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RANPO admittedly is rather bad at taking care of you. To be blunt, he much prefers it when you coddle and spoil him, not the other way around, though he tries in his own ways — which mostly include sharing his snacks with you and being near you despite the risk of getting infected himself.

Unfortunately, you're not spared from his usual honesty; when you look downright awful, dark circles underneath your eyes, he will tell you just that. If you flake out on any dates the two of you had planned previously, he will whine, but at least he won't hold a grudge. While he's not particularly committed to being a caretaker, he at least stays by your side and brings you medicine and painkillers.

“You should eat more, y'know. Yes, I know you're nauseous. You've said so about twenty times already. You won't feel any better until you eat and drink enough, though. That's common sense.”

Naturally, FYODOR is more than simply good at taking care of you whenever you fall ill. With his age, it's no wonder that he has quite some experience and knows of many ways to heal you, though some of them might include disgusting homebrewed potions. You're best of just not asking what they're made of if you want to have any chance in downing them.

Unfortunately, his approach to helping you regain your health is more clinical than loving. He takes wonderful care of you, but he's not the type to cuddle with you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear while you're sneezing and coughing. If you ask sweetly enough, however, he might just read you a bedtime story or two.

“What is it, dear? I was just going to get you a new glass of water. .. Ah, I see. Do you really want me to stay that badly? Alright, then. Though me remaining by your side won't give you an excuse to skip taking your medication.”

It's no surprise whatsoever that NIKOLAI is not the most caring guy, simply put, and he might just tease you about being sick throughout the whole ordeal. He can't help it; you glaring at him, exhausted and sneezing, makes him giggle. Still, he's not all bad — he revels all the more in your surprised expression when he presents you with homemade soup, a family recipe, or so he tells you, and he smiles, content, when you admit that it tastes rather lovely.

With his ability, it's easy for him to get whatever you might need, whether that's food or a cup of tea or a bucket to throw up in, from the kitchen without moving from your bedside, so be prepared to spend quite a lot of time with him in the next few days — or weeks. Though, luckily, he's there to entertain you, not the other way around; when you say you want to curl up and just sleep the sickness off, he'll just keep watch next to you, silent and calm. After all, he does want you to feel better.

“Hmm, what did you say? You like my cooking? I'm honoured, doll! You're too kind! How about a quiz about what I put in there — poison, carrots, red beet, or all three? Ah, not feeling up for it, are you? What a shame. It's all three, if you're curious. I'm just kidding, of course. Don't you worry your pretty little head.”

SIGMA is the best choice for who to go to when ill. Not only is he kind and caring, he's also responsible and organised and, if you follow every step he tells you — eat his home-cooked soup, drink this medicine, sleep for as much as possible, take hot or cold compresses, inhale water with herbal essences —, you'll be at full health again in no time.

Even though he unfortunately can't stay at home all day to be by your side — duties at the casino call, even though he'd much rather not go —, he tries to spend as much time as possible with you, telling you about what has happened that day and how much he looked forward to being home with you again while your eyes flutter closed. When you've almost fallen asleep, his lips gently press against your forehead, even if that means he risks getting sick himself.

“Are you feeling better yet? No? Well, that's to be expected. It's only been a day, after all. I've brought you some more medicine, as well as some soup. Here, give it a taste, will you?”

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Black goes with the colour scheme of his chosen outfit; it's a reasonable first guess, although Nikolai sighs as though it is not.

The quiet does not last for long; only until after you've peppered some glitter onto his lids.

“Quiz time”, Nikolai sing-songs, white bangs falling into his face as he moves, “What colour of eyeliner do you think I want to wear today?”

“Wrong. A shame. Ah, but — you know what? I'll let you guess again. Aren't I kind?”

“Very.” You squint at him, your head tilted to the side in a curious manner. It's not like there's an overwhelming amount of options; red and white are his other two most used colours, and white is closest. You pick mostly by random.

Nikolai makes a triumphant noise; before you're able to reach for the corresponding pen, he presses his lips to yours, the gloss on them sticky. You let out a soft noise, eyes fluttering shut, though he's already pulling back again, smirk mischievous.

“Continue, sweetheart.”

Jerk.

Still, you drag the felt tip over his eyelids, going for a cat-eye look; the very moment you're done, a mirror suddenly appears between the two of you, the power of The Overcoat, and Nikolai coos at his reflection, apparently in awe.

You try your best not to feel too smug. It's rather difficult when he's literally swooning. Then, sharp eyes snap back to you, determination sparking inside.

“Alright; it's my turn, now. Lean back, doll.”

notes: I WASN'T SURE IF THIS MEANT DOING HIS OR HIM DOING YOUR MAKEUP SO NOW IT'S KIND OF. BOTH??

