#like again i feel bad that he's sick but he can be sick away from me

[beomiracles]

𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 TAPE 01

𝓓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝓔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 ⸝⸝ Moving rapidly through your career as one of the leading female investigators, you never once encountered a case you couldn't crack. Though you never expected for your past mistakes to come back and haunt you in the form of an ex lover, accused of murder. ⸝⸝

𝓹airings criminal!beomgyu x detective!reader 𝔀arnings blood, character death, descriptions of violence/slight gore, implied sexual encounters, womanizer!beomgyu, making out, penetrative sex, public sex, alcohol consumption.

📼 THE TAPE RECORDINGS

𝓣𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝓢𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 contains dark themes portraying unhealthy and toxic relationships and substance abuse. reader discretion is advised ! — this story is partly told in flashbacks, beware of timestamps as past/present are mixed throughout the story.

#serene adds ✎.. heh, realised after I hit post that I forgot to add a little note for myself on here. hmm... criminal conscience yes, I missed this series, a lot :3 super happy for it to be back, and better than ever !

[ ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။| TAPE 01 ] — Stay Away From Choi Beomgyu — recording length; 5.9k

📼 —  April 5th 2023

It was cold. Your cheeks were wet, and whether that was from the rain pouring down on you, or the endless tears streaming down your face you didn’t know. But it was cold. It was dark too, awfully so. Yet you could clearly make out the image of him, his hunched over figure, his bloody hands moving without even the slightest tremble as they clenched and unclenched into fists. For a moment it looked like he wanted to reach out, to touch you. 

The way you flinched, taking a quick step backward made him frown. “Dollface..” He tries, his voice uncharacteristically soft, the tension on his face easing up, if just for a moment. But you won’t hear it. Fuck, you could take the drugs, the lying and the cheating…Suppose you never were together in the end, not officially at least. — And you could take it. All of it. 

This was different. This was… You glance between the blood on his shirt, down to his bruised knuckles. You knew what he’d done. Something truly unforgiving, something evil, inhumane. Beomgyu was a terrible person. For months you’d let yourself be blindsighted, too caught up on trying to fit him into the life you’d imagined, into a life that would never be his. Because that was not who he was. 

You thought things would be different with you. That you somehow stood out from the rest, that maybe… Maybe he wasn’t as bad as people made him out to be. But you should’ve known. You should’ve known to stay away from Choi Beomgyu. 

“You’re a monster.” 

It happens before you can even stop it, the way the words fall from your quivering lips. Your voice is strained with the effort of keeping down another sob, and your breath comes out shaky with each exhale. — He doesn’t look surprised, in fact his expression remains perfectly unreadable, just like it always did. That hurts the most you think. 

He takes a step forward, his shoes making a wet noise against the muddy ground. The rain makes his clothes cling to his body, his dark hair matted against his face, shielding his dark eyes from view until he pushes the strands back. — “C’mon dollface, we can work this out.” The once sweet nickname now made you feel sick. Butterflies no longer surged within your stomach, though, you’re not so sure that they ever had. 

You shake your head, adamant in your decision as you swallow. “Stay away from me.” Even though your voice is close to cracking it seems to break his trance, and Beomgyu looks confused for the first time. It would’ve been an almost satisfactory sight, had it not been for your current situation. But one quick glance toward the blood smeared all over him makes you want to vomit. 

“I never want to see you again.” 

And you hoped you never would. With all of your heart and being you wished to never see Choi Beomgyu ever again. 

⸝⸝ 

📼 — PRESENT TIME ; February 19th 2024

“Hello?” 

Your words are followed by a thick silence and after almost twenty seconds you sigh. “Are you calling from downstairs again? You know the connection there is terrible.” Another minute passes, and you listen to the bruising noise of nothing for what feels like forever until Yeonjun’s voice finally breaks through on the device. 

“Hello? Oh, there you are!” He sounds almost surprised over the fact that the line seemed to actually be working. “Yes, yes I know I shouldn’t be calling from down here, but the elevator’s broken..” — He clears his throat before rapidly continuing. “Alright, I’ve got someone for you, can you make it down to room 31 in ten?” 

The groan passing your lips rings out into your office, bouncing off the walls and surely picking up on the phone despite the shitty connection. “Do you know what time it is? I’ve just barely made it here..” You grumble, yet you’re already rising from your chair, eager to be assigned a case from your senior. 

Yeonjun hums and you hear the clicking sound of what you assumed to be a pen. “We’ve kept him detained all night, best to get going quickly so we can move him over this afternoon.” He sounds absentminded when he speaks, as if his attention was elsewhere, likely reading off of the file in his hands. Still, you frown at his words. 

“Move him? To where, custody? How do you know we’ll have to do that?” Yeonjun doesn’t answer right away, which was unusual for him, and you pause with your hand on the door handle. — “I think it’s best you just come down here”, he then says, the finalisation in his tone evident. You bite the inside of your cheek, your mind suddenly swimming with questions you longed to ask. But you shrug them off, twisting the handle as you step outside. 

“Alright, I’ll be there.” 

The walk to the basement where the interrogations took place was an even longer one today. With no elevator you’re forced to stumble down four sets of stairs, silently vowing to yourself never to wear heels to work ever again. 

Fishing through your pockets, you grab onto the first thing you come across. A small tube of red lipstick, the engravings on its container made your heart skip a beat as you recognized its origin. Oh. You thought you’d gotten rid of that.. But the small cosmetic seemed to have made it during your move not long ago. How odd. 

The sound of your heels come to an abrupt halt as you stop to apply the red tint to your lips, using the camera on your far too old phone as a mirror. Despite its long history, the color remained just as bold as it had been when it was brand new. For some reason the revelation made your chest contract. — Screw it, you thought as you pushed the container back into the depths of your pocket. You would make sure to get rid of it on your way home. The past should remain the past, and for good reasons too. 

Interrogation room 31 is by the very end of the hall. The lights here had yet to be switched out and some of them flickered in a most uncanny way, setting the scene for something akin to a horror movie. However your worries come to ease when you spot your senior outside the door. Leaning against the wall, Yeonjun pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as his eyes remain glued to the files in front of him. 

“Took you long enough”, he huffs without taking his eyes off the clipboard. You raise a threatening fist his way but lower it again with a small grin, “whatever.” Yeonjun cocks an eyebrow your way but doesn’t make an attempt to comment as he instead sighs. — “23 year old male, brought in yesterday around 1am..” He begins, his expression quickly schooling into a more professional one, and you’re instantly reminded of how he used to be when you trained under him. 

He flips the paper, eyes dropping as he scans the written documents. “He’s in for first degree murder and attempted arson.” Shit, that’s serious. — “Are there any witnesses?” You ask, interrupting him when your curiosity gets the better of you. Though it would likely be far too soon to determine that. Yeonjun shakes his head, “None have come forward, besides it’s still too early to say.” You nod, heat rising on your cheeks at the small misstep. 

“Then, how is he linked to the crime?” 

Yeonjun’s eyes snap toward you upon hearing your words, his jaw twitching ever so slightly. “Victim’s DNA on him”, he says as he hands you the file belonging to the victim. Your gaze immediately falls on the number of pictures already gathered from the scene. From the blood covered floorboards to the discarded knife, the bloody bathtub and the victim himself. 

“Park Baekhyun”, Yeonjun says as he points to the picture snapped of a man in his mid thirties. He was bruised from head to toe, his limp body awkwardly laid in the full tub. “34, male, cause of death was asphyxiation due to his head being held underwater for an extended period of time.” 

Once he’s reached the end of his small debrief, your jaw hangs slack. Whoever did this had no intentions of sparing the poor man. And judging by the way the scene looked, they didn’t seem to ever have.

“Will you be alright with this one?” Your senior’s question pulls your attention from the files in your hand, and you quickly nod. “Of course!” This was your first big case, and there was no way you would back down now, not when an opportunity had presented itself like this. 

Yeonjun leans over to unlock the door, his hand on the handle when he turns to you. “Remember I’m always-” — “On the other side of the glass, I know.” You finish with a small smile, and Yeonjun scoffs as he shakes his head. 

Interrogation rooms are small, their walls stripped bare and sterile. With no windows and not even a clock to tell the time, the space feels nearly suffocating. A metal table is placed by the center of the room, adorned with scratches and uneven sections from its years of mistreatment. Above it hangs a single fluorescent light, casting the room in an almost clinical glow. 

The man before you sits on one of the uncomfortable chairs, his head bowed and his cuffed hands resting on the table. His long dark hair shields his face from view, and you find your own gaze dropping to the files in your hands once more as you slide into the seat opposite him. 

You clear your throat, the quietness of the room only amplifying the sound of you swallowing again. “You’re being investigated on the grounds of first degree murder of Park Baekhyun and attempted arson against his property. You have the right to remain silent and or request for an attorney. Keep in mind that anything you say here can be used against you in court.” 

Exhale. 

With a quick glance toward the thick glass window to your left, you allow yourself a momentary break. No matter how hard you squint, it was impossible to make out anything on the other side. But you knew that Yeonjun was watching, and it made everything ten times more surreal. — When you notice that the suspect has yet to speak, you turn your attention back to him. 

He remains in front of you, with his head bowed as his fingers absentmindedly tap against the cool metal table. Your breath catches in your throat when you survey the dark rings adorning almost each and every one of his fingers, they looked oddly familiar. But before you have time to ponder the matter further, he lifts his gaze. 

His dark hair falls from his face, making his equally dark eyes meet yours, instantly they seize you with a look you knew all too well. The persistent tapping of his fingers come to an abrupt halt as his lips curl into a menacing smirk, the one that used to make your stomach twist. In that moment, you knew that he knew. Still, you deny it, hands fervently flipping the files as you replace the victim’s with his. 

Your heart plummets through the floor when your eyes land on the name, and suddenly it all makes sense. He was bound to end up in this room one day, you knew that, you had known that for a long time. You just… Had never imagined to be the one on the other side. 

His smirk only widens, exposing the sharp and shiny teeth that had grazed your skin so many times before. A breathy laugh rumbles within his chest, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of you, not once. He exhales with a short breath: 

“Dollface. It’s been a while hasn’t it?” 

The pet name makes an ice cold shiver crawl up your spine. You push down the insults waiting on your tongue, the months of resentment and the anger. Inhaling slowly, you remain perfectly still. He studies you close, dark eyes narrowing as he tilts his head to the side. It was as if he was trying to calculate your next move, you knew that he could. 

“Beomgyu.” The name tastes foul in your mouth, making you want to spit it out. You thought you’d left him behind, left him for good. For ten months you had tried to recover from him, from everything he’d put you through. All of it for nothing. Now he was closer than ever, within an arm's reach, if you so wished to touch him. 

His smirk only widened, he was enjoying this, you could tell it thrilled him. “In the flesh”, he says, his voice a low drawl as he drinks in your slightly bewildered expression. There were so many things you wanted to tell him, so many things you wished to get off your chest. But before you can even get a word out, the door to the interrogation room is slammed open. 

You don’t have to look to know who it is. Yeonjun’s presence could be felt from miles away as he looms over you. “A word outside”, is all he says, before promptly turning on his heel and walking out again. — You don’t take your eyes off of Beomgyu when you rise to your feet, and the smirk on his face persists even when you exit the room. 

“Alright, what’s going on?”

Your senior’s voice echoes down the vacant hallway and you wince at the accusation of his tone. How did you tell him, how did you come clean about the fact that you had history with the man currently detained and cuffed on the other side of the door. — Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you hesitantly chew on it as your eyes dart between the floor and the walls, anywhere but him. 

“Well I… Sort of knew him..” The words come out awkward, and you grimace at the way you presented the situation. Yeonjun’s frown only deepens, the crease on his forehead becoming even more prominent. “Knew?” He presses, and you suddenly feel as if you were the one being interrogated. This was not how your first case was supposed to go. 

“Well.. I haven’t seen him in a long time.” You press your lips into a thin line, forcing yourself into a more upright stance as you try your best at holding his gaze. — “How long?” Yeonjun counters, to which your heart sinks. How long has it been? You hardly kept track, for Choi Beomgyu was someone you longed to forget. “Ten months”, you finally say. 

Your senior sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers as he bites the inside of his cheek. He remains quiet for a good minute and you anxiously fiddle with the hem of your sleeves, glancing over your shoulder to make sure that no one was witnessing the most embarrassing conversation taking place. 

“I’ll take you off the case.” 

No. He can’t do that, can he? Well he technically could. Still, it was an option you refused to consider. “No.” You promptly say, rolling your shoulders back once as you prepare to face his rejection. You didn’t know why your first thought was to refuse, why a pang shot through your chest at the idea of having the case go to someone else, but it did. 

Selfish as you were, you thought you needed this case for your own gain. Whether it was to find some sort of closure for the way things ended, or perhaps even to satisfy your own curiosity. Either way, you knew that this case belonged to you. — “I’m confident that I can do this.” Your voice doesn’t waver, and your gaze is firm as you peer up at Yeonjun. 

Your senior sighs, carding his fingers through his hair as he mutters something under his breath. “It’s against policy and I shouldn’t-” — “Please, Yeonjun.” You take a step forward, hopeful eyes silently pleading with him. 

“I could be of great help, I’m certain of it, please just give me a chance.” — Yeonjun doesn’t look convinced, his dark brows furrowed as he glances between you and the shut door. Patiently you wait as he thinks to himself, your heart thrumming in your ears as you refuse the urge to beg him further. 

Finally, he huffs, shaking his head once, as if in disbelief of himself. “Alright, but if I notice that things are getting out of hand you’re off, are we clear?” 

Eagerly you nod, “Of course. Thank you, sir!” You catch the way he rolls his eyes, coughing slightly as he dismisses you with the wave of his hands. “Don’t act formal with me now”, he tsks, shooting you a small sideway glance. He reaches for the handle once more, holding the door open for you as you enter the suffocating interrogation room a second time that day. 

The silence is deafening as you step back inside, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you echoing off the four confined walls. Beomgyu remains seated, mindlessly fiddling with the rings on his fingers, the cuffs around his wrists scraping against the metal table. — You force yourself to remain stoic as you approach once more, carefully taking your seat opposite him as you place your files down in front of you. 

You clear your throat, ready to begin the initial interview when he suddenly speaks. “You look different.” He presents the statement causally as he leans back in his chair, it makes a squeaking noise at the action. Your heart pounds against your ribcage and you swallow as you hold his gaze. — “People change”, you say, your throat suddenly feeling dry. 

Beomgyu shakes his head, his dark and piercing gaze trailing along your figure. “But you act the same.” His lips stretch into a menacing smirk and you have to force the memories of those very lips against your own and all over your body, out of your head. Focus. You couldn’t afford to be taken off the case. 

“Last night”, you start off strong, your voice firm as you finally divert your attention from the files you’d been clinging onto, “You were present at Park Baekhyun’s property around 1am. What were you doing there?” 

The smirk has yet to fall from his face and Beomgyu cocks an eyebrow your way as he lets go of the rings he’d been fiddling with. “Cleanin’ up a mess”, the nonchalant tone he used masks any hint of unease he might be experiencing. 

“What kind of mess?” 

A glimmer of mischief flashes across his almost black eyes, it was one you recognized. His tongue prods against the inside of his cheeks, his hands flat against the metal table. “Well certainly not the ones we used to make.” The mockery made your skin crawl and you fought back the insults surfacing as you clenched your jaw. 

“Please refrain from straying off topic”, you say, your voice eerily calm. Beomgyu rolls his eyes, but doesn’t attempt to argue as he regards you with a bored expression. “One of my employee’s messed up”, he shrugs, “Fairly new to the job so I can’t really hold him accountable.” — You watch as his eyes flicker over to the window on his right, his gaze narrowing on the thick glass. 

“You gotta go easy on the newbies”, he then adds without tearing his attention from the window. And even though he couldn’t see Yeonjun, he without a doubt knew that he was there. For a moment, it felt almost as if he was addressing your senior and not you. 

Beomgyu’s gaze soon flickers back to you, the smirk on his lips returning within seconds. “But you would know all about that wouldn’t you?” His eyes flash with underlying desire, “I went easy on you the first time.” 

He didn’t. Perhaps that was why you remembered your first encounter with Choi Beomgyu to this day. 

⸝⸝ 

📼 — March 28th 2022 

The floor thumps in rhythm to the loud bass that echoes from the DJ booth. Sweaty bodies are pressed against one another as people tear their way through the dancefloor. The fluorescent lights blind you as they flash from purple to blue to green and back to purple again. — Perched awkwardly on a high stool by the bar, you watch as the night unravels before you. 

Clubs had never been your forte. Especially not during the weekends where they seemed to host a home for the whole city as everyone drank their day to day problems away. Your eyes scan for Kayla, she was the one who’d brought you here in the first place. After listening to her persistent whining for almost an hour you had finally caved, but at what cost? 

As soon as your coats had been left, she’d darted for the dancefloor, not as much as a second thought about you as she searched for her next victim. You shouldn’t even be surprised anymore, it was in her nature honestly. 

You’ve already emptied two glasses, and now you’re tapping the cool rim against your lips as you aimlessly peer out over the crowd. The idea of another drink enticed you, but your wallet strongly disagreed with that idea, thus you were left far too sober for your own liking as you avoided any attempts at socialising. You weren’t here to make friends, much less fuck around. 

It was then, in the midst of a heavy sigh, that your eyes fell on him. Back then you hadn’t known his name, you hadn’t known anything of what was to come. Your first thought was that he wasn’t your type. And you wanted to leave it at that, to let your eyes continue their endless roam and forget about him, but you couldn’t. 

Your gaze clung to him as it trailed along his dark and long hair, perfectly framing his sharp features. Then to the half-hearted smirk he wore, to his dark clothes and the black rings around almost each and every one of his fingers. And then finally to his eyes, darker and all the more menacing than the rest of him, they seemed to glow under the neon lights. 

For some reason, he was looking at you too. Despite the two half-naked girls draped over him, their hands insistently clawing at every part of him they could access, undoubtedly whispering beyond filthy shit in his ears with sickeningly sweet giggles. — Why was he looking at you?

He wasn't alone, far from it. The small booth he occupied held, not only him and the two girls, but at least three other guys as well, all wearing the same brooding expressions. You should look away, pretend like you’d never seen him in the first place, but the longer you stared at him, and the longer he stared back, it became increasingly more difficult. 

His smirk widens when he brings his glass to his lips, and over the rim you catch the sly wink he sends you. Your heart stumbles over its next beat, your own glass stuttering against your chin as you grip it tighter. 

It wasn’t like you weren’t used to getting hit on, or even subtly flirted with. But there was something undeniably different about this man. Despite your earlier complaints on your sobriety, you suddenly felt intoxicated in a way you never had before. 

