#after painting all those hair strands the other day i think my hands are about to give out

[catboyvader]

much 2 think about...

[safination]

Partners in Death...and Life.

Part I: Radio's not dead

| Part 2: Radio Will Be Dead if He Doesn’t Explain Himself. | Masterlist| ao3 Pairings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem! reader, established relationship, human!alastor, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) acroace!alastor

"Alastor! Pleasure to meet you. Quite a pleasure!" One hand reset on his chest, and the other shoots into the air. You chuckle. "I don't think it will be quite the pleasure you think." "Is that so?" Alastor's smile remains constant. "And why would that be? You show him the tray you're holding "I'm here to do your sutures"

You pass the tissue box—the third one already.

Your patient blows his nose, rubbing snot off his snout. He has to stretch his arms to reach his nose. Alligators are known for their long snouts. His nostrils flare when he sniffles. Used tissue is discarded on the pastel-pink floor despite a pastel-pink trashcan stationed by his webbed feet. It’s been the same pattern for the last fifteen-minutes.

Tissue, Sneeze. Floor.

“—and I have this…uh…like this real bad itch on my eye. I keep rubbing and rubbing but it doesn’t do shit! My eyesight’s gotten worse—It’s already fucked up but this is just different. My roommate hissed at me about getting blood all-over the carpet floors if I kept scratching my scales. Oh. Oh! I’ve been snee—achew!” Alligator snot lands on the pastel-pink floors of the clinic.

Your eyes twitch.

He takes another tissue and waves it around his head. “The top of my head is killing me. Ya’know where that is right?” He blows his nose. “It’s right here,” he says, inching his head closer to you. “The last nurse I went to was blind as a bat! Literally, she had the wings and everything. It was kinda hot.”

“I’m well aware of the location of your head,” you say. “You can lean back now.”

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor.

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor.

Pastel pink floor.

Underneath the mix of feathers and hair strands, the bustling of the waiting room catches your ear. Someone curses, booming and violent at another waiting patient. A cough, a sigh, a barf. Painful curses erupt after that. You bring a hand to your ears, wincing as your eardrum rings.

Pentagon City’s best and biggest hospital needs better doors, but those lazy sloth fuckers at the top invested at the first material they found. The alligator sneezes into another tissue. He flicks it with his wrist, and it hits the pastel-pink wallpaper adorned with closed eyes. Maybe Belphegor should be the sin of Pride instead, considering all items are covered in her symbol.

“I really feel like t’was those exterminators ya’know?”

You do not, in fact, know. Half of what this young man says is incomprehensible.

His snout sways left to right when he shakes his head. “It’s only my second one, and this was a close call, and uh…well, ever since then I’ve been like this. One even got to my roommate. “

You hum, leaning back on your chair. You should petition to for thicker doors. And while you’re at it, better interior design, and better paint—something that isn’t pastel pink.

“Ugh, and it’s so not cool that this new roommate of mine’s been shedding since the day they moved in,” he says.  “Speaking of shedding, do you think it’s because of those exterminators? Do you think they like spread some sort of weird pollen to make us sick? They’re totally the type to that.”

You take your pen—your pastel-fucking-pink pen—and poke his alligator sinuses.

Hell does have its own brand of humor. You gave your 20s to studying human anatomy, only to die and find yourself with the need to re-learn the boring part of biology.  (Two books on reptiles, four on mammals, and fifteen on sea creatures.)

“YEOWCH!” His teeth stick out again. You do not know what this means.  “What kind of nurse ar—“

“Doctor.”

“—you? That’s not the top of my head!”

You push back on of the feathers on your head. “Your roommate ‘hissed’ at you? And they’ve been shedding fur for two weeks now?"

“…Yeah…?”

You stare at him. “Have you ever considered that you’re allergic to your roommate?”

“Ooooooooooh,” he says. ‘Yeah, I was allergic to cats back when I was alive.”

You grab your (pastel-fucking-pink) prescription pad from the desk drawer. “Control it with some antihistamine. Four pills every 12 hours.”

His teeth start showing. You’re not sure if he’s frowning. It’s hard to tell. “Pills, really?”

You toss what you were writing into the massive pile of germs, mucus, and tissue. “I can give you a nasal spray. I’ll flush the mucus then insert a spray that prevents build-up,” you say. “They last for two weeks and then you’ll need to come back.”

He grabs the last tissue from the box. It still lands on your floor. “Ma’am nurse, do you have any more of this?”

You sigh and reach for a fourth box of tissue. “It’s doctor,” you say. “We keep nasal sprays here in the clinic. I’ll just grab one and you’ll be out in fifteen minutes.”

“No can do,” he says. “Before I died, my coach told me to stay away from that non-organic shit. It’ll mess us up real bad apparently. All those steroids.”

“You have phencyclidine sticking out of your coat pocket.”

“Pheny—what?”

“…Angel Dust.”

“The porn star?”

“The drug. You have drugs sticking out of your coat pocket.”

“Come on, nurse—”

Threads erupt from your fingers. It snakes around his wrist, coiling and twisting. He jerks his arm away and cries out when you tighten your hold. Your threads wrap around his legs. It pulls against his waist. Magic binds his arms, and tightens around every joint he owns. You stop, only when the alligator struggles, trashing against the clinic chair. 

His teeth bare and he snaps at whatever he can reach. You tug on one of the thousands of strings digging into his skin. His jaw snaps shut, and it will stay shut. Another tug and his back stretches to straighten. You move your fingers as if a piano laid before you, and he sits up like a good puppet.

Another month of clinic dury will be your punishment if those sloth from down below are lucid enough to do their jobs. Sadly, killing this idiot would have you suspended for three months.

“I am a doctor,” you tell him. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

The tension on your strings marks even the few scales scattered on his body. He’s a real idiot if he continues to struggle.

Delicate movements of your fingers bring him forward, his back still strained, and tilt his snout at a forty-five-degree angle. Your threads elongate as you move toward the clinic drawers. It loosens around you, careful at keeping you able to move freely. It’s one of the handier parts of your magic.

You shake your hands and the threads detach. It sticks to the floor to keep the alligator as your puppet. You scrub your hands thoroughly before taking the nasal spray and filling with with distilled water.

You place on nitrite gloves. It’s always best when dealing with bodily substances such as mucus. You place a pan underneath and jam the tube up his nostrils, hosing his sinuses with water. The tension of his binding keeps him still. (If you ignore his whining, then that’s your business. The brawl you heard from the waiting room drowned it all out anyway.) He starts breathing better when all the snot flushes to the pan.

“Finished,” you say with satisfaction. You grab your prescription pad and write one for a nasal spray. “I cleared the mucus buildup so you shouldn’t feel any more headaches. The spray will keep your nose clear for as long as you use it. Come back if you start to feel any discomfort. For the rashes just get cream.” You point at the pastel pink door. “The exit’s right there.”

The threads dissolve in the air. He rubs his wrist, trying to soothe the red marks that your strings bring. You hand him the signed prescription.

He doesn’t close the door on his way out.

The broom and dustpan are hidden in one of the taller cabinets—pastel-pink like everything else in the room.

(Well, not everything. The radio sitting on the corner of the counter gives a splash of red into the room.)

You sweep the tissues into the dustpan. Your control over your strings is much more proficient when living beings are involved. Inanimate objects whip around when you use your magic on them, and radios have been difficult to purchase recently. It’s more convenient to clean using your own hands.

“Tagatha,” you call out when the floor is clean. “You can bring in the next one in.”

Silence is your reply.

“Tagatha?”

Your ears quirk. The noises are faint—an occasional cough, silent weeping, and muted voices coming from the television. You peek out the door, eyeing the crowd formed around the corner of the hall where a pAstel-pInK television mounts on the wall.