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There's little he enjoys doing more than cuddling with you, curled up in bed, comfortable and safe. Despite his physique, he loves being the little spoon — it doesn't matter how short you may be compared to him, having your arms wrapped around him just makes him feel loved and at peace. Indulge him.

Viktor likes to read to you, his voice calm, soothing, accent warbling enticingly around the words. What by now has become a routine for slow evenings at home began in the first place because you asked him to, claiming to be able to focus better when it's him reading the text aloud. Surprisingly enough, he found himself enjoying it as well, chuckling softly at the way you gaze at him as if he hung the moon, completely entranced. It's awfully cute.

While he prefers not to cook, often reaching for a quick snack instead of wasting time on a proper meal, Viktor will gladly watch you cook. The sight leaves him with a warm feeling spreading through his chest, and he oftentimes he ends up behind you, arms around your waist and chin perched up on your shoulder, the tip of his nose against your neck.

With sweet milk in your fridge and chocolate chip cookies on your kitchen counter, you're well-equipped to spend cozy afternoons together. Since he runs cold, there's quite a few blankets piled up high on your sofa, and you're often huddled underneath them, sharing warmth. Viktor is quite fond of the idea of the two of you consuming media together, such as reading novels — though he will sulk if you ever continue without him. It's a terrible betrayal.

Even though he usually prefers to take quick showers, doing it to get clean rather than to enjoy and relax, he takes the occasional hot bath with you. With you so close to him, skin on skin, he's able to feel the tension bleed from his muscles, and there's something sweet about the vulnerability of washing each other's hair with scented shampoos.

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It's strikingly obvious to both you, and to everyone around you, that JAYCE is especially fond of you, given how much he's touching you. They're all innocent gestures, like his huge hand resting on your upper arm, or on the small of your back when the two of you walk next to each other, or the warm hug he pulls you into when seeing you for the first time that day, strong arms inescapable, but it happens too often to be a coincidence. Whether he himself knows he's doing it is debatable — your best guess is that it comes so naturally to him that he barely even notices.

He's surprisingly attentive when it comes to your wellbeing — it shows in him always having a blanket on hand, or him giving you his jacket, when you're cold, in him asking if you've eaten already and keeping foods you like around.

His family's work is forging, and even though he's not quite as used to working on something this delicate, he does extraordinarily well when it comes to making you jewellery, working every night until there's no flaws to be detected. He also asks Mel or Viktor — Mel, preferably; subtlety is more her strength — to figure out what kind of gemstones you prefer to use those in the design.

SILCO is a man who values privacy — and yet, he has no issue with you constantly hanging around his office. Really, he's weak enough for you that he might attempt to scold you when you sit on his desk, pushing important documents to the side, or even on his lap while he's working, claiming your rightful place, arms looped around his neck, but his words never come off as truly strict, tone exasperated, but he'd never do anything against it. At this point, his office is as much your space as it is his, given how your belongings lie around everywhere — your lipgloss on his desk, your spare jacket on his wall, your favourite snacks secretly stocked in his drawers.

He's strikingly loyal, never even looking twice at someone else, given how he can only see himself being with you. Silco's always thinking of you, which shows not only in the way he brings you small gifts and trinkets — not unlike a crow — whenever he has to traverse the Undercity, but also through him wanting to keep your relationship a secret. It's most likely a sensitive topic, because he doesn't want you to think he's ashamed of you, never, but he's an influential man, and he just cannot stand the idea of someone harming you because of your connection to him. He's terrified of losing you.

VANDER is caring by nature, it shows in the way he protects his children and friends, his loved ones, his people. Still, with you, it's all the more obvious. Whenever you make your way to the bar, spending nights and early mornings at The Last Drop, he has your favourite drink already poured for you, including any modifications and snacks you like. In his mind, there's a whole section of facts about you, including your favourite positions to sleep in, your most beloved outfits, and the food you always ask for at the street vendor the two of you usually visit, and he couldn't stop himself from constantly gaining more information about what you like and dislike if he tried.

He's fond of physical affection, both strong arms wrapped around your waist when the two of you are sleeping, or the large of his hand splayed out on your lower back when he's guiding you through the crowds gathering in the bar. Not only does he simply enjoy touching you, the person he loves so very close to him, but he also wants to know you're safe at all times — if any stranger approaches you, setting you on edge, he's right there by your side. At night, he might cling to you a bit more tightly than usual when he's had bad thoughts of losing you the day long.

SEVIKA is entirely smitten by you. It's obvious enough that some of her colleagues comment on it, laughing and jeering at the heart-eyes she gives you whenever you walk by, gaze lingering for way too long, roaming over the curves of your hip and the way your hair moves in the wind. She's not bothered by anyone poking fun at her; yeah, she's heads over heels for you. So what?

