would think if he saw his little girl getting finger fucked by her old neighbour. The one she couldn't stay away from."

You moaned, the feeling of his palm pushing past your folds to nudge against your aching and neglected bundle of nerves. "Patrick," you moaned. "Don't talk about—shit!" You gasped when his fingers coiled inside you.

He smiled slightly at your moans, the sound of his name on your lips adding to his growing arousal. "What? Got something to say, baby?" He grunted.

You looked down at him with a pout on your lips, an upset look to your face before it began to melt into one that showed the effect he was having on you, eyes rolling back and jaw slacking into something more submissive. He reveled in the sight of you, the way the effects of his touch were clearly taking toll on you.

Your back arched, giving you the space to grind back onto his fingers, revelling in how they felt inside you. "Mm, Patrick... feels good."

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a gruff, low and reverberating in your ears. "Use my fingers how you like." Patrick's words send a shiver down your spine, the effect he had on you intensifying with each passing second.

"Patrick, I..." your voice caught a breath, your mind going hazy. "Please?"

He mulled over the way you spoke, your voice breaking as you reached the limits of your self-control. He knew you were struggling, on the verge of begging for what you wanted, what he knew you needed.

"Please, what, baby?" he asked, his voice a teasing murmur. "Use your words." You felt yourself teetering on the edge of the cliff of pleasure, your mind swirling with need, with a desperate want so vivid it almost hurt. You needed him, you wanted him, and you knew he knew it.

You just needed to say the words. "Patrick, I... I need you, I need you, I need you. Please..."

Patrick watched as the battle waged within you, the internal struggle of desire and restraint clear on your face. He could see the desperate want in your eyes, the way you were teetering on the edge of control. "Please, what?" he prompted, his tone gruff, a mix of amusement and frustration.

Patrick found out he loved pushing you just like he was doing now. He knew he had you right where he wanted you, teetering on the edge of the precipice you were on. And yet, you weren't there. You hadn't begged him, you hadn't given in completely.

Patrick felt your body tense with desperation, the need so palpable that he could almost taste it in the air. He smiled, his voice a low, gruff rumble.

"Come on, baby. Say it."

You gasped out, a warm fire licked between your legs, your lower tummy bubbling over. It was clear you hadn't been touched in a long, long time.

"Please, Patrick? Help...help me cum?"

He watched as you spoke, the way your voice quivered and broke, the sound of your plea so desperate, so genuine. And yet, it hadn't quite been enough. He needed to hear your need.

"Say my name, sweetheart," he commanded, his voice a soft rumble in the silence. He could feel the tension in you, the way your body was tensing, begging for release. "Come on, baby, and I will."

"Patrick, Patrict, Patrick, oh!" Your mouth fell open when his teeth latched onto the sensitive part of your neck and he slipped his fingers out, focusing purely on your bundle of nerves and he drew practiced circles on them that had your hips uncontrollably jerk, adding to the pleasure.

Patrick watched as the sound of his name spilled from your mouth in a litany, a mantra. His tongue lapping over your bruised neck as he pinched and tweaked at your bundle of nerves, hearing your voice crescendo and forte, it was a surprise that no neighbor had come rushing.

"Mm, Patrick, I'm...'m... fuck!" Your toes curled and your body shook as you unraveled on his fingers, soaking his fingers and your shorts.

He loved the way you moaned his name, the way you gasped and writhed, his fingers not stopping as he worked you through your orgasm, watching you sputter and shake, slowly coming down from your high.

Patrick slipped his fingers out, coated in your honeyed slick. Greedily, he sucked them into his mouth, moaning at the taste. Slobbering and drooling just from how sweet you tasted. You watched with droopy eyes, mouth agape and transfixed on his lips.

He looked up at you as he pulled his fingers from his lips, the taste of you still lingering on his tongue. He was watching you intently, drinking in the sight of you.

Patrick saw the way you looked at him, your mouth hanging open while your eyes seemed to glaze over in pleasure. "Enjoying the view, baby?" He asked, his voice rough with desire.