The door closes with a faint click. You sink into the cushions of the office chair. Vox’s yapping bore you. It was probably some man-child debate about the new extermination date. Although… those serialized dramas he produces, sadly, are interesting enough to be consumed. If asked for your honest opinion, you’d tell them that they were a hot pile of smelly garbage, but you like to leave it playing mindlessly in the background.

Your husband will throw the television out the window the first chance he’ll get.

Too bad he’s occupied.

You grab a piece of paper from the drawer. Management is forcing you to write a thousand-word formal apology. There are about three-hundred words left to write.

Getting caught dissecting the dead bodies from the morgue is a mistake that won’t be repeated. One dead body and suddenly those lazy fuckers have diligence weaved into their DNA. The body was already dead, and it’s not every day a chance to poke around a chimera’s entrails appears. The sinner would contribute to something meaningful at least. You’re stuck on clinic duty until you dot your last sentence, and not a moment before

The coffee’s cold now, but consumable.

You reach across the desk, feeling for the knob of the radio. You twist until you feel the clink. Music fills the air—the same twenty-five songs on a loop. You stare at the radio for a moment.

Just… a small… single moment.

On your kitchen counter, that second cup of coffee should be cold by now. It’s always cold when you trudge through the door. It’s been cold and untouched for years.

Yet, without fail, that second cup you brew will always be waiting for its owner.

“Salutations!” You snap your head to the radio. “Good to be back on the air.”

…Huh? The feather on your hair bristle. You swipe the radio, your hold on it feather-light.  You turn the knob responsible for volume. The static noise stings your eardrums.

“—ile since someone with style treated hell to a broadcast. Sinners rejoice!”

Murmurs erupt outside your door. You blink and find yourself slamming it open. One foot after another, one step after the other, brings you closer to the television. Your shoulder throbs when you bump into someone, but you keep pushing until you see Vox and his tacky suit enlarged on the screen.

“What a dated voice!”

A reply comes from the radio. “Instead of a clout-chasin’ mediocre video podcast.”

Your feather rises higher. Laughter escapes your lips, it leaves a dry taste. That…that ṁ̵̭͔̲̙̦͎̝̜̲̠͙͇̂̏̃̐̂̓̊̂̕̕o̴̢̭̝̙̤̬͚͐̅͗̌̇̂̌̕ţ̷̛̝̂̿h̶̯̟̙̲̘̟̟͙͔̔̋͊̋̿̐͘͜͜ę̶̗̰͔̫͔̗̝̘̻̰̓̓̈̊͜r̵̨̂̏f̶͖̻̱̺͕̹̫̭̠̚u̸̬̺̯̟̦͖̅̂́́̌̚͝ć̴̖͙̰͈͕̉͌̈́́̈̔̀̉̍́͜͠ḳ̴̨̧̗̫̗͖̞̟̑͌̂̀̈́̀͆͒ę̷̛͓̼̟͍̆̆́͆̾͛͝r̵̹̮̤͓̗̹̈́̎̉͌̾͌̏͑̋̚͝.

“Doctor!” Tagatha screeches when she spots you. “I am so sorry. I’ll bring in the next one right away!”

Your eyes are trapped by the screen and your ears by the radio. “It’s alrig—”

Tagatha grabs the closest person to her and shoves you back into the clinic. The door slams shut just as everything goes dark and silent. (Well, it’s not completely dark, once your eyes adjust you can still see as if the lights were open. Another small perk to this body). Your radio, along with the power, stopped working.

“Oh my!” Your new patient bleats.

“We have generators,” you find yourself saying. “I’m sure the power will come on in a minute.”

The cushions of the chair do little to ease your nerves. You pat your hair, trying to get it in control. A pile of feathers starts forming on the PASTEL-FUCKING PINK FLOORS. T̴̹̜͇̅̅͗͜H̶̰̗̄Ơ̶̡̡̻̗͖̋̎̓̓S̴̨͉̝̻͋̽̆́͆Ẹ̸̡̢͐͐͠ ̷̨͚̞̙̀͒̆̆͊Ŭ̵͕̲̪͇͓͐̚G̷̹̝̦̬͊͒Ḷ̶̭͓̎̏̈͘Y̶͇̟̍̉̚ ̷̟͎͕̞͂͑̂̇À̶͉̍̄̈̚S̸͖̖͕͑̏͛̈́S̶͚̤̼̯̀ ̶̻͆P̷̬̝̉Ä̵͕́͊̌S̸̢͍̆̓͝Ṫ̸͖̲̠̾̉͜͝E̷̺͆L̷͖̏͐́͝ ̶̛̟̽͝P̷̪̔͜I̴̹̥̹͖̮͒́̏͘N̸̳̙̼̾̆̿Ķ̶̟̞̜̉͊̓̂̚ ̵͈̬̃̿̄̈́̋F̵̨̨̼̫̘͘L̸̙̠͎̓̆́O̷̧̘͚͉̤̓O̷̤̟̱̼̤͋̍͐R̷̰̝̓͌̌Ș̵̲̝̈́ "Excuse me?” You will paint this room red with the blood of management. You tap your foot again, and again, and again. “…Doctor?”

Your neck snaps in her direction, eyes wide and staring.

“The… uh… the lights are back.”

You blink at your patient—huh, she’s a goat. “I apologize,” you say, smiling. “Please, tell me, what brings you here in this hellish afternoon.”

She holds up her bleeding arm. “It’s been like this since the extermination,” she explains. “Some angle got me. Luckily, I was able to run off before I was finished. I thought it would heal on its own like it usually does but it just hasn’t. It keeps bleeding.”

“Well, angel-induced injuries are my specialty,” you say. Tucked away to the side, a mirror hangs. You catch your reflection, and you blow your hair away from your vision, your red sclerae “This will cost you. Injuries caused by angels are…difficult to stitch, but not impossible—not for me at least.”

“Oh, yes.” She bleats one more “Dear God, where are my manners? I’m sorry can I ask for your name?”

Your smile widens. “Of course. I’m—"

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ��ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure!” One hand reset on his chest, and the other shoots into the air. It’s the bow you did in high school, back when you wanted theater to pay your bills. A performer’s bow.

You chuckle. “I don’t think it will be quite the pleasure you think.”

“Is that so?” Alastor’s smile remains constant. “And why would that be?”

You show him the tray you’re holding. “I’m here to do your sutures.” He steps closer to take a peek. You watch him as his eyes gloss over your matches then your needle driver, then the alcohol lamp. His smile wobbles when he lands on the syringe.

You move the tray, dropping it down on the little cart by the examination chair.

“There’s no need to worry.” You beam at him. “I have the steadiest hands in this city.”

“Hmmmm,” he says. “You must be the other doctor then.”

“Not at all.” You point to your uniform, where the initial ‘NP’ is embroidered next to your name. “Just the nurse practitioner.”

He takes a closer look and reads your name. “Then I have no reason to fret. None at all! In my experience, doctors usually have their noses buried in their books. It’s the nurses that actually get the hands-on experience.” Alastor’s hands move when he talks. “What’s such a talented practitioner doing in such a dinged-up clinic?”

“Management caught me in the morgue dissecting the dead—It’s how I practice my stitches.”

“Really, now?”

You bark a laugh. “Not at all—I’m far too smart to get caught.”

“A witty sense of humor and a steady hand! I am in good hands, indeed.”

You take a seat on the rolling stool. “Yes, yes,” you say, waving your wrist. “You make fine compliments, Sir. I’ll be sure to be extra gentle.” You point towards the examination chair. “But, please hurry to the chair. You’re dripping blood on my floor.”

Alastor glances down. His eyebrows furrow as he glares at where the blood seeps from his sleeve … almost… almost as if he’s angry. “My apologies,” he says, allowing his blood to drip to the floor.

Alastor shrugs off his coat. It’s rare to see such a dark red—only a few choose such a color. You hum. Alastor is a well-dressed gentleman. Lovely. Those are your favorite kind. He drapes his coat over the spare chair, ignoring the coat racks the clinic provides.

