۶ৠđčđđđđđđ: Open but not as active!
۶ৠđȘđđđđđđ đđđđ đđđ: Tokyo Revengers, Saiki K, Hazbin Hotel, Assassination Classroom, Blue Lock, Angels Of Death, Windbreaker, Genshin Impact, Disneys Twisted Wonderland & more..
۶ৠđŽđ đđđđđ: Fashion, make up, games, music, writing, sketching, art, baking, cooking, anime, talking, k-pop, angst(I love it so much), fluff/sfw content, sleeping, gardening, modeling, engaging with others >u<.
۶ৠđŽđ đ đđđđđđđ: Hateful attitudes, blatant disrespect, racism, being overly stressed, being too rushed/busy.
۶ৠđŹđđđđ đđđđđđđđđđđ: I donât really do smut, but I write for vague smut if that make sense? Like I donât use full terms(because the thought of the act feels icky for me idk) but I do write for it, not as detailed as my other stories though. And request can be for anything not just TR, and not just for scenarios, you could even throw in a photo that you specifically want the story to be about/the characters to do. Really anything. (still currently reworking âŠ)
Hii, Iâm alright. I miss writing for you guys Iâve just been busy with senior things and work. I just had my prom last weekend and my graduation is coming up in two weeks (21st) so Iâve been pretty busy. Once I get that out of the way I should be a little bit free
Hello Author! I'm a big fan of ur TokRev fics and i really want to read more of it but everytime i press the links on ur masterlist it doesnt work for me :( It says that "theres nothing to see" everytime.
Sorry if this seems rude english is not my first language. I hope ur drinking enough water, rest and eat healthy. ^_^
Itâs okay donât worry, if you can tell me which links I can go through and see if I can fix them
ê«áȘ auth: Hihii finally got around to writing for Lex!!!. If you ever wanna keep up with me, check in, or simply become friends and talk you should follow my insta; Sc3ned0ll and adollieee Iâm always active on there no lie and way more responsive!!
WHAT BIG LEX IS LIKE AS A SIGNIFICANT OTHER (established relationship)
âą Sheâs soft for you in a way she doesnât let the world see. The public gets the sharp edges, you get the warmth she guards like itâs classified information.
âą Her love language is touch and presence. She wants you in the room, near her, within reach. Even if sheâs busy, sheâll hook one finger through your belt loop or rest a hand on your thigh.
âą She teases you nonstop, not meanly, but with that playful confidence that makes everything feel lighter. If you roll your eyes, she laughs because she knows she got you.
âą She notices every shift in your mood. If somethingâs off, she doesnât ask right away. Sheâll sit closer, open her arms a little, and wait for you to relax into her.
âą She hypes you without hesitation. If you mention wanting something, sheâs already mentally planning how to get it in your hands.
âą Jealous? Not really. Protective? Absolutely. If someone disrespects you, her whole vibe sharpens instantly.
âą Domestic life with her is chaotic in the best way. She hogs the blankets, steals your snacks, insists she doesnât snore even though youâve heard evidence.
âą She loves when you lay on her chest. It calms her. She strokes the back of your neck without thinking.
âą She trusts you with the soft parts of her. The parts the public never gets to touch.
âą Arguments with her are quick; she doesnât like dragging things out. Once sheâs said what she needs to say, she expects both of you to regroup on the couch like nothing happened.
âą Sheâs surprisingly gentle when youâre upset. She wonât push you to talk; sheâll guide you between her legs, wrap her arms around you, and rest her chin on your shoulder until your breathing evens out.
Youâre stretched out on the couch with Lexâs legs thrown over your lap like she owns the real estate. A half-finished drink sweats on the coffee table, and the only light in the room is the soft glow of the TV that neither of you has been paying attention to for the last hour.
She glances over at you, one eyebrow lifted, a slow grin tugging at her mouth.
âYou keep starinâ like that, Iâm gonna start thinkinâ you want somethinâ.â
You donât even realize youâve been looking at her until she says it. She always catches things like thatâyour wandering eyes, the tiny smile you try to hide, the way your hand automatically moves to her ankle when she shifts her leg.
Lex nudges your thigh with her foot.
âCome here,â she says, like sheâs asking, but you both know sheâs not.
You slide closer, and she pulls you right against her chest, arms around your waist, chin hooked on your shoulder. She smells like her lotionâwarm, coconut-somethingâand the room feels smaller in the best way.