And so you did the only reasonable thing left to do. You winked back. 

He chuckles, even though you’re unable to hear it, you can see it in the way his chest rises and falls. His ring clad hand slides along the thigh of one of the girls, who giggled as she leaned in to kiss his neck. He seemed to pay her little mind, those same dark eyes still fixed on you.. 

“Don’t even think about it.” 

Kayla’s voice is sharp, and it snaps your attention from the stranger and over to your friend as she takes the seat next to yours. Slouched over the bar, she orders herself a glass of water which she begins gulping down. — “What?” You question as you watch her wipe her lips. 

“That guy, the one you were eyeing”, she points in the direction of the man you’d just been gawking at, “He’s no good.” She gives a firm nod, glass gripped tightly in her hand as she peers down at the liquid floating around. — “How’d you know?” You scoff as you, too, turn back to the bar. Perhaps she was jealous of you succeeding in finding someone when she wasn’t, it wouldn’t be a first. 

But Kayla only huffs, her nails tapping against the glass as she purses her lips. “Only uses women for his own personal gain and pleasure, you’ll get hurt.” 

“What if I only seek pleasure?” That was a lie, because you didn’t, far from it. You were nothing like Kayla, at least you liked to think you weren’t. —- “Then I suggest you seek it elsewhere, I meant what I said, he’s bad news.” 

“How do you know that?”

Her knowledge about this stranger intrigued you. Had she hooked up with him before and got jealous by the possibility of you doing the same? Had he rejected her? 

Kayla sighs, her expression taking on an almost melancholic form as she sets her glass down. “Do you remember Shay?” She suddenly asks and you frown, confused by the mention of her old friend. “Yeah? You haven’t mentioned her in a while, did something happen?” 

Your friend snorts, throwing a glance over her shoulder as she nods toward the man by the booth. “Yeah, he did. – One night she’s off with him, next time I see her is two weeks later, drugged out of her fucking mind and unable to stand on her own goddamn legs.” A visible shiver runs down Kayla's spine as she recalls the events in her head. 

Turning back to the counter, she picks up her glass, “Besides, I’ve never seen him with the same woman twice.” With that, she downs the remaining water before pushing the now empty glass away. — “Better to try your luck on the dancefloor, hm?” She suggests as she attempts to pull you along. 

“I’m fine here.” You give her a small smile, watching as she nods before turning to disappear through the thick crowd. 

As much as you tried to keep your gaze from wandering, it somehow ended up by that godforsaken booth yet again. Except this time, the man seemed far too busy to spare your hopeless stares as much as a second glance. One of the girls had crawled onto his lap, shielding most of his face from view as she pressed her lips to his. 

His fingers squeezed around her hips before his hands traveled down the curve of her ass, barely covered by the ridiculously short skirt she wore. — They only broke apart for him to mutter something to one of the others present, their following laughter almost overpowering the loud music. 

With a small grimace you finally tear your gaze from the sight, slumping back against the bar with a tired sigh. This night seemed to drag on forever. Perhaps you could call a cab home, Kayla would probably want to stay at least another two hours, something that you weren’t quite feeling. 

You brace your hands on the countertop with the intention of heaving yourself from your chair and search for your friend when the bartender suddenly catches your attention. Wordlessly he places a drink in front of you, making your head jerk up as you give him a confused look. “I didn’t order–” 

“Booth 12”, he nodded to somewhere behind you but you hardly needed to turn around to know where this drink had come from. With your heart in your throat, you take the cool glass, eyeing the pinkish hue of the contents that swirled around the ice cubes. Why had he bought you this? Hesitantly you bring the glass to your lips, taking a small sip as you let the liquid slip down your throat. 

It tasted sweet, and you quickly found yourself going back for more. But hadn’t he been busy just a few moments ago.. Perhaps you’d read him wrong. — Suppose you could finish this drink and then head home. But you can barely get as much as another sip in before the seat next to yours becomes occupied. 

Through the corner of your eye you can easily make out his long dark hair, the faint smirk on his lips as he clasps his hands on the counter in front of him. For a moment, there’s an awkward silence hanging over the two of you. He doesn’t say anything as he gazes ahead, part of you wondered if he’d even come here with the intention of talking to you at all. 

You take another sip of your drink, desperate for the liquor to take effect. The man shifts in his seat, and you feel as though you were on fire when his head turns in your direction. Even with no words he managed to make your heart beat in a frenzy as you clutched your glass tightly. 

His dark and piercing gaze is unforgiving as it roams your figure, undoubtedly lingering where it shouldn’t. It was like he knew no shame. You should’ve told him off, you should’ve gotten up and left. For some reason you find yourself staring at him with equally invading eyes. 

“I haven’t seen you here before.” 

It’s the first time he speaks, his head falling to the side as he studies you. “You new around town?” His voice is smooth, clean of any stuttering or awkwardness. A small part of you envied how easily he seemed to be carrying himself. — You shake your head, “No.” 

The man raises an eyebrow, and you don’t stop him when he reaches for your drink. The rings around his fingers make a clanking sound against the glass as he takes it and brings it to his lips. “Then what? Not your crowd?” He asks before taking a sip, his eyes never leaving you. 

“No, I suppose not..” You gingerly admit, not wanting to highlight the fact that you were completely out of your element. But judging by the way he looked at you, his silent demeanor practically eating you alive, he probably knew that already. — He places your glass back down, gently pushing it back your way as he wordlessly encourages you to drink more. You don’t know why you oblige. 

He takes the opportunity of you sipping on your drink to introduce himself. “Choi Beomgyu”, he says, the smirk on his lips widening as he does. The name fit him, oddly enough. Perhaps it was a bad idea to give out your own name. He was a stranger, not to mention one that Kayla had specifically warned you about not long ago. Still, this man intrigued you beyond limits.. 

Beomgyu, as his name was, suddenly leaned closer and you could almost smell the liquor on his breath. “Come on dollface, you must have a name?” The nickname he so casually dropped made your stomach flip. — You tell yourself that this was just a game of his. Taking Kayla’s words into consideration, not to mention the fact that he had girls draped over him minutes ago, this wasn’t the first time he chatted someone up. You would not make a fool of yourself and fall for such cheap tricks. 

He’s silent as he waits for you to answer, but when you merely avoid his gaze and sip on your drink, he chuckles. The laugh is pulled from deep within his chest and it sounds raspy when it rolls off his tongue. Beomgyu leans back, running a hand leisurely through his long hair. “Hard to charm I see.” 

You don’t answer, but you can’t help but watch as he rests his elbows against the bartop, his finger dragging just below his bottom lip as he regards you with intrigue. — “Not your type?” You retort, your response coming out somewhat short. It was hard to fathom any reasoning behind his strange interest in you. 

“Far from it”, Beomgyu hums, though his glimmering eyes betray the words coming out of his mouth. The lower half of his face pulls into a lopsided grin, “But I’m not opposed to trying new things.” 

Your first instinct was to scoff, to tell him to fuck off back to wherever he’d emerged from. It’s strange. You find yourself completely unable to. Instead you push your nearly finished drink toward him once more, and Beomgyu takes it as he brings it to his lips. — If he wasn’t opposed to trying new things, then who says you weren’t either?” 

“Tell me your name.” 

His breath is hot on your neck, coming in short pants as he slams his hips against yours. The alleway is dark and vacant, shielding the two of you from prying eyes. Shoved against the brick wall, you’re pliant in his grasp as Beomgyu’s hands roam your body. With your skirt pushed high above your hips, the metal of his rings feel cool against your thighs as his fingers dig into your soft flesh. 

Was this a good idea? — It didn’t matter. Your nails rake along his shoulders, pulling him impossibly close. Beomgyu chuckles against the crock of your neck, his lips leaving sloppy kisses over your skin, pulling it between his teeth. 

This was so unlike anything you’d ever done before. Not that you were a prude, or anything of the sort. But something like this, in a place like this, where anyone could walk by and with a mere stranger no less.. Whatever. You figured he was just another promiscuous man with no other intentions than the last. You would use it to your advantage tonight, or at least so you thought. 

But for every kiss he placed against your body, for every quiet whisper of praise that slipped from his tongue, you found yourself slowly losing your last semblance of control. Beomgyu was not like any of your previous partners, he was new, exciting, exotic even. Something you’d never had before, and now that you’d gotten a small taste, you felt far from satisfied. 

Why did he want to know your name? Why did it matter if you were to never see one another after tonight? Still, his silent request is made clear when he presses your lips together in a feverish kiss. You gasp out at the feeling of his hard cock as it buries inside of your aching cunt, your thighs trembling as they remain wrapped around his waist. 

“Dollface”, he exhales into the kiss, his mouth warm and wet against yours. And when he pulls back for air, your dazed eyes meet his as you brace your hands on his chest. Licking your lips, you inhale slowly before finally giving out your name, your most vulnerable piece of information. 

He smirks, clearly thrilled by the admission. For a split second you wondered if you’d done the right thing. Perhaps it had all been one grave mistake. If it was, you weren’t given time to ponder it as he reconnets your lips, this time with a passion unlike anything you’d ever felt before. 

And that was exactly how you became infatuated with Choi Beomgyu.

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[servndipityz]

namgyu with alternative reader? perchance.. smut🫶🫶😁

a/n ── i'm so nervous about this one! i hope i didn't do a terrible job on portraying alt culture (i know nothing about it). i kinda tried to make it not super specific so anyone can feel identified. again, sorry if it's lowkey bad. it's also my first time writing smut, believe it or not, but i've had years of experience reading it so i don't think it's that bad. enjoy :)

STRIPPED

warnings ── smut, +18 MDNI!!! porn w plot. drug usage, sex under the influence, sex in a club, fingering, orgasm denial, degradation, light choking, kinda brat taming? p in v, unprotected sex, creampie.

word count ── 4.6k

he'd ended up there. of course, he'd ended up there. only someone as unlucky as him could wind up at some fucking goth party. or punk. or… whatever. he didn't really care about the whole thing—the dramatic makeup, the dyed hair, the incredibly loud music blaring through the club. none of it.

nam-gyu had envisioned a chill night on his free day, but no. of course, his co-worker had to get sick. of course, nam-gyu owed him money for the pills he'd given him last week. of course, he had to cover for him that night.

and, of course, it was alternative night at club pentagon. usually, his co-worker handled these kinds of nights—special events, themed parties, all that.

what did nam-gyu know about alternative culture anyway? he wondered the same thing as he weaved through the crowd, making sure everyone was having a good time, keeping an eye on bar sales.

so far, he'd been stepped on twice—not too bad, except when it came from one of those platform boots everyone seemed to be wearing. those hurt like hell. but at least the night was going smoothly. for now.

so good, in fact, that nam-gyu figured it was time for a drink. he'd been working for hours, making sure this party ran smoothly. he owed that co-worker a lot of drug money, and this was the only way to settle it. it’s not like he’d ever do this out of the kindness of his heart.

he made his way to the nearest counter, resting his elbows on the cool marble as he waited for someone to take his order. he couldn't help but wonder how anyone could actually dance to this loud-ass english music that sounded more like screaming. he'd take the regular techno dj any day.

meanwhile, you finished pouring a vodka red bull and handed it off to yet another customer. that's when you noticed him.

he stood out—not in a good way.

hunched over the counter, inspecting it like he might find some cocaine stuck in it (which, honestly, he probably would if he looked hard enough), looking like a wet rat. his clothes gave him away. who even let him in like that? plain black shirt, black jeans, a couple of rings.

he looked up as you approached.

his first thought was that your leather top made your tits poke out. his second was that, without all that emo makeup, you'd actually be pretty cute.

his third was what the highest-alcohol-content drink he could order was.

he opened his mouth to ask, eyes flicking to the bottles behind you—

but you spoke first.

"you're ruining the vibe, man."

he frowned, caught off guard.

you just raised an eyebrow, speaking over the loud music. "i said, you're ruining the vibe."

"i'm not doing anything," he scoffed, annoyed. he just wanted to order his damn drink. last thing he needed was some lecture.

"exactly," you said. "you don't belong here. what are you even doing?"

not like you actually cared. you were here to do your job, bartend, make money, go home. but this guy—standing there, stiff shoulders, sharp jawline, judging everything and everyone, probably without even realizing it—looking at you like that, eyes dragging over you like you were some kind of curiosity—

yeah. he rubbed you the wrong way.

being alternative, you already got judged enough. the last thing you needed was someone doing it at an alternative party.

he frowned even further. "i'm here to work. not that it's any of your business."

that caught you off guard for a second. "you work here?" your head tilted, curiosity slipping into your tone. you leaned over the counter, the neckline of your top shifting just a little lower. who knew—if this guy was someone important, you had to use all your charms. especially after being so rude. "i've never seen you around, and i always bartender at these kinds of parties."

his gaze flickered down your cleavage before snapping back to your eyes. but you saw it. the way his jaw clenched, the way he suddenly looked more annoyed than before—like he was mad at himself for looking.

"i'm not thrilled either," he mumbled, clearly uninterested in conversation. "just covering for a friend. now, could you actually do your job and get me something to drink?"

you bristled at his tone, raising a brow as you turned to the shelves of bottles. "jeez, someone's grumpy. what can i get you?"

in reality, nam-gyu wasn't grumpy. well, he was, but that was just how he was. it was just... for some reason, you made him nervous. the girls he usually dealt with at clubs were boring bitches trying to get a VIP card or whatever drugs he had in his pocket.

you were the opposite. rude. annoying. and he didn’t like that. but for some reason, it made his blood rush somewhere else, clouding his brain.

"just give me a shot," he said after a pause. "something strong."

you turned your head slightly, a smile playing on your lips—the kind that sent a shiver down his spine. you walked back to the counter, reaching for a bottle hidden underneath.

"drinking on the job?" you asked while pouring the liquid into a shot glass, then casually grabbing a second one.

nam-gyu let out a short, amused huff. if drinking was the worst thing he’d done on the job, he’d be in a much better place. but he watched curiously as you poured the second shot, his eyes flicking up through his lashes, brow slightly raised.

"what?" you asked playfully. "if you’re doing it, so can i."

you finally set the bottle back and raised your glass. he mirrored you, his eyes never leaving yours. there was something in his expression—almost a smile. you entertained him.

"cheers," you said, clinking your glass against his before downing the shot in one go. he followed suit, setting the glass back on the counter, suppressing a grimace at the sharp burn of alcohol.

“so,” you said, clearing your throat slightly after the shot. “who’s the friend you’re covering for?”

nam-gyu said the name, and your eyes widened.

“that junkie, huh?” you smirked. he chuckled. “yeah, i know him. he’s a little more talkative than you, though.”

nam-gyu narrowed his eyes. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“nothing. it’s okay to be shy.” your voice was innocent, teasing, calculated. you'd decided that you'd had enough, that you might as well have some fun. “anyway, my shift’s almost over. wanna get out of here?”

“i’m not shy.” he sounded offended, then glanced away, considering your offer. “and i told you, i’m working.”

you huffed. “fine. just needed someone to smoke this with." you reached into your back pocket and pulled out a tiny zip-lock bag filled with greens. "guess i'll have to find somebody else."

now that caught his attention. maybe almost as much as your exposed skin did. suddenly, he was interested. but also suspicious.

“what do you have?” he asked, leaning slightly over the counter, his voice lower, more serious.

“your junkie friend gave it to me for a gig i did. said it’s good shit.” you shrugged, playing it cool, acting uninterested—like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. and he took the bait.

“why would you wanna share it with me?” he still sounded wary, but there was something else in his tone now. curiosity. maybe even something close to interest.

you groaned dramatically. “look, i’m heading to the staff room. you coming or not?” you said, already turning away, signaling to your co-worker that your shift was over.

now, nam-gyu didn’t need weed. not exactly. he could probably find ten of those zip-lock bags hidden in his place, forgotten in favor of other, harder drugs. but he also wasn’t the kind of guy to say no to free drugs.

especially not from such a petty girl.

you grinned to yourself as you felt him rush to walk behind you, trailing after you through the club like he didn’t know the way like the back of his hand.

as you reached the hallway leading to the staff room, nam-gyu couldn’t help but let his gaze linger on your half-ripped fishnets, the way they framed your legs under that short black skirt. was he here for the weed or for you? he wasn’t really sure, and he didn’t care much.

you finally reached the door, slipping past a few couples too caught up in each other to notice, and he shut it behind him. the staff room was small, dingy, and reeked of bleach and cigarette smoke, but you still sank onto the worn-out sofa next to the table like it was the most comfortable place in the world.

you leaned back, stretching your legs out just enough for your skirt to ride up slightly. not too much—just enough to make him notice. and he did.

nam-gyu stood near the door for a second, like he was reconsidering this, before scoffing to himself and dropping onto the couch beside you. he was close, not touching, but enough that the warmth of him was noticeable. enough that when he exhaled, you could feel the faintest brush of his breath against your shoulder.

"roll it," he said, nodding at the bag in your hand.

you raised an eyebrow. "you're really bad at asking nicely, huh?"

he just looked at you, serious. "you’re really bad at shutting up."

that made you laugh. he was watching you now—really watching you—as you pulled out the papers, fingers working effortlessly, licking the edge just to see his reaction. you weren’t disappointed. his jaw flexed again, his eyes dark, tracking your every move like he was trying to pretend he didn’t care. like he wasn’t already leaning back, manspreading, trying to act like he had the upper hand here.

cute.

you tucked the blunt between your lips, lighting it, taking a slow drag before passing it to him.

nam-gyu hesitated, just for a split second, then took it, bringing it to his mouth. his fingers brushed yours in the handoff, and it was stupid how that tiny touch sent something sharp down your spine. or maybe it was just the way he inhaled, head tilting back, exposing the sharp line of his throat as he exhaled, smoke curling lazily from his lips.

you licked yours.

the weed hit, slow and warm. the music outside was muffled, the sounds of the party fading into the background, leaving only this—dim lighting, the scent of smoke and alcohol and something else, something charged.

"you always do this?" nam-gyu asked after a beat, voice lower, lazier. "lure random guys into the staff room for a smoke?"

you smirked, tilting your head. "only the rude ones."

he huffed, shaking his head, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch like he was trying not to smile. he passed the blunt back, his fingers lingering just a second longer this time. you let them.

the room felt smaller. warmer.