You turn away and wheel yourself closer to one of the drawers on the counter. It takes two attempts until you find the stash of sterile gloves. “Take your seat when you’re ready,” you say. “I’ll take a look once you are.” You place the gloves on the little green cart, right next to your tray.

Alastor takes his seat, landing with an audible ‘humph’. He smiles at you, sleeves rolled and arm ready. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

You hold your palm out. “May I?”

His smile wobbles—it’s a small change in expression that you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t looking. “Of course.”

Along his forearm, a long and sharp cut wounds him. The sight of grime that covers the opened abrasions makes you inwardly cringe. You need to clean these as soon as possible. “Why was this not checked sooner?” You rest his hands on the armrest and use your foot to bring the cart closer. “This looks old, and not at all like a freshly deep cut. I prefer it when patients come to me with fresh wounds.”

You grab a bowl with distilled water and pour in a sterile solution. “I assumed it would heal on its own,” he tells you. “It was quite a surprise when it did not.”

“I need to clean this before you die of infection.” You dip his arm into the bowl. He remains silent, but you feel the tension of his muscles under your fingers. “Hopefully there will be no next time, but just in case, next time, please don’t wait a month.”

He laughs, and there, you faintly see it—a twitch in his eye. “It was only a week actually.”

You smile to yourself. “I’d prefer it if it was only a few hours.” You dry his arm with a soft towel, his arm still tensed underneath your touch. “There, much better.”  You release your hold to go to a shelf filled with different labeled vials and select the one you need. With the clean syringe, you draw the contents of the vial. “You’ll feel a bit of a pinch,” you say. You tap its side. “It’s morphine— wouldn’t want you screaming and writhing”

You study his face for a second. There’s just that same dismissively polite smile.

“You can look away if you wish,” you tell him. “It’s why we pin such…er…interesting decorations around…. May I?”

You feel it again when Alastor inches his arm closer. His muscles tense under your touch. It’s almost as if he wishes to pull away. You keep your hold feather-light, but firm.

“Are you a hunter by any chance?” you ask. You don’t prick him—not yet. Not when tension coils in your hold.

“You could describe it that way,” he says, chuckling like he’s told a humorous joke. (You don’t understand why.)

“I figured you were.”

Alastor slides his glasses up the bridge of his nose. You inject the morphine into his skin, right inside the soft pink tissue. Good. Alastor relaxes when he speaks, it seems. “I do love a good hunt,” he says. “How ever did you know.”

You release your hold and discard the syringe. “Your hands are rough,” you tell him. “And hunters always have this silly notion that injuries magically heal given enough time—along with farmers, actually. Although, farmers are usually much more deluded.”

He flashes that same polite smile. “I'm guessing you’re not a hunter then?”

“How ever did you know?”

You watch his eyes flicker to your palms as you re-arrange the needles. “Delicate hands.”

You flash the same polite smile right back at him. You take a match, and light the alcohol lamp.

Soap spreads all over your palms and up your arm as you scrub your hands. You slip your hands into the sterilized gloves, careful not to contaminate the surface. “I’ll begin now.”

Alastor hums in reply.

You take a scapple and pass it over the flame. You poke him, lightly, but he doesn’t react. Satisfied, you cut back fibrous tissue underneath the skin. You replace the scapple with a needle driver. There was a quiet click when you pinch the tiny curved needle. You pass it over the flame as well. “Can you do me a favor? Can you tell me how many stars are on that wall over there?

Alastor turns to look at you, but you block his eyes with your palm, shielding him from your stiches.

“The wall isn’t over here.”

“I assure you, I’m not afraid of a silly needle.”

“I’m sure you are,” you say. “However, you’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. The last three people who said that took one look and started squirming. One even fainted. It makes your life miserable, and my job harder.

He counts.

“Out loud please.”

He does as he’s told, rather reluctantly.

Hands steady and determination set, you pierce the soft pink tissue with your needle The tissue nearest to the surface is always delicate. You’re certain not to catch any fat in your suture, for fat dies, and a loose stitch is useless. “Well, isn’t this fun!” he says. “I really feel nothing.”

Your concentration does not break. “I don’t remember there only being twenty-six stars. I’m positive there are more.”

“Why is someone as talented as you only a nurse practitioner?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a nurse…,” you reply, tugging on the needle. “Well…we…. We certainly could be paid more.”

“Why not become an actual doctor then?”

“My father couldn’t afford it. He wouldn’t send me….and…hm…” You smoothly pull the suture thread and begin the next stitch. “And I enjoy this.”

He looks down at you. “Is this all you’ll be satisfied with?”

You focus back on your stitching, hiding your glare. You bring your needle underneath the flesh, making sure to catch the soft tissue. You’re doing an uncommon stitch, but it would be a shame to leave a scar. “You sound familiar.”

You pause to look at him, His smile brightens, and it actually looks like a genuine elated smile. “Why, I’m a radio broadcaster. You might have heard me there.”

“Oh yes...” you hum, turning back to your stitching. “Alastor... I remember now. The ladies and I listen to your broadcast as we do our crafts.”

“Knitting?”

“I personally prefer embroidery,” you say. “I get to practice my stitching and make beautiful art.” You pull the thread and begin a new one, stitching his skin like they were shoe laces. “You’re quite the humorous gentleman, I must say, and quite a lovely taste in music. We enjoy your broadcast very much”

“Do you have any of your artworks here?” he asks you. “I would be eager to see them.”

“Maybe next time.” You tug the suture, and his laceration snaps to a close. You tie a knot and snip the end. “Unfortunately, I’ve finished your stitches.”

“Next time then.”

You discard your gloves and go back to the shelf with the vials. You fill up another syringe. You jam the needle into his skin, not enough to hurt, just enough to scare him a bit. “To prevent infection.”

He jerks away from you. “What happened to that gentle touch of yours?”

“It’s still a sharp object, Sir. They tend to hurt.” You smirk and carefully clean the remaining blood on the skin around the sutured wound. You take a bandage from your cart and begin wrapping it around his forearm, covering your sutures. “Don’t forget to drink your pills every 8 hours, with a meal in your stomach, preferably. Replace the dressing every three days. You can come back here or if you’re able to do so, you can change them yourself. Any by the good God, please, visit the nearest hospital should this incident repeat.”

Alastor slides off the examination chair. He grabs his coat as if you didn’t just stitch him close. You start packing when you notice him fixing his bow tie, and smoothing his hair. Huh…There’s blood on his coat, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Like he’s used to having it there. Like it’s just something he’s learned to live with. “You were wrong by the way.”

“Pardon?”

“It was quite the pleasure to meet you.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part |Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn't Explain Himself| Hello, welcome to the hell that's been plaguing my head. In case you didn't know Belphegor is the ruler of the sloth ring, and she seems to be in charge of medical-related stuff in Hell. I have the story mostly plotted out, it's just a matter of writing it down. If you have any questions, ask away

[cinnajun]

ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗: zb1 as your boyfriend

a/n: these get progressively longer the more you go on and that’s my bad, i’m just insane over this group idk …

notes: long hair is implied in jiwoong’s, yujin is not included due to his age!, i did not proofread this so sorry for typos

wc | 3.5k

jiwoong

i think this would be so much fun in the like adult way … like doing taxes together and watching tv shows

dating jiwoong means SETTLING DOWN!!! this is for the long run for real

in all seriousness i think being jiwoong’s s/o means you will feel very secure at all times

he isn’t interested in anyone but you … like seriously

looks at you like you’re the only person on the planet when you��re out and about

if anyone hits on him, he shuts it down SO fast that you’ll barely have time to process what happened

in terms of love languages, i’d say his is probably acts of service in both giving and receiving

there’s no better way to show him that you love him than taking care of little chores around the house (especially the ones he usually does) or picking up some toothpaste when he’s running low

in the same way, he loves to do those things for you—he really appreciates the way you smile when you find out he did the dishes for you <;<3

overall, a very sweet relationship, and a very very long-term one

IT’S ALMOST LAUGHABLE how gentle Jiwoong is as he braids your hair, pulling each strand off your head with such precision and cautiousness that you’d think he was braiding strands of pure gold. Weddings were long events, and you’d noticed that, every time you went to one, you ended up with a million knots in your hair that you had to spend extra time brushing out after.