You nodded stiffly, eyeing the shimmer of your cum on his bottom lips, leaning forward and sucking it off, his beard scratching your chin. The sensation of your tongue and lips over his own sent a shiver down his spine, the mixture of the taste and the feel of your mouth sending a jolt of arousal through him.

Patrick loved the way you responded, the way you took control for a moment, and he couldn't help the small shudder that wracked his body. "You're so damn dirty, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice gruff but soft. "So fucking dirty."

His hands found your hips and sanctioned on them, tongue pushing past your lips and rolling against yours.

Patrick could feel the heat between you building again, the way your bodies instinctively moved together, seeking more contact. He tightened his grip on your hips, pulling your body flush against his, as he deepened the kiss. He could feel your tongue against his, the way it moved and responded, the kiss growing more intense and heated.

You gasp, a thought infiltrated your mind, as you pulled back. "I...I have to go. Pa might come looking for me." You sulked. Patrick saw the look in your eyes, the way you suddenly pulled away.

He could sense your hesitation, the conflict between your desire and your responsibility. He felt a pang of disappointment but tried to hide it, his brow furrowing slightly.

"You're right, you should probably head home." He said, his voice a bit gruff, a little bit of a tinge of disappointment there.

That's when you remembered that Patrick wasn't paid any pleasure, at least, not in the way you hoped, you looked down, seeing the boulder of a bulge in his jeans, fingers itching to touch it. "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't help, you must be upset."

He watched as you looked down, noticing the way your eyes locked on his jeans, on the very obvious bulge there. Patrick couldn't help the small jolt of arousal that went through him at the sight of your fingers twitching, longing to touch him.

"It's alright, sweetheart," he replied, his voice a gruff rasp. "I'm alright."

You slowly nodded. "I did want to see you, by the way. I was forced not to, but I'll try see you, we'll have to sneak around Pa and everyone else, and my brother... he arrived yesterday."

Patrick nodded back, understanding. He knew the difficulty of your situation, the way you were caught between your desires and your familial obligations. "That's a tricky situation, baby," he replied, his voice a low, gruff rumble. "But I understand. We'll figure it out, alright?"

You nodded, sighing softly when he pulled you in by the back of the neck and gave you a tender kiss on your forehead.

"Okay, yeah, but I do have to go." You winced when you climbed off his lap, zipping your shorts up and ignoring how they stuck to your thighs.

"I know, baby." He said, his voice a low rasp. "You gotta go."

"Don't forget to keep your door unlocked," you checked over your shoulder before looking back at Patrick. "See you then?"

Patrick nodded, his eyes glued to you as you spoke. He watched as you checked over your shoulder before looking back at him, your eyes locking with his. "I won't forget, sweetheart. I'll see you tonight." He replied, his voice a hoarse, low rumble.

"Bye now." You gave him a small wave.

He returned your wave, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was reluctant to let you go, even as he knew you had to leave. But he knew he had to let you go, no matter how much he wanted to keep you there, with him. "Bye, sweetheart." Patrick said, his voice gruff. And you waited hours to go by, having something to be excited about, so soon.

You were going to go visit your clandestine lover, one way or another. 

[NEXT]

[dalesramblingsblog]

So beyond tired of the reduction of incredibly complex political issues to glib games of point-scoring against whichever group you've decided are Bad™ and are therefore worthy of being horribly mutilated and killed. Social media sure is wonderful.

[dekuneho]

no one else's ☆ ( ​thirdyear!katsuki x fem!reader ) mdni | suggestive

Kirishima taps Katsuki on the shoulder very gently, looking embarrassed as he chokes out, “Your girlfriend fell asleep on the couch.”

Katsuki would’ve brushed it off with a snap that anyone could use the fucking couch who gives a fuck, but his eyes slide to Kirishima’s other arm holding a disgruntled Mineta up. Immediately, Katsuki’s gut twists in displeasure, the pencil in his grasp snapping in half.

“Did you fucking do something?” Katsuki hisses out, yanking Mineta’s collar to face the full brunt of his sneer.

“No!” Mineta cries out, having the nerve to sound disappointed. “No, I didn’t, dude. Get off me.”