"you always this uptight?" you asked, taking another slow hit. "or just with me?"

nam-gyu let his head roll against the back of the couch, watching you through heavy-lidded eyes. "you always this annoying? or just with me?"

you exhaled smoke, letting it curl between you. "you like it."

he didn’t answer. but he also didn’t look away.

you were both leaning back now, legs almost brushing, breaths slow and measured like you were both pretending not to notice the heat building between you.

nam-gyu wet his lips, head still resting against the couch, eyes flicking to your mouth before he caught himself and looked away. like it was a habit. like he was trying so fucking hard not to slip.

you took one last hit before stubbing out the blunt in the ashtray beside you. then, shifting slightly, you turned toward him, letting your knee press against his thigh. deliberate. slow. testing.

"you're staring," you murmured.

he scoffed, but it came out weaker than he probably meant. his hands clenched into fists on his thighs like he was keeping himself still on purpose.

"you’re high," he muttered, looking away.

"so are you." you tilted your head, voice dropping, playing with the edge of your ripped fishnets like you weren’t watching the way his gaze followed the movement of your fingers. "and what, does that mean i can’t see the way you’ve been looking at me all night?"

nam-gyu exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "i haven’t been—"

"you have," you cut in smoothly, shifting closer, feeling the warmth of his body now, solid and tense. "you’re mad about it. i can tell."

his jaw clenched.

"tell me," you purred. "are you mad because you don’t like it? or mad because you do?"

his fingers twitched on his thigh. his breathing was heavier, controlled, like he was still fighting it. fighting you.

so you leaned in, lips just close enough to ghost over his ear. "it’s okay," you whispered. "you can touch me."

and that was it.

nam-gyu moved so fast you barely had time to smirk before he grabbed you by the back of the neck, his lips crashing into yours, hot and desperate, all teeth and pent-up frustration. his other hand found your waist, yanking you onto his lap, and fuck—he wasn’t holding back anymore.

he was done fighting it.

and so were you.

his lips were all heat, all pressure—nothing hesitant, nothing soft. you barely had a second to adjust before his teeth caught your bottom lip, his fingers gripping the nape of your neck like he wanted to own you. his other hand, firm on your waist, yanked you flush against him, and fuck—he was hard.

not that he acknowledged it. not that he’d ever admit that you’d done this to him.

your knees bracketed his hips as you settled onto his lap, rolling your hips down just enough to feel him. his grip tightened, nails digging into the meat of your waist. he hissed against your mouth—half warning, half surrender.

“you don’t play fair,” he muttered, lips grazing your jaw now, teeth scraping skin, testing.

your fingers tangled into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him grunt. “neither do you.”

his hands dropped—one to your thigh, sliding under your skirt, fisting in the torn mesh of your fishnets. the other traced the curve of your ass before shoving you down against him again, this time deliberate, a slow grind that made both of you exhale sharp.

his breath was uneven, warm against your throat. “you think i haven’t noticed?” his fingers curled, gripping tight enough to bruise. “the way you’ve been—” a sharp pull at the fishnets, a rip, cool air hitting skin—“fucking teasing me?”

you laughed, half-gasping when his tongue flicked against the pulse at your neck.

his fingers dipped, pressing against the damp heat of your panties, no patience, no hesitation. his other hand was now tangled in your hair, keeping you locked right where he wanted—breath hitching as he rubbed slow, teasing.

then his hand moved, fingers slipping beneath the fabric, warm against your skin, sliding between your thighs. the first touch was barely there, just a single fingertip running along your slit, slow, teasing.

you squirmed, but he didn’t let you go. “look at you,” he murmured, mocking, the pad of his finger dragging over your cunt, pressing just enough to make you shudder. “all that attitude, but you’re already—” he exhaled sharply, felt it before he even had to say it—so fucking wet.

"fuck," he muttered, more to himself than to you, his forehead resting against yours for a second like he was trying to collect himself. but his fingers were still moving, sliding along the slickness of you, testing, exploring, spreading it just enough to make you squirm.

"yeah?" you murmured, voice breathy, teasing. "you like that?"

his only response was a low, quiet curse under his breath before he pressed his fingers in deeper, the tips just barely pushing inside before pulling back, slow and torturous. he was watching you now, eyes dark and half-lidded.

and then, without warning, he slid one finger in, slow but firm, curling just enough to make your breath catch. your nails dug into his shoulders, and his other hand tightened on your hip, holding you steady.

"fuck," you whispered, rolling your hips into his touch, chasing it, needing more.

nam-gyu chuckled, low and smug, and then he added a second finger, stretching you just a little more, fucking you slow and deep with just his hand. the angle was perfect, his fingers pressing against that spot inside you that made your toes curl, made your breath come faster, needier.

"you’re so fucking tight," he murmured, more fascinated than anything, watching the way his fingers disappeared inside you, the way you clenched around them. he twisted his wrist slightly, his palm pressing against your clit as he fucked you with his fingers, setting a rhythm that had you grinding against him, chasing that pressure.

your moan was quiet but desperate, and he smirked, eyes flicking up to yours.

"you always this easy?" he murmured, his voice taunting, dark.

you opened your mouth to snap something back, but then he crooked his fingers just right, pressing deeper, and your words dissolved into a gasp, your head tipping back. his lips were on your throat a second later, sucking, biting, leaving marks you’d have to cover up later.

his pace picked up, fucking you harder with just his fingers, each drag of his palm against your clit sending another sharp wave of heat curling low in your stomach. the room was quiet except for the sound of your breathy moans, his heavier breathing, the slick sounds of his fingers working you open.

"you gonna come?" he murmured against your skin, his voice rough now, strained.

you swallowed hard, your fingers tightening in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. "fuck—don’t stop," you breathed.

nam-gyu felt it—felt the way your body tensed, the way your thighs shook against his hips, the way you were right there, so fucking close. he could see it too, in the way your mouth parted, in the soft, breathy little gasps escaping your lips, the ones you were trying to swallow back like you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

but he wasn’t that generous.

just when you thought he’d let you tip over, when your body clenched down around his fingers so tight he could barely move them, he pulled away.

just—gone.

the sudden loss was so sharp, so fucking unfair, that you let out a frustrated, needy little whine before you could stop yourself, your hips rolling forward, chasing after the feeling, after his hand, anything. but nam-gyu just sat back, bringing his wet fingers up to his lips, slipping them into his mouth with a slow, deliberate hum.

"mm," he mused, tongue flicking over them, eyes locked on yours. "not bad."

"are you fucking kidding me?" you were panting, legs still shaking where you straddled him, your body on fire, needing more, needing anything. your eyes flashed, your hands curling into fists against his chest like you were two seconds away from either punching him or ripping his shirt off.

he just smirked. "what?"

"you—" you gritted your teeth, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. "you’re such a fucking asshole."

nam-gyu chuckled, low and lazy, his hands dragging up your thighs again, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just to remind you he still had you exactly where he wanted you. "maybe, but you're still here," he murmured. "still dripping for me."

"yeah, because you didn’t let me cum, you dick," you snapped, rocking forward again, grinding against him, feeling the hard, thick press of him through his pants. he was just as worked up as you were, and you could tell—he was trying to play it cool, but his breathing was heavier, his fingers twitching against your skin like he was barely holding himself back.

that made you smirk. "ohhh," you taunted, rolling your hips again, slower this time, watching his jaw clench. "that’s why, huh? you’re hard as fuck and don’t wanna finish before i do."

his eyes darkened, his grip tightening on your hips. "watch your fucking mouth."

"or what?" you leaned in, brushing your lips against his ear, letting your breath tickle his skin. "you gonna do something about it?"

that was it.

one second you were teasing him, playing your little game, and the next you were flat on your back, your spine pressing into the shitty, worn-out couch, his body caging you in. his hand was already shoving your skirt up, fingers hooking into your panties and dragging them down your thighs, not even bothering to be careful.

"you talk too much," he muttered, voice rough, breath hot against your jaw.

"and you do too little," you shot back, just to push him, just to make him snap again.

it worked.

his hand was on your throat, not squeezing, just there, just pressing, just reminding you that he could if he wanted to. his other hand yanked at his belt, the metal buckle clinking as he undid his pants, as he shoved them down just enough to free himself.

fuck.

you’d felt it before, pressing against you, teasing, but now you saw it. thick, flushed, leaking at the tip, the kind of length that made your thighs press together instinctively, made you bite your lip even as you refused to let him see you flustered.

nam-gyu saw it anyway.

"knew you wanted it," he muttered, running the head of his cock along your slit, dragging it slow through your wetness. "acting like a brat, but your pussy’s already begging."

"shut the fuck up and—"

he pushed in, just an inch, just enough to make you gasp, make your nails dig into his arms.

"yeah?" he exhaled sharply, his jaw tight, like he was already holding himself back. "that what you wanted?"

you barely had time to adjust before he thrust forward again, burying himself deep, stretching you in one slow stroke that left your back arching, your head tipping back against the couch.

"fuck—"

nam-gyu groaned, low and almost desperate, his forehead pressing against yours as he bottomed out, as he let you feel every fucking inch of him.

"you feel that?" he murmured, breath ragged, his hips rolling just a little, just enough to make you whimper. "how tight you are? how you’re fucking squeezing me?"

you couldn’t answer. you couldn’t think. all you could do was feel—the way he filled you, the way he stretched you, the way he stayed there for a second, teasing, waiting, making you want it more.

you swallowed, trying to catch your breath. "you gonna move, or you just like teasing your own dick?"

his laugh was low. then he pulled back and slammed into you, knocking the breath from your lungs.

"fuck—"

your back was pressed against the couch, legs spread wide, thighs trembling as he held you open. his body caged yours beneath him, one hand pinning your wrists above your head, the other gripping your hip, keeping you still as he drove into you with rough, unforgiving thrusts. his cock filled you completely—thick, hot, deep—dragging against every sensitive spot inside you, making you gasp with each desperate slap of his hips against yours.

"you gonna be good now?" his voice was low, ragged, dark with amusement. his grip tightened, fingers digging bruises into your skin. "or you still wanna run your mouth?"

you tried. you really did. you opened your lips to snap something back—something mean, something cutting, something to remind him you weren’t easy to break.

but all that came out was a choked moan as he grabbed your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his.

"that’s what i thought," he murmured against your lips, his breath hot, his mouth just barely brushing yours, teasing. "bratty little thing—talking shit. but look at you now."

his hand wrapped around your throat, fingers pressing just enough to keep you in place. not squeezing. just controlling. just owning. his other hand slipped between your bodies, two fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles over the swollen bud.

"fuck," you gasped, your hips rolling up instinctively, chasing that pressure, that friction.

nam-gyu chuckled, low and smug. "yeah? you like that?"

you wanted to tell him to fuck off. you really did.

but then he twisted his fingers just right, his cock hitting that spot inside you at the same time, and your body jerked, your moan breaking into something desperate.

"that’s it," he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw, his pace still brutal, relentless. "don’t fight it. you wanna cum, don’t you?"

"yes—yeah," you panted, nails scraping against his wrist where he held your throat.

he pulled back suddenly, dragging his cock out until only the tip remained, making you whimper at the loss. his fingers abandoned your clit, and before you could protest, he did something worse—something filthier.

he spat.

the wet warmth of it landed directly on your pussy, slick and obscene. your whole body jolted.

"fuck—" your breath stuttered, your back arching as heat shot through you.

nam-gyu groaned at the sight, at the way you clenched, the way your body reacted so instantly, so helplessly.

"you like that, huh?" his voice was thick with satisfaction, his fingers dragging through the mess, smearing it over you, rubbing it in slow, teasing circles.

you shouldn’t. you really shouldn’t.

but the heat in your stomach coiled even tighter.

"say it," he ordered, his voice rough, his cock pushing back inside you, stretching you open again, slow and deep, making you feel every inch. "tell me you fucking love it."

your pride cracked. your body betrayed you.

"fuck—i love it," you gasped.

nam-gyu groaned, his breath hitching, his pace quickening. "good girl."

and then his fingers returned, rubbing messy circles over your spit-slicked clit, matching the rhythm of his thrusts, pushing you higher, harder—

you were already close. too close.

"fuck—fuck, i’m gonna cum," you choked out, hips jerking against his hand, against his cock, chasing it. "please—please don’t stop—"

and this time he didn’t.

he fucked you through it, his fingers never letting up, his pace relentless, driving you higher, harder, until it finally snapped—

your orgasm hit like a fucking wrecking ball.

your body clenched down on him so tight he cursed under his breath, his rhythm faltering for the first time. the pleasure crashed over you, your whole body shaking as you moaned through it, loud and wrecked, the sound swallowed by the shitty little staff room.

"fuck—fuck, yeah, that’s it," nam-gyu groaned, his grip on your hips bruising now, his thrusts rough and desperate as he chased his own release. "god, you feel so fucking good—"

he buried himself deep, his breath stuttering, his cock twitching inside you, and then he was coming, his grip tightening, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as he groaned low into your skin.

for a second, all you could hear was the ragged sound of your breathing, the quiet hum of the party outside, the distant bass thudding through the walls.

nam-gyu exhaled, slow and shaky, his fingers tracing lazy circles against your waist, still holding you, still pressed against you.

then he pulled out, groaning at the sight of his cum spilling out of you, dripping between your thighs.

he smirked, dragging a lazy finger through it before pressing it against your lips.

"open," he murmured.

you did.

and fuck, the look in his eyes when you sucked it clean—

you were so fucked.

© servndipityz 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content without my permission.

[flowery-mess]

healing touches

Pairing: frat boy Noah x female reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! / feeling sick / throwing up / let me know if anything else should be mentioned

Words: 1,8k

Author's note: I missed frat Noah❤️‍🩹 I have more interesting one shots for you, but I didn't want to push it when I'm not in the mood for it, so at least some fluff Noah for you

frat Noah masterlist

You and Noah don’t text on a daily basis, so when you didn’t send him any new messages for three days, he didn’t think much of it.

He got ready for another party at his fraternity’s house, dressing himself in black loose jeans and black oversized t-shirt. Before leaving his apartment he put on two silver bracelets around his right arm, his fancy watch on left hand and also new ring. Throwing black jacket over his shoulders, he checked his phone to see his uber driver will be at his place in 3 minutes, giving him time to put shoes on and leave.

Noah is not the type to drink every week, but tonight he planned on getting loose a bit. That’s why he decided to leave his black car parked in front of the main building and take an uber.

The drive to the campus where the party was held was short, but he managed to text you ‘Are you coming tonight?’ text.

He knew you didn’t come every week, but tonight he really felt like having drinks and leaving with you.

15 minutes passed by and still no reply from you. Maybe you’re getting ready with your friends or already on the way, he thought.

“Hey man!” Matt pulled Noah in their bro hug, handing him cold beer fresh from the fridge.

“Hey, where’s the rest of the guys?” Noah asked, looking around the living room. Looking for the rest of his friends, but also for you.

Matt led him outside where the rest of their friend group was hanging out. Noah took spot next to Nick, listening to the conversation so he could join them.

----------

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?” Clara asked you for like the 10th time today.

“Yes, I will. I’m a big girl and can take care of myself.” you replied, feeling guilty for the attitude when Clara was just being nice.

For three days straight you’ve been sick. It started on Wednesday when you threw up at the school bathroom, not knowing where it came from, but you still didn’t get rid of it. Along with it came fever and weakness.

Clara and Molly were getting ready for yet another party and you secretly wished they’ll both find someone to spend the night with, so you could have the dorm for yourself and don’t feel bad about occupying the bathroom most of the night.

“We’re leaving, Ella. If you need anything just text or call and we’ll be back, okay?” Molly assured you with a kiss on your forehead. Since you became sick she got into this ‘mom mode’ which you appreciated, but also needed a break from.

When you heard the door close, you picked yourself from the bathroom floor, crossing the room as quick as you could and throwing yourself in your bed.

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

One thing about Clara is that she’s a loud person, so whenever she arrives somewhere, everyone knows it. When her and Molly arrived at the frat house, they didn’t bother to walk through the living room full of sweaty people, they went for the backyard straight away. They were scanning the people that were already hanging out there and when Clara saw group from her class she yelled at them from the other side of the big garden.

Noah knew her voice so instinctively his head turned around, but his face turned into a frown when he saw only Molly and Clara. That was weird, because you always came together.

He texted you again ‘Hey, I saw Molly and Clara, you here too?’ and put his phone away, waiting for your answer.

One hour later still with no answer from you, Noah got a bit worried. His plans of getting drunk no longer happening, but he couldn’t say the same about your two friends.

He was walking towards the group of people Molly and Clara were hanging out with, pretty visible that they already consumed enough alcohol to be at least tipsy.

“Hi Noah.” Clara was first to notice him.

“Hi,” Noah cleared his throat, not sure what to say as he didn’t think this through, “where’s Ella?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, huh?” Molly smirked at him, her eyes giving her drunken state away.

“Yes, that’s why I asked.” he didn’t like talking with Molly, feeling her disgust in every word she said to him. He turned to face Clara again, but Molly was quicker to speak up.

“She’s on a date.” came out of her mouth before she could realise what she said.

“On a date?” Noah repeated.

“Yep, with a guy that’s not you.” Molly continued to tease Noah, who didn’t know if she was serious or not. He looked at Clara hoping she would tell him the truth, but she was too drunk to stop giggling. At Molly’s joke? At his confused face? He didn’t know.

“Amazing, thanks for your help.” Noah said without any emotion in his voice, turning around and leaving. He didn’t even stop to tell the guys he’s leaving, he just left.

He started walking in the direction to your dorms, thankful for the few minute walk to get a hold of himself. He was angry, because either Molly made fun of him or you were actually on a date and broke your deal.

He sneaked into the building you three were living in and had to stop himself in front of your door to take a deep breath, calming himself down that there’s a possibility that you won’t open your door and actually be having a dinner with some guy.

He knocked on your door and waited, nothing. He knocked again, nothing. He repeated that move few more times, his knocking more and more loud each time. Then he tried to call you and he heard your phone ring inside. Did you have the guy over at your place? With that thought he made himself even angrier and started knocking like a crazy person.

Meanwhile you laid in bed, your head hurting from all the noises. First you thought someone was here for Molly or Clara, then your phone started ringing and then the knocking got louder.

It took all of your strength to get up from your bed and open the door with very annoyed “What?”

You saw Noah in all black, his face confused and phone in his hand ready to call you again.

“Hi?” he suddenly didn’t know what to say.

“What are you doing here?” you asked him without any form of greeting.

“Are you okay?” Noah noticed your tangled hair and your pale face.

“Do I look like I’m okay?” you spat back at him, wanting whatever this was to be over so you could go lay in your bed again.

“Molly said you were on a date.” he finally said, his cheeks turning a bit red as he realised how does it look.

You managed short laugh out of yourself before saying “On a date? She really doesn’t like you.”

“Well, now that I know you didn’t break our deal… are you okay? Because you look terrible.” Noah made one step towards you and put his hand on your forehead.