So, Jiwoong had the bright idea to braid your hair—and insisted he do it for you, so that you wouldn’t have to keep your arms raised for so long, or something. You just didn’t think he’d try this hard at it.

“You can go a little faster, you know,” you said, painting your eyelashes with mascara. “If you go any slower, we’ll be late to the ceremony.”

“We can just sit in the back,” he mumbled, continuing to put one strand over the other. “I need to make sure it’s well-done so it doesn’t just knot your hair even worse than leaving it down does.”

You sighed, a little smile appearing on your face. “Whatever makes you happy,” you sighed, continuing to put on your mascara. “Who am I to say no?”

zhang hao

i feel like the most prominent part of dating zhang hao is trying to figure out how you scored him LOL

i mean look at him … he's so perfect it’s almost painful

and he’s such a good boyfriend that literally all of your friends are so jealous … and he’s the only guy they haven’t called ugly so that’s a plus LOL

i will say though dating him has to mean you’re really comfortable with yourself because just about everyone shoots their shot with him

obviously he turns them down but he’s too nice to do it in a way where they’ll actually be scared off (cough jiwoong cough)

he’s very loving and very appreciative, and loves hearing about everything you do

tbh he just loves you

his love language is definitely physical touch, but in the like sweetest way possible

he holds your hand and swings it around when you’re out and about, he leans his head on your shoulder when you watch movies, he puts his head in your lap when you’re sitting on the couch…

and he always stares at you, which is super nerve-wracking, but he just loves you so much that he can’t help it

seriously has heart eyes for you

IT’S NOT ALWAYS that your mom calls, but you supposed today just had to be the day. As much as you love her, she tends to talk your ear off, which is something you’d rather not deal with at a random time in the middle of your day. Nevertheless, it was better to get it over with now rather than later.

Hao had been napping with his head on your lap when she called, and you’d hoped that would be a good excuse to hang up. Except, when you pleaded with your mom, telling her that Hao was sleeping and you didn’t want to wake him, she insisted that she needed to talk to you right then. So, for the past twenty minutes, you’d been listening to her talk about her knitting club while you ran your hand through his hair.

You’d also failed to notice that Hao had been awake since before she’d even called. Initially, he just wanted a few more seconds laying on you before you kicked him off (because your thighs were cramping and you needed to stretch), but he’d been pleasantly surprised when your attention was stolen by the phone call.

So, when you looked down and saw him staring at you oh-so-lovingly, you choked on air, causing your mom to frantically ask you what was wrong. All the while, he stared at you, wondering how he managed to find you (but shouldn’t you be asking that)?

hanbin

if you’re feeling unloved, just date hanbin and he will fix it right up for you

he is an endless pit of love and is just waiting to give it to someone (that someone happens to be you)

you’re like 90% sure he popped out of a cheesy romance novel and wandered straight to your door but i digress

everything about this guy is so pleasant that it’s almost nauseating

his mom, how clean his bedroom is, how much he happens to enjoy cooking, how much he loves all the things you suggest as date ideas, it’s so much that your friends are suspicious that he’s hiding something incredibly unforgivable

he’s not, though, he’s just like that

and he just happened to be truly, madly, deeply in love with you so congrats on that one!!!

hanbin’s love language is also physical touch (shocker)

he’s super clingy, especially when you go out together, and has to have a hand on you at all times (if you get separated it will literally ruin his day)

really loves to cuddle with you…for example, if you decide to take a nap without him, you will wake up wrapped in his impossible to escape koala hug

he also loves kisses. forehead kisses, cheek kisses, all kisses … he especially loves it when you kiss his tattoos

he gets super enamored with you when you give him the same energy back, so try that out, too

EVERY DAY, YOU GET HOME from work around the time Hanbin’s decided to start dinner, and, every day, you attempt the same little prank. Slowly, you enter your home, trying to stay as quiet as possible.

The sound of the nightly news fills your ears, and the smell of whatever Hanbin decided to make attacks your nose. As subtly as possible, you put your bag and keys down on a dresser you have in the entryway, removing your shoes and tiptoeing through the house as quietly as possible.

As usual, Hanbin’s back is facing the doorway, and he’s hunched over the stove, fiddling with whatever he’s making. You tip-toe run up to him, bumping into him and wrapping your arms around his waist. He giggles, as usual, and puts his hands on your arms.

“Hi,” you say into his back, which prompts him to turn around in your embrace, staring down at you with the most loving expression he could muster up.

And, placing a kiss on the crown of your head, he says, “I missed you.”

matthew

CUTE BOYFRIEND!!!

matthew is like so clueless in a relationship and he’s just kind of winging everything, which makes him about 70% funnier

you’ll be out shopping and he’ll pick something up, usually a trinket of sorts, look you dead in the eyes, and say, “is this something people get for their partners?”

if you say yes, it will magically appear in your bedroom like 4 days later and he’ll be oh-so proud of himself

your parents LOVE matthew, to the point where you begin to wonder if they like him more than they like you

it’s nice, though, because they’re more willing to help pay for your utility bill if they know matthew’s benefitting from it too LOL

he’s such a sweet boyfriend that sometimes you like need to stop and put your phone down

his love languages are words of affirmation on the receiving end and gift giving on the giving end

when you’re away from one another, he texts you selfies along with cute little summaries of what he’s doing and absolutely expects you to do the same

also sends good morning/good night texts if he can’t say it in person for whatever reason

also has some like tiktok-worthy beige flags (the comments say they’re all green flags)

like he asks you what your ring size is like once a month and then comes home with ring pops and goes “i had them custom made to fit your finger”

and you’re like “omg matthew i can’t believe you would do that for me!!!”

MATTHEW’S HANDS ARE poorly covering your eyes as he leads you to this mystery-location that he’d spent the entire day hyping up. He swore it was going to absolutely blow you away, and had even said that you’d be at a loss for words.

“We’re almost there,” he said, excitement dripping from his words. “Be careful, there’s a couple of steps here.”

You did your best to ascend without face planting, although it was a bit difficult given that Matthew was unknowingly rushing you due to his excitement. “Okay, are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

In a flash, he removed his hands from your eyes, and it takes you a second to realize what you’re staring at. It’s a table cutely decorated for some sort of picnic, with string lights overhead and a candle burning on the table. You realize you’re in your parents backyard pretty quickly, but the thing that really has you confused is the teddy bear sitting on the edge. It looks exactly like the one you carried around as a kid, albeit much cleaner—but you’d lost it when you were 10.

“I tore apart your house looking for it,” Matthew said, putting his head on your shoulder. “Mr. Tumnus, right? Like the Narnia character? He was behind the couch. I got him cleaned, too. Do you like it?”

taerae

swoon

UGHHHH taerae is so perfect

like he’s totally the boy next door, locker neighbor, church boy type of boyfriend

he asked you out on valentine’s day with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a box of like really pretty chocolate-covered strawberries and you’ve been whipped since

you’re both wrapped around each other’s fingers in the most severe way possible

you’re also definitely like a married couple, specifically a couple of grandparents who’ve been retired for like 30 years

you probably share a friend group, and everyone in the group considers you two the parents of the group (you’re the dad)

almost always, you have a third wheel, but that’s fine because you and taerae are good at making sure it’s not awkward (which is why people always want to come on your dates)

taerae’s love language is definitely quality time

more often than not you’re both doing something completely separate from one another and he doesn’t care, he just likes knowing that you’re around

i don’t see him being the touchiest person, even in a relationship, so spending time together is the only thing taerae needs to feel loved. if you never blow him off and spend all of your free time just sitting next to him, he’ll be entirely pleased forever and ever

SOMETIMES, YOU FORGET that Taerae is in the room with you, which tends to be more embarrassing than you’d have wanted it to be.

