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rosesloveletters · 6 months ago

Text

💚❤️Merry Christmas, sister Eri❤️💚

for @ajokeformur-ray

total word count for this gift package: 4,444

Merry Christmas, my dearest sister Erika🥹🫂❤️💚 These fics below tell a very specific storyline, each pieced together from glimpses into your life with some of your most beloved F/Os. I know you've been feeling very stressed and down lately and so it inspired me, in part, to take that which you're feeling and find little glimmers of peace within them.

That being said, please listen to the song The Manuscript by Taylor Swift before reading. I think the references will make more sense that way and the intent with which I wrote these pieces will be clearer.

I hope that you like what I have written, but I'm happy to make you something else if not. I want you to know that I understand and empathize with how you've been feeling, because I've been there myself for the last two years. Not to make this about me, but I know it comforts you to know that you aren't alone and you definitely are NOT alone. I know you have some lovely people in your corner of the world and I'm rooting for you all the way across the ocean. I'll always be here for you, wanting nothing but the best for my beloved sister who means the world to me. No matter how bad things seem or how hopeless, there is always something good within the situation and these fics are my attempt at that.

I am so endlessly proud of you and I love you very, very much🫂❤️🫂❤️🫂❤️🫂❤️🫂❤️

Now...

A handwritten letter, as per tradition:

Next, I've written you three fics to be read in the order they appear in below. Each follow direct inspiration from the song I linked above. I had such a wonderful time writing for you, dear, and I hope you enjoy them❤️ I can always write you something else if these aren't quite what you need, just let me know! I love you so very much, my beloved sister Erika🫂🫂

I'm not a donor but I'd give you my heart if you needed it // Erika & Henry Jekyll, plus Mary Reilly and Edward Hyde mentioned (familial)

summary: You've thrown yourself in headfirst to your fifth year of your studies and your father is torn between his respect for your dedication and concern towards your lack of consideration for your physical and mental well-being, leading him to swing into action right when you most need it.

word count: 1,256

You stared blankly at the thick textbook in front of you, the words on the page blurring together into an incomprehensible jumble as tears of frustration welled up in your tired eyes.

The flickering flame of the oil lamp, a sight which typically brought you such comfort, cast a sickly glow over everything, making the graphs and diagrams swim before your vision, warped within your exhausted and weary mind.

You had been studying for hours, days, weeks, months it seemed, pouring every ounce of mental energy you had into absorbing the complex psychological theories and treatment modalities required for your degree, but no matter how hard you tried, how many late nights you spent hunched over your books and notes inside your father’s beloved library, it never seemed to be enough.

The material refused to stick in your weary brain and though your grades weren’t slipping, you were struggling to find a way to split your time between yourself, your work, your education and everything else that came along.

Becoming a therapist had been your dream for the last several years and you were far too stubborn and determined to quit - a burning desire to help others navigate the twists and turns of the human psyche fueled your late night study sessions, as well as a liter or two of coffee, provided by your doting mother who often came to check on you when everyone else in the household had long since retired for the night.

However, now, deep into your grueling academic journey, that dream felt like it was slowly crumbling to dust between your fingers.

You were terrified that despite all your effort and sacrifice, you worried that you couldn’t split up your time or weren’t capable enough to see it through.

The possibility of failure loomed over you like a suffocating shadow, yet what choice did you have but to keep struggling forward?

You had already invested so much - time, money, blood, sweat, and tears.

To give up now would mean facing the devastating reality that your one shot at building a meaningful career and life had slipped away.

No, quitting wasn't an option, even if you had to crawl your way to that diploma.

You took a shaky breath and turned the page, steeling yourself for another round in this excruciating battle of wills, hoping desperately that somewhere deep inside you was the strength to fumble your way through. You felt the weight of your dream bearing down on your hunched shoulders as you stared at the dense wall of text before you.

The musty library air hung heavy in your lungs, thick with the dust of countless volumes of knowledge that now seemed to mock your feeble efforts at mastery.

You could feel the panic rising in your throat, threatening to choke off your breath entirely.

It clawed at your insides - the sinking certainty that the goal you had held so tenderly, so hopefully in your heart for all these years might just be another wisp of fantasy, destined to dissolve in the harsh light of reality. Every fiber of your being ached with exhaustion, the countless hours of toil and study etched deep into your bones. Your once sharp mind felt dull, clouded, sluggish.