“I’m sick.” you whispered and closed your eyes, feeling the relief of Noah’s cold hand against your hot skin.

“Okay, I’m coming in.” Noah said and closed the door behind him. After he took his shoes off he led you to your bed.

“You don’t have to stay Noah.” you told him as he laid you down and put the blanket over your body.

“Well I’m here already, so.” he shrugged his shoulders as if taking care of sick your wasn’t any bother. “What do you need?”

“I don’t know. I have a high fever, my head hurts and I throw up.”

“Did you take any medicine?” Noah’s face looked concerned as he tucked you in, because you were shivering from the fever.

“Yes mom.” he was glad that you were joking, it was a good sign.

“I’m gonna make you some black tea that should help with the sickness, okay?” and with that he left your room to make some tea for you.

He brought some dry biscuits along with the tea, making you eat at least one and drink some tea.

“Move.” he said and stood up to take his jacket off.

“What?”

“Move a little so I can lay down too.”

“You’re not laying in my bed in your dirty jeans.”

“God.” he sighed, but took off his jeans and made you move so he could somehow lay next to you in your small bed.

“What are you doing?” was he cuddling you? Holding you? Why?

“Shut up, you’re cuddling me every night you stay at my place.” he put his arm around you so you could lay your head on his chest. You knew you did, because every morning you woke up earlier than Noah and found yourself in his arms, on his chest or him on yours.

“Maybe if Molly would see this, she’d hate you less.”

“This doesn’t make us boyfriend and girlfriend, I’m just being a helpful friend.”

“I know.”

“The sooner you get better, the sooner we can have sex.”

“You shut up now.” you smacked his chest, knowing he was joking.

He took your laptop and opened some random show on Netflix.

You couldn’t help yourself, so you asked him “Did you really think I’d break our deal?”

“No, but you didn’t reply to any of my messages for the last few days and I didn’t now if Molly was joking or not.”

“Sorry, I was busy throwing up.” Noah laughed, but you still wanted him to know that you wouldn’t betray him like that. “Don’t worry Noah, I’ll tell you when I’m interested in someone and want to stop this between us. Okay?”

“Okay.”

And with that you slowly felt your eyes closing, before fully falling asleep on Noah’s chest.

---------

When you woke up hours later, the left side of your bed was empty and Noah was nowhere to be seen.

Your laptop was back on your table and your mug was full of fresh tea. Next to it was note from Noah, it said “Drink the tea and get better so next week I don’t have to sleep in this small bed again.”

You appreciated that Molly and Clara didn’t come back, they wouldn’t stop with teasing you if they saw you and Noah cuddled in your bed.

You didn’t mind that Noah left when you were asleep, you were happy to see someone else than the girls at least for a while.

You reached for your phone, seeing it was 4 in the morning. You had few messages from Molly asking if you’re okay, then you saw Noah’s messages and clicked on them. You quickly sent him ‘thank you for stopping by' text, finishing the mug of still warm tea and falling back asleep.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

This story is a work of fiction, with the plot and characters entirely made up. The appearance and name of the main male character are inspired by Noah Sebastian Davis, but the storyline bears no connection to the real person. Please do not steal or repost this work on other platforms without permission.

Tag list: @lacy1986 @chey-h @xmads-omensx @blade-dressed-in-red @respectfulrebel

Click here if you want to be on my taglist

[guilty-cheese]

Aaron Hotchner x nanny!reader

author’s notes// Hey gang! I know you guys mostly know me for writing for one piece but I’m doing a re-watch of criminal minds and have become obsessed again. Need this grumpy old man so effing bad.

Synopsis: you are Jack’s nanny and Jack gets sick at school. Hotch is grateful to have you there to take care of him

content: age-gap (20smthn reader), sick kids, mentions of case, fem-bodied reader in mind, mentions of Haley

—————————————————————

You had been working for Aaron Hotchner for a couple months now. Ever since his wife passed and Haley’s sister moved back home, he needed extra support to take care of Jack. In need of employment and a place to stay you were thankful for your friend, Penelope, who put you two in touch.

It was awkward at first when you moved in after only a week of knowing about the family, but Jack took a liking to you almost instantaneously. That made the transition into your work life much easier.

The dynamic between the three of you was simple. You tended to Jack when Hotch was at work. Took care of all the chores, making sure dinner was made and Hotch’s suits were pressed and ready. When he came home you listened poured him a small drink and heated up his dinner. He never divulged any work details just hoping to keep work at the bau.

The day was pretty much normal. You woke up at 6 to make sure you were up in time to make Hotch his breakfast and coffee. He woke up got dressed and took his breakfast with him sparring a “morning” and a “thank you” before heading out.

You made Jack his breakfast and noticed he didn’t seem as cheery as usual. Shrugging it off you dropped him off and school and went back to do laundry.

In the middle of preparing the stew for dinner you got a call from Hotch. He never called you while he was at work so you picked it up confused.

“Mr. Hotchner?”

You waited until his voice came over the speakers, cool and quiet, “Can you please pick up Jack? The nurse called saying he was sick and needed to go home. I told them you were coming to get him.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, “Yes of course. I’m on my way.”

“Thank you. Please text me with updates on his condition. I’m on a case in New York right now and hope to be home by early tomorrow morning.”

You nodded, “Yes, of course sir. Stay safe.”

“I will. Goodbye.” And with a beep the call ended.

You put the phone down and went to go wash your hands and put away the cooking supplies.

When you got to the school and saw Jack looking miserable on the medical bed your heart sank. You went up to him and lightly shook him awake.

You smiled softly, “Hey Jackers. Let’s get you home.”

He groaned as he opened his eyes and saw you. He whispered your name and shivered. You frowned and picked him up in your arms and grabbed his school bag. You thanked the nurse and brought him to the car.

On the way back to the house you looked in the rear view mirror, Jack was slumped against the window.

“Jack how are you feeling bud?” You asked concerned.

Jack whimpered and with a weak voice said, “Head hurts, I feel cold, weak.”

“I’m so sorry buddy. We’ll be home soon and I’ll get you some medicine and soup okay?” You cooed.

“Mmkay,” he murmured.

Once at the house you brought him inside, “Go change into your warm pjs.”

Jack nodded and weakly walked over to his closet. You closed the door and went back to the kitchen to make some chicken broth. As you heated it up you knocked on his door and peaked in. He was curled up in bed and shivering. You went into his bathroom and got a cool washcloth and laid it on his head. Then you put another blanket over him and tucked him in.

“Jack, you think you can stay awake for 10 more minutes so I can get you soup and medicine?” You asked as you pushed his hair off his forehead.

He nodded and you got back up and went to the kitchen. Looking through the cabinets for medicine and coming up with nothing you found that Hotch probably had it in his medicine cabinet . You tentatively went into his room and into the connected bathroom. You nervously opened his medicine cabinet and avoided looking at any of the yellow pill bottles.

When you saw the brightly colored pink packaging of kid’s medicine you grabbed it and went back to the kitchen. You mixed the syrup in some juice and poured the soup into a bowl.

As you went back into Jack’s room you saw him resting his eyes. Gently kneeling down and tapping him, he looked up and noticed the juice and food.

“Here’s some chicken broth and some juice to hopefully make you feel better.”

“Thank you,” He said weakly.

You helped him sit up and held the bowl of soup as he slowly took sips from his spoon. Once he finished most of the soup and all the juice he leaned back.

You got up and grabbed his dishes.

“Can you stay?” He murmured.

Your eyes widened slightly, “Yeah of course. I’ll be right back.”

Once you rinsed the dishes you went back in his room and knelt back by his bed again. You took the now damp and warm washcloth off of his head and onto the nightstand.

“Book?” He asked.

“Want me to read to you?” You asked as you ran your hand through his hair.

He nodded.

“Any requests?” You asked as you continued to pet his hair.

“Mm..Holes”

“Holes?” You chuckled.

He nodded.

You stood up and looked for the book on his shelf. You found it and crouched back down by his bed and began reading.

Two chapters in Jack was asleep. His shivering quit and his chest rose normally. You were about to get up but Jack’s hand remained wrapped around your wrist. Not wanting to wake him up you set the book down on his nightstand and laid your head down on his comforter.

———————————————————————

Hotch had arrived home that same night. The case wrapped up quickly than anyone thought it would. He walked into the house and saw medicine packets and left over broth left out in the kitchen.

Setting down his duffel and hanging up his suit he walked into Jack’s room. As he walked into and saw you holding Jack’s hand and resting with him, his heart swelled.

He walked over to you and kneeled gently tapping you. You woke up with a sharp inhale and looked up to see him.

“Mr. Hotchner. You’re back.” You said as you rubbed your eyes.

“Hey, Y/N. How is he?” He asked.

Shaking the sleep from your head you put your hand on his forehead. “Fever seems to have gone down. And he’s not shivering anymore.”

“Let’s let him rest.” He said and offered you his hand. You smiled and grabbed it as he hoisted you up.

You followed him out of the room and into the kitchen. “Sorry for leaving the mess. I’ll get right to cleaning it up.”

“No, no. I couldn’t possibly ask you to do more right now. I’ve got it. You go and do what you want,” he said as he rolled up his sleeves.

You waved your hands, “No sir, you just got home from work. I just took a long nap. I should be cleaning this up while you relax. Please, I insist.”

“You sure?” He asked quirking a brow.

You smiled, “of course.”

He nodded and walked off to his room. You ran your hands over your face once more. You’d be lying if you said that he was not attractive. Living in his house didn’t help and sometimes you passed by his room while his door was cracked and caught sight of his bare torso.

Shaking off the thoughts you began your cleaning duties. As your were finishing up cleaning the counter Hotch walked back out into the living room and laid down on the couch.

You wiped down the counter one last time and then joined him on the couch. He was looking over a case file, brows scrunched in thought. “How was the case?”

He soared a glance over at her, “Thankfully quick.”

“That’s good. One less psycho out there,” you commented.

“Mm.” He nodded.

With the coming silence you went on your phone. Scrolling through friend’s posts you were thinking of something to talk about.

“Thank you by the way,” he suddenly said.

“Hm. For what?” You asked as you looked over at him.

“For all that you do for us,” he said simply.

You smiled, “It’s literally my job Mr. H. No big deal whatsoever.”

He looked over at you, “You know you can call me Aaron.”

Your eyes widened slightly, “I’d feel weird though.”

He raised the corners of his lips slightly, “I feel weird when you call me “Mr. H” or Mr. Hotchner.”

You smiled, “Didn’t think of that. Okay, Aaron.”

A rare smile adorned his face before he went back to the case file. For the rest of the night the two of you sat in comfortable silence. All was well in the Hotchner house.

[kii-nami]

NIGHTBRINGER'S EPITAPH | PHAINON & MYDEI

Mydei drops Phainon’s title shamelessly, as if he is not standing here in this empty alleyway with you, holding you in his embrace so delicately behind Phainon’s back. Have you two no guilt? Does your shame really run that shallow to betray the man who loves you so dearly with such graceful ease? With his brother in arms, no less. How little self-respect does the crown prince have, to chase after a taken woman?

CW: 10K WORDS; ; FEM!MC; MC IS INVOLVED WITH BOTH OF THEM AT THE SAME TIME BUT FUJOS DNI; NO ACTUAL CHEATING; PART OF A WIDER HSR AU BY ME AND MY FRIEND; WRITTEN FROM A POV OF MY OTHER OC FROM THIS FIC; I AM NOT A HONKAI LORE SCHOLAR I'M SIMPLY FREAKY; IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS FEEL FREE TO ASK

They meet you for the first time with the fog of the hot water settling heavily in their lungs.

Burdened by her unavoidable involvement with this world’s struggles, Stelle is a little tense beside Shuhua. Their close brush with death – curtsy of Aglaea’s fierce dedication to protecting the secrets of Amphoreus – left the group somewhat shaken. Everything has been overwhelming ever since the cart crash-landed; so much so that Alisa started doubting Stelle’s decision to stay, instead of returning back to the train.

Despite accepting and enjoying her life of Trailblaze, this time things felt somewhat different. There was too much at stake to simply vanish and end up dead now. And they just had to get stranded without any way to contact the Express and leave sick March behind to be looked after by that suspicious Memokeeper hitching a ride.

Maybe asking Sunday, who is yet to settle down properly without following her around everywhere, to stay back and keep an eye on the situation was a bad idea on Alisa’s part. Even Aventurine, unfortunately roped into their shenanigans by Shuhua yet again, is suffering the consequences of their decision to leave them behind to have a nice trip as a family.

And it’s not like Alisa hasn’t entertained the idea of trying to use the powers of Repudiation, but the possibilities of what-ifs were far too great for her to risk the lives of her friends. So none of this seems extremely enthralling now that Alisa has to constantly watch her companion’s backs, trying to make sure she doesn’t need to mend them together body part by body part.

At least now that Aglaea isn’t trying to actively kill them, the group can finally relax just a little. And now that they’re about to go on a quest to kill a Titan – a God? surely not an Aeon? – Shuhua decided that it’s the best time for them to be as greedy and lazy as possible and soak in the healing waters of Amphoreus.

Maybe this too, as per usual, is a bad decision.

From under the weight of warm waters everything is coated in haze. Despite the promise of these baths healing not only body and mind, but also soul, Alisa is yet to feel any different. Being immune to everything has its ups and downs and right now she got the short end of the stick, unlike the rest of her companions.

Shuhua, as restless and as dedicated to playing a martyr as she usually is, spots Phainon first. Her mood pers up instantly, wet tail swishing excitedly in the hot water of the public bathhouse, sprinkling the droplets all over her companions. Through half-lidded eyes Stelle groans slowly, almost spitting the bathhouse water that got into her mouth. Lethargically scooting away from Shuhua to not get assaulted by her enthusiasm any longer, Stelle continues her nap in relative peace.

Noticing how nobody seems to appreciate her elation, the foxian finally decides to calm down a little, pointing unceremoniously to the faraway corner of the bath, “Look. Over there.”

Dan Heng, bored and half-invested into Shuhua’s new scheme, follows her line of sight languidly, only to be met with a picture that is a bit too perplexing even to someone like him. “Is that Phainon?”

A rhetoric question it may be, but it surely wakes Stelle up from her warmth-infused drowsiness, “Where?” With one eye open, sleep still clouding her vision, she looks in the direction that holds Dan Heng’s attention, just to finally wake up when she does spot Okhema’s unwilling hero. “Oh… It’s not that I’m judging, but…”

“That’s a little shameless even by my standards.” Shuhua snickers, a little devious chuckle, before she sinks under the water to tug Alisa up to the surface.

Finally releasing the breath she was holding, Alisa wipes the water dripping from her lashes and focuses on whatever got Shuhua act all scandalized. And considering that the foxian had little to none of said shame in her body, it must be one hell of a scene. Involving Phainon of all people, no less.

Elbows resting on the edge of the bath, he’s leaning back against the tiled wall. It's almost odd to see him so exposed, or even visiting a public bathhouse of all places, especially when Aglaea offhandedly mentioned that the Chrysos Heirs had their own private one to use however they pleased. It must have been truly an exclusive place with no entrance for ordinary people for him to be here. And considering his obvious company, it wasn’t much of a wonder why he chose to come here instead.

You – whoever you are – slowly step out of the warm waters, wet hair sticking to your exposed back; white, lightweight fabric of your robe clinging to your body, clashing with golden and crimson ink all over your skin. You reach for a bowl of grapes on one of the tables with refreshments, returning back into the bath just as leisurely, and it is only when the waves pick up the length of your hair that Alisa realizes the extent of your undress. Nothing but a thin, flowy fabric of your robe hanging loosely off your shoulders, you press yourself close to Phainon’s side and he eagerly invites you into an embrace, tucking you tightly to his chest. You pluck a grape from the wine, passing one to Phainon, brushing the pink berry against his lips. He opens his mouth, all but literally eating out of the palm of your hand.

Picking one for yourself, you pop the grape into your mouth; only you don’t get to enjoy the taste of it, as Phainon leans close to you, lips pressed against yours in an unannounced kiss. It’s a long moment before you separate, wandering hands of the hero straying a bit too far along your waist for such a public setting, but when he does allow you to breathe again, you huff and scoot away, following with a playful roll of your eyes. As smug as always, Phainon grins triumphantly. The berry stolen from your mouth must have tasted a lot sweeter than the one you offered him.

Phainon says something, slow and well-enunciated, although all the words are lost between the hum of the waves and the chatter of other visitors. You reply, much less careful and much more hurried, yet it still brings a blinding smile to Phainon’s face as he laughs freely. And when he brazenly tugs you impossibly close, with you all but sitting on his lap, Phainon seems much more relaxed, almost free, as if completely unburdened by the expectations this world placed on him resting on his shoulders. It’s as if only the weight of your body against his that truly matters for him; the delicate softness of your touch as your fingers glide along his shoulders until you bring your lips together once more.

And maybe it is so. Alisa does not allow herself to ponder on it any longer, lest it brings unwanted tears to her eyes. Jealousy is a vice, and she might not be holy, but envying someone else’s love this pure will surely drag her to hell if her past doesn’t already guarantee her a spot there. Maybe a little risk is worth a chance of seeing him even for a second.

Dan Heng’s deadpan voice brings Alisa back to reality, far away from the dangerous thoughts she will inevitably regret, “You have zero shame, Shuhua.”

The foxian scoffs, tugging on the tip of her ear to shake the excess water soaked into the fur right on the vidyadhara’s face, “Clearly they have negative shame, Dan Heng.”

 “Should we go say hi?” As if just woken up – full of mischief and yearning to wreak havoc – Stelle darts up to her feet, raining bathwater all over with her chaotic movements, “I feel like we should.”

Alisa has half a mind to stop her. It's neither time nor place and the two of you are clearly busy. Tomorrow is an important and, quite frankly, terrifying day for everyone in the Holy City, Alisa can only begin to imagine how you must be feeling sending Phainon away to battle a literal god. Logically, it’s better to give you some privacy, but has Stelle – or anyone other than Sunday, for that matter – ever listened to what Alisa had to say? The answer is predictably obvious, and whatever protests she voices are all lost on Stelle as she readies herself to march into the mayhem of her own doing.

“I strongly advise against it.”

Only she doesn’t get the chance to, tripping over her own feet, grasping for anything to hold onto and dragging Alisa along with her under the warm waters of the bathhouse. Shuhua and Dan Heng are quick to pull the two of them up, but their movements are far too sluggish under the influence of Thanatos’ power, and it does little to stop Alisa from inhaling some of the water.

“Miss Castorice…” She coughs out a greeting, although it seems to just make the matters worse as the woman takes a guarded step back.  “It’s okay! We’re okay! You just startled us.”