Once, early in your relationship, he’d come over and you’d been spending time in your room. Except, hours had passed without you saying a word to each other, and you’d forgotten he was even there in the first place. You were so engrossed in your latest craft project, attempting to crochet, that he’d blended into the scenery of your bedroom.

So, when you kept messing up on a particular stitch, you found it fit to stand up and absolutely scream at the top of your lungs. When you got done, you planned to sit down and keep doing, but you heard Taerae laugh nervously behind you, causing you to freeze up.

“Uh, what was that?”

You turned around, staring at him with what could only be described as horror written on your face. You stared at one another in complete silence for what felt like hours, although in reality it must’ve been no more than five or six seconds.

“I forgot you were here,” you finally choked out, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. Taerae just laughed, and it only made you feel more miserable.

“You’re adorable, you know?”

ricky

ricky is such a sweet boyfriend

even if he’s a bit awkward at times he’s so nice to be around

i think he just cares about you so much that he fluctuates in the same way that you do…if you’re happy, he’s happy, if you’re sad, he’s sad, etc…

at the same, he’s always completely panicked that he is not doing enough for you

he constantly checks in to make sure that you are getting what you need from him, and, while he wouldn’t say it aloud, he appreciates it when you do the same

he doesn’t like conflict so he pretty much does anything he can to get rid of the problem before it happens

as such, if he finds out anything upsetting, he will approach you about it instantaneously

i think ricky’s love language is gift giving, though, both on the receiving end and on the giving end

whether it’s an origami flower made out of a receipt you got or a pretty necklace you found while out and about with friends, ricky treasures it like it’s his child

almost every gift you’ve gotten him is displayed in his room somewhere, like he’s got a whole shelf dedicated to things that you gave him …

all of his gifts are incredibly well thought out too even if they’re last minute

he also tends to just give you anything that you express literally any interest in

you like the hat he’s wearing? okay it’s yours now

“no i mean that i like it on you!!”

he doesn’t care it’s yours now

THANKS TO A FAMILY VACATION, you hadn’t been able to see Ricky for a week, which had been the end of the world for both of you. So, the moment you got back home, you ditched the comfort of your room to head straight to his house.

The moment he opened his front door, you collapsed into his arms, taking in the scent of his cologne mixed with the smell of laundry detergent coming from his sweater. Then, you realized that the sweater he was wearing was new.

You leaned back to get a better look at it, taking it in. “I like it!” you exclaimed, smiling up at him. He tilted his head in confusion, staring back down at you.

“Like what?”

“The new sweater.”

Without even skipping a beat, Ricky tugged it over his head, causing your mouth to drop open a bit. “Wait, no—”

Before you could finish your sentence, he’d pulled it over your head, and was waiting for you to put your arms through the sleeves. He smiled, happy with his sudden attack. “I knew you would, so I got two.”

gyuvin

dating gyuvin is so much fun

you were probably friends before you started dating, so when you start dating, it’s like your friendship amped up 200% along with like some kissing and stuff LOL

he knows you inside and out, to the point where you wonder if he knows you better than you know you

he also definitely had a crush on you for a loooong time before he acted on it so he remembers little details you shared in passing from years in the past

as such he’s constantly taking you out on the most lovely dates you could possibly imagine

you mentioned you like hot chocolate two years ago on a friend group outing? well good news! gyuvin remembered and he’s taking you to a world-renowned cafe that’s specifically noted for its hot chocolate

you like barbie movies???? every single one is downloaded onto his computer. every one. and he knows which one is your favorite

i think gyuvin’s love languages are acts of service + quality time

he just likes doing things for you and he likes doing things with you too … he just likes you tbh

he’d be heartbroken if you ever said no to one of his meticulously planned out dates so make sure to never do that (his friends would also hate you instantly and being hated by sung hanbin AND park gunwook is terrifying so don’t do that)

strangely enough, when you reciprocate the energy and plan out intense dates based on little tiny information, he gets super flustered, so try it out if you can

THE FIRST THING that comes out of Gyuvin’s mouth when he comes into your living room is, “You remembered?”

You’re almost taken aback by the question, eyes widening the moment the words leave his mouth. He was asking you that? After he remembered every little detail about you, from your favorite episode of your favorite show to your favorite breed of dog?

“Of course I remembered that you like soccer. How could I forget that you like soccer?”

You’d set up a little mini-party for the both of you to watch the World Cup, equipped with snacks and a jersey for his favorite team. And, somehow, he was a blushing mess, as if he didn’t expect you to remember something so basic about him.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, turning away from you as he turned beet red. “I just…I don’t know, I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Well, expect it more often,” you said, linking your arm with his, a bright smile on your face. “Cause I love you. And I love doing things for you.”

gunwook

yea gunwook is definitely your first love and you’re really hoping he’ll be the last

you probably had some sort of super dramatic lead-up to you actually getting into a relationship, so you’re also probably super attached to each other by the first day you’re calling him “boyfriend”

even though he’s young, gunwook feels a lot of responsibility for everything in his life, so being with you is essentially his wind-down time

as a result you have a lot of sleepovers, which include doing facemasks and going to bed at like 9pm because he’s so tired

and you just generally spend a lot of time together because you’re an oasis in the middle of the desert for him

gunwook feels really proud that he gets to have the title of “your boyfriend,” so be prepared for him to call himself that a lot

it makes him all giggly and happy, which makes you all giggly and happy, so you’re pretty much giggly and happy 24/7

gunwook’s love language is absolutely words of affirmation

he’s under a lot of pressure (student council vice president, class president, like good lord he is leading the people) so he just wants to hear that he’s doing well, especially from someone he cares so much about

even just telling him that he’s doing his best will make him melt in a pile of i-love-you putty

and he makes sure to do the same for you :)

IT’S NOT OFTEN THAT Gunwook breaks under the pressure, but when he does, it breaks your heart, too. It’s inevitable that he loses his balance sometimes, given the fact that he often takes on way more than he can handle, but you’re always there to pick up the pieces.

“You need to go to bed,” you say as warmly as possible, placing a hand on his shoulder. He continues to write a flurry of numbers onto his paper, trying to fulfill his plans of finishing all his weekend homework so he could spend the majority of it hanging out with you. “You can finish tomorrow morning, okay?”

Gunwook stops, finally, leaning back in his chair. He looks up at you, a frown on his face, and you can tell that he’s starting to unravel. You cup his face in your hands, looking down at him with the calmest smile you can muster.

“You did a good job, tonight. And calculus will be there for you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”

You smile, a feeling of triumph overtaking you. “Thank you very much!”

thank you for reading!

[morphodae]

“My Beloved”🪻 | Gregory Violet x Reader short oneshot | (Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji)

cw: none, fluff

A breeze blows by, an inadvertent shiver wracks your body against your wishes. You grit your teeth, cursing the cold winds of England on today of all days.

The sensation of a hood and fabric being placed on your head startles you. Peering to the left, you see Gregory staring at you expectantly as he finishes covering you with his cloak.

“You look cold. Here, wear it.”

It was supposed to be a nice picnic; one where you and Gregory could lounge together under overcast skies in blissful silence, eat, and have a mini drawing contest. However, the weather had different ideas when the temperature dropped drastically and abruptly.

You notice Gregory doesn’t seem to be shivering as you are and after confirming that he, in fact, doesn’t also need a warm cloak or blanket, you relax with a frustrated sigh.

“So much for our plans today. I’m sorry they got ruined.”

Gregory blinks; violet hues observe you. “I don’t think it ‘got ruined.’ Weather happens,” he deadpans. He closes his sketchbook and packs his supplies, rising from the grass and offering a thin, outstretched hand to you. “Let’s go inside before you catch a cold.”