The neat lines of text swam in and out of focus, as if even they were tired of your relentless scrutiny.

How much longer could you go on like this - pouring your very soul into a dream that seemed to forever dangle just out of reach?

Voices of doubt hissed in your ear, insidious whispers that perhaps you had been foolish to ever believe you were meant for something more. That no matter how hard you tried, how desperately you pushed yourself to the brink of collapse, it would never be enough.

Hot tears stung your bloodshot eyes and you angrily brushed them away.

No.

You would never give in.

This was your path, your purpose.

You sucked in a shuddering breath, squared your aching shoulders, and turned your blurred gaze back to the merciless pages.

You would see this through, even if it destroyed you, even if it took your very last tortured breath. Dr. Henry Jekyll watched his daughter hunched over the desk, the glow of the candlelight illuminating the dark circles under your eyes as you wrote furiously, pen dragging across the page in flowing script, pausing only to reference the towering stack of textbooks by your side.

He felt a swell of pride seeing your relentless work ethic and unwavering focus, yet as the weeks went by, his pride became increasingly overshadowed by concern.

Your once vibrant eyes had grown dull, your skin pale and sallow.

You seemed to subsist on a diet of coffee and barely picked at the meals your Mama brought you.

The excited chatter about achieving your desired career had ceased; every waking moment was devoted to studying, striving and pushing yourself to excel.

He was torn between supporting your incredible drive and ambition and fearing that you would burn yourself out.

He longed to tell you that grades weren't everything, that your health and happiness mattered more than any test score or accolade, but he also knew how much your dreams meant to you, and the last thing he wanted was to hold you back.

So, he remained in this limbo, silently watching and worrying, hoping that his brilliant daughter would soon realize the need for balance before the unrelenting demands of academia took too heavy a toll. A warm, solid touch on your shoulder—something which would have normally made you jump—was accepted gratefully and you felt yourself sinking into that feeling, digging deep within yourself for the strength to push even more, but the gravitational pull was too much and you leant against your father, deriving comfort from his tight embrace that now encircled you.

“It’s late, darling,” your father’s velvet croon drifted to your ears and lulled you better than any lullaby your Mama used to hum to you, “come along.”

And with the strength which you knew in your heart of hearts belonged to your Papa, he easily took you up in his arms and cradled you to him, carrying you out of the library to where he would return later to gather your possessions and set them safely aside for you to return to once you had slept.

He treaded through the old house and quietly made his way to your Mama’s room, where he gently laid you down beside her.

With a grateful smile and a tired yawn, you let yourself begin to get swept away by the tide of exhaustion under your father’s watchful eye.

As worn down as you were, you still loathed to give up primes studying time, but your father knew when it was best to intervene and you never would have argued, despite all your Papa had taught you about sticking up for yourself.

Both agreed this time, it seemed, and for their concern and overarching say so, you found yourself grateful because even you did not know when enough was enough.

You were going to destroy yourself for the sake of creating a legacy for yourself and as poetic as it might have been, for your father, your needs always came first; he would have burned the entire world down for you to give you whatever you desired, but right now, as of this moment, the thing you needed most in the world, was your Mama, your Papa and him.

Boys with dartboards on the backs of their doors // Erika x Eddie Munson (romantic)

summary: After weathering the storm of yet another breakdown, you and Eddie lay in bed together and he reminds you that it's okay to fall apart sometimes / 'your heart was his bullseye and he hit the mark on his first try'.

word count: 1,074

The room was still, save for the soft sound of their synchronized breathing.

You lay together on the bed, fingers intertwined, your head resting gently on his chest as his heartbeat resounded in your ear.

Your eyes were puffy with exhaustion, red-rimmed with the intermittent crying you had done throughout the day and over the last several weeks.

Eddie was stretched out next to you, lanky limbs askew, his face etched with concern.

Gently, he reached for your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, "I just want you to know how proud I am of you. You're so strong, but you don't have to be all the time. It's okay to break down sometimes. It's okay to not be okay."

He squeezed your hand, his thumb tracing circles on her skin.