And before Katsuki could kill Mineta right then and there, Kirishima swerves him out of the way. Don’t get your hero license revoked over him, Kirishima’s eyes seem to say.

“He’s telling the truth, man, don’t worry about it.” Kirishima then glares soundly at Mineta, disappointment evident. “He was acting weird, though. That’s why I got him.”

“Traitor,” Mineta says, wriggling uselessly mid-air.

“I’ll kill you,” Katsuki swears to him, before storming off, each step heavy with pure murder.

The rest of the class is smarter than Mineta. They avert their gazes and mind their business — or it could be that they can sense the unadulterated rage emanating from every pore of his body.

Yet as he reaches you, every trace of that same rage dissipates into the air. His eyes outline your body, dead to the world, shorts hiked up with one leg curved — laid unaware. No wonder some freak like Mineta wanted to prey on it.

Katsuki sighs. "Always giving me damn trouble," he mutters to your sleeping figure, snorting when there's an answering snore.

He heaves you up and off the couch, arms hooking under your neck and the back of your knees. Katsuki pushes past the living room, ignoring the curious stares of his classmates. They all know where he's headed — straight to his room.

You awake to a pinch on your thigh.

When you come to, Katsuki is staring at you heavily, hovering above you with your head between his hands.

"Kats'ki?" you croak out, words stringing together. "Wha's…"

Katsuki begins to crawl down, and down, until his knees hit the floor; until he's face to face with your legs. You're still swimming through the sluggishness limbo of being half-awake, lagging behind only moments after Katsuki. You feel his grip on your ankle; it tickles, it's warm.

He lowers his head and pins your knee down with a searing kiss. The sensation spreads to your entire body. You shudder, toes curling. Katsuki smiles against you, his hands sliding up to your thighs.

"Too early," you whine. But you don't push him off; you press against him closer.

"'s already 6 AM," Katsuki says, pushing your legs open.

The touch of cold air and the sporadic puffs of Katsuki's breath have you sinking deeper into the bed, pleasure crawling in every part of your body that he's taking by force, in the gentlest way possible.

Katsuki latches his mouth onto the inside of your thigh, inching deeper at your gasp. You suck air through your teeth, taking every control you have left not to snap your legs shut and force Katsuki out. When he pulls off, your thigh is left with a clear bruise. He doesn't stop there — he dives in again on a different point.

"As soon as we get our ass here," Katsuki murmurs against your skin, his breath hot on your evening-chilled skin, "I'm taking you out; we'll go apartment-hunting."

"W-what?"

"And you can wear whatever the fuck you want," he continues, licking at the mark, "or nothin' at all — I don't give a shit. No one else, just us. You hear me?"

You sit up, nearly knocking your knee against Katsuki's face. "You're asking me to move in with you?"

Katsuki scowls, the telltale sign of a blush creeping to his face. "You have other plans?"

"No, no," you cup his cheek, kissing the pout of his lips; "never, if it's not with you."

Katsuki appears satisfied, claiming your lips in a deep kiss. You draw away from each other with a stuttered gasp, heat pooling in your stomach at Katsuki's delighted gaze. "No turning back," he whispers. "Got that? This'll be no one else's."

Dizzy with need, you can only say, "Yes, yes. No one else's but yours, Katsuki. Now, please go back in between my legs."

[fumiliar]

self-restraint is one thing kento prides on. he is a good man, or at least he tries to be. his eyes landed on your flailing figure, pinching his nose bridge to prepare himself. you, gojo, kento and shoko went out for drinks to celebrate the fact you 4 were still alive.

your mind was blank, you had no self-control, it was like the shame centre in your brain got turned off.

"oh my god!" you squealed in excitement. "my favourite song!" you stumbled off your bar stool, going to stand up on the table, gojo supporting your brave act.

kento acted quick. right when your foot landed on the table, you were pulled back by an immeasurable amount of strength, your back landing on someone's muscular chest.

"how drunk are you?" a gruff voice spoke right beside your ear, sending shivers through your whole body. your senses were already heightened, but at this moment, you could feel everything. you could hear the fastening rhythm of your heart, along with the steady rhythm of another's.