“Me? What about you?”

“I prefer the cold and dark days. It’s calming. I’ll be fine in this sort of weather.”

“… then why not stay out?”

“As I said: it’s best you not catch a cold.”

You take his hand and lift yourself from the ground, brushing stray strands of grass from yourself and holding your painting supplies under your other arm.

“There’s no reason we cannot finish this indoors where the wind won’t blow hair into my eyes or scatter our things.” Gregory still hasn’t let go of your hand and as the two of you approach his manor, you make a point to address it.

“Still holding my hand?” You ask cheekily. Gregory is in front of you, unlocking the door. But even with his posture slightly huddled, the creeping vermillion on his cheeks and tip of his ear is unmistakable.

“I enjoy it.” After a moment of silence, he continues. “Do… you enjoy holding hands?”

You nod. “I do.”

“Then… let’s continue to inside… if that’s alright with you?”

You answer with an affirmative and the two of you huddle near his fireplace and resume your art date. Every now and again your free hands will touch or link pinky fingers until Gregory becomes bold and silently, yet gently, grabs your hand to place in his. His thumb would rub comforting circles on the top of your hand which makes your heart leap.

He still hasn’t asked for his cloak back nor have you felt the need to remove it even with the two of you before the heat of the fire indoors.

A blush forms on Gregory’s face before he glances at you once more. “Thank you for spending time with me.”

“Of course, dearest. I always enjoy spending time with you.” Your smile as you say this seems all-too-blinding despite Gregory not looking directly at you. The blush on his face darkens and he finally faces you with a flustered expression.

“Ah,” he mumbles, the struggle to maintain eye contact with you is difficult but he still tries, “that… doesn’t sound terrible to call me.”

“I’m glad. Am I moving too fast?”

Your concern for his comfort levels were always endearing. “No,” he shakes his head lightly, “I do not mind. Would it be alright if I call you with a mutually endearing name?”

You giggle, the sound sends butterflies to hi stomach. “Of course.”

Gregory inhales sharply before making eye contact with you. His smile is soft, genuine, and full of affection. “Then… do try and take better care of yourself in colder weather… my beloved.”

It was always like Gregory to worry about those he holds dear to him and it was something you always found to be incredibly charming and sweet. “I will,” you smile, “thank you for looking out for me.”

His expression turns a bit more somber as he regards you with a more serious countenance. “I will always look out for you. Your well-being is important.”

The two of you continue the night in serenity. Your drawings soon conclude and the two of you wind up falling asleep on the plush rug in front of the fireplace together. A servant comes alone at one point and spots the two of you; her voice ready to lightly scold before she sees the peaceful scene before her. With a smile, she exits the room and informs other Violet staff members not to disturb you for a while.

Even in slumber, Gregory’s hand still hasn’t left yours nor does he feel the need to let go anytime soon.

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

Could you do 2005 bill x fem!reader who's in the band (as a guitarist, singer idrc) and they've kind of been together since like 2003, like they never really have said they are boyfriend-girlfriend but they act like it. Like reader sits on his lap when they're on their tour bus and helps him paint his nails and Bill's just looking at her all cute 🤭 (I'm down bad for my lil emo) or during Tokio Hotel TV episodes (I'm pretty sure those started later in 2008+ but let's pretend they had it in 2005) and Bill helps reader dye strands of her hair bc the color is fading. Pretty much just gushy fluff for sort of gf!reader and Bill 🤭🤞 tyyy

(hello! Thank you for requesting, I loved writing this because it's always fun. And I added a different setting in substitute for the hair dye one because I already wrote bill in that scenario. But anyways, enjoy!)

It's Complicated

There were moments that people caught you two where it was completely different to how you two normally were.

In an interview, the woman, who was previously talking to Georg, turned her sights to you both on the other side of the couch.

Bill had his hand in your lap, the interviewer and the camera noticing you both when you laughed when he whispered something in your ear.

"How about you two?" The woman asked, grabbing both your attention as you guys looked at her.

"About us?" Bill asked with a funny look, glancing back at you with a smile.

"You won't get anything from them." Tom shook his head, a teasing smirk on his face, you kicked his leg ever so gently as you could reach.

"People think you both are a couple, obviously." The woman smiled after she laughed at your shenanigans. 

"They do?" Bill added sarcastically, looking at you with semi-wide eyes.

"I couldn't tell." You smiled, leaning your face closer to his as you both messed with each other.

"That." The woman cut in with her own fake, award winning smile.

"You two never put a label on it, but people wonder how you can do that and not be together. So, are you?" 

The woman egged on, Tom shaking his brother's shoulders to answer when Tom himself already knew the answer.

"The people want to know, Bill." Gustav made a high-pitched voice, mimicking fans online, joining in on the teasing to his friend.

"They can just think what they think." You shrugged, genuinely not caring about what people thought of your relationship.

"Maybe they can figure out an answer." Bill smiled, his arm around your waist now as you leaned your head onto his shoulder.

You patted his cheek to annoy him before pulling away, the now annoyed interviewer moving on back to Tom with a sigh.

Even if you guys always did things to be a couple, the more you thought about it, you couldn't come up with an answer.

It would always be complicated.

It really was with you and Bill, for you and others.

You had been in the band and their friend since as long as you could remember, never quite having met, just popped into each other's lives one day.

As time went on, you and Bill just got closer and closer.

You guys had been acting as a couple since 2003, which was heavily noticed by his and your fans alike.

Lots hated it, lots loved it, but that didn't stop you guys from doing whatever the hell you wanted with each other.

It's why you ended up on Bills lap on the tour bus, his head was on your shoulder as you talked away in hushed whispers.

"Hold still." You said to Bill, his hand shaking from the moving bus but you could care less on why it was. 

You just needed it to stop moving. 

Bill laughed, his breath touching your neck as he held his arms around your waist.

"Shut." You almost swatted him, can't help but to join in on laughing.

You finally grabbed his hand, putting it down on your thigh flat so you could finish painting his nails.

Painting his nails on the bus wasn't ideal, but it's how you guys got most things done on the road.

Bill smiled, putting a small kiss on your jaw as you didn't even flinch, used to his lips anywhere on your body, continuing to focus on his nails.

Bill smiled at you, moving his head ever so slightly to just look at you concentrating as he reveled in the little moments and little things you would do for him.

It wasn't until much later that a photo was released, taken by Gustav and Tom as they pointed the camera at you two on the bus.

It captured Bill's smile perfectly, you couldn't even notice it at the time.

Bill's smile and eyes held longing in them, adoring love. Something you couldn't even grasp in that moment.

That the love he held was for you.

[sugarbag]

✰﹣𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗯𝗯𝘆 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀 :)

abby anderson x fem!reader

𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀. what i think being in a relationship with abby would be like! (i have brainrot)

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. none i think, apart from poor writing because it's 2am 🤡 reader is referred to as girl a few times and it's implied that reader has long hair

FLUFF.

an. ummm so im officially obsessed with abby. theres a part at the end thats very specific for black women because self-insert 💅 but i'll put a little ✰ beforehand! english is still not my first language :) if you enjoy this pleeease let me know!