"I'm here for you, no matter what. I'll always meet you where you are. And if you can't walk on your own, I'll carry you the rest of the way. We're in this together."

A wave of gratitude and love washed over you.

He might have been young and silly at times, a bit immature and goofy, but in moments like this, his true heart shone through - kind, caring, steadfast.

A reminder that even in your darkest moments, you weren't alone.

You had him by your side, ready to face whatever lay ahead, hand in hand. No words and no platitudes were needed, just his steady presence beside you, an anchor in the storm of emotions that threatened to sweep you away.

Raising your clasped hands, he pressed his lips softly to your knuckles.

"I'm so proud of you," he repeated, his voice low and soothing in the quiet space between you.

Eddie wanted his words to resonate—he knew how badly you needed to hear them.

“Don’t worry so much about if you crumble. I'll always be here to pick up the pieces and put you together again."

You squeezed his hand in response, fresh tears welling up, but this time in gratitude for the beautiful soul beside you who, despite his youthful foibles, knew your heart so completely and loved you so unconditionally. Moonlight filtered in through gauzy curtains, casting an ethereal glow across tangled sheets and tear-stained cheeks and beside you, he shifted, the mattress dipping as he rolled to face you.

You turned away and let him hold you from behind, cocooned within his embrace as he held you close until your breathing steadied and evened out.

As you lay beside him, your gaze drifted to the dartboard hanging on the back of his bedroom door. The red and black rings formed concentric circles that were faded from years of use.

The tiny pinprick holes scattered across its surface told the story of countless lazy afternoons spent tossing darts with his buddies, their laughter and friendly banter echoing off the walls.

But there was a darker symbolism there too, a foreshadowing of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that life would inevitably hurl his way.

How many times would his heart be pierced, just like that dartboard, by disappointments and betrayals and heartbreaks?

You closed your eyes and pictured his face in your mind, still soft with the innocence of boyhood, not yet hardened by the battles to come.

The dartboard seemed to whisper a bittersweet truth - that these precious moments of youthful bliss were fleeting, and that all too soon the carefree games of adolescence would give way to the harsh realities of manhood.

You snuggled closer to him, breathing in his familiar scent, wanting to freeze this moment in time before the future could steal it away. As you lay there in his arms, you wondered which version of himself he channeled when he stood before that weathered target - the angry young man raging against the disappointments of adulthood, or the carefree boy he used to be.

Perhaps, you mused, the dartboard represented the battle between those two selves, the struggle to hold onto remnants of youthful innocence while navigating an often harsh grown-up world.

In the same way the dartboard had become a fixture in his room, that duality was etched into his very being.

In the same way the darts had pierced the target were you stabbed repeatedly by every little thing that flew into your orbit.

You were used to the stinging pain that so often came your way, but now you were numb to it all because Eddie Munson was the soothing balm on your soul you had craved all these years, the buffer between an unkind world and the peace you so desperately craved to preserve when all else failed to hold up against the raging storm of life itself.

Perhaps you were too deep within the trenches to see the light that shone within him, your own diminished by the cruel realities that had set in and threatened to plunge you into deep darkness, but you were not alone, and Eddie would guide you back to yourself, one baby step at a time.

You and that dartboard were the same, it seemed, but rather than a battle or a game, or a target, you were a goal.

You were the aspiration, the idea and the ending.

You were all that Eddie strove to be and you were the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his days with, just like this, holding you close and showing you that, no matter where life took you or whatever it pushed you into or threw in your direction, you would never be in it alone.

You had him, amongst others, and wherever you were in life, your loved ones would meet you there and remind you that, even in times of great darkness, there’s always a bit of light to be found once your eyes adjust.

All you needed was a bit of time, a good cry and a shoulder to lean on and Eddie would be that for you, and whatever else you needed.

He loved you beyond all measure and that would always be enough to find a way back into yourself.

If you were a dartboard, then Eddie would hit the mark again and again, because you were his dream come true, the impossible shot that the world told him he’d miss; your heart was his bullseye and he hit the mark on his first try.