“I apologize, Lady Alisa. It wasn’t my intention.” Despite her rather poor repertoire of emotions, guilt is prominent on Castorice’s otherwise impassive features. Hands locked tensely in front of her, the Chrysos Heir sends another apologetic glance Alisa’s way before focusing on Stelle, “But please do not disturb them. It’s rare to see them here like this. Lord Phainon rarely has the time these days and Lady [Name] almost never leaves the Temple…” Castorice catches herself, putting an abrupt stop to her rambling, although the way she’s carefully watching you and Phainon paints a completely different picture for her sudden decision to stop talking. “Such an awful fate they were given.”

About to press for some answers, Alisa tries to find the question she wants the answer to the most, but none seem not invasive enough. Still, she imagines any would be more tactful than anything brewing in Shuhua’s head and judging by the ever-growing smirk tugging on the corners of her lips, she has a lot of those prepared already. Yet just like Stelle not so long ago, Alisa is not successful in her endeavor.

“Castorice!” Phainon’s voice is as clear as she remembers hearing it for the first time. “Esteemed guests, too.” He waves in their direction, hurriedly crossing the little distance between the refreshments table and their bath. “What a coincidence. Is the water to your liking?”

Dan Heng dips his head in lackluster appreciation, “It’s great, thanks.”

Satisfied with the answer, Phainon doesn’t offer any more questions, although the mysterious something woven into his self-assured smile is a little unnerving this time around, “If you’re free this evening you should come to the Garden of Life. My light has a way with words, her songs will not disappoint you.”

Castorice nods, accepting the offer easily. Even if Alisa wasn’t as intrigued by your relationship, she would have agreed either way. If not for the music, then at least for the rare investment sparking in Castorice’s eyes at the mention of you two.

“We’ll be there, Lord Phainon.” Maybe not everyone, most likely just Alisa and Dan Heng, but she would definitely not miss a free opportunity to listen to a ballad or two.

 “Not you too…” A disappointed sigh following his words, Phainon frowns slightly; blue eyes darting between Alisa and Castorice, he shakes his head, “No matter. I’m gonna go back now, can’t leave my lady alone for too long or she gets stolen by wild cats.” The smug arrogance paints his grin once more; Castorice – so uncharacteristically for her – looks almost amused by the nonsensical joke Phainon made. “See you later!”

He leaves in a hurry, just as fast and suddenly as he approached them, returning to your side. You welcome him, offering to take the wine pitcher off his hand but Phainon just shakes his head in silent disapproval. Opting to pour the pale peachy wine himself, he settles in the water next to you and lifts the goblet just enough for you to drink from it. And when you do take a careful sip from the silver cup, Phainon is quick to steal the wine from your mouth. Although you never seem to truly mind his unabashed behavior in the slightest, indulging it way more than you ever should have.

Maybe Shuhua is right for once, there are people with less than no shame.

Finally turning away, Alisa can’t help but muse over such unrestrained displays of affection. “He loves her a lot.” It sounds almost bitter, but Alisa is glad nobody notices. To live is to survive. To dream is to suffer. Even with her escaping the grasp of Istanai, Alisa will never truly be free unless she returns back to his side. And she can’t right now.

“He does.” Castorice is as solemn as always when she agrees quietly, her next words distorted by the excited buzz of the bathhouse visitors, “I imagine when you have so little to remember of home, what you do have you cannot ever let go. Even in death.”

It’s silent after that. Only the distant hum of the chatter and Phainon’s laughter cutting through the wall of white noise once in a while. They watch Castorice carefully as her unreadable eyes, all but glued to the glow of the sun shining over your head, get mistier by the moment. Tense shoulders, she cannot seem to find peace amongst the foggy air of the bathhouse.

“Castorice?” Stelle calls her name tentatively, but Castorice, too deep in whatever thoughts torment her, doesn’t react. Shuhua nudges Alisa on the shoulder, a little spooked by the idea of a literal manifestation of death being so lost in her own thoughts, and having no choice on the matter, Alisa reaches carefully to tug on the skirts of Castorice’s dress.

The Chrysos Heir flinches ever so slightly, misty gaze clearing up as she looks at where Alisa is still holding onto the fabric of her dress. “Please don’t listen to the rumors. Lady [Name] is not a bad person.” Coming completely out of left field, Castorice’s warning confuses the group even more than her silence ever did. “And do come to the performance, you might gain a lot of insight on that which you never considered to ponder on.” She looks almost conflicted when she says this, as if fighting with reason itself to justify her decision. Although when Castorice does get it off her chest, she seems almost liberated from her self-imposed shackles. Then she blinks, hand pressed over her chest as if she just remembered something important, “I completely forgot… I came here to fetch you, Lady Alisa. Lady Aglaea is interested in striking a deal.”

Shuhua groans. Alisa gets out of the water without much thought. Control is order and you cannot control what you cannot see. Yet again, the daughter of Repudiation is the biggest enemy of order. Only Aglaea is nothing like Sunday. And it’s for the better that she isn’t.

“I guess it can’t be helped.”

Alisa killed an Aeon once, what a demigod compared to rejection personified?

If only things were that easy.

They meet you for the second time with the strumming of a harp and your soft voice barely audible in their ears.

You are dressed far more modestly than you were back at the bathhouse, which isn’t that hard to achieve all things considered. Much of your exposed skin is still painted with golden ink, intertwined with red lines where they form some kind of convoluted patterns all over your chest and back. Your fingers run over the strings with some sort of stiffness one would not expect from a professional musician, and despite the music being nothing short of heavenly, you seem far too detached from the tune you’re playing. Even your voice is far too muted for a crowd that gathered around, and although the people are eerily silent while listening to your romantic tale of a sun’s journey to greatness, nobody is asking you to sing louder.

It's strange. There’s something off about this evening that Alisa can’t place her finger on just yet. Castorice hesitantly learns to accept that the powers given to her hold no effect on the daughter of Repudiation, so she slowly takes some liberties in standing far closer to Alisa than any reason would allow. Alisa lets her, contemplating offering a friendly hand, but deciding against it at the end. She knows better than anyone how overwhelming change can be for a person.

Shuhua, despite her initial unwillingness to join the group for a night out opting to just wallow in misery as she always tends to do at any mild inconvenience, seems to enjoy herself right now. Stelle and Dan Heng stand a little to the side, the deadpan expression on his face gives away an idea or two about the topic of Stelle’s commentary.

Phainon is sitting on the grass close to where you are, unbothered and casual as he always seems to be. Aglaea and one of the fragments of Tribios – Tribbie – are conversing quietly in the far away corner of the Garden of Life, but the leader of Chrysos Heirs doesn’t look all that happy to be here. Even the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos is present, albeit it’s a little hard to read between the lines of his permanent scowl, even more so than through Aventurine’s carefully crafted, mildly amused poker-face.

It's not Mydei’s presence that rubs Alisa the wrong way, it’s the odd absent-eyed looks Aglaea keeps throwing the Nameless that bother her. Despite a quite innocent and harmless deal they struck today, Alisa can’t help but feel even more on edge around the woman. Aglaea admitted she can only see this world through the golden thread, so why does she keep eyeing them so intently? It’s none of Alisa’s business and yet… Survival of her family is her business, isn’t it?

People give you a round of applause and you lift yourself up from the grass, bowing shallowly. Phainon is quick to follow you, taking the harp off your hands and bringing your palm to his mouth in a fleeting kiss. Castorice shifts uncomfortably, closer to Alisa’s side. And Alisa truly doesn’t want to assume anything, but from the corner of her eye she watches Aglaea’s frown deepen.

The crowd disperses slowly. Shuhua attaches herself to Alisa’s arm with a tired groan and an annoyed twitch of her ears, nuzzling against the feathers of halovian wings. Stelle is still rambling about losing her login streak in Wandering Waves and missing some important character’s banner. Dan Heng is the only one to actually care about the performance and even if usually Alisa would be the first to jump into a discussion about arts, her mind is uncharacteristically elsewhere.

With a whine, Shuhua announces that she’s craving a late-night snack before the big day. Both Stelle and Dan Heng pretend they don’t hear anything, not that Alisa expected anything else from them. Not even fighting for custody rights, Alisa drags Shuhua into a different direction that will take them to the Marmoreal Market. Maybe some dromas steak will soothe her friend’s miserable longing.

Yet as per the rules of Trailblaze, its pathstriders can’t stop getting themselves in trouble. And even now Alisa is barely quick enough to tug Shuhua behind a row of shelves full of potted plants before they get spotted by the two shadowy figures standing under the torchlights of Amphoreus’ otherwise dim alleyways. The scene unfolding before them leaves quite an unpleasant aftertaste in Alisa’s mouth when she swallows thickly. And now the fur of Shuhua’s restless tail doesn’t feel all that pleasant against Alisa’s skin amidst the heavy, warm night air.

“Is that who I think it is?” the foxian mumbles, a little confused tilt of her head, ears pressed tightly against her head.

“Please be quiet.” Alisa is trying to save them from being inevitably discovered, although her efforts go unappreciated, as Shuhua huffs, scandalized and offended.

“Hey, don’t shush me!” Despite being nothing but a whisper, the sheer force with which Shuhua delivers her line is nothing short of a scream. “You start sleeping in the same bed that smug, undercooked chicken wing and now you’re turning evil.”

Turning blind eye on the usual, albeit even more colorful, insults thrown Sunday’s way, Alisa covers Shuhua’s mouth with the palm of her hand, “Shush.”

Shuhua’s exasperated hissing is muffled, but it’s not audible enough to reach outside the little corner they’re hiding at. It’s for the better that it is that way, as the shadows grow nearer, heavy footsteps fall to a standstill under the darkness of a little shop across from the shelves covering them and Alisa can only pray the plants are enough to mask the bright fur of Shuhua’s tail.

The skirts on the back of your dress drag along the dusty ground and you don’t rush to lift them, slowly albeit deliberately walking past Mydei who remains standing near the bakery’s window. The annoyed crease between his eyebrows deepens as he catches up to you, stopping you by your forearm, the gentle touch not matching his permanent scowl.

Your gaze is planted firmly on the ground, someplace where your shadows intertwine. Mydei steps closer to you, hands moving along your skin until he holds your face in his hands, lifting your head up. “Why won’t you look at me?” He speaks differently. Less brash. Way slower and just as well-enunciated as Phainon was addressing you not so long ago. “Don’t tell me you’re still upset.”

“Of course I am, Mydeimos.” You talk just as quietly as you sing, with a tiny rasp of hesitation to your tone. Yet right now it’s mixed with something so bitterly vulnerable, it’s almost easy to forget that you are a taken woman. And with how compromising your position is, it’s all but effortless to misinterpret the situation for what it isn’t.

“I am immortal.” Mydei states plainly and you scoff.

He’s still holding your face in his hands despite your arms hanging limply by your sides. It’s hard to see under the shadows of twilight, but even in such darkness the hurt pooling in your eyes is difficult to miss. “Immortality does not take away the pain of death.”

“I am used to it.” It’s unclear whether Mydei is trying to convince you or himself, but either way it doesn’t work.

The bracelets on your arm clink against each other when you finally lift your hand to press your palm firmly to Mydei’s chest. “I told you already, didn’t I?” Your voice trembles like the strings of the harp, as if you are on the verge of tears. And maybe it is so, “Your ache is my agony. Your suffering is my anguish. I must live this life knowing I cannot aid you in your endeavors. History does not–”

Thumb against your lips, dipping ever so slightly into your parted mouth, Mydei interrupts your fervent rambling, “I wowed to battle fate for you. This hasn’t changed.” You are a taken woman yet with the way the Mydei so effortlessly throws earnest promises of eternal devotion your way, it’s easy to forget it is not he who you are officially involved with. “But Deliverer is better suited for that Coreflame than I am.”

Mydei drops Phainon’s title shamelessly, as if he is not standing here in this empty alleyway with you, holding you in his embrace so delicately behind Phainon’s back. Have you two no guilt? Does your shame really run that shallow to betray the man who loves you so dearly with such graceful ease? With his brother in arms, no less. How little self-respect does the crown prince have, to chase after a taken woman?

“You cannot defy who you are.” You whisper dejectedly, not bothered by the mention of Phainon but the fact that Mydei refuses to change his mind. You give up then, tense posture going lax as you sigh heavily in defeat, “But who am I to deny your wishes?”

“My wishes?” Mydei questions, a victorious glint in his eyes. “I have a lot of those, you know.” He steps closer and you step back until you reach the wall, Mydei’s arm against the back of your head so you don’t accidentally hit yourself against the white bricks. “I am insatiable in my greed. Or so they say.”

He doesn’t wait for any response, just dips his head down and presses his lips against yours feverishly. You reciprocate, eager and yearning, all but melting against his body until there is no more empty space between you. But even then, he still draws you closer, free hands itching under the missing fabric on the front of your dress.

Taking your preoccupied state as an opportunity for escape, Alisa once again drags Shuhua into the darkness of the alleyway. There are no words exchanged until they are far out of your hearing range. Marmoreal Palace is relatively empty this time of day, and Alisa feels like she can finally breathe properly. So many things running through her mind, she has no idea where she should even begin. All that Alisa truly knows that it’s wrong. They shouldn’t have been there to see that. You shouldn’t have been doing any of that at all. And yet...

Shuhua, however, never holds back when she has to say something, “This wench!”

“Shuhua, please.” Trying to calm her friend down is futile, but Alisa is known to enjoy suffering to its fullest.

“I have to give it to her though.”  Shuhua huffs in irritation, dusting her tail off any cobwebs it gathered during her stay at the dusty corner of an alley. “How hard is it to swindle those two at the same time?”

Acutely aware that she’s doing nothing more than playing devil’s advocate, Alisa is desperately trying to rationalize the situation, “Maybe this all is a big misunderstanding…” She knows nobody is inherently good, but she's always trying to look only for the best in other people. And Alisa really doesn’t want to believe that either you or Mydei would betray Phainon in such a way. Logic, however, is much harder to argue with.

“Her tongue was in places mine can’t reach.” An irked scoff and a roll of her eyes, Shuhua crosses her arms over her chest. It’s hard to believe such a thing is possible but once again facts win over delusions. “We should tell him about it the first thing tomorrow.”

“Shuhua…” Not liking Alisa’s tone, the foxian throws her glare of disbelief prematurely, before any stupidity can even cross her mind. But as it usually happens, disapproval doesn’t stop Alisa from speaking and she truly has had enough of Shuhua’s bad decisions in the span of these couple of months to last her for another ten years. “I am not condoning her actions, but… I don’t think this is the right time to drop something like that on him. We truly don’t need any bad blood between those two, considering they are quite literally on a quest to kill a god.”

Shuhua blinks, canines biting harshly into her bottom lip. She’s clearly searching for something to counter Alisa’s argument with but can’t find anything of equal value to reason. Eventually giving up, Shuhua sighs dejectedly, “Yeah, okay. You’re right.” Then she grins, a little manic and sort of troubling curve of her lips, as she cackles sarcastically, “We just have to kill a god, how hard can it be…”

Not harder than it was to kill an Aeon. But it’s better for Shuhua to never remember what exactly transpired inside the Realm or Repudiation.

Alisa can only hope that after all is said and done, she doesn’t have to act out on her side of the deal with Aglaea.

They meet you for the third time amongst the sea of passersby, the shining gold of your jewelry flickering with your every movement.

They spot you at Marmoreal Market not long after they successfully take Nikador’s Coreflame to the Vortex of Genesis. They pass by Melpomene, and despite calling out to her, she rushes past them without even a greeting, an annoyed growl falling from her lips as she casts one last glare in the direction of Marmoreal Diner. Confused, Shuhua follows her line of sight, ears perking up and tail wagging when she finally spots you amongst the crowd.

Against both of their better judgments, neither Alisa nor Shuhua told Phainon about their unfortunate discovery after they returned to Okhema. And considering he is still locked inside Nikador’s trial, it is for the better that he is not aware of your infidelity. This, however, is a perfect chance to finally confront you, not only about your unfaithfulness but also about the rumors floating around the Holy City.

After that night in the alleyway, Alisa couldn’t help but put her meddling skills to good use and sharpened her ears as much as possible. Castorice’s cryptic warning aside, the rumors about your person are hard to ignore when one actually listens to what the public has to say. Turns out, people seem to have very mixed feelings towards you. Some deem you an important, vital figure to Okhema’s wellbeing in such trying times: a famous bard, an acclaimed hymnwriter, a renowned poetess, a revered High Priestess of the Temple of Eternal Fire. Others think of you as a rotten fruit, slowly corrupting the well-oiled dynamic not only between the Chrysos Heirs themselves but also between Aglaea and the Council of Elders.

And as it so happens, everyone is acutely aware of your not-so-secret affair with the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos. All except Phainon himself. Even stranger thing is that despite your unfaithfulness being a well-known fact, nobody is rushing to inform the hero of it. Whether he lives under a rock or his devotion to you is that unshakable is unclear but whatever the reason for it is, Alisa can’t begin to sympathize with either you or Mydei.

Neither can Aglaea, it seems.

Goldweaver’s threads wrap themselves around Shuhua’s arm, planting her firmly in place, “I strongly advise you to stay away from that woman, Shuhua.”

The foxian clenches her teeth, and Alisa decides to intervene before things escalate someplace none of them wants to, “Lady Aglaea, good morning.”

Heavy blink of her sightless eyes, Aglaea turns to face Alisa albeit she can never truly pinpoint her location, “Good morning, child.” Despite the friendly, polite tone, Aglaea’s detachment from humanity prevents her from truly igniting the warmth in her voice. Alisa can’t blame her for it, neither can she condemn the woman for trying to protect her home by any means possible. Although now Alisa has a faint suspicion that her odd behavior during your performance had nothing to do with the Astral Express but everything to do with you. “Please heed my advice and stay clear of her, there is nothing the Temple can offer you that I cannot.”

“Of course, Lady Aglaea.” Alisa nods, agreeing with the woman without even trying to argue her case. Sometimes to reject something you need to accept it first, and who would understand that better than a daughter of Repudiation? “Please take care.”

Aglaea bows her head in a shallow goodbye, disappearing into the busy crowd just like Melpomene did not so long ago. Shuhua, still trying to come to terms with the fact that there might be a target painted on her back once more, gives Alisa a suspicious side glance.

"She's still spying on us, isn’t she?” Shuhua asks carefully. She is yet to get used to this new dynamic of being the one following Alisa’s lead for once. But to live is to survive and adapting is an integral part of survival, and Shuhua really doesn't want to meet her end here because of some light snooping.