âYou good today?â she asks quietly, voice lower now, the softness reserved for moments like this. Her fingers trace slow lines up your spine, steady and intentional.
You nod, leaning into her touch.
âIâm good,â you murmur, and she hums, the sound vibrating against your back.
âMm. You feel quiet, though.â She doesnât accuse you of anything; she just sees straight through you like she always does. âSit with me.â
So you do. Your body sinks back into her, and she wraps herself around you, cheek pressed to the side of your neck. The TV keeps playing, but she has no interest in it. Sheâs focused on the way you breathe.
Her hands slide under your shirt, palms warm against your stomach. Not sexual, just grounding.
âYou know I got you, right?â she says, voice soft but solid.
You nod again, slower this time.
âI know.â
She kisses your shoulderâquick, gentle, like sheâs sealing the words in.
A beat passes. Then she smirks against your skin.
âGood. Because Iâm not lettinâ you go anywhere. You stuck with me tonight.â
You laugh, leaning back until your head rests on her collarbone.
âAnd tomorrow?â
She tugs the blanket over both of you, legs tightening around your waist.
âAnd tomorrow,â she says, like itâs obvious.
The room fadesâTV noise, the dim lights, everythingâuntil itâs just her arms around you, her warmth at your back, her breath brushing your neck. You donât say much after that. You donât need to.
Lex holds you like sheâs been waiting for you all day.
Hiii!! Soo update to everything going one, Iâm currently with my mom at my grandparents house, she currently has gotten a new job (she started Monday everyone cheer)!! And I have been getting somewhat better with things going on. That means post will start coming back soon(give me ideas..) and exams for me start next next week but since I have half days I only have to go for two days then after that itâs Christmas break!! Still though thank you all so much for the love and Iâm so ready and excited to get back into writing to you guys AUGHH I miss writing for my husband sanzu.. BUT MORAL IS IM BACK MY LOVES FR THIS TIME I SWEAR
ê«áȘ auth: yes!! So Iâve slowly been gaining my motivation back as of lately, that being said hereâs something for you guys. If you ever wanna keep up with me, check in, or simply become friends and talk you should follow my insta; Sc3ned0ll Iâm always active on there no lie and way more responsive if anyone wants to talk and be friends, everyone is treating me weird :/ .
ê«áȘ Summary: co-parenting, dropping your kid(s) off to their father but he actively wants you back and that is NAWT happening
ê«áȘ: one shot | Children | co-parenting
ê«áȘ Manjiro âMikeyâ Sano
Youâre standing at the curb outside his apartment, kidâs backpack slung over your shoulder and the faint weight of responsibility heavy in your chest. The drop-off. Itâs always awkward, always this thin line between civil and tense, and you hate how predictable itâs become.
Mikeyâs already there when you pull up, leaned against the doorframe with that lazy, unreadable face of his, dark eyes scanning you like heâs waiting for you to say something before you even open your mouth. He doesnât. Typical, he lets silence sit until it starts to suffocate.
Your kid runs past your legs, little shoes slapping against the pavement as they call out, âDaddy!â with that unfiltered excitement only children carry. Mikeyâs whole expression shifts, softens instantly, his arms opening wide as if the whole world stops existing the second his kid barrels into him.
âHey, champ,â he mutters, scooping them up with one arm like itâs nothing. He rests his chin on top of their head, eyes flicking back to you. The corners of his mouth twitch, not quite a smile, not quite anything.
âEverythingâs in the bag. Clothes. Snacks. Homework folderâs in the front pocket,â you rattle off quickly, like listing facts might keep this from straying into dangerous territory.
Mikey doesnât answer right away. He sets the kid down, tells them to go inside and wash their hands before dinner. They sprint off, slamming through the door, and then itâs just you and him again, air feeling way too thick.