The Manuscript // Erika x Arthur Fleck/Joker (romantic)

summary: Struggling with the ill effects of chronic autoimmune illness, you find yourself sitting outside of your new apartment on the stoop, coffee in hand and husband, Arthur Fleck, by your side as a shoulder to lean on both metaphorically and physically.

word count: 2,114

The morning sun caressed your pale skin as you sat on the weathered concrete steps outside of your apartment building, the sleeves of your oversized sweater bunched up above your elbows to expose as much flesh as possible to the nourishing rays. You closed your eyes and tilted your face skyward, savoring the gentle warmth on your cheeks, a welcome respite from the chilly air that hinted at autumn's imminent arrival. The iron deficiency that plagued your body left you perpetually exhausted and short of breath, a weariness that seemed to seep into your very bones, and the vitamin D deficiency only compounded your health woes, sapping you of strength and vitality.

But in stolen moments like these, alone in the early morning hush with the sun as your restorative tonic, you felt some of your tiredness fall away, replaced by a soothing peace and a flicker of hope that brighter days lay ahead.

The creak of the heavy front door shattered your reverie, and you opened your eyes to see your boyfriend, Arthur, stepping outside with two steaming mugs of coffee in hand, a tender smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He settled beside you on the stoop and passed you a cup, the heat seeping into your chilled fingers as you gratefully accepted the offering.

No words passed between the two of you just yet, but a contented sigh escaped your lips as you leaned your head on his shoulder, drawing comfort from his solid presence beside yours and the knowledge that whatever challenges your failing health might bring, you wouldn't have to face them alone.

This past year had been taxing, both on your health and happiness. Yet, the promise of a new year lingered on the horizon, growing brighter with each passing day, just like the rising sun. When the world finally sighed a collective breath of relief at its warmth and greeted the new day, you felt far less alone than you had the night before, when it had all come crashing down.

Sitting outside your shared apartment, you realized that life was far too precious to take at mere face value. This was a moment unlike any you had experienced before.

A mere six months prior, you felt like a caged animal, yet here you were, free and feeling, alive and rejuvenated, recharged beneath the blazing sun and the steaming mug cupped in your hands.

As your head rested against Arthur’s shoulder, he wrapped an arm around you, desperate to feel every inch of connection between the two of you. You both longed for this intimacy like a parched traveler longs for water after a thousand-year drought, your lips cracked and throat scorched. But now as he drank you in, his thirst was quenched and his heart full. Here, with you, he felt safe, and knowing you felt the same way meant more than all the years you had spent together.

Your lives were brighter for having each other as a part of this world, and you knew there was nothing you could not accomplish with Arthur by your side. As daunting as it was to imagine, your body had waged its war for far longer than you could remember. Over time, you had grown accustomed to the unfairness of it all, accepting that this was simply the price you had to pay for uncompromised health - even though you would have sacrificed almost everything just to never have to deal with it again. This was the hand you had been dealt, and though you often kept your feelings close to your chest, afraid to reveal your next move and risk vulnerability, this love was above secrecy.

Deep down, you felt a betrayal to yourself hidden in the act of keeping Arthur in the dark.

Arthur was an open book to you, with nothing intentionally hidden or withheld.

Despite the hardships he faced, he would have braved even the fiercest storm to shield you from harm's way.

If it were possible, he would have willingly taken on your every hurt and sorrow, trading his own well-being to spare you from suffering.

You were eternally grateful for the peace he could never truly provide, though the silent promise was enough, even without the truest form of relief you had both chased for far too long.

Arthur set his mug aside and turned you to face away, his long, slender fingers gently combing through your chestnut hair, tenderly untangling any knots that had formed.

You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of the sun’s rays warming your skin and his loving touch on your scalp and neck, your shoulders and back. Now that your hair had grown to its desired length, you could feel every single graze of his fingers down your body, indicating which part of your hair he was attending to.

Your soul could feel his fingers upon every year he had known you, like a tree with its rings, your hair growth was a love letter to the growth your spirit had done in the span of every month and year time had privileged you with and you treasured it, just like you did every second with him.

The repetitive, almost meditative motion of his hands working through your hair lulled you into a state of pure relaxation and comfort.

After he had effectively removed every knot, his delicate fingers began to weave intricate braids into her cascade of hair that glimmered with golden highlights in the bright sunshine.

Your cares and worries faded away in this perfect, intimate shared moment.