- ok so first of all, abby is baby. she is soooo serious about nicknames it's adorable!! once you start calling her by a nickname it better stick because she will literally pout all day if you call her abby. if you do her call something other than a cheesy nickname, she really likes abigail. the way it rolls off your tongue, the way it feels like she's owned by you when you call her that, it makes her giddy :)

for you, she goes for "sweet girl" or "angel" :))

-is a clean freak. like an actual freak. she WILL bully you into folding your socks neatly next to hers and god forbid you leave crumbs in bed

-i do not care what anybody says, abby is an ass girl. when you're cuddling, her hand always finds its way to your behind. and when you question her about it, she says it must be sorcery.

of course, she loves every part of you but dat ass... do not bend over near her, she absolutely will fake fuck you from the back and put her whole heart into it. im talking grunting and moaning and you're just standing there like🤰

- she's such a great cook! she learned how to cook with her dad and after his passing, it became a way to feel closer to him. so she cooks for you all the time and acts grumpy when you call her your little housewife but she loves it really :)

-FOREHEAD KISSES‼️especially if there's a height difference, shes such a sucker for those! receiving and giving of course

- please play with her hair :( if you don't know how to braid, she'll teach you :(( BRAID IT OMGGG she loves when you do anything with her hair, brush it, braid it or just pass your hand in it, she'll take anything :) she'll only let you touch her hair, especially if it's undone and her beautiful blonde strands are on display goshhhh

- she will 100% let you paint her nails whatever color you want. no questions asked.

- shares everything with you. sometimes not even on purpose. like her clothes are your clothes and vice versa, you two basically have one big closet. gives you her jacket (the WLF one:)) you want some fries from abby's plate? done. you like her pine scented bodywash a little too much? it's yours :)

- absolutely HATES horror movies. she cannot stand them, maybe a few classics not too gorey but either way she just doesnt watch them. truth is she's a scaredy cat when it comes to horror movies, so when you insist to watch one together, you see your 6ft tank of a girlfriend with her eyes half open and flinching at every noise. truly an hilarious sight. if you watch horror movies alone, she'll just stand like a dad and never sit down because it scares her less that way lol🧍‍♀️

- ok so she's not big on pda but god is she clingy. she never lets go of you (not that you're complaining), always wants to touch you in some way, wether its by holding you hand or having her hand in your back pocket :)

- takes you on surprise dates!! you randomly get texts like "are you busy rn? the museum is open👀" or "it's been a while since we've been at the park. put your shoes on" XJDJSBD

- acts like she hates sunscreen just so that you'll have to put it on for her and smirks the whole time

- takes all the space in bed and when you complain about it, she just puts you on top of her "there, you go angel, got enough space now?"

- SHE LOVES CUDDLING big spoon, little spoon or just being intertwined on your shared bed, she just loves physical touch, ESPECIALLY yours <3

- she's an early bird. i believee abby has the sleep schedule of a grandpa, so she goes to sleep at 9pm sharp and wakes up at 5am to go to the gym. once you tried to persuade her to stay up longer and you got to 10:30pm🙀

- if you go to the gym with her, she'll be like a little kid, all excited to show you around and stays with you the whole time to teach you some exercises. doesn't matter if you know them already, she WILL show you everything

- is a bigggg fan of deep conversations. very early in your relationship, the two of you would have hours long conversations about literally anything. but at some point, you realize you've been talking for a while and abby's just sitting there, gazing at you and admiring everything about you. the way you talk, your voice, the little mimics you make or the way you move your hands when you're animated.. yeah she's down bad.

- she lovesss when you do skincare together, pretended like she hated it at first but she just feels so comfortable with you, she feels at ease. she can relax more and having a sheet mask on with cucumber slices under her eyes is surprisingly relaxing

- her main love languages are physical touch (i know, shocker), gift giving and quality time!

- gifts you sooooo many plushies but pouts when you put them on your bed?? and you're like, "where else should i put them?" and when she points to the closet, you're so offended. they're your babies they are not going in the closet. when you're both laying on the bed, she gives them the stink eye >:

- loves being domestic. cooking together, cleaning together, going to the museum and talk about what you saw days after still, taking walks in the park like an old married couple :) she just can't wait to be your wife :))

✰ (a few thoughts about abby with a black gf!)

- STEALS YOUR SHAMPOO! and when you tell her about, she acts innocent as if her hair didn't smell like shea butter and coconut

- that woman is fascinated by your hair routine. every product you have, she tries it out on herself because she lovesss the smells. she could watch you do your hair for hours (she has)

- wants to help with wash day and she gives the best scalp massages. gets a bit messy if she helps you and definitely takes even more time but she's so precious when she does it :( "is the water too hot?" "is that okay?" "am i tugging too hard?"

- is a fucking beast when it come to braiding your hair once you teach her, she can do anything, box braids, cornrows, knotless, YOU NAME IT

- could watch you in the sun for hours (she does) in an every day context she already wants to stare at you all the time, but when your skin is glowing in the light? she looks at you like you hang the moon and stars

- she wears bonnets religiously and you have matching ones ughh thats too cheesy (but true)

LOOK AT HER‼️‼️

can you tell abby's my girlfriend??

tell me if you like it <3

✰﹣𝔰𝔲𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔟𝔞𝔤

[shares-a-vest]

@steddiemas Day 19: Steddie as Dads (Trope Tuesday)

wc: 1.4k | Rated: T for suggestive language and flirtatious banter | cw: Eddie is trans in my Joanie Munson AU and gave birth to Joanie. This fic contains one mention of pregnancy and the possibility of having a baby.

Tags: Steddie Dads, Trans Eddie Munson, Growing Family, Getting Interrupted, Christmas Night, Christmas Presents, Kid Fic

Note: I knew Joanie's Furby would have to make a reappearance after I wrote THIS drabble for Black Friday. Also, I started drafting this fic for Day 3 (Needing to be Quiet) but it ran away from me so it has aspects of that prompt too.

Christmas Night, 1998

“Okay…” Eddie sing-songs, stirring Steve from his very sleepy post-Christmas state on the couch, “Our precious bean is asleep… The old man is in a food-induced coma…”

He skips to the couch and flops down, mussing their makeshift bedding.

“Huh?” Steve mumbles, looking up to find a mischievous grin painted across his partner’s face.

He should have known Eddie was up to something with their sleeping arrangements. He had insisted they spend Christmas Night on Wayne’s couch, giving up the bed in Eddie’s old room to Joanie for the evening.

As Eddie continues grinning like an idiot – and adds a wiggling, suggestive brow for good measure – Steve attempts to smooth out their blankets. He shimmies upright, yawning as he yanks at the corner of the blanket trapped beneath Eddie’s ass.

“Nope!” Eddie says, chopping his hand through the air, “No yawning, sugarplum.”

He dives for the remote teetering on the edge of the coffee table and points it at the television, reducing It’s a Wonderful Life to a quickly fading speck in the middle of the screen.

“Jimmy Stewart, off!” he declares, voice high and nasally in mock impersonation as he tosses the remote to the side.

With the living room lit only by the lights of Wayne’s Christmas tree (decorated the moment they arrived with Joanie), Steve feels his eyes droop.

He scrubs a hand down his tired face, his unstyled hair flopping forward as he does so. Eddie is soon on him, combing it back before picking at individual strands like a monkey looking for fleas.

“How are you not tired?” Steve whines, dipping his head to avoid more prodding.

But Eddie then reaches to remove his glasses.

“Christmas adrenaline, sweetheart,” he explains, carefully folding the glasses and setting them on the coffee table within reach.

Eddie leans back again, elbow propped on the couch, his chin resting against his hand enough that it squishes up his cheek.

“The Furby was a hit,” he continues, his teasing dimples out on full display now.

“Please don’t talk about it,” Steve grumbles, sinking into the couch at the thought of Joanie’s newest toy, now out of the box and operational, ready to wreak havoc.

He can only imagine the reaction the cats will have to those soulless eyes when they get the retched thing back home…

“It’s cute,” Eddie shrugs, not at all innocently picking at the bottom hem of Steve’s flannel button-up, a Munson family relic turned pyjama top.

“It looks like a Gremlin,” he deadpans, “Ready to chew our faces off with that weird robot beak.”

He hopes his frown will also remind Eddie that if said demon-spawn does rise up against them, he can be the one fully responsible for dealing with it. And, now that he thinks about it, Steve is sure Eddie allowing their daughter to watch Gremlins at Halloween surely contributed to her desire to obtain this year’s latest kids' craze.