âYou always rush it,â he says finally, voice even, a little flat. âLike youâre scared to stand here two minutes longer.â
You exhale through your nose, crossing your arms. âBecause this isnât about us. Itâs about them. You get your time, I get mine. Thatâs it.â
Mikey tilts his head, studying you in that way that makes your skin crawl, like heâs picking apart every word you didnât say. âYou really think itâs that simple?â
âIt is that simple.â
âMm.â He nods slowly, though his eyes donât match the movement. Theyâre sharp, stubborn. âYou act like you donât miss me.â
You blink at him, deadpan. âBecause I donât.â
That gets the faintest grin out of him, a crooked tug at his lips. He looks down at his hands, then back up. âYouâre lying. You were happy with me. Donât try to rewrite it.â
âMikeyââ
âNo, listen.â His tone cuts in, calm but heavy enough to stop you mid-word. âI know I fucked up. I know I pushed too hard, went too far, all of it. But you think I donât remember what it was like? You, me, them. It was good. It can be good again.â
Your jaw tightens, nails biting into your arms where theyâre folded. âThatâs not happening. Not now. Not ever.â
He stares at you for a long moment, that lazy mask threatening to crack into something rawer. But then he blinks, shrugs once, and smothers it back down. âYouâre stubborn as hell.â
âSomeone has to be.â
The silence stretches again, except now itâs heavier because he isnât hiding what he wants. Heâs not even pretending to. And you hate the way your chest twists at his words, how dangerous the familiarity in his voice feels.
Inside, you can hear your kid yelling something about toys, their laughter breaking the tension for a second. Mikey glances toward the door, then back at you.
âFine,â he says lightly, though you can tell he doesnât mean it. âPlay it your way. But Iâm not done trying.â
You donât answer. You canât. You just turn, walking back toward your car before he can push further. The whole time, you feel his eyes on your back.
ê«áȘ Izana Kurokawa
You can tell before you even park that heâs in one of his moods. Heâs leaning against the front gate like he owns the whole damn street, coat hanging open, earrings glinting in the late sun. His expression doesnât soften when your kid jumps out of the car, calling for him. No, Izanaâs eyes flick over you first, sharp, unreadable, like youâre the one being sized up instead of the little person sprinting toward him.
But then the kidâs in his arms, giggling, legs wrapping around his torso, and Izanaâs mouth finally shifts into something different. Itâs not quite warm, but itâs there. He mutters something low to them, nods, and they laugh harder. Heâs good at flipping switches like that.
You walk up, keeping your voice clipped, businesslike. âEverythingâs packed. Extra clothes. Homework folderâs on top.â
He doesnât look at the bag when you hold it out, his eyes stay locked on yours. Eventually, he takes it, still holding the kid balanced on his hip with an ease that doesnât match the rest of him.
âYou always sound like youâre handing them off to a stranger,â he says flatly. âLike you donât trust me.â
âBecause I donât,â you answer without hesitation.
The corner of his mouth twitches, not into a smile, more like he finds your honesty entertaining. He turns his head slightly, studying you through his lashes. âHarsh.â
The kid squirms in his arms, tugging at his earring, and Izanaâs composure doesnât break. He shifts them easily, still staring you down like heâs waiting for you to flinch.
You donât.
âStop looking at me like that,â you mutter.
âLike what?â he drawls, tilting his head, the ghost of amusement in his tone. âLike I could have you back whenever I wanted?â
Your jaw tightens. âYou couldnât.â
âMm.â His purple eyes narrow, unreadable but intense. âBut I could.â
Before you can snap back, the kid pipes up about being hungry, tugging at his collar. Izana finally looks away from you, adjusting them against his shoulder, and the shift is instantâhe softens his voice, promises foodâs inside waiting. For a second, you almost see something real in him, something that isnât sharp edges and arrogance.
But then his gaze cuts back to you, and itâs gone.
âYouâll come around,â he says calmly, like itâs already decided. âMaybe not today. Maybe not next week. But you will.â
You scoff, stepping back toward your car. âDonât hold your breath.â
To that, he simply hums almost like heâs amused.
The sound of your kid laughing as he carries them inside follows you back to the car, sticking in your chest in the worst way.
ê«áȘ Haruchiyo Sanzu
You hate that you never know which version of him youâre about to deal with. Sometimes heâs calm, almost detached, handling things with that lazy drawl that keeps you guessing. Other times, well, youâve seen the cracks. The grinning, unpredictable side that makes your stomach twist when you remember youâre tethered to him because of the kid.
This time, heâs sitting on the hood of his car when you pull up, cigarette pinched between his fingers, smoke curling into the evening air. Pink hair falling into his face. He looks like heâs been waiting too long, like patience isnât something he bothers with anymore.
The second your kid scrambles out of the car, Sanzu flicks the cigarette away and hops down, arms open. He doesnât grin, he beams, wild and sharp, scooping them up like theyâre the only thing keeping him anchored. âThereâs my favorite little human,â he says, voice pitched softer than you expected, chin tucking against their hair. âYou miss me?â
They nod, giggling, already rambling about something they saw at school. He listens, or at least, he pretends to, nodding and humming, eyes sliding back to you over their shoulder.