The street before you was quiet and still, with only the occasional bicycle gliding past or a neighbor walking their dog, but you are oblivious, lost in your own little world on the stoop, surrounded by the potted flowers and plants you had received from work friends, both his and yours, congratulations on your move to a new apartment, your first time on your own, the first step you had taken side by side into the wide world, moving in together and taking up space in each other’s private lives in a way you hadn’t thought possible until the moment it all came together like the last few pieces of a puzzle.

The delicate scent of the blooms mingled with the smell of sun-baked concrete and a hint of your shampoo.

Time slowed to a crawl, marked only by the steady rhythm of his braiding and the distant singing of birds, as you relished this pocket of simple, pure affection—a temporary escape from the hectic demands and fast pace of your lives.

“You should come out here more often,” Arthur mused as the corner of his tongue poked out from between his lips in concentration as his fingers secured your silk scrunchie on the end of your first braid, “it’s good for you.”

He did well with sunlight too and it was reminiscent of houseplants, how positively you benefitted from the light, despite how much you preferred to cover up and march on to the steady drumbeat of time.

You knew this was what your body needed and, even if you felt silly, you recognized the wisdom in the action and his words.

“It helps,” you replied in your usual calm and relaxed tone, voice drifting on the gentle breeze that was blowing, melodic in its cadence and soft on the soul of anyone who heard it, “but supplements can and will do just fine.”

“It’s not that you don’t need those too,” he agreed, giving a soft snort of a chuckle, “but you’d be amazed by what a little sunlight can do.”

You might have laughed at the irony if it weren’t for the fact that he was right and he was out here too, after all.

Slowing down could do wonders for the two of you and, even if you had to reach for these moments and take them for yourself when time allowed, though it rarely did.

You knew it was worth it just to spend a little more time in his presence which you had gotten less and less of these days.

You felt yourself nod, but the action itself seemed so distant, even to you, the one who had given it.

You tilted your face upwards to bask in the sun’s warm glow and breathed deeply, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the flowers blooming around you. The golden rays penetrated deep into your body, their healing warmth seeping down into your bones and soothing the weariness that had settled there.

You could feel the tension and fatigue slowly melting away, replaced by a sense of inner peace.

The sun's radiance enveloped you like a comforting embrace akin to Arthur’s as he finished your second braid and settled an arm around you once again, its life-giving energy restoring your strength and vitality.

In this tranquil moment, you were surrounded by the beauty of nature and bathed in sunlight, finding respite from the cares and burdens of your world, allowing yourself to simply be still and let the sun's healing touch work its magic on your body and soul.

Time was nonexistent as you savored this restorative pause, feeling your spirit renewed and your energy replenished by the sun's generous gift.

Although now you knew, Arthur was the true gift.

He was the sun in your otherwise darkened world, and you gravitated to him, a planet swirling in the dim, blackness of orbit, around him, the center of your entire universe.

You sipped your coffee, appreciating the gentle burn of the hot liquid down your throat when you swallowed; this was what it meant to find sanctuary and learn to live again.

After your tired sky had grown dark with the impending gloom of a torrential downpour, a rainbow of color beamed across the heavens and left you brimming with color once again.

There was an odd comfort in the rain because it was something which you were used to and Arthur weathered the storm, always the one beside you, holding an umbrella above your head, both metaphorically and physically, when the sky really did open up and threaten to drench your most beloved body part (he knew how fiercely you hated getting your hair wet with rainwater.)

He had withstood his own test of time, braved the storm alone and waited for the sun to break through the clouds, but it hadn’t been until you came along that he felt the sun shining again.

You were the light of his life, so it made sense why it had taken so long for the storm to clear.

You had only been in each other’s lives for the last five years, but to both of you, it already felt like a lifetime.

If this was the way it was meant to be, then it was just a means to an end, but once you found yourself surrounded by the love you had craved since the beginning, it was merely the end of an era, but the start of something much bigger.

As you sat in the stillness of the day, your half-drank mug of coffee still cradled in your hands, you allowed your mind to wander back over the winding path of your life.

In the quiet solitude, you reflected on all the experiences, challenges, and triumphs that had shaped you. It seemed like only yesterday that you were just a wide-eyed girl, nervously setting out on your journey into the great unknown, your heart fluttering with a potent mix of excitement and trepidation. Back then, the future stretched out before you like a blank canvas, waiting to be painted in bold strokes and vibrant hues. Little did you know the masterpiece that would emerge from all the messy splatters and errant brushstrokes.