She also really enjoys listening to you talk. After a hard day of work, there's nothing more relaxing to her than simply focusing on you, on your voice, on the peculiar way you pronounce certain words, and when she rests her head in your lap, your fingers gently threading through her hair, she just wants you to ramble about whatever comes to your mind.

Compared to Vander, her protection of you is mostly verbal — though that does not mean she wouldn't punch a guy until he's coughing blood if he looked at you the wrong way. Still, she's influential, imposing enough with just a raised eyebrow and a warning word for almost anyone to turn, tail between their legs, when they're staring at you for even a moment too long.

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Still, you've been looking forward to this, too. Having skipped breakfast, the idea of a warm lunch got you through the day — only to now be threatened by brown doe eyes.

“And whose fault is that?” Your protests are half-hearted, walls already crumbling, and he knows it.

“Well, for starters it's definitely Kunikida's fault. He's been working me to the bone lately. Don't you think I deserve a bit of a reward for that?”

“Not any more than I do.”

Dazai hums. “Well, I guess that's true.” Leaning forward, his puppy eyes morph into a smirk, oozing with the confidence you're used to from him. Reaching for your chopsticks, cold skin grazing yours, he leans in closer, causing your heartbeat to pick up. “How about we share, then?”

You were hoping to devour the whole meal yourself. For a moment, you consider remaining hard, stubborn. Unyielding. Dazai's fingers rub gently over the back of your hand, drawing faint patterns onto it. With how close he is, you're able to discern the different shades of brown in his eyes; some dark, some warm amber, though you're quick to look off to the side again, flustered by the constant eye contact.

Every single thing about Dazai is intense. Sometimes, you're not sure just how to deal with it — though, usually, you give in; when he's asking you to come along to a café with him, not quite a date but something close to it, when he's begging you to stay over the night, touches fleeting and suggestive, when he's telling you that Kunikida won't mind it if you're half an hour late the following morning, chin hooked over your shoulder, lips against your jaw.

You give in now, loosening your grip on the chopsticks and allowing him to hold them instead, his smile content. Not surprised in the least.

“I knew you couldn't resist me”, he coos, lifting a piece of crab meat up to your mouth, waiting; his grin widens when you close your lips around it. “You're adorable. This is how couples should be eating together.”

Butter and salt spread on your tongue, downright heavenly. “Except we're not a couple.”

Dazai merely hums in his throat, melodic and unconvinced, and feeds you another piece.

notes: i have. dazai disease.

tags: @irethepotato @beandaifuku , @the-foreigner , @ranpobb, @arixsux, @dei-lilxc , @atsyushi @satoruislove @pastelsbaby @marina-and-the-memes @texchou @shiggysredhead @savagemickey03 @rosepxtlz @nikolaiswife @okura-s @ladykatakuri @lunerenzo @berywritesstuff @xelia25 @yuuotosaka3 @double-black-dazai @alice0blog @fyodorstolenushanka @ttaiyaki @itsnovariella @black-rose-29 @fyodorscumsock @ayshaashaya @qxxstuff @Irethepotato @serenareiss @atsvsh1 @dilucshandholder @reiikonee @1-800-mocha @xvocadooo @hexiisexii @cupxfcxffee @jodidann @Happymoon16 @yumidepain @nchuuyahq @janeinerz @Aaronthegreatestsimp @fanfiction-waifu @KimxKiba @Morigumy @villainouspotential @ashthemadwriter-uwu @mrsdostoevsky @nikolaisgoofyahhhat @yeonwoomyheartbelongstoyou @hellgirlwhore @c4xcocoa @lyrstybsd @angelsrunes @wuaoqu @disa-ster @aspookyscaryghost @nikolaisboner @urgodmoon @polish-anon @arisu-chan4646nsfw @eroscastle @somnobun @birbysaur @senpaiable @hyunlixie143 @dababyurmom @urgodmoon @4nthonyyliving @brokeniced @nikolaisdove @dxwnstxr @scinclaitnoir @snips18 @flowzel @satohruu @squigglewigglewoo @rainy-dazie @itzashlyn123 @rheeeeeeeesiees @eggcoreloser @mariaace @mello0cat @warriordemigosworld @thescrunkly @ainegueneres @maroj23 @dazaiserectnips @little-miss-chaoss

Still, you've been looking forward to this, too. Having skipped breakfast, the idea of a warm lunch got you through the day — only to now be threatened by brown doe eyes.

“And whose fault is that?” Your protests are half-hearted, walls already crumbling, and he knows it.

“Well, for starters it's definitely Kunikida's fault. He's been working me to the bone lately. Don't you think I deserve a bit of a reward for that?”

“Not any more than I do.”

Dazai hums. “Well, I guess that's true.” Leaning forward, his puppy eyes morph into a smirk, oozing with the confidence you're used to from him. Reaching for your chopsticks, cold skin grazing yours, he leans in closer, causing your heartbeat to pick up. “How about we share, then?”