âClothes are in the bag. Homeworkâs already startedââ you begin, but he cuts you off with a click of his tongue.
âRelax,â he says, that light, mocking lilt in his tone. âYou always act like Iâm gonna forget how to be a dad the second you leave.â
Your arms cross tight. âBecause you make me nervous.â
His head tips back, laugh sharp and sudden. Not amused, entertained. âOh, I like that. You think Iâm dangerous.â He shifts the kid higher on his hip, brushing a hand through their hair gently, the contradiction so blatant it makes your chest ache.
âDonât twist my words.â
Sanzu tilts his head, eyes narrowing, lips pulling wider with that scarred smile. âI donât have to. I can see it, you can too.â
You scoff, shaking your head. âNot a chance.â
âMmh. Thatâs what you keep telling yourself.â His voice drops lower now, almost a whisper, but heavy enough to stick. âBut Iâm not like the others. You know damn well I donât let go of whatâs mine.â
The kid interrupts, tugging at his shirt, asking about dessert. He breaks eye contact instantly, crouching to their level with a grin so sweet it doesnât look real on his face. âCheesecake. Your favorite. Already waiting in the fridge.â
They light up, running for the door, and he straightens slowly, turning back to you once theyâre gone. That grin doesnât drop.
âSee you Sunday,â you say stiffly, already moving for your car.
âCountinâ the days,â he hums, sing-song, hands in his pockets as he watches you go. âDonât worry, pretty, timeâs on my side.â
You donât answer. You donât even look back. But the sound of his laugh follows you, light and lingering, like heâs already decided the ending for you both.
ê«áȘ Ran Haitani
You spot him before he even notices you, leaned against the wall of his building like the whole place belongs to him. Ranâs always got that same loose posture, shoulders slouched but his eyes sharp, glinting purple under the streetlight. Heâs dressed too nice for a simple pickup, like he just stepped out of a photoshoot instead of waiting for his kid. Always a little too put-together, always aware of how he looks.
Your kid rushes forward first, running up to him with open arms. He pushes himself off the wall slowly, like he has all the time in the world, and catches them mid-jump, spinning them around once before settling them against his chest.
âMissed me already, huh?â His tone is light, sing-song, but thereâs genuine warmth in the way his hand cups the back of their head for a second longer than needed.
You stop a few feet away, arms crossed. âEverythingâs packed. Homework folderâs in the front pocket.â
Ran finally looks at you, tilting his head with that lazy smile. He doesnât answer right away. He never does. He just stares, letting silence do the work until youâre forced to shift under his gaze. Then, slowly, he says, âYou always sound so⊠official. Like youâre dropping them off with a babysitter instead of their father.â
You exhale sharply. âBecause this isnât about us.â
That makes him grin wider. He leans down, whispering something in the kidâs ear that makes them laugh, then sets them down. âGo on inside, Iâll be there in a sec,â he tells them, patting their head. They take off toward the door, leaving you alone with him.
He closes the distance in a few strides, stopping just a little too close, close enough that you can smell the faint cologne clinging to him. Always in your space.
âNot about us, huh?â he repeats, voice low now, almost teasing. âFunny. You still say it like youâre trying to convince yourself.â
You roll your eyes, stepping back. âIâm not.â
His smile doesnât falter, but his eyes flick over you like heâs cataloging every little tell. âYouâre hard to read. I like that. Makes me want to figure you out all over again.â
âThis isnât happening,â you say flatly.
Ran hums, unconcerned, brushing his fingers through his styled hair before slipping both hands into his pockets. âMaybe. Maybe not. But you and me? We donât end that clean. Not with them in the picture.â He nods toward the door where your kid disappeared. âSo whether you like it or not, Iâll always be in your orbit.â
You shake your head, backing toward your car. âYou really love the sound of your own voice, donât you?â
He laughs, the sound low and lazy. âWhat can I say? You used to love it too.â
You donât respond. You turn, sliding into the driverâs seat, but you feel his eyes on you the entire time, heavy and deliberate. And the worst part? He knows you feel it.
