#i feel like its da cheerleading hcs

[kxmikomrade]

HERE YA GO LMAO

₍^..^₎~

OHHHH

AS 👏👏 IT 👏 FUCKING 👏👏👏 SHOULD 👏👏👏👏

isagi my lil bby meow meow <333

[carnelianns]

hey i really enjoyed your hc awhile back about ikesen mc who struggled with eating and fear of gaining weight could you possibly do it with the ikevamp boys? like le comte, leo, theo, arthur and nepo please? i’m recovering from an ed and your writing have really helped me alot but i totally understand if it’s too touchy ily and stay safe

it’s such an honor to hear my writing has helped u! i hope you recover well, n please know that i support u & everyone else struggling from this. the boys do as well uwu

tw: starvation

Napoleon Bonaparte

Napoleon isn’t very observant, much less at the dining table wherein he eats his meals for a solid 15 minutes tops before he’s retiring to the comforts of his room once again.

But it doesn’t even take observation skills to see how you barely eat at times, how the most you’d do is shove a spoon of food, maybe two, into your mouth, hastily swallowing it down as if you’re being forced to.

So then he asks. Plain and simple, tilting his head and furrowing his brows as his arms wrap around your waist, your paced breathing the only sound resonating through his room. 

“Why don’t you eat that much?”

Napoleon feels the way you tense up underneath his strong arms, hears how your breathing seems to quicken. In an instant, you’re wriggling yourself out of his grasp, he propping himself up on his elbows to stare at you and the sudden distance between the two of you in confusion.

“Nunuche, did I say something wrong? I’m sorry if—”

“It’s fine, Napoleon.” Your voice is all sorts of tiny and wavering, unable to look him in the eye as you fidget with your fingers — the sight only causing his heart to clench. “It’s just… I, uh, don’t like gaining weight. I want to be, uh, thin — perfect, if you will.”

You don’t look up. You couldn’t. If you did, you would have seen how the past Emperor of France — no, not even — how the man who loves you and only you breaks, cerulean eyes glossing over and a lump forming in his throat.

And he says, plain and simple, tilting his head and furrowing his brows as his hand reaches out to caress the warm skin of your cheek.

“But.. you’re already perfect. Maybe not to yourself, but to me. And… you’re all I need, in all honesty.”

It’s too much, you think. Being loved like this. Because that’s all it took for something inside you to snap, for you to start sobbing, Napoleon pulling you into his arms as he rakes lithe fingers gently through your hair, pampering the crown of your head with light kisses and sweet nothings.

He holds you like that all until you fall asleep, and even after.

Ever since then, Napoleon had taken it upon himself to dine with you, waiting patiently for you to finish your food before even thinking of going anywhere.

It’s slightly embarrassing, how he watches you with such a proud smile on his face, one he denies having whenever you point it out.

Leonardo da Vinci

The first time Leonardo finds you asleep when he gets back to his room, he simply brushes it off as exhaustion from your many chores.

And he’s not fully wrong, just has a full chunk missing. He happens to find said chunk out when you proceed to collapse in his sturdy arms, wearily mumbling for him to carry you back to the bedroom. 

When he finally sets you down into a comfortable position, sitting down beside you on the bed, Leonardo’s simply staring at you, a frown on his face and creases forming on his forehead, yet remaining silent.

“... Aren’t you gonna ask me why?” Your voice is small, unable to meet his gaze.

He speaks slowly, brushing stray strands of hair out of your face, “You’ll tell me if you want to, cara mia.”

And god, how blessed you are to have such an understanding man. It takes a while before you finally say, “I just… don’t want to gain weight. Every time I look in the mirror, I loathe what I see.”

It’s momentarily silent, though his fingers never cease moving around your face. Then, finally, with his gruff voice the softest you’ve ever heard, he sighs.

“You know, cara mia, I look at you, I see beauty.” Before your mouth is opening, ready to spew denials, he continues, tilting your head to his. “Not just in your face, or your body, but in your soul as well.”

Leaning in closer, inches away from your face, you can only hold your breath. Then, he smiles — a real, genuine smile that only makes your heart melt. 

“And I know you might not believe it, but I have all the time in the world to show you what I mean, don’t I?”

He helps you through any and every challenge the both of you face — because it’s not just your struggle anymore, it’s his as well; you are the one he loves, after all.

Most definitely spoon feeds you with that teasing smirk of his at times. It’s enjoyable for him, really, but you have to stop yourself from slapping that damned smirk off his face.

Arthur Conan Doyle

It’s no secret that Arthur was a rotten flirt before your relationship, or that women practically fling themselves onto his arms even after you two had gotten together.

You can’t help but to think each and every girl that tries to hit your lovely boyfriend up seems to be getting prettier and prettier, thinner and thinner. Of course, Arthur politely pushes them away to link himself back to you, but that doesn’t stop your thoughts from running wild all the way back to the mansion.