"earth to y/n~," satoru's singsong voice echoed through your empty head.

"yea, sorry," you shook your head, turning around to see kento's disapproving look. his hand keeping a deathly grip on your wrist, ensuring you were always close to him, in case you'd do something embarrassing, or at least that's what he tells himself.

"y/n, i'll bring you ho-"

"don'tt, you're such a party pooper nanamin! we were just getting started," the blue eyed man whined, he looked like he was about to start a tantrum.

"yeah, let's just wrap it up, i wanna go home," shoko agreed with kento, getting ready to leave. "i'll leave y/n to you, gojo, come." satoru following shoko like a sad puppy.

"let's go home," kento used his free hand to pack up your stuff, double checking if you took anything out of your purse.

"you're so hot when you take care of me," you freely complimented kento, his ears slowly turning beet red.

"i like you kento, you know that right?" you kept talking, kento's face slowly turning a darker shade of red. "why are you so red? are you having a fever?" you used your free hand to feel his forehead, even in your drunken state, you still worried about his health.

"no...y/n. i'm fine," he put your bag on your shoulder as he led you out of the establishment.

"ow....my feet hurt ken," you pouted looking down at your heels.

restrain yourself kento. restrain. was the only thing he could think off as he looked back at you. he didn't want to take advantage of your drunken self. he knelt down as he took of your heels, you bracing yourself on his back. he slowly took your hand of his back, putting down your heels on the ground to take off his blazer.

"up," his back facing you as he knelt down. you weren't going to waste a chance getting piggy backed. instantly, your arms slid around his neck as your legs trapped his torso. kento stood up, picking up your heels and adjusting his hold on you.

"comfy?" you nodded against his neck. "take this, and wrap it around your waist," he handed you his blazer. you instantly listened, wrapping the blazer around your waist, making sure you don't flash anyone along your way home.

"ken, you're so good to me," you mumbled, nibbling on his neck, eliciting a groan out of the man.

"you're such a tease," kento chuckled, smiling to himself at his current predicament.

"we're not even dating....hft," you sighed. kento let out a hearty laugh at your dissatisfaction.

"why do you want us to date?" kento asked making you even more disappointed.

"what woman doesn't want stability!" this time you were annoyed. you straightening your back, not leaning on kento's anymore. kento was still joyful, instead of responding to your annoyance, he loosened his grip on your legs, your instincts kicked in, quickly wrapping your hands around his neck once more to ensure your safety.

"were you about to drop me??" panic was evident in your tone, but kento was still amused. "answer me!" your hand hitting on his chest.

"y/n," kento sternly called out your name, abruptly stopping your abuse on his chest. "we're married love, isn't that the epitome of stability? why would i regress our relationship to just boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"huh?..." you were confused for a second, quickly looking at your hand. and there it was, glistening in the moonlight, your wedding ring. "oh.."

kento couldn't help but tease your drunken self, his self-restraint always wavering when it came to you. the prim and proper man turning playful in your presence, he just couldn't help it. he continued his walk home, occasionally giggling at your forgetful nature.

"i hope you don't forget this moment," kento muttered under his breath, knowing full well you would have no memory of this event, only a pounding headache to remind you of yesterday's events.

[icarusredwings]

Trying something new, be kind.

Baby talk. 1/2

Ft. Wo-wo, mama, and 'essy

A Sfw very little Wade fic

Cws include: Brief mentions of adult fun, truama, brief discussion of death, an unexperienced caregiver, an uncomfortable caregiver, cursing, struggles/ happy ending.

Coming home, Wade was quiet. Too quiet.

"Wade?" He calls.

"Last time I heard him he came to hug me for a bit but he didn't awnser me when I asked what he was doing." Al mutters, half asleep on the couch.

"Oh.. well I got food so don't nod off just yet. I'm gonna make that alfredo stuff you like."

"Mmh.. You're a good kid, Logan."

"Althea, I'm older than you...Remember?" He says, setting down the bag of ingredients in the kitchen.

The old woman waves her hand. "Yeah yeah... just wake me up when you're done."