ê«áȘ RindĆ Haitani
You pull up, engine humming low, and see him already outside the gate. Your kid jumps out first, backpack bouncing, calling for him. He steps forward, silent until they reach him, then catches them in both arms. Doesnât ruffle hair much, just one hand under shoulder, other at the small of their back, steady. The quiet kind of holding.
âHey,â he says, voice low, almost distant, but soft enough that your kid relaxes in his arms. âGot everything?â
You nod, stepping out. âBagâs got clothes. Snacks. Homework.â
He nods once, slow, measuring. He takes the bag from you without a word at first, glances over its strap, adjusts something, maybe slipping the bag off your hand, pretending itâs just practical.
You donât like the way he looks at you, faint tension in his jaw like heâs holding back something.
âYou look tired,â he says finally. Not an accusation. More an observation.
You shrug, arms folding. âLong week.â
Thereâs a silence. He watches the kid shift, asking something about dinner. RindĆ lets them go ahead toward the door, keeping a firm grip on the straps, eyes never leaving until they disappear inside. Only then does he turn back to you.
âWhat? You got nothing to say?â he asks, voice steady but with a hint that he wants more than just that answer.
âI didnât,â you say. âJust a drop-off.â
âRight.â He takes a breath. The air between you feels colder.
âYou know,â he says after a beat. âWouldnât kill you to be a little more.. something.â
You want to argue. But thereâs something in his posture, rigid and painfully still, that makes you swallow the words back.
He lifts his chin slightly. âItâs okay not to want this back together. But donât pretend I wasnât good once. Donât pretend I wasnât there.â
You bite your lip, eyes dart. âThat was then.â
He flares, just a little: his gaze sharpens, nostrils slightly flared. But his voice stays in control. âYeah. Then.â
You can feel his disappointment. Or maybe thatâs just you feeling guilty. Doesnât matter. The gap grows.
You back up toward your car. âThanks for tonight,â you say, tone clipped.
He nods, expression unreadable again. Watches you get in. Car door shuts. Then he stands there, quiet, maybe thinking. After a moment, you see his shoulders drop, as if heâs letting go of something you didnât hand him in the first place.
You drive off. His figure stays framed in the gateâs arch until it shrinks, calm, severe, unbroken.
ê«áȘ Shuji Hanma
Your kid pops out of the car first, backpack thumping, looking excited. Hanma steps forward with that almost predatory grace, catches them mid-run with both arms. Thereâs no warmth in his eyes, just that familiar intensity, but he hugs them anyway, squeezes them once, strong enough they know heâs there.
âHey,â he says, voice low and even. âYou ready?â
Kid nods, chattering about something they saw on the way over, they saw a big truck, or maybe a dog. Hanma listens, then shifts them to his hip, adjusting their grip.
You shut off the engine, walk to meet them. âEverythingâs in the bag. Homework folder, extra clothes.â
He glances at the bag, then back to you. His face doesnât soften. âI know youâre always ready with the list.â
You donât bother denying it. Youâre used to this tone. Itâs not cold, exactly, but thereâs a barbed edge, like each word is calculated.
Kid steps inside, heading to wash up. Hanma watches them go, then turns back to you. The night air feels tighter.
âYou always leave so quick,â he says, hands shoved into pockets.
You shrug. âThereâs nothing more to say.â
He smirks slightly. âYou do know, that silence, itâs not peace. Itâs something else.â
You look away. Because you know thatâs true.
Hanma takes a step closer, the brim of his glasses catching light. âWe both messed up,â he says quietly. âBut I donât think you believe I care anymore.â
You want to argue. Want to say you do believe, sometimes, but it comes with trembling edges youâre not ready to show.
âI did care,â he adds, almost under his breath, âStill do, donât know how to show it better.â
You swallow. Itâs unfair, but his admission hits somewhere deep.
âI know,â you finally manage.
He nods, but doesnât move closer. Keeps that space between you, like safety or distance or both. âSee you Wednesday,â he says after a moment.
You donât say anything back. You get in your car, door shuts. Through the windshield, you see him standing there, strong, tall, hands at his sides, watching until the tail-lights fade.
ê«áȘ Hajime Kokonoi
Your kid jumps out of the car first, bag bounce and excited words. Koko pushes off the light post easily, stepping forward. His posture stiffens just enough to tell you he was waiting. He catches them not too far from your car, arms strong, grip firm but careful, not tight. Thereâs a pause in his face when he sees them, something almost regretful, hidden under the flat surface.