Try as you might, you’re unable to hide anything from a writer — and not just any writer, the famed writer of Sherlock Holmes who just so happens to be the one you’ve shared yourself with over and over again. 

So when you find yourselves back in his room after a long day, resting quietly on his soft bed, it’s no surprise when you feel his hot breath on your cheek, or the slight creak of the bed under his added weight. Your eyes crack open to Arthur’s face inches away from yours in a position you’re well-acquainted to, though the expression on his face differs.

Worry gleams in those normally jovial eyes of his, unthwarted even when you run your fingers through his hair soothingly, just the way he likes it.

“What were the thoughts going through that pretty little head of yours earlier?”

His voice is hushed, though clear as day in the empty room. The question has you pausing momentarily, before dropping the hand previously lost in his messy locks.

You hum, caressing his face, though a faraway look sets itself in your eyes, “Those girls are really pretty. And they’re so thin. Should I lose some more weight? Sleep in tomorrow to miss breakfast? I absolutely hate my bo—mmph!”

Your words were muffled when Arthur’s lips crash onto yours, silencing you in mere seconds. When he pulls away only leaving the both of you breathless, you almost wish his face wasn’t so close — the pain etched in every line of his face was horrible. 

Wordlessly, he kisses every part of your skin, intent on leaving nothing untouched, slight tingles following in its trail. As if saying “I love this, I love you.”

He had never really been good with words when it came to his own emotions, and yet that night had him repeating three simple words over and over, as if saying a prayer he wished to ingrain into your heart and mind. 

Arthur proceeds to act like an overexcited puppy with you, bringing you any and every type of food he thinks you’d like. 

You never have the heart to say no, especially when his chest puffs out in pride after you take a bite.

Theodorus van Gogh

You estimated that it would take about a week or two for someone to notice your regressing eating habits. But having Theo as a lover pulled your estimations way back.

So here you are, awkwardly staring at the man, his eyebrows raised and the words he’d previously uttered racing through your mind. 

“Do you think I wouldn’t notice how you’re barely chomping anything down anymore?”

Your actions are stiff, fidgeting with your fingers while you avert your gaze. “I.. thought you’d be busy, is all.”

“Busy enough to ignore the fact that the one I love is starving?” You wince at the edge in his tone, one he notices, only causing him to sigh. 

Covering the distance between you two, Theo gently pushes your chin up to meet his gaze, all sorts of worry clear in his bright eyes. With pink tinging his ears, his tone softens, not once breaking the eye contact.

“I care about you, schatje. You’re the only one I can ever love. Remember that, yeah? So I don’t have to keep repeating it…” He trails off, cheeks flushed a hot red and bottom lip caught in between his teeth in a way that only induces a watery chuckle from you. 

Theo never forces you to eat anything you don’t want to, but he serves as your cheerleader — more like drill sergeant, in actuality. He always finds subtle ways to get you to eat a bit more, bringing you home some food he deems healthy whenever he goes out.

Though he doesn’t comment on it, he’s extremely happy whenever he sees you eating more than usual, desperately trying to hide the smile on his face from you. 

He offers you some of his pancakes at times — he doesn’t even offer them to Vincent. It’s a heartwarming gesture coming from the tsundere. 

Comte de Saint-Germain

Do not underestimate this man — Comte is far more observant than he lets on, so the very moment you decide to revert back into your starvation habits, he’s immediately right behind you. 

He, however, is also very understanding, and it takes him a good portion of the day to conjure up a way to tackle the situation.

Finally, when you’re languidly running a brush through your hair, Comte takes it upon himself to snake up behind you, pressing his warm body against your back. 

“I’ve noticed how you haven’t been eating as much.”

His voice has no trace of accusation — only a simple, no-nonsense statement, bringing you to relax your tense form once more. 

Gauging your reaction, he continues carefully, “Do you mind telling me why?”

“It might sound silly but… I’m afraid you’ll leave me if I gain weight.”

Your soft reply only has his eyes widening, mouth gaping ever-so slightly in a way you thought unfit on his regal face.

Then, gently tilting your head to face him, his golden eyes meet yours, smile not-all that bright — slightly pained, if you will — yet he still tries. 

“Although you might not believe my words now, this heart of mine belongs to you and only you, ma chérie.”

He must have seen the slight hesitancy in your eyes, the thoughts whirling in your head. A gentle smile sets itself unto his face, his large, smooth hand moving to grasp your own. 

“Besides, I have all this time on my hands, and I wouldn’t mind spending it all on you.”

Comte’s with you every step of the way, getting every and anything you need or want   

He also takes it upon himself to cook you some meals as well — ones bordering on the thin line between digestible and inedible; apparently not all immortals have cooking skills — but it’s the thought that counts.