"Alright. Swear you'll wake up? Don't go dying on our couch." He tells her jokingly.

"Bah! It's my couch, I can die on it if I want too." She smiles, pulling the blanket up a bit.

Sometimes she did this, and it was starting to worry Logan. She was forgetting little things more, taking more naps, not wanting to move a lot either. Something about her back? Either way, Logan was terrified. He's already lost so many to old age, he didn't want to see her go too. And thinking about what it would do to Wade scared him more.

It's not until he checks the bedroom to see Wade W sitting, sucking his thumb, and playing house with his action figures and the doll house that Vanessa bought him a couple of years ago.

"Darlin'?"

From the looks of it, he had Spiderman in the kitchen, an old woman on the couch, a doggy on the couch, two little girls upstairs, a barbie in the tub (that didn't fit at all) and a wolverine action figure in the bed, claws up and out.

It took him a second to process before smiling softly. He hasn't been this small in such a long time. "Did I have a nightmare?" He asks, watching as Wade takes the wolvie out of the bed, reaching up as if showing him.

"Yeah, I see. Mad little guy, isn't he?" Logan crouches, grunting a bit as his knees popped.

"God, how do you get down here? Dosn't that hurt your knees?" Logan asks, only to be given a dead stare. As if not processing what he was saying.

"Oh.. uhm.. these?" He pats his knees. "Ouches. Sometimes.."

His eyes light up, only to frown, looking concerned, his own hands coming to his knees. "...ow?"

"Sometimes... hey so... how big are you right now? Can you tell me?"

But there was that stare again, a small tilt of his head with such wide white eyes. Yeah.. that just about tells him everything he needs to know. Vanessa has told him about when this first started and how truely little he had become, not talking much, simply....staring.

"Well.. Kitty's going to make dinner soon. How about you come out and sit in the living room, okay? So I can see you?"

Another stare, his head tilting to the other side now, like a puppy watching its owner do something it had no concept of.

"Uh-huh.... right. Uhm... nevermind. Just stay in here, okay?" Standing again is when Wade begins to panic, making an urgent whine, putting his arms up. "MmMmh!!"

Blinking, Logan swallows, not exactly comfortable with this age. This was Vanessa's age. Not his. He was used to the 5 year old wanting to play stuffies or the smart alack 8 year old who ranted to him for hours about stars, planets, and dinosaurs.

So this was.. weird. New. Unexplored territory. And Honestly, he was fine with that. Totally fine with not knowing.

"Er...I-i don't.. this isn't-" He starts, having a subconsious guilty feeling in his gut for not wanting to take care of him, but also felt like he shouldn't be interacting with him. I mean- They did big adult things last night. And now he was giving him grabby hands? It felt wrong. And with Wade's truama? He didn't want to make it worse on accident.

"Ups?"

"N-no.. Wade.. I-...Im gonna go call Vanessa. Okay?"

"... 'essy?"

"Y-yeah. 'Essy. Erm.. thats ness right?"

" 'essy?"

Swallowing, he nods, leaving the room with his hairs pricked up on the back of his neck, a knot in his stoamch. Taking a deep breath, he dialed the poor woman twice. The phone range through to voice mail both times. "Shit- okay.. fuck.. uhm.."

So he goes to google, trying his best to look for awnsers only to become more disgusted with himself at what he saw. Why was there so much- He groans, trying to calm himself. He couldn't even ask Althea because she was sleeping, snoring away.

Okay. Come on, Howlett. It can't be this hard.. right? I mean, it's just like a regular ki- Oh come on! He's never had a kid this little before! Especially not alone. What was he supposed to do?

Another deep breath, feeling defeated, and put his face in his hands. A buzz comes from the phone, and just as he looks at it, it was like signing his own death certificate.

'Sorry, I'm working. Whats up?'

"When he was really young what did you do to him?"

'???'

"He's really little right now. What do I do?" He asks, trying to type coherently.

'Oooh okay. So ussually I would give him a cup and put on a movie. He was really cuddly too so sometimes I would just hold him.'