âHey,â he says. Voice low, precise. âGood to see you.â
Kid chatters, tells him about school, a friend, something funny. He listens, nodding, makes small interjections. You leave the car and walk toward them.
âEverything in the bag?â he asks you, turning, eyes sharp.
You nod. âHomework. Clothes. Snacks.â
He takes the bag from your hand, fingers brushing yours by accident. He notices, of course, his eyes flick to your hand and back to yours, an internal calculation you know he canât help doing.
âI checked it earlier,â he says, voice neutral, like you expected. âDonât want you calling me later saying I forgot something.â
You grimace. âThanks.â
He pauses, folds arms, weight shifting. Looked you over under the streetlight. âYou look tired,â he says. Not gentle. Just observation.
You turn away, eyes toward the house your kid runs toward, distant. âLong day.â
Silence hangs. The kid starts inside, waves you off. Koko watches them disappear through the door, then turns back to you.
âYou always are in a rush to leave.â
âBecause I should be,â you retort, quieter than youâd like.
He steps closer, but stops maybe two feet away. âIs that because you donât want to see me?â He doesnât mean it to be soft, but something in his tone cracks.
You want to say no, maybe, or something, but you donât.
He exhales. âI could stay. For a bit. Just to talk.â
You shake your head. âWe both know talking doesnât fix what broke.â
His lips tighten. He doesnât argue. Doesnât push harder. Just stares at you, calculating, maybe hurting, maybe wanting.
âOkay,â he says finally. Voice flat, low. âSee you Thursday.â
You donât respond. You head back to your car. Doors shut.
From the window, you catch him standing in the lamplight, rigid, the bag in his hand, as if waiting to toss it aside. Then his shoulders drop a little. And he watches until youâre gone.
Finna start writing again cause why is it so hard to find whimsical weird black girl x readers and not the ones here they use so much AAVE. Not they thy are bad itâs just thatâs not me, like at all so itâs feels so weird for me to read and it sucks cause some of the fics be good.
Hii, Iâm doing okay, Iâve recently started school so most of my time and focus is on that atm, so sorry for the delays in things and the lack of updates or communication
àšà§ auth: hi again, due to no motivation i have once again been slacking (so sorry) take this short little one shot that came to made that i use for my Tokyo Revengers dr.
àšà§: one shot | fluff | gender neutral reader | first person wording
âIt only hurts because youâre being a baby about it.â I mumble to myself, rolling my eyes at Mikey, the boy who stood in front of me with a frown on his face. âThis wouldnât happen if you were being careful.â I spoke up again causing him to groan in annoyance. He knew I was right. âI was being careful. I just wasnât paying attention.â Mikey uttered hissing and pulling his hand back. Earlier this afternoon Mikey was playing abound with Baji and Pah by the pool, somehow he ended up scraping his hands against the concrete and didnât notice it until he went to sanitize his hands.
âBeing careful and paying attention are the same thing!â I sighed out reaching to grab his left hand to continue cleaning the wound, but he pulled back one again. âBarely!â Mikey retorted scrunching up his face at the cotton ball soaked in alcohol. âGod! Youâre being difficult, give me your hand!â The small bathroom didnât really give him much space to go anywhere, but he found a way and ran past me out of the bathroom. âVery mature!â Was that last thing I stated as I followed closely behind him, he had a head start so of course he got farther than me. âIâll do it myself!â Mikey replied still trying (successfully) to get away. âfine.â I stopped short in my tracks and shook my head.
âWhat are you two doing?â Draken, the male for just so happened to pop up quietly questioned. âMikey hurt his hands by the pool, he didnât notice until later.â I took a pause in between my words âAnd I was trying to help him clean the wounds.â I finally finished my sentence, Drakenâs eyebrows rose as he simply nodded his head in response, leaving the conversation at that he told me to go get some rest placing his hand on my head gently patting at the top of my hair before he walked off.
I took his advice and headed to my room I wasnât in there for more then twenty minutes before I knock came to my door. I got up to answer it assuming it was Baji but instead I was met with a Mikey holding bandages in one hand. âCan you wrap the bandages?â Mikey reluctantly asked holding them out to me. âI thought you were going to do it yourself.â Crossing my arms over my chest I lean against the doer frame. Mikey rolled his eyes at me âI was going to. But you wrap them neater.â He stated reluctantly once more. Shaking my head at him I agree taking hold of then bandages and being wrapping them around his hands.