As they glare at each other, Steve holds onto some hope that Eddie (might) think back to that sleepless Halloween night when Joanie woke up at 2 am in tears and thought Ozzy’s prowling in the shadows was an evil after-midnight Mowgai.

“And where is it now?” Steve asks, breaking their seated stand-off.

“Tucked under the covers with our precious Joanie-Bear,” Eddie says, dramatically closing his eyes with a chirpy hum.

Again – Gremlin!

Steve bites his tongue as Eddie opens his eyes again, those big brown orbs now glowing with mirth like a warmer, more cherubic (but equally devilish) version of their five-year-old’s prized Christmas present.

Eddie clicks his tongue, looking everywhere but directly at Steve as he fidgets with a handful of blankets, entirely conspicuous as he buzzes with clear anticipation.

Steve puffs out a laugh and shakes his head. As always, Eddie has other plans for their ‘quiet’ night in…

“What?” Eddie asks, catching him staring.

He tilts his head to the side like a curious puppy.

“I love you,” Steve replies, leaning into his side.

He looks at the Christmas tree as Eddie presses a featherlight kiss to his forehead.

But the sweet moment only lasts for a split second because, in a flash, Eddie flips back their bedding, the blanket half falling to the floor between the couch and the coffee table.

“Good,” he grins, swinging his leg over Steve’s lap to straddle him, bracketing his legs, “Put a baby in me.”

“Ed!” Steve splutters, frowning as Eddie claps a hand over his mouth to shush him.

“Quiet!” he stage-whispers.

“You be quiet,” Steve warns, smiling into his palm.

“Made you perk up, didn’t it?” Eddie teases, leaning back to look him over and they both giggle away, “Anyway, come on, tick-tick. Christmas miracle, all that shit...”

He hurriedly jabs into his shoulder.

“Need I remind you we are in your uncle’s living room?”

“We’ve done worse,” Eddie offers, raking his eyes over him, “Remember Thanksgiving 1989 when – ”

“ – We boned in Claudia’s powder room,” he finishes, nodding.

Eddie looks off into the distance – or perhaps just right behind them to the wood panelling. He sighs, all wistful and longing.

“Yeah,” he hums, “And you knocked Claudia’s good handtowel straight off the rack and into the toilet…”

Steve leans back and cocks his chin. Well, if Eddie isn’t going to be subtle about it, either...

“Take your pants off, baby.”

Eddie beams and gives a two-finger salute. He quickly begins shuffling about, lifting onto his knees so he can hook his fingers under the waistband of his black sweatpants and pull them down. Meanwhile, Steve lifts their blanket up and out to protect Eddie’s modesty.

Or, at least that’s what he intends to do. Eddie only gets his pants down to his knees when Steve catches Wayne’s bedroom door opening.

Eddie notices too and yelps, plopping back down onto Steve’s lap – hard.

“Don’t mind me,” Wayne says, walking along with the stiff gait of a man with a bad hip (one that he still won’t do a thing about), “Just goin’ to take a leak. My bladder isn’t what it used to be. The older you get, the weaker your bladder...”

“Can you please stop saying the word ‘bladder’!” Eddie squawks over his shoulder, but his uncle simply waves him away.

“I didn’t see nothin’!” Wayne grumbles, “Carry on.”

Eddie rolls his eyes as they both watch in awkward silence as Wayne disappears into the bathroom, a light soon cascading from it.

“Christmas sucks!” Eddie dry-sobs, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder with a disgruntled ‘hmph’.

“Just wait a minute,” he whispers, wrapping the blanket tight around Eddie’s partial nakedness.

Steve moves to give him a reassuring kiss but Eddie gasps, stilling on his lap as his eyes grow wide as saucers.

“What the fuck was that?” he gulps, his voice at full volume.

Eddie jolts again, his hands flying up to grip Steve’s shoulders tight, giving him no choice but to hold onto for dear life – even if he has no clue what’s got him so rattled…

“I can’t hear anything,” Steve says, looking around as his heart quickens.

Eddie scoffs and claws at a lock of his hair, just behind his right ear.

“God damn it, Stevie!” he spits, his head on a swivel as he whips it from side to side, likely looking for Steve’s abandoned hearing aids.

Steve is about to point to the end of the coffee table and thus ignite a squabbling match about it when Wayne reappears from the bathroom.

“What in the heck is that sound?” he grumbles.

“What is it?” Steve demands, looking between the other two.

“Some…” Wayne says, tilting his head in search of the sound, “Machine…”

Steve moves his head about to dodge Eddie as he squirms around in his lap, muttering what he can only assume is a string of expletives as he attempts to search for the noise too without straining his back or exposing himself.

“Damn it, Eddie,” Steve snaps, lifting his partner when he suspects he is about to get kneed straight in the goddamn balls.

“Jesus Christ, darlin’!” Wayne exclaims, bringing a hand to his chest.

Steve finally manages a glance over Eddie’s shoulder to find Joanie standing just inside the living room, her small frame silhouetted by the bathroom light.

She’s holding something with big eyes that appear to be blinking.

Now Steve can hear the robotic snoring sounds that have half the household scared out of their minds.

“Don’t worry, Pa,” Joanie says, stepping forward and holding up her Christmas present, “It’s just my Furby.”

More of Joanie Munson

[mikareo]

⌗ ROMANTICISM ₊ ˖ ་. rin itoshi x fem reader (4k)

⊹ ⠀⠀ there are so many words he wishes he could take back, and he realizes now that he loves you. he loves your colorful laugh, beauty, and passion - all he needs now, is to tell you...and say those three little words. (part two of rationalism - must must read first!!!)

contains; colorblind!rin, painter!reader, rin’s mom is reader’s art mentor, rin hates art, strangers to friends to lovers, swearing, immense fluff, , kissing, extremely inaccurate depictions of colorblindness, happy ending!!! author's note; this was originally supposed to end with reader getting into a car accident and d-wording the day of her art gallery...but i changed my mind :D

He misses you. He can’t help it, but he does. 

The memories he has with you are a cassette tape on autoplay - constantly running through his mind on repeat, and always ending with the awful confrontation that you’d left each other with. Rin wishes he hadn’t raised his voice. He wishes that he would’ve been honest with you from the very beginning, but he hadn’t, and there’s no changing the past. All he has now are two empty hands that would much rather be interlaced with your paint-covered fingers. 

“How much longer do you think you’re going to be moping?” Sae’s call is distant from the turning gears within Rin’s brain. He’s sure that his brother has grown tired of his constant state of melancholy - having been forced to be his support system after you walked out the door - and Rin feels awful about it. If he could, he’d rip his heart from his chest and allow you to step on it. To stomp and tear through the organs just as you’d done to those poor bystanding cherry blossoms on the sidewalk. 

“As long as she’s still upset with me.” He groans as his forehead hits the marble of the island counter. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Yeah, well we already knew that.” The dim-eyed boy beside him scoffs while taking yet another drink of his apple juice - which he has unfortunately had to drink for the past hour and a half since Rin had somehow consumed his small supply of alcohol within the past few weeks that the two of you hadn’t been speaking. “I was really rooting for you, man. I thought she was the one to break your cycle.”

“Cycle?”

What the hell does he mean by ‘cycle’?

“Oh, you know,” Sae continues without even taking a breath, “The cycle of life you’ve got going on with your inability to actually attract girls.”

Rin hates him.

“You’re an asshole.” He grumbles, taking his own swig of the pint of orange juice he found in the back of his fridge. Is it expired? Likely yes. Does Rin care, at all? Definitely not. Is he even more pissed off that he doesn’t understand the irony of why it’s called orange juice? He doesn’t want to answer that question. “An unhelpful asshole who should definitely stay over and cook dinner for me since he wants to make up for being said ‘unhelpful asshole’.”

Sae scoffs, shaking his head whilst the thin, soft strands of his hair flit back and forth. His right eyebrow raises in a mocking expression, “You need