Before Logan could respond again, she sent another message saying she had to get back to work and that it will be fine. 'It's easy, don't worry' She said but Logan had his doubts.

Alright. Movies.. cups.. hugs. Got it. He could do that. He could do hugs and cups. That was normal.

Sighing, he puts the phone away, going to the kitchen as he made him his cup, just putting straight milk into it. He liked milk right?? Did tots like milk? Yeah- obviously. Come on- get it together.

Walking into the livingroom, Logan sets it down, going through movies as he remembered what Vanessa told him before, about singing princess movies. "Ariel it is" he thinks, clicking it on and shifted the coffee table so he would have room to lay or play- what ever it was he did.

Coming back to the room, he gathers up some blankets and his stuffies, taking them from the room only to drop them all infront of the tv.

"Wade!" He calls. "Got a cup for ya! And look its a princess. You like princesses." He says, but he doesn't come.

"Wade? Come on, Bub! I gotta make dinner still." This last part was under his breath, only to grunt, going into the room only to see him sitting in the same spot.

"What are you doing? Come on. Livingroom with mama. Lets go." He shifts, gestruing his arms to the door but Wade didn't move, infact the loud words made him frown more, looking at him with those big wide eyes, a deer in headlights.

Logan took a step forward, watching Wade lower his head, holding his small angry Wolverine near his chest, like he would take it away.

This is what Logan was worried about. Great! Now he was scared of him. How was he supposed to care for someone who was too scared to move?

Think, Logan. This isn't hard. Just carry him.

Grunting, he hesitantly puts his arms out, leaning over. "...come'ere."

Another head tilt, making him groan, slightly annoyed. "Wade. Uppies. Come on, kiddo."

Instantly, he smiles, crawling quickly to his legs and put his hands back up, still keeping mad wolvie in one hand.

Picking him up, a shiver went down his spine, suddenly feeling a sense of severe protection after Wade wrapped his arms around his neck, affectionatly nuzzling into his neck with a big smile.

Unconsciously, he hugged him tightly, holding his bum and rubbing his back. "...Hi honey."

Wait. What was he doing? no. No. No. No. NO.

He couldn't feel that way about him. Absolutely no way. That was wrong. Fucking instincts! Not everthing adorable is your kid damn it!

Shaking his head, he quickly walks to the livingroom, putting him down.

"Now. You stay. Sit and watch princess." He says, pointing at the Tv and shaking his head, watching as Wade whimpered, giving him grabby hands again.

"No, Wade. L-later..." He swallows, wanting to punch himself for feeling that way. He had hugged him the same way Gabby did after a long time of seeing him, and it had activated his instinctual parental habits.

Quickly, he walks away to the kitchen, rubbing his temples. "I can't do this shit.." he grumbles.

[alexiroflife]

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."

[nezuscribe]

it's been three weeks since arranged!gojo, your husband, the man you're growing to care deeply for, told you he'd be back.

there was some dispute he needed to oversee with the eastern tribes, something about the land that one was fighting for, but he promised, promised, it wouldn't take over a week to settle.

now it's been nearly a month, and there has not been a single word from him.

your maids told you this was normal, but you didn't miss how they spoke in hushed tones, their brows furrowed nervously whenever the name gojo came up.

you can't sleep in his bed, the smell of him overtaking your senses and making you go insane. you go back to your old room, huffing as you turn around each night, not able to sleep. other times you'd pace the floors, picking at your nails until they bled, wondering about what could've happened, not able to shake off your last moments with him whenever you got to thinking too hard.

"i'll be back," he had murmured in your hair, cradling you close to his chest as he said his goodbyes. his strong arms caged you in, and you had no room to fight him off as you tried to nod.

"bring back some eastern sugar," you said, "i've heard it's good for pies," your words were muffled, trying to cheer up the mood. you heard him laugh, his chest rumbling a little bit, but there was a hint of anxiety laced in it.

"i'll miss you," gojo finally whispered, his men in the background shouting for the others to hurry up.

"i know," you mumbled, craning your head to look up at him, trying to crack a smile that just came out wobbly, "but i won't tell you i missed you till you come back."

he smiled, rolling his eyes as his thumb ran up and down your cheek.