As you sifted through the pages of your memory, you marveled at how far you had traveled from those tentative first steps.

Each chapter of your story was etched with hard-won wisdom, resilience forged in the fires of adversity, and an unshakable belief in your own strength.

There were moments of soaring joy juxtaposed against valleys of sorrow, yet you had emerged from it all with a profound sense of pride and gratitude. For even though your tale was far from over, and the pen of fate still hovered above crisp, waiting pages, you knew that the most pivotal chapters had already been written by your own courageous heart.

And that was a story truly worth celebrating.

Even if the story wasn’t your own anymore, you still liked to reread every page, just to remind yourself where you had come from and how proud you deserved to be.

The Manuscript Pt. II

Every time I write you a new chapter, a piece of myself goes with it. When your heart can't remember what you've held yourself captive for, you can use mine for a little bit.

Even if my sands get wiped from your shores, you can always reread the manuscript, because I am with you now and forevermore.

---

I hope you like what I've written you, honey. I love you so very much and I miss you more and more every day we're apart (that feeling inspired the poem; being apart is so painful, but writing is a way for me to feel closer to you🫂)

Merry Christmas, darling. I hope you find some time today to take for yourself, to relax and spend time with your loved ones and reflect and destress from such a crazy, chaotically beautiful year.

I am so very proud of you and of all you've accomplished in one year! You are such a beautiful wise and inspiring soul and my life is better for having you in it. I can't wait to give you a big hug in September 2025🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂

#my dearest sister erika💗#made with love :: 💛#merry Christmas beloved sister #I love you so much and I am so proud of you and I hope you have the bestest day ever🫂🫂❤️💚#sending you so much love and care and many many hugs and cuddles🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂

2 notes · View notes

mixolya · 1 month ago

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Heyyy! Saw your requests are open, so I hope you don’t mind me sending one ☺️ Could you write something with the Bllk boys experiencing their first head scratch from the reader while laying on her chest? And after that, they get hooked—constantly asking for more, always laying on her chest and begging for head scratchies nonstop!! Saying stuff like, “Every day. I need this every day. Scratchies on the softest pillow known to man,” or “Yeah, just like that… soft chest, magic fingers… mmhm.”

ANYWAY I LOVE UR FICS SO MUCH 💗 they’re like a cozy hug I didn’t know I needed!! ur writing makes me feel so safe n happy ily keep killin it bestieee 💕💞🫶

ᓚᘏᗢ — bllk: don't stop !

synopsis: in which they rest on you and a few innocent head scratches quickly turn into an unexpectedly addictive love language, and none of them are ready to let you stop.

characters: rin, nagi, isagi, reo, chigiri, michael, sae + likes & reblogs are appreciated <3

— rin itoshi

you were lying on the couch, rin's head resting in your lap while the tv played some random documentary he claimed was "just background noise". your fingers had idly drifted into his hair - mostly because you liked the way it looked messy - and out of habit, you began running your nails gently along his scalp.

and rin... froze.

not in a bad way, but like someone who just got hit with a sensory overload he wasn't prepared for.

"what are you doing?" he asked, voice lower than usual.

you glanced down, amused. "giving you head scratches, why?"

his eyes were half-lidded, lashes fluttering a little. you laughed and leaned down slightly. "wait.. are you enjoying this?"

"i didn't say that."

"but you didn't say no either."

rin scowled up at you but the effect was ruined by the way he leaned ever so slightly into your touch when your fingers found that one spot near the back of his head. a tiny sound, barely audible, left him.

minutes passed. the documentary kept playing. you kept scratching. rin kept pretending he wasn't dying inside.

until your hand stilled to pick up your phone and-

his brows furrowed. "why'd you stop?"

you blinked. "oh. thought you were falling asleep."

"... i wasn't."

"you want me to keep going?"

rin said nothing, just stared at the ceiling. you laughed softly and resumed your motion. his shoulders relaxed again and he exhaled like someone had just removed a weight from his chest.

after a while, you felt his hand slip around your waist, not to stop you, just to hold it in place.