Alisa shrugs, mumbling a barely audible agreement. Just because Aglaea’s golden thread cannot see her, doesn’t mean her spies cannot hear her. Breaking their agreement with the leader of Chrysos Heirs will put her family in danger, but despite his smug, overconfident attitude, Phainon is a good man. Sunday might be right: her kindness is her weakness ready to be exploited; but he’s not here to stop her, so what else Alisa is supposed to do?

“Lady [Name]!” It has been a long time since she needed to scream to get someone’s attention.

The people give Alisa an odd look or two, some stop to search for the source of a disturbance. You, however, head straight ahead. Box with honey cakes securely pressed to your chest, you never turn their way even when Alisa calls out to you for the second time. Some passersby give them confused side-glances; one quick look over your shoulder at the commotion, you never notice the outlanders, swept by the busy crowd of the market. Walking past them casually, you leave with only the scent of sunlit oranges, ripe pomegranates, and warm cinnamon clinging to the heavy air long after the flowing tails of your skirts disappear from view.

And so, you escape. And so, Aglaea wins.

“Can’t believe she ignored us like that!” Shuhua hisses. Angry and disappointed, she curses under her breath, icy glare digging daggers into the dense crowd of the market.

Something isn’t right at all about this. The omnipresent gaze of Repudiation calls for rejection of all, and even on the endless path of Trailblaze Alisa does not stop defying authority. Mokosha, Penacony, Amphoreus. Her guilt, her love, her longing. Karina, Sunday, Aglaea. To live is to survive. Survival calls for all sorts of risks.

“Maybe she didn’t notice us…” Alisa cannot see the golden threads, they dissolve into dust all around her, but she can spot them weaving through the market, trailing the scent of sunkissed oranges and sugary pomegranate you left behind.

Shuhua cannot see what Alisa can, however. “Stop playing devil’s advocate, I locked eyes with that wench.” But Shuhua wasn’t brought up with the oath of rejection woven into her every breath, so it’s understandable that she does not condone this doubt festering inside Alisa’s heart.

“I think it’s better we just talk to Lord Phainon.” Alisa knows it’s the only right thing to do. The only way to force you to be honest with yourself. The only way to get to the bottom of this conspiracy. The only way to not let Aglaea win ever again.

“Yeah, yeah.” Shuhua grits her teeth, even more vexed than she was before coming here. “Now come on, I need breakfast, or someone dies.”

Alisa doesn’t doubt it. She just hopes it won’t be Shuhua herself.

The golden thread trembles, yet its presence remains.

They meet you for the fourth time illuminated by the sunlight and scorched by fire, as you melt the ice of the memories of the world long gone.

It’s dark inside the Temple of Silence. Nothing but long corridors, dimply lit by torches burning deep purple flames, and imagery of the night sky painted in crimson and gold all over the white walls. Phainon is leading the way with well-practiced movements, all while entertaining Stelle’s barrage of ridiculous questions and Dan Heng’s polite yet distant commentary on some of the more captivating things that the hero has to say.

Shuhua is restless, even more so than usual since they got stranded on Amphoreus. Alisa fears it might be Shuhua's breaking point, but she will cross that bridge when she gets there and for now, they have far more pressing matters to deal with. Confronting you in your own temple is not going to be easy, but with Stelle and Dan Heng now involved in this against their will, things took a turn for the worse.

Noticing just how big the distance between them and Phainon grew, Shuhua exasperatedly mumbles something under her breath and picks up her pace, dragging Alisa along by her elbow. Phainon, finally stopping near the intricately carved door at the end of the hallway, is still entertaining Stelle’s curiosity without complaints. Shuhua throws him an apprehensive side eye, irked glow of her eyes spelling nothing but trouble for everyone involved, but Phainon misinterprets it as something it is not.

“You seem nervous.” He’s wrong, everyone except him is acutely aware of it, yet nobody is racing to correct his assumption. “I assure you, there is no reason for you to feel anxious.”

“It’s just…” Shuhua begins, a strained smile on her face, “It’s a little dark here, that’s all.”

“Oh, sorry about that. Should have warned you.” Phainon rubs the back of his head, an apologetic smile tugging on the corners of his lips. “Well, don’t worry. It’s very bright inside.”

Three light knocks. The dark, purple flames flicker to the rhythm of the drumming of Phainon’s knuckles. The heavy door opens on its own, light drowning the dimply lit corridor. For a split second Alisa’s vision goes blurry, as if blinded by the brightness of the light. It takes a second for her eyes to adjust to the new environment, but when they do, she almost wishes she stayed blinded forever. She should have known better than to trust Shuhua’s mad ideas, they’re always more trouble than they’re worth.

Shuhua’ grins, “Oh, isn’t it just great.” Dan Heng is quick to silence her before she drops any more unnecessary comments, but he can’t stop a little gasp that escapes Stelle’s parted lips.

Alisa diverts her gaze from the scene of the crime, trying to focus on something else other than the impending fight between an immortal man turned unwilling demigod and a hero acting as the muse to of almost all of your ballads. Eyes wide and pupils blown, Shuhua bites her lip to stiffen any more sounds coming from her, although most of it just seems like the foxian woman is trying to suppress inevitable cackle which is bound to worsen the tension even more.

Mydei’s arm is wrapped loosely around your waist, just to give enough support so that you don’t accidentally topple over and drop the goblet full of pomegranate juice all over the sofa. Or all over him to be precise. On your knees between his parted legs, one gold painted arm pressed against his naked chest, you’re carefully pouring juice into his mouth. He doesn’t as much as blink when some escapes his lips, sliding along his skin and leaving the dark crimson trail until it gets lost in what little fabric is covering his chest. Mydei simply slides his gloved hand along the expanse of your bare back, moving your hair away from your neck and bringing your face closer to his.

Dropping the empty goblet in your hand, you let it hit the white marble of the room with the deafening noise that makes everyone in the room flinch. You don’t seem to mind the noise, just sink even closer to Mydei, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips and when you part at last, you glide your tongue along the crimson trail. Then you sink your teeth into the slope of his neck, an apologetic flick of your tongue over the rapidly vanishing indent of your teeth in his skin. Mydei leans his head against the arm of the sofa, half lidded eyes watching as you leave a trail of bites along his chest.

Phainon, for all his recklessness and flair, is awfully calm even when he positions himself in a way to cover most of your exposed body from their prying eyes. Posture lax, no tension in his shoulders, he doesn’t seem astonished or betrayed, or even simply angry. If anything, Phainon seems almost embarrassed to subject his guests to such an indecent display of affection between his – girlfriend? wife? Alisa isn’t even sure who you even are to him with the way the hero keeps addressing you – and his brother in arms. Knuckles rubbing against his forehead, Phainon clears his throat.

Mydei, unbothered by the presence of another man in your private chambers, doesn’t spare Phainon even a quick glance, “You’re late, Deliverer.”

Canines digging into her lips, Shuhua is barely holding herself together from cackling. Alisa has to admit, that all of this is sort of funny in some twisted way. But all of this snooping around just for them to end up here, intruding into whatever you three knowingly have going on. Oh, how embarrassing indeed.

Phainon, back still shielding most of the view on your nude body, tugs his coat off, “Please inform [Name] that I brought in our esteemed guests for an appointment.”

With a deep, annoyed sigh, Mydei finally looks over his shoulder, “Really now, hero? Couldn’t find any other time?” You lift your head, watching him with mild worry in your eyes as if you just now noticed the presence of someone else in the room. Three light taps on your shoulder, Mydei whispers something extremely slowly and you nod, sitting up straight, moving your hair to cover your chest. “Or person, for that matter?”

Phainon shrugs dismissively, as if trying to play his mistake off as something that is not his fault and then throws his coat towards Mydei, “They seemed really eager to meet our Lady of Eternal Fire.”

Mydei scoffs, catching the piece of clothing and dropping it over your shoulders the next very second, “Oh, I’m sure they were.”

You slip your arms into the sleeves of the coat and get up from the sofa, “Phainon.”

Despite the tender kiss you give him, you acknowledge the hero with some sort of detachment when you say this name of his. But it must be because you, as Castorice pointed cryptically all the way back at the bathhouse, are the only one who knows of Phainon as a son of Aedes Elysiae, and his true name is far dearer to you than the one he chose for himself.

Then you divert your attention to the members of Astral Express, a peculiar smile curving your lips, “Mysterious outlanders from beyond the stars. Welcome to the Temple of Silence.” You beacon them to follow you to the large marble table in the center of the room with a gentle wave your hand, the sleeve of Phainon’s coat flapping as you do so, “Please take a seat.”

They do as you say, albeit a little hesitantly, and settle into a long ottoman, just barely big enough to fit the four of them. Phainon joins you on your side of the table, immediately resting his head on your shoulder, and despite reluctantly leaving the comfort of the sofa, Mydei remains standing behind you with his arms crossed against his chest.

“What brings you here?” You ask, hand running through Phainon’s hair. “Against Aglaea’s… insistent suggestions to stay away from me, too.” There’s a little teasing to your hushed tone. You are far more playful than Alisa initially thought, way less intimidating too.

Despite Stelle expectantly watching Shuhua, nobody says anything. What is there even left to say now that Shuhua can’t hold your trysts against you for her own entertainment? And neither she nor Alisa herself were here with any hopes of actually getting in contact with the Express.

Dan Heng, however, tired of constant childish tantrums of his temperamental fox friend, takes one for the team, “We were looking for a way to contact our friends back home, and Phainon lead us here. He told us there’s a chance you can help us reach through the barrier to contact them.”

One moment. Then two. Three and then four. You say nothing, your puzzled gaze drifting from Dan Heng to Shuhua, to Stelle, to Alisa and then back to Dan Heng. You mutter something under your breath; quick, single word sentences, as if you are trying to decipher something but keep failing at doing so. Phainon lifts his head from your shoulder, once again oddly guilty shine in his blue eyes.

It’s tense, unnerving kind of confused silence that never seems to settle and only continues to grow. “Deliverer.” Mydei sighs, heavy and exhausted, “You didn’t tell them.”

The frustration in Mydei’s usually mildly agitated tone is almost palpable, and Phainon chuckles awkwardly, “I thought it was obvious.”  Then he quickly gets onto his feet to leave the table only to return a couple of seconds later with a heap of yellowish parchment, a bottle of ink and four quills. He sets everything on the marble surface carefully and you thank him, passing the paper to the group. “Apparently not. My apologies, I must have complicated things way more than I initially assumed.”

A simple complication doesn’t even begin to cover the level of mental gymnastics you three forced them into, but even Shuhua’s confused ear twitch is met with Mydei’s almost-warranted exasperation, “Don’t look so damn lost, outlanders. You’ve never met a deaf person before?”

Oh, complicated indeed. Alisa was right to doubt everything, but with the way Shuhua’s ears fall flat against her head she can guess the guilt of assuming things is catching up even to her.

“It’s quite alright.” You dismiss the sudden pitiful glances with a careless shake of your head, instead pointing to the parchment you offered to them. Phainon once again takes a seat next to you, although his posture is far less relaxed than it was before, observing carefully as Stelle twirls the quill in her hand. “Before we begin, you must give an offering to the Temple. Please describe a memory you cherish and feed it to the fire.”

Dan Heng gives you an apprehensive look, doubting your words despite doing exactly what you told him to. Stelle does the same, quickly scribbling something on the paper and dropping it into the purple flames flickering in a large ceremonial goblet installed into the indent in the middle of the table. It takes some time for Alisa to think of a memory she is willing to share with a stranger, and next to her Shuhua grins, folding her paper neatly in half and throwing it into the fire as soon as she can.

Mydei rolls his eyes at such behavior, finally giving up his watch to sit down next to you. He tugs the armored gloves off, placing them neatly near the ottoman and rests his hand on the marble, fingers barely grazing the edge of the ceremonial goblet. You give him a pointed look, the one of a concerned warning, but he dismisses you with a slight, teasing tug to the pointed tip of your elf-like ear poking through the dark strands if your hair. You are about to continue playing a losing game when Phainon once again drops his head on your shoulder, lifting your left hand up to press a tender kiss to your knuckles. Those two, despite all of their differences, know how to distract you when it works to their advantage and succeed in doing so with the ease of a well-oiled machine.

Giving up, you return your attention back to your guests with a fleeting, barely audible apology, then dip your free hand into the fire and pull out five cloudy crystals, dropping them into a silver bowl placed in front of you. Picking the magenta gemstone up, you bring the copper colored one along with it, clicking them against each other. Phainon laughs, the joke is lost on not only Alisa but also on the rest of the Astral Express, although even Mydei seems to get it.

“You two are very special. One is an empty slate, unable to be recorded.”  You begin suddenly, dark eyes drifting from Alisa to Stelle intently. “Another blessed by the gaze of your local gods. What a peculiar life you have, Stelle.”

Upon hearing her own name, despite never introducing herself, Stelle asks a couple of questions you are never meant to catch nor would ever want to answer. You just toss the stones back into the fire and pick a green one, discarding this gem almost instantly as well.

“Rebirth? How interesting…” Looking at Dan Heng, you are searching for something Alisa isn’t sure you can find. But with how the Vidyadhara goes rigid upon hearing your words, something tells Alisa it is not only a single cherished memory of theirs you now have access to. “I am sure that whatever this jade abacus you are thinking about is, it will not help you to leave this world, Dan Heng.”

Smugness on Shuhua’s face deflates exponentially once you get to the pale peachy crystal, her scheme backfiring on her so unpredictably. “Oh, an odd choice for sure, and yet…” You quirk your brow, chuckling lightly under your breath and leaning forward to pass the stone directly into Shuhua’s hands. “Who would have thought that man had it in him to…”

Embarrassed, Shuhua hurriedly hides the peach-colored gem in the pocket of her shorts. You don’t say much more, just sit quietly with an oddly familiar glint in your half-lidded eyes, well-manicured nail in between your teeth. Phainon says something that is lost not only on you but also on the rest of the group. You swipe your tongue over your painted lips, crimson hue glistening even more under the glow of sunlight, and pick up the quill to write a couple of quick notes just to pass them to Phainon as soon as the last drop of ink hits the parchment.

Phainon skims over what you written, a choked cough contracting through his chest, and he crumbles the paper carelessly. “Shuhua’s chosen memory sparked sudden inspiration in me.” You explain then, a teasing lull to your voice, while your nimble fingers straighten the parchment Phainon so thoughtlessly ruined. “I am sure it will not disappoint you either, husband.”

“Aren’t you forgetting anyone?” Mydei asks, fingers that were toying with the edge of the ceremonial goblet now completely engulfed by the purple flames.

“This one sees the appeal of wild cats just like I do…” You say distantly, a subtle shift to the air around you as you tuck the note you wrote into the pocket of Phainon’s coat. “So I have something else for you in mind, Mydeimos.””

 Despite shedding light onto the meaning of Phainon’s bizarre joke and thoroughly embarrassing Shuhua even further with the knowledge of all her previous affairs, your provocative tone contradicts your appearance. Even while replying to Mydei as if you can hear him, you do not look a slightest bit happy or relieved to be able to perceive sound once again. Instead, you hastily free yourself from Phainon’s hold, swatting Mydei’s hand away from the fire and cradling it close to your chest.

Unlike you, the prince does not return from the flame unscathed, although the burnt skin mends itself almost instantly. You were right, immortality does not take away the pain of death, yet Mydei endures the turmoil with ease. True to his promise of battling fate for your love, he is willingly walking into the scorching fires just for a chance of you hearing his voice.

Love of such kind can bring all realms to ruin, yet it is the only kind that you can accept.

As if trying to brighten the mood, a little pink creature that has been following Stelle around ever since her conversation with Oronyx, finally shows itself. Curiously peeking out from behind Stelle’s shoulder, Mem says something that only she can decipher, and receiving a lackluster shrug from the Nameless it slowly floats up to you, fluffy tail swatting Phainon across the face. You watch it with an oddly nostalgic sense of longing littered all over your face like gold dust, strained fingers gripping Mydei’s hand harder. If you know something about Mem’s origin – which Alisa does not doubt even for a second – you keep it to yourself and let the pink fairy playfully bully Phainon some more, until it is completely satisfied and settles on top of his broad shoulders, tail wagging excitedly.

“Are all memokeepers so… eccentric?” Shuhua whispers right into Alisa’s ear and it startles her, dragging her away from her lingering thoughts. “What's up with that fifth memory bubble, anyway?”

Albeit a welcomed distraction, the idea of you being a pathstrider of Remembrance makes things even more convoluted than they initially were, although that power of yours is easily justified by that simple explanation. And considering how easily Fuli extended Their blessings to Stelle, it would be only natural that They gaze upon someone so closely intertwined with memories.

Soft smile of yearning all but completely gone, you look away, returning to the matter at hand. Last, bright pink crystal left lying in the silver bowl, you disregard its existence as if it's just a figment of your imagination. The subtle shift of the air does not seem so subtle anymore.

“Thank you for your kind offerings, Trailblazers.” You speak at last, although there is some sort of tragic finality to the way you deliver your line that tells Alisa you cannot fulfill their wishes. “I must disappoint you, however. What you desire of me is far too ambitious.” Alisa already expected as much, so it does little to disappoint her, but a discouraged sigh that Shuhua and Stelle share hurts her nonetheless. Yet your deeply apologetic expression seems extremely sincere, as you bow your head, “I am not a Chrysos Heir, neither am I gazed upon by an Aeon like the two of you. I am a mere preserver of truthful memories. A dedicated historian, if you will.”

Despite not truly acknowledging yourself as a pathstrider of Remembrance – knowing little of Aeons beyond the information you gathered from their memories – you almost openly recognize yourself as a memokeeper. Just as odd as Black Swan and Reca, albeit a little less suspicious in your intentions and far less invested into the overarching plot of this adventure.

Mydei seems to find some amusement in your claims, however, if a muffled snort coming from his person is anything to go by. He tugs on your ear again, the gold chain hooked to a tiny circular earring in your cartilage dangling as he does so. It's weaved with crimson and navy gems, uncannily reminiscent of Mydei’s own jewelry and the sentimental charm of it is oddly heartwarming.

A huff from you makes Phainon stiffen a laugh, yet another inside joke that goes right above the heads of the ignorant Nameless. He presses his lips against your knuckles once more, far more reserved in his affections than he was back at the bathhouse. Mem shuffles on the spot in his shoulder, tail wagging faster at the sudden disturbance as a bright pink paw hits Phainon square in the face. You giggle, murmuring a couple of teasing apologies in Mem’s stead, yet do not reprimand Stelle to keep her companion at bay. You simply watch Phainon, overflowing fondness in your eyes threatening to spill over.