You were hoping to devour the whole meal yourself. For a moment, you consider remaining hard, stubborn. Unyielding. Dazai's fingers rub gently over the back of your hand, drawing faint patterns onto it. With how close he is, you're able to discern the different shades of brown in his eyes; some dark, some warm amber, though you're quick to look off to the side again, flustered by the constant eye contact.

Every single thing about Dazai is intense. Sometimes, you're not sure just how to deal with it — though, usually, you give in; when he's asking you to come along to a café with him, not quite a date but something close to it, when he's begging you to stay over the night, touches fleeting and suggestive, when he's telling you that Kunikida won't mind it if you're half an hour late the following morning, chin hooked over your shoulder, lips against your jaw.

You give in now, loosening your grip on the chopsticks and allowing him to hold them instead, his smile content. Not surprised in the least.

“I knew you couldn't resist me”, he coos, lifting a piece of crab meat up to your mouth, waiting; his grin widens when you close your lips around it. “You're adorable. This is how couples should be eating together.”

Butter and salt spread on your tongue, downright heavenly. “Except we're not a couple.”

Dazai merely hums in his throat, melodic and unconvinced, and feeds you another piece.

notes: i have. dazai disease.

tags: @irethepotato @beandaifuku , @the-foreigner , @ranpobb, @arixsux, @dei-lilxc , @atsyushi @satoruislove @pastelsbaby @marina-and-the-memes @texchou @shiggysredhead @savagemickey03 @rosepxtlz @nikolaiswife @okura-s @ladykatakuri @lunerenzo @berywritesstuff @xelia25 @yuuotosaka3 @double-black-dazai @alice0blog @fyodorstolenushanka @ttaiyaki @itsnovariella @black-rose-29 @fyodorscumsock @ayshaashaya @qxxstuff @Irethepotato @serenareiss @atsvsh1 @dilucshandholder @reiikonee @1-800-mocha @xvocadooo @hexiisexii @cupxfcxffee @jodidann @Happymoon16 @yumidepain @nchuuyahq @janeinerz @Aaronthegreatestsimp @fanfiction-waifu @KimxKiba @Morigumy @villainouspotential @ashthemadwriter-uwu @mrsdostoevsky @nikolaisgoofyahhhat @yeonwoomyheartbelongstoyou @hellgirlwhore @c4xcocoa @lyrstybsd @angelsrunes @wuaoqu @disa-ster @aspookyscaryghost @nikolaisboner @urgodmoon @polish-anon @arisu-chan4646nsfw @eroscastle @somnobun @birbysaur @senpaiable @hyunlixie143 @dababyurmom @urgodmoon @4nthonyyliving @brokeniced @nikolaisdove @dxwnstxr @scinclaitnoir @snips18 @flowzel @satohruu @squigglewigglewoo @rainy-dazie @itzashlyn123 @rheeeeeeeesiees @eggcoreloser @mariaace @mello0cat @warriordemigosworld @thescrunkly @ainegueneres @maroj23 @dazaiserectnips @little-miss-chaoss

Moments later, you're perched up on the arm of the sofa, towering just a bit over him, and your palms are pressed together flat. His skin is cold to the touch, always a bit of a surprise, and, apart from the callouses on his fingers, smooth.

Pale lips twitch into a smile, Fyodor's eyebrows raised in humour. “And what exactly are you hoping to see?”

“Just our hands.” An unsatisfactory response, certainly, so you quickly tack on: “I don't really know, I merely like yours a lot. They're very pretty. At first I just wanted to look at them up close, but then I wanted to see how ours look together, you know? To see how they compare.”

He hums in response, soft. “And how do they compare?”

You squint a little. His fingers surpass yours, long and boney, and despite the gentle moment, you can't quite suppress a faint line of thoughts, asking yourself how they'd feel touching you anywhere else, ghosting over your skin, pushing inside of you. Quickly, you blink, forcing those fantasies away to indulge in another time.

“You're still biting your nails”, you say instead, tone scolding.

Fyodor huffs out a small chuckle. “Guilty as charged.”

“I told you that's a bad thing to do. They'll never grow strong when you keep doing that.”

“An old habit, I suppose. I need them to be short in order to play the cello, anyway.” Loose strands of black hair fall in front of his eyes when he shifts. Your hands are still pressed flush against each other's. “Are you done comparing?”

“I guess so.” Before he's able to pull away, you weave your fingers between his, clasping his hand in yours, smiling, victorious. “This was all a plan to trick you into holding hands, though. And you fell for it.”

You really can't tell if his surprise is genuine or faked — truthfully, you suspect the latter, though even that effort of his makes your chest feel warm inside —; his eyes widen before he exhales, allowing himself to dramatically slump against the sofa's backrest.

“It appears I did. Blame a man for letting his guard down around his beloved.”

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