"...don't stop," he muttered, so quiet you almost didn't catch it.

you smiled, leaning back against the cushions. "okay, rin."

— nagi seishiro

it started with a lazy afternoon and nagi sprawled out on top of you like a very large cat, limbs heavy and warm and not moving.

you rested your hand in his hair and absentmindedly ran your fingers through the soft, snow-white strands.

"...mmm."

you glanced down. "what?"

his eyes were half-shut. "didn't know you could touch my brain like that."

you laughed. "it's just your scalp, sei."

"no," he mumbled, nuzzling closer. "feels like heaven."

you scratched gently behind his ear and felt him melt against you like butter. when your hand paused to check your phone-

"hey," he muttered, without opening his eyes, "you stopped."

"i figured you were asleep."

"nope. still alive. want more."

you gave in with a soft chuckle, watching his lip curve up lazily. "i could live like this forever."

isagi yoichi

you'd barely started when isagi blinked up at you with wide eyes, like you'd just shown him the secret to life.

"wait. what was that?" he asked, voice hushed like you'd cast a spell.

you grinned. "just head scratches."

"do it again."

you obeyed, fingers dragging slowly through his thick, dark hair, and he made a small noise of appreciation. the kind you'd expect from someone sinking into a warm bath after almost freezing to death.

"you're way too good at this," he mumbled, face buried in your hoodie. "are you trying to seduce me?"

"...you're already mine."

"true," he laughed. then, softer: "please don't stop."

you didn't. not even when he fell asleep mid-sentence, with a smile still lingering on his lips.

— reo mikage

reo was used to luxury. silk sheets, five-star dinners, champagne. but this?

this was something else entirely, really.

"you know," he said, voice oddly serious, "this might be better than every wagyu i ate."

you blinked. "what?"

"your nails. my hair. this whole situation. feels like a high-tier spa treatment."

you rolled your eyes, teasing. "do i charge your card, then?"

"charge me everything. my soul, even."

you burst out laughing. he grinned, smug - but the second you paused to adjust your position, his hand caught yours.

"no no no. where do you think you're going?"

"i was just-"

"continue until i'm dead."

you resumed, giggling, while he relaxed again with a dreamy sigh.

— chigiri hyoma

chigiri had trouble relaxing. his body always felt like it needed to do something - run, train, move.

but now, with your fingers threading gently through his long, silky hair, he felt like maybe stillness wasn't so bad.

"...you're really good at that," he murmured, eyes fluttering shut.

"yeah?"

"yeah. it's like… i can breathe easier."

your chest squeezed a little at that.

you stroked slowly, tangling the strands and then smoothing them out again, over and over. and when you paused for just a second-

he opened one eye. "keep going?"

you smiled. "of course."

and for once, chigiri didn't want to be anywhere else but right there in your arms.

— michael kaiser

michael had dropped his head onto your chest dramatically, claiming he needed a "royal recharge." (whatever that meant."

you started giving him head scratches - partly to shut him up, mostly because you were curious what would happen.

to your shock, he went quiet.

"…this is," he said after a pause, "kind of insane."

"in a good way?"

"in an i'd-pay-you-for-this way. but also i'd sue if anyone found out."

you snorted. "i'm filming it."

his head shot up in horror.

"I'M KIDDING-" you wheezed.

he narrowed his eyes and dropped back down, grumbling. "evil woman. keep going."

"say please," you grinned, brushing back his strands until he relaxed fully again.

"please," he mumbled.

God help you - you actually liked this man.

— sae itoshi

sae had been scrolling through his phone, reclined lazily against you, when you ran your fingers through his hair on a whim.

he paused.

"you don't have to do that," he muttered.

"i want to."

silence. then: "fine."

you kept at it. slow. gentle. careful. you expected him to flinch, or make some sarcastic comment.

but he didn't.

in fact, he sank lower, his head tilting slightly into your touch like a cat pretending it wasn't needy.

after a while, you stopped to grab your water.

"why'd you stop?"

you blinked. "oh, i thought you were over it."

"i wasn't."

a beat. then, lower: "it's actually nice."

you laughed. "i know. i mean, it's me doing it. why wouldn't it be nice?"

his hand found your thigh in a loose grip. and he didn't say another word.

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