"i promise i will."

well now it's four weeks later and you can't sleep at night, your past words haunting you, wondering if you should've just told him what he wanted to hear in case...

but a couple nights later, when you're sitting at your desk, looking out the window, you hear it.

the clacking of horse hoofs, their scattered neighs.

you almost think you've gone delirious from sleep deprivation, rubbing at your eyes as you stumble closer to the windowsill, squinting your eyes as you look in the dark.

but you see the distant torch, the way it's getting closer and closer to the estate.

you have no care for modesty, pulling a thin robe over your body as you run out of your door, nearly falling down the stairs as you skip every other one, your bare feet hitting the stone with such force that you nearly break it.

the maids and servants around you are bustling to get ready for their return, but you don't care, weaving your way through their bodies as you run out through the entrance. you can feel your feet getting scraped up by the rocks, the cold autumn wind biting at your barely clad skin, but you feel like you're not moving fast enough.

his horse is the first one you see, leading the group of tired and aching men. his black stallion is dark as the night itself, and you doubt he can see you.

but gojo does, and when his eyes find the shadow of your body from across the field he's abandoning formation, his feet kicking the side of the horse to make it go faster.

it's rushed, and the closer he gets the more you can see the damage on his body. the bandages around his arms, the ones that peek out from his tunic on his shoulder. his face is littered with scrapes and bruises, but his smile is blinding.

you run to meet him, watching as he mounts off of the animal, his strong arms throwing themselves around you are nearly crushing and almost makes you stumble backward if not for his support.

there's a heavy silence that follows, and you're glad that his men take the hint to go another way, knowing the dangers of leaving you two out alone on a field.

you can't breathe, your arms so tight around his neck that you're worried you might be choking him. the way he lifts you to get you closer to him would make your body heat up if not for the fact that you know he needs you to be almost one with him.

"i thought you died," you say bluntly, your words said wetly into his neck, your scattered tears wetting his skin.

"i know," gojo murmurs, feeling like he can finally breathe for the first time in a month.

he finds your lips in a messy kiss, biting at your plush skin as you moan, feeling like if he didn't have you near to him he'd probably die. he smells your lavender oil dotted on your neck, the lingering sweetness on your lips from something you probably baked to help with your stress.

his hands lift you up further by your hips, his strength, despite his injuries, still unbridled as you wrap your legs around his waist, your fingers weaving into his snow-white locks as you hear him mumble curses beneath you.

"i missed you," you say against his lips, his feverish kisses driving you to madness. the way you say it with a choked-out sob, your tears mixing with his own.

gojo whines, biting at your neck as he tries to hide his face away, the vulnerability that you bring out of him is something that even his enemies would probably gawk over.

"i promised i'd come back," his voice is nearly gone with the way he says it in between his sloppy kisses on your neck, tugging at the fabric that hides the bareness of your chest with his teeth.

you crane your head to look at him, hitting the back of his head gently with an angered look.

"three weeks late," you reprimand him, almost reveling in the stricken and kicked look he gives you with those eyes.

he goes to say something but stops, shuffling your weight onto one of his arms (he had the right to brag about his strength), and rummages around one of the pockets of his trousers, pulling out a bag as he waves it in front of your face.

you gasp, suddenly climbing off of him as you turn it around with your fingers. he pouts at the fact that you detached from him, trying to wrap his arms around your waist to haul you back up.

"is this...?" you look up at him, new tears sprouting in your eyes as you wail, almost dramatically as your head hits his chest with a thump, pulling him into another hug as you seem to sob louder from when you first saw him.

"you cry more over the sugar than me?" he mutters petulantly, his hand still cradling the back of your head as you just limply stand there.

"don't ever leave again." you bite out, pinching his back as he yelps, but still leaving a searing kiss on the side of your face.

"i won't...my lady," he whispers teasingly, and this time, his promise is undying. he'd be a stupid man if he ever willing left this again.

fuck those state affairs. gojo would rather be home with his wife, watching her bake as she scolds him for eating her batter.