When you do turn to look at Stelle, your gaze hardens exponentially, “Natural enemy of Goldweaver I might be, but I cannot restore memories like your little friend here does, nor can my power reach beyond these skies. I am truly sorry for wasting your precious time.”

Guilty as you seem to be for not being able to help them, there is something else to the way to shift in your seat. The hand with which you were holding onto Mydei so tightly just a moment ago drops on your lap. Phainon quits his pretend battle with Mem to give you a once over; nothing too out of the ordinary, yet it strikes a suspicion of doubt, nonetheless.

The last memory bubble remains untouched, but from the corner of your eye you keep a vigilant watch over the pink hazy crystal. A memokeeper always has their secrets and all their cards are always tucked close to their chests, under a hundred locks where the destructive forces of time cannot reach them. And right now, you too are hiding something in plain sight, masking your own troubles under the grievances of the Nameless travelers.

“Your time ran out, outlanders.” Mydei states suddenly, no room for discussion left in the way he gets up on his feet to stride towards the exist. “I’ll see you out.”

Stelle is about to say something when Alisa interrupts her, “At least we tried, right?”  It's a rhetorical question and she can only hope her friends get the hint and listen to what she has to say for once. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, Lady [Name]. We will be off.”

They do. Confused and a tad bit worried, they follow Mydei to the door. You wave them goodbye, but don't get up to see them off. Neither does Phainon. Spirits low, Mem hops off his shoulder to float back to Stelle’s side.

Three knocks. The doors open on their own. One last glance at you that Alisa is quick enough to steal reminds her how easily her heart aches for others. To live is to survive. To dream is to suffer. Whatever you saw in that last memory was enough for you to keep your knowledge to yourself. And it is for the best that you can trust yourself to make such decisions. Alisa isn't sure she can say that about herself and not turn out to be a liar.

Mydei is far less of a competent guide than Phainon is. The journey is far too fast and now it's evident why this place is called the Temple of Silence. None of the questions they had were answered, none if them were even brought up in the first place. At least Shuhua can sleep soundly now with her conscience clear of any doubt that she's secondhand complacent in someone else’s infidelity. It doesn't seem like enough, however.

So even when Mydei comes to an abrupt stop near the gates of the Temple, Alisa has half a mind to ask at least something. She knows he won't indulge her curiosity, the prince is not Phainon and cares not about faux pleasantries of keeping up with appearances. But as it turns out, Mydei was itching to share a word or two with them already.

“Deliverer is too soft on you, so I’m going to say it myself.” It's one way to put it, but who are the humble Trailblazers to argue with a disgraced prince of a fallen nation. “This is the last time you come here for favors of such matter. That fool might deny it and say we and the Dressmaster reached a compromise, but he made his choice a long time ago. And my pact with Aglaea is fragile and I hold little to no attachment to either the Goldweaver or the Holy Maiden.” A slow yet steady pace at which a warning turns into a thinly veiled threat, “He’s delusional and living on borrowed time. I am immortal and I cannot forget. If you bring danger to her doorstep, I will pay you tenfold.”

Nobody responds. What is even there to say to such a declaration? Even more questions than before, Alisa can't help but wonder just how exactly Phainon and Mydei came to an agreement when it came to sharing your love and how you had it in your heart heart to tie both of them down to your soul so selfishly.

Not like Mydei would ever give her a clear explanation. No longer truly human, Mydei owes the Nameless even less than he did when he was just a Chrysos Heir. All have their own memories to preserve and it's none of their business, anyway.

“You keep bringing up Aglaea but what exactly did we do that's illegal?” Stelle is rarely as tactful as she should be, however. Maybe that's why she gets what she wants so easily. Audacity gets you places tact cannot. “Is your… arrangement not up to her moral standards? Or is it about the–”

Mydei chuckles bitterly, a sarcastic undertone coloring his humorless laughter and Stelle shuts her mouth quickly. “If there's someone who has those so-called arrangements you speak of, then it would be the Goldweaver. You should ask her about it if you are that invested into other people’s private lives.”  For the first time in a long time it feels like they finally crossed the line with the meddling in affairs that do not concern them. Mydei doesn't allow them to wallow in self pity, unceremoniously showing the group to the gates. “That being said, you’ve exhausted your question quota here. Leave.”

No goodbyes are exchanged but nobody expects the prince to send them off with a warm pat on the back. Shuhua, once again melancholic, dejectedly scratches on the shiny fabric of the pincushion strapped to one of the belts of her outfit. Mem is babbling away about something that leaves Stelle in less than elated mood. Dan Heng will surely scold them for snooping when they return to their room, but for now Alisa must embrace the shame.

“And learn to hide better next time, outlanders.”

To live is to suffer. To dream is to survive.

The tears you wept into the silver bowl cover the pink gemstone like ocean water drowns the corpses of the fallen. Even in death, you yearn to preserve a memory that remains nothing but a distant dream in the eyes of those who remember.

Maybe killing an Aeon is easier than salvaging broken pieces of rapidly melting ice.

Only one way to find out.

[carlarosenakilah]

I'm taking a break from The Osix Family and Wilted Ivory

Hi, you've read that right. I'll proceed to go into detail undercut

Warning that the following will be containing very sensitive topics such as su***idal thoughts, mental health issues, and whatever the fuck I went through to get me here and I don't know how to describe nor name them but overall its not pretty.

Getting straight to the point- im drained. I'm in a horrible place right now and I need to take a step back before it might escalate into something worse.

The Osix Family is always something that I will forever dedicate to. It has comforted me, carried me, and saved me from killing myself three years ago.

I asked myself, "If I'm not here, who will tell the story of The Osix Family?"

That made me stay alive, and im greatful for that because if not, I wouldn't have been where I am today standing with the coolest people I have ever met and my amazing partner in crime @alexusespido-dod.

I love Wilted Ivory too, and that's where it gets tricky.

My only plan for Wilted Ivory is to simply tell a story about growth expressed as a musical au. Hence why the art is so simple– not just to match the original Casino Cups style, but just to tell a story that I hope would inspire and comfort others. Of course, I'm happy it gained lota of love.

The Osix Family though is a different story.

Like I said, it means a lot to me, so I put so much time and energy into this series. I sacrifice time that could've been used to study for the next exam, but instead im working on the next few panels or planning the music and etc. Blood sweat and tears (literally) into making sure the art looks good, story is properly conveyed, scenes carefully picked. Even if it gained me bad scores in my exams that made me stress over about, in the end it was worth it to me. I didn't care if I'd be sick an unable to move, as long as I could at least think about it, then I would be happy.

Episode 3 was my worst.

I overworked myself for that episode. I was always in front of my tablet, I never moved out of my seat, I was just there, working on it even if it was 1 in the morning and that I should be sleeping. I told myself: "Everything will pay off! Sure you're in so much pain right now, but eventually it will all pay off! Episode 3 is looking good and interesting! This will FINALLY gain the audience and love the story deserves!"

I was proud.

Until I wasn't.

Reality hit me like a saw. The moment the episode was released I was hopeful. But nothing happened. It was all the same.

And it just hurt how something as simple as Wilted Ivory can easily gain attention and love because it was Cuphead related something well known. Meanwhile, The Osix Family–despite everything–is just barely seen.

I started to doubt myself. To question myself. Was I not doing enough. What more can I do. What should I do. Am I not good enough?

Is the story just not good enough?

That broke me. I began to have thoughts I shouldn't have. I wanted to end it all. I wanted to quit and disappear from the world. Because what was the point in pouring so much love into something only for it to dismissed.

Its not like I simply began having these thoughts.

I've had them over and over again.

As much as I hated involving him, my partner, Alex, had to deal with the many times I nearly ended it. To the point where even if he was in school, he'd go out of his way to stop me, I still feel guilty, even if he said it was fine.

I don't understand myself anymore.

Why do I even have such an attachment to this series? Its just a stupid silly series for funsies isn't it? Why does my life to depend on it?

Unfortunately, it just does.

It sucks. Pushing away my needs for the sake of this passion, only for it to just not go as I hoped it would go. Did I mention I'm also losing followers on the osix family blog? Thats so silly and coquette.

I'm so sorry if im coming off as guilt-trippy, please I don't want it to sound that way, I just want to express how deeply troubled I am because to me it actually DOES HURT.

I envy people who couldn't give a flying fuck about whether or not their stuff goes famous or gets love, I don't even understand why I am so dependent or hungry on whatever attention it gets. I hate that im like this. I want to be free from it but I just crave it.

So, for the sake of my mental health and whatever is left of my sanity, im taking a break, for good.

I will not be updating The Osix Family or Wilted Ivory at this very moment. For how long? It depends on how fucked up I have actually turned out to be today.

I might still post, keyword: MIGHT, its not any update but to just simply draw for myself, but the chances of me posting anything is horribly low.

I'm going to focus on myself, my needs, and whatever makes me happy or have fun with.

To those who supported The Osix Family or even bothered to check it out: Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

It means a lot to me, you have NO idea. Every single like, reblog, comment, hype or even the silliest amounts of theories or thoughts, they make me so happy, it actually heals me.

I can't remember names im sorry, but there was a time someone expressed how they were invested in the lore and loved the world building, it really made my day. Or when someone pointed out some small details on my waiting in a miracle animatic, it warmed my heart.

I have troubles expressing it, but im so, SO greatful.

Especially when some of my mutuals started making OCS FOR THE SERIES?? Like– it felt like a HUGE compliment.

I cant believe im tearing up as im typing this haha im so stupid lmao, but

Thank you. A lot.

And to those who weren't really into The Osix Family, its okay, don't feel bad, sometimes things are just not our cup of tea, I just needed to express my grief, cause honestly bottling it up isn't going to end well for me (and it really didn't multiple times).

I apologize for any false hope or let down your hype as Wilted Ivory was just starting and The Osix Family was finally coming back– but this treatment is overwhelming me that I need to take a step back.

That's all for now.

Thank you for... actually reading, you listening means a lot to me too.

Goodbye.

[obvithe-bestsoph]

No. 27 | "Don't cry, I hate it when you cry." PG6

masterlist requests prompt list (if you request a prompt, please request a player for it as well!) warnings: none.

After yet another long day of work, you walk back through your apartment door and put your bag and coat on the hanger, tiredly wandering into the dining room and rubbing your eyes. You get the fright of your life, your boyfriend sitting at the table with a giant grin. After you calm down from the scare, you laugh slightly.

“Dios mío, Pablo. Some warning would’ve been nice.” He stands up and comes towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Lo siento (i’m sorry), I wanted to surprise you.” “Well, you definitely nailed the ‘surprise’ bit.” you chuckle, laying your head on his chest. “I cooked for you. Your favourite.” Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really? Why?” “Why not?” he shrugs, “You’re my girlfriend, I love you, I wasn’t busy, and I assumed you would’ve had a long day, so I did something nice.” You smile slightly, “Of course you did. You’re too good to me.” “Just as good as you deserve. Now, sit.” he pulls out your chair for you and more or less forces you down into it.

A plate of (your favourite food) is put in front of you, and you grin up at Pablo. “Gracias, mi alma (thank you, my soul).” “De nada (you’re welcome).” “So how was training today?” you ask, looking at him as you both begin to eat. “Good, I think we’ll play well in the game on Wednesday. Speaking of, are you gonna be able to come?” “I wish, and I hope so, but I’d have to ask my boss to finish an hour early. And when she’s the one approving it, there’s a very small chance it’ll actually happen. But if I can’t be there in person, I’ll be secretly checking the score on my phone under my desk.” you smile weakly, you really are sick of your nightmare of a boss. Pablo frowns. “How come everyone else’s leave always gets approved, but never yours? How come she always gives you more work than everyone else? Does she not like you or something?” You sigh and shrug, “Honestly, your guess is as good as mine. It sure seems like she doesn’t like me, but I have no idea why. I don’t think I’ve ever done anything wrong or made a mistake around her.” Pablo’s frown only grows. “I don’t understand why you even still work there, why can’t you just find another job? Hell, why can’t you just quit? I’ve told you before, I make more money than I know what to do with, it would literally be no problem if you stopped working, let me support you, and moved into my apartment with me.”

“Because I’d feel bad.” “Well, that’s stupid. Why?” “Just because. You don’t need to be paying for all my shit on top of all yours.” Pablo rolls his eyes. “You aren't a particularly expensive person, Y/N. You rarely even let me buy you anything. You insist on paying for your portion of meals and always buy me far too much for Christmas and my birthday, etc.” “Yes, because I’m your girlfriend, not your financial burden.” “Spoiling the love of my life every once and a while is hardly a ‘financial burden.’ You’re being ridiculous.” “I don’t want to argue with you, long story short, the answer is no. It’s just one annoying boss, nothing I can’t handle. And I’m fine with working.” Pablo scoffs and the room is silent for a few moments. “Look, I only suggest it because I love you, okay? I want you to just be able to come to my games, home or away, and not have to know about it 2 weeks before so you can apply for leave, only for it to be denied by that demon of a boss you have. I hate that you’re always exhausted on all our dates because you’ve had a long week, that you fall asleep so early that we never have time to do anything… fun… at night anymore. I just want you to be free and happy. Por favor? Para mi? (please? for me?)”

You look at him for a moment before looking down at your plate again. “I’ll think about it.”

Pablo grinned again, he knew that was more a less an ‘Okay, fine, you win.’

“Gracias. Te amo, mi vida (thanks. i love you, my life).”

Later that night, you guys were cuddled up on your couch, Pablo was watching the movie that was on the TV screen, and you were on your phone. Finally, he looked down. “What are you doing?” he asks curiously. You look up at him and grin. “Sending in my resignation notice.” His eyes go wide and he sits upright, “You’re kidding.” “Nope.” “Oh my god!” he breaks out into yet another grin, pulling you into a proper hug. “Thank you, thank you so much,” he whispers into the skin of your neck. “Why are you thanking me? It should be the other way around, you’re the one who’s basically retiring me early.” you smile, and Pablo chuckles lightly. Eventually, Pablo calms down from his excitement a little and watches over your shoulder as you finish typing out the email. “I can’t believe I’m seriously about to do this.” you say quietly, your finger hovering over the ‘Send’ button. “Neither, but I promise, you won’t regret it.” he presses his lips to the top of your head. A few moments go by, and you still don’t press the button. “Are you gonna send it, or what?” “Pablo, I’m scared,” you whisper, looking up at him, and he can see the worry and uncertainty in your eyes. His expression and tone soften, “Why?” “I don’t know… I just am.” “You don’t have to do this right now, you know?” “I know, but I want to.” “Then send it.” “I can’t.” “Well, that’s kinda stupid.” You thrust the phone into his hand. “You do it.” “You’re sure?” You nod. Pablo hits send, and just like that, you’ve quit your job. You stare at the ‘Sent’ message for a moment before bursting into tears, burying your face into Pablo’s chest. He shushes you gently, rubbing your back and repeatedly kissing the top of your head, before eventually pulling your head away so he can look into your eyes. “Don’t cry, I hate it when you cry. What’s wrong?” he asks gently. “I- I’m just so happy. Thank you, Pablo. Thank you so much for this opportunity.” you sniff, speaking shakily through the tears. “Anything for you, mi niña preciosa (my precious girl).” he murmurs.

“I love you.” “I love you too, más que nada (more than anything).”

[always1star]

the time we were together

toxic!sukuna x fem!reader (although can be read as gn?)

tags: angst, college au, cursing, arguments, use of y/n, alludes to sex (but nothing explicit, i dont write smut), cheating, yearning, closure, happiest ending i could make tbh, no part 2 im sorry

a/n: i didn't mean to write this but for some reason it just happened so enjoy my first fic lol. also this is NOT PROOFREAD

WC: 2.7k

You and Sukuna have been going out for some time now, maybe about five months. You met him at some random frat party. You had just been broken up with by your boyfriend of two years, and so you went to a party and took anything and everything anyone gave you. You were feeling super sick and all you really wanted was solace. After a while of sulking in the corner of this random disgusting frat house, you decided it was time to go home, as at this point you were high and drunk completely out of your mind. You gathered your things and attempted to stumble your way to some kind of exit. On your way out, you accidentally ran into this huge hunk of a man with bold tattoos. You started sobbing when he caught you, tears staining and fists clenching his shirt. He was absolutely bewildered and as people had begun to stare, he grudgingly took you home. After that night, you kept running into this random man you sobbed to on campus, and the rest was history. 

Although you and Sukuna have been going relatively steady for a while, you had hit a point in your relationship in which all you did was argue. And it is generally understood that after the honeymoon stage everyone often disputes with their partners, but Sukuna was terribly vicious. He often brought up how insecure you were, how it was your fault you were raised the way you were, how easily he could replace you. To say the least, Sukuna was an ass. He damaged your core like no one else could and it desperately hurt you to be with him. Still, you stayed by his side because you loved him, and hoped he felt the same way. You hoped because he would hold you as you cried, kissing away your tears, and whispering how sorry he was. You always forgave him, even if he did it time and time again. 

During the first stages of your relationship, Sukuna welcomed your presence. You two hung out often, and although not ordinary dates (he often took you to race on his motorcycle or would take you to sketchy parties), you had fun and were happy because he was there with you. Sukuna never was really into speaking reassuring or affirming words, but instead showed his affection with his actions. His hands would always be roaming your body, and you liked feeling the warmth of another person. He did things without you asking, like buying something you mentioned you liked or holding you even when you swore you were ok. While you smiled brightly and thanked him, he would just grumble “it’s whatever.” You would always laugh and giggle with him, and even though he never really laughed back himself, he entertained it. Sometimes you would catch him staring, and there was a look in his eyes that you couldn’t quite name. There was no doubt that he held a sentiment of adoration for you, maybe he even loved you. But now? His eyes only seemed to hold disappointment, anger, and annoyance. 

You had known from the second you met him that it would not be easy to be with him. He’s got a difficult, harsh, and cruel demeanor. You had hoped that maybe he wasn’t really like that, and that maybe he just had this bad-boy delinquent front to cover his vulnerabilities. Well, you were right, to say the least. But is the Ryomen Sukuna really going to be vulnerable around you, some random girl he met a few months ago that he just likes to use as a bed warmer? Hell no. You meant absolutely nothing to him and he couldn’t seem to get that message through your head. All this time, you thought that maybe he was just being difficult but that didn’t change the fact that he still maybe held a passion for you. 

One night, a particularly bad argument came up. It started as something that was completely meaningless. Him coming home a little late, you telling him you were too busy to cook dinner and that tonight you guys should just go get takeout, him mumbling that he was too tired to go out and that it’s nothing you can’t do on your own because you were a big girl and could handle these things. You apologized but said you, too, were too tired, and therefore did not want to cook. Sukuna’s temper just kind of blew up. “Are you fucking kidding me? You can’t even do this one little thing? You aren’t fucking helpless, Y/N. I’ve spent all day studying and working for you, and how dare you still expect more shit from me? Haven’t I given you fucking enough?” He threw his hands up in irritance, shouting at you, the previous exhaustion in his voice seemingly gone. “I’m sorry, I was just busy tod-” you tried to reason, but he quickly interrupted. “Busy? You were fucking busy? How the hell do you think I feel, huh?” He was walking towards you, and you were being backed into the kitchen counter. “Are you useless? No! You can’t even do small shit like this. How unloveable can you possibly be?” He continued to ramble and yell into your face, but you stopped listening. You rapidly tried to blink your tears away and to calm your shaky hands. Did he really just say that? You’re unloveable?

Eventually, Sukuna left the apartment with nothing but his coat and his car keys, mumbling something about how this is fucking unbelieveable under his breath as he slammed the front door shut. Your ears were ringing due to the newfound silence, the only thing being heard was your staggered breathing. 

A couple of days later, Sukuna still had not returned to your apartment. You assumed he had gone back to his. Neither of you had spoken a word to each other in two days, and you were becoming restless. You had to apologize to him, whether you were at fault or not. You texted him you were on your way as you started your car. You noted that as you were on your way, he never replied to your message. You approached his front door and rummaged through your purse to find the spare key to his apartment. As you unlocked the door, you took a deep breath in and recited your apology in your head. 

When you opened the door, the apartment was relatively cleaner than it usually was, save for the clothes littering the floor. Your brows furrowed as you noted a pink camisole and bra on the floor. Those definitely weren’t yours. Your heart was rapidly thumping, the sound filling your ears. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, and stormed off to find Sukuna.

You burst through his bedroom door to see a naked Sukuna and some girl you’ve never seen before. You watched as her eyes widened and as she scrambled to find some way to cover herself. She ran out the door past you. You were still standing in the doorway, frozen in shock. You held your mouth slightly agape, unsure of what to say or do next. Unperturbed, Sukuna sighed as got up from the bed to find his shorts somewhere on the floor. He ran his hand through his sweaty, almost drenched hair. Wasn’t he being way too casual about this? You found the strength in yourself to speak up. “How could you do this to me?” you weakly spoke, sounding as fragile as your now shattered heart. Sukuna put on his shorts and looked at you without shame, an agitated look painting his face. “I don’t owe you an explanation.” He continued to find his shirt. “What? We’re dating Sukuna. You can’t just-” you stammered, and he stopped you right there. “I’m not your boyfriend and you’re not my girlfriend,” he articulated every word like it was the most obvious thing ever. Your heart dropped. “And clearly, you didn’t think that. I liked what we had, Y/N. But if you’re going to be all possessive like this, then we should end things.” What was he saying? “What? Suku-” He deeply sighed and his voice began to rise. “Get out! Don’t make me say it again.”

Ryomen Sukuna had broken your heart. Really, he stole it from your chest and smiled at you as he crushed it in his hands. The next week after the “break up” for you was absolutely terrible. You skipped all of your classes, meals, and sleep. You just wallowed in bed, wondering what could possibly make you so unloveable. To think that he never really loved you – wait, did he really never love you at all? You recalled that you never said I love you. Those three words held a heavy weight, but you were thinking about how you didn’t need to say it to prove your devotion to him. It kinda made sense now. You should have never assumed your place in a man’s heart who didn’t have room for anyone, let alone you.

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

Five months later…

Sukuna found it nice to be freely sleeping around again, finding himself at parties, clubs, bars, always having a girl on his side. Sukuna always woke up next to a new girl every morning (girls he never remembers the names of), quickly kicking her out so he didn’t have to deal with whatever she thought was between them. He would go on late night rides with his friends (that you never really liked) and would come home to drink a cold beer wearing only his boxers. Life was good to him.

But as Sukuna came home one night after a thrilling night out, he thought it just wasn’t as fun as it used to be. He plopped down on the couch and cracked open a beer and turned on his TV. Still, he felt something was missing. Maybe he missed the thrill of making it home and spewing lies to the girl in his bed. Maybe he missed the heated arguments and sorry's just to repeat the cycle. . Maybe he missed coming home to a home-cooked meal. Maybe he missed the warmth of another person. Maybe he missed hearing a certain voice. Maybe he missed waking up to a familiar face. Maybe, he missed you. Wait, what? That’s not true. He shook the thought away, thinking that he just missed having authority over someone. 

He was obviously lying to himself. Sukuna wondered what could fill this odd feeling in his heart. It was evident that the sex, drugs, and alcohol was no longer doing its part for him. He stopped going out and now spent his time in silence and solitude. He began to think about you, and he wondered what you were doing. He wondered how you would react if you saw him again. He wondered what you did after you lost contact with him. He wondered what you looked like now, if you were just as beautiful.

He needed to find you, whether it was for the closure for his flaming conscience or that needed to know if you still felt the same in his arms, he didn’t know. What was he feeling bad for now? Sukuna was never one to have genuine apologies or have feelings of guilt in shame. What was it about you that made him feel this way? Sukuna wanted – no, needed to put a label on this aching feeling, and then throw it out. 

It was a new semester, and Sukuna hadn’t seen you around campus. He realized that he still really wanted to see you, but he knew you wouldn’t react well. He didn’t care too much though, he just wanted to fix whatever was wrong with him. 

One day, Sukuna saw you on campus in the courtyard that was in front of one of your major’s buildings. You looked the happiest he had ever seen you. A smile was plastered on your face as you laughed with some friends. The same smile that he struck off your face. Sukuna used to think he liked your crying face more than anything, he thought your stupid smile was childish, but now he thought you looked so beautiful smiling. He silently watched you, something holding him back from approaching you.

Sukuna often spotted you in front of your building, and he longed to talk to you again. If he was watching you so often, of course you were going to see him too. One day, you spotted him. He tried to play it off by clearing his throat and looking away, but when he looked at you again, you smiled. You… smiled? Even after all the humiliation and suffering he put you through, you smiled at him. You seemed to wave off to your friends and began to speed walk to him. He panicked a little.

“It’s nice to see you again! I hope you’re doing well,” you greeted and waved to him. It hurt him to see that you were still kind and genuine even after all that he did to you. “Hi, um… it’s nice to see you too… How are you doing?” he awkwardly replied. Sukuna was always one to hold pride and confidence, but upon seeing you he seemed to lose all of it. “I’m really good! This semester is kind of kicking my ass but I’m still trying to stay positive, haha,” you beamed. He nodded once as a reply and a silence enveloped the both of you. He stared at you, and you really did look happy. He sighed and spoke up, “Y/N, I never really got the chance to say sorry. I know that I have done so much wrong to you, but please, can you forgive me? I feel like what I did to you is burning a hole through my heart, and I just can’t bear to think that I could do that to someone as pure as you,” Sukuna began to beg. It was odd to see a guy who never bent down to anyone, who put himself on a pedestal ranging miles higher than anyone else, beg. 

You thought for a second, taking in the unfamiliar sorrow gracing his strong features. You eventually spoke, “Sukuna, I loved you, did you know that?” His eyes slightly widened and he nodded slowly. You continued, “The whole time I was with you, I wasn’t sure if you loved me too. It hurts to be around you.” He nodded again, breaking eye contact to stare at his shoes. “I can’t quite forgive you for what you did to me, but I want you to know that if you find your happiness, then I will always be cheering you on for it. Don’t mess up next time.” Although your words held the heaviness of your feelings, you still smiled at him. Sukuna felt a throbbing in his chest. God, what did he do to you? What had he done? He desperately wanted to say, “my happiness is with you” but he felt that he didn’t have the right to. Sukuna felt tears in his eyes, all an unfamiliar feeling to him. He nodded once again to you, whispering a thank you. Not because you were offering your understanding, but because he wanted to thank you for being there for him, even when he couldn’t be there for you. Sukuna went off apologizing once again, clenching his fists to resist reaching out and hugging you. And, as if you read his mind, you quickly pulled him into your embrace. The two of you held each other, tearing brimming your eyes. The feeling of closure the two of you longed for was gained, and for a second all the resentment and pain was let go of, all that was left was love and understanding for each other. 

Sukuna watched you from afar sometimes. He had been hearing around that you were in a relationship… good for you. He hoped that whoever that weird tall white guy haired guy you were dating was, was treating you with all the love and respect that you deserve, all the love and respect that he couldn’t give you. And as he watched you laugh with some guy that wasn’t him, smiling ear to ear, he realized that happiness looked so good on you. To pay his repentance and to pay his final act of love to you, he gave a small somber smile at your radiating face for the last time, and turned around and walked away, now truly realizing the weight of his mistakes.

[kawoala]

𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 — # kunimi akira

contents word count ; 1,172. sickfic. first time writing. for kunimi, sorry if he’s ooc!! college! au. kunimi is a good boyfriend. he’s also not much of a talker.

This sucks. You’re buried under a mountain of blankets, your body both warm and cold at the same time. The couch is more comfortable than it’s ever been, but not enough to make you forget how you feel.

Your head aches, your throat is sore, and even the simplest movement feels like a thousand tiny little hammers hitting your body at the same time. You wish you could fall asleep, but your body refuses to cooperate, constantly tossing and turning in search of comfort.

The apartment is quiet—too quiet. Your head hurts, but sitting in complete silence like this makes you feel crazy. Even the washer has stopped. The quiet seemingly amplifies how terrible you feel. An involuntary groan leaves your mouth.

Suddenly, in the silence, you hear a click and then the door opens. You don’t look up, but you can tell who it is based on the pattern of his footsteps; slow, deliberate, steady.

You can hear the faint rustling of keys as he drops them into the bowl by the door. His footsteps get closer, then stop. You try to open your eyes, but they feel far too heavy.

“Y/n?” Kunimi’s voice is softer than usual, you can tell he’s a little surprised. You can picture his head tilted, brows furrowed, gears turning in his head.

You groan quietly, which is as much as you can manage right now. There’s no energy left to muster a real response, so you let yourself sink further into the comfort of the couch, hoping he doesn’t notice how bad it really is. You hate being a bother.

He doesn’t say anything at first, but you can practically feel his eyes on you. The silence stretches, but you don’t mind. It’s like he’s giving you space, waiting for you to say something.

He’s like that sometimes, always watching from a distance, never rushing you, never pushing for anything that you don’t want. That’s one of things you love most about him. Despite him mostly keeping things to himself, he’s always had that sort of calming nature to him.

Finally, he sighs. “You’re sick.” A statement, not a question.

You nod, a weak gesture, but enough for him to understand. There’s a sound of fabric brushing against fabric, and then he kneels down beside the couch. He reaches for the blanket you’ve pulled over your head, gently lifting it to expose your face. His expression is unreadable, like always, but there’s a subtle tenderness in the way he looks at you.

“I didn’t even know you were sick,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. He’s not the type to make a big deal out of things, but you can tell he’s concerned.

“Yeah . . . I think I’m dying.” You’re trying to sound sarcastic, but the laugh you let out morphs into a cough and your throat starts to sting.

He frowns, but doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he gently presses the back of his hand to your forehead. His hand is cool compared to the fever you’re running.

“You’re burning up,” he observes. His voice is still quiet, but there’s a hint of something else in it now.

“I think I’ll survive,” you say with a small, half-hearted attempt at a smile.

His eyes narrow slightly as he watches you, hand still resting on your forehead. “Are you sure?”

You sigh defeatedly, closing your eyes for a moment. “I don’t know . . . Just, don’t make me move. I’ll be okay if I just stay here.”

He doesn’t argue. Instead, he pulls away and stands, making his way into the kitchen without saying another word. You can hear the sounds of him rummaging through the cabinets, followed by the soft clink of dishes. Despite your best efforts to stay awake, your eyelids grow heavier, and before you know it, you finally doze off. 

When you wake up, the smell of something warm fills the room. It’s comforting, the scent of soup—your favorite. You feel the blanket shift as he gently sits down next to you again. 

“Sit up,” he says quietly. 

You’re too tired to argue, so you do as he says, propping yourself up with shaky arms. He’s careful, supporting you with one hand as he holds a bowl of soup in the other. It’s warm, and the smell is enough to make your stomach grumble, though you still feel too weak to really want to eat.

“Here,” he murmurs, his voice softer than usual. He holds the spoon to your lips. You look up at him, meeting his gaze for a moment. It’s strange how he can look at you so calmly, yet there’s something tender in his eyes now, something deeper that you don’t always see.

“Thanks,” you say weakly, but you’re grateful. 

Again, he doesn’t answer right away, simply feeding you the soup in small spoonfuls. The warmth of the broth soothes your sore throat, and though you can’t taste it as much as you want to, the act of him caring for you in such a quiet, efficient way brings a small sense of love. 

“You should’ve told me you were this sick earlier,” he murmurs, though the way he says it doesn’t feel like an accusation. It’s more like he’s just thinking aloud. 

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you mutter, your voice still rough. “You’ve got your own things going on.”

His hand pauses for a moment, and you feel his eyes on you. It’s not the usual indifferent stare he gives people—no, this one is different. It’s something softer, more personal. 

“You’re not a bother,” he says quietly. His voice is lower now, and there’s an edge of sincerity you don’t hear from him often. 

You meet his gaze again, surprised by the weight of his words. But before you can respond, he’s offering you another spoonful, his quiet demeanor unwavering as he continues to care for you. It’s not the big, dramatic gestures that most people expect in relationships, but it’s enough. 

He doesn’t have to say a lot, but somehow you always know he cares. You’ve learned that, over time. 

Eventually, the bowl is empty, and Kunimi sets it aside. He looks at you for a moment, as though contemplating something. Then, with a sigh, he stands and starts to gather the blankets around you, tucking you in carefully. 

“You should sleep,” he says, his tone casual, but there’s a hint of concern lingering beneath it. 

You nod, already feeling the exhaustion settle over you again. “Thank you, Aki,” you murmur, your voice soft. 

He pauses for a second, as if weighing the words, before offering you the faintest of smiles—one that’s so subtle, you might have missed it if you weren’t looking for it.

“Don’t mention it,” he says, his voice quiet but warm. “Get some rest.”

You close your eyes again, the comfort of the blankets, the warmth of his presence, and the softness in his voice easing you into sleep. Even as you drift off, you know you’re in good hands.

[nobodybetterlookatme]

Update: gave my asshole partner my lunch bc I always bring soup when I work and bro sounds like he's dying, he tried to give me his card so I could go buy food at one of the booths, I literally said ew and leaned away, he glared at me but said nothing. He's already gone through four masks bc he's literally soaking through them like 😭 I've never been so horrified at work and I've seen some shit lmao like this is so bad. We've got seven packs of tissues between us but I don't think they're gonna last all day, he literally won't stop sniffling and he's coughing like every thirty seconds, like I really don't think I'm gonna survive the shift and I don't think he is either 😭😭😭

[hauntingblue]

Episode 8 I am so scared....

[astralmarionette]

im currently writing an atsugawa (I hate the name shin soukoku or whatever I'm sorry but I'm actually not. also I cannot pronounce soukoku {this is the real reason I don't use soukoku}) and I don't even ship it lmaoo

[icewindandboringhorror]

Daily Log 9

Trying out (probably just temporarily) making short daily-ish notes about things, in an attempt to see if it helps me be more reflective or productive lol.

Activities: Worked on the previously mentioned tapestry style painting thing for like 5-6 hours today (with a few breaks in between), and that's just for the border around the main picture lol.. I think all the little sections and detail always take longer than I think they might. But hopefully the final product will look interesting! :0

I feel like I'm entering another Sick Phase where I just am weird/ill/sleepy/having joint pains much of the day (probably some vitamin deficiencies or hormone imbalances or general bodily inflammation or whatever nonsense seems to randomly pop up from time to time lol), so couldn't focus on anything more intensive like writing or editing videos, unfortunately. It's good to have smaller crafts I can do that don't take much mental effort and are just menial hand tasks (like carving, painting, sculpting, etc.), but I still always feel frustrated falling behind on the things I see as much more broadly significant to my overall life and potential career (making games, writing, finishing videos, socializing, costumes, etc.)

Organized my desk a little. Responded to some doctor emails. Paid bills.

Planned out something I might make with pressed flowers tomorrow.

Edited like 4 costume photos.

Also have a lingering sense of dread due to the weather. The heat often makes me feel terrible, and if I'm already in kind of a Bad Phase at the moment, I'm afraid of it making it even worse... stimky..

Which I know these temperatures are nothing to some people but.. to me... aUGHHHH... I am abnormally heat sensitive + live in a dinky old apartment with no ventilation that gets direct sun the hottest part of the day.. on a 90F day outside, it literally gets about 84F inside.. like.. even people who love the heat I feel like would struggle to sleep at night if their bed is 85F lol... hewwo.. You can spray yourself down with water, drink ice water, put a fan on yourself, etc. etc. but.. sometimes it just feels so oppressive and inescapable..

ANYWAY. Aside from painting, feeling weird, and dreading the upcoming heat/contemplating my entire life and how to get enough money to move to a different climate somehow one day/existential exhaustion/etc., I didn't accomplish very much lol

Spent maybe 30 minutes thinking about a little more worldbuilding stuff, and some things in reference to the game I mentioned resuming work on at some point.

Notable sights: The clouds were really pretty and pastel this afternoon, and some stars are visible in the sky for once since the nights are beginning to be clearer. The 'forget me not' flowers that I thought had died after transplanting actually seemed to be perked up and healthy looking today, and perhaps may actually survive. >:3

Goals moving forward: Do new poll adventure post. focus on social activities, finding new friends in the places I want to move, communicating with the ones I have. Physical therapy exercises. Finish and upload videos, edit costume pictures & etc. Do the new costumes I've planned. MAKE SCULPTURES at some point, I miss them.

Notable foods: Not much, kind of a warm day so didn't really want to use the oven. No idea how I'll handle the diet I've been put on by my doctors (involves usually cooking all food fresh, using the stove a lot, nothing is supposed to be canned or processed or premade, so that eliminates a lot of 'quick easy simple warm weather' meals, etc. etc.) during the heatwave. I might just have to break the diet a little and hope it doesn't give me stomach pains while I'm already hot and feeling sick lol..

I did have a boiled egg with some green onions on top, which is very simple but was refreshing somehow lol. Another ice cold ginger ale treat today, and some cold prune juice (which I know most people find gross/it's an old person food/etc., but I like that it's a smooth textured and not very sweet juice? Like it's slightly thicker than apple juice, has a lightly bitter taste, etc. I just find it nice for some reason. More evidence I am secretly an 85 year old wizard)

[girlivealwaysbean]

dni.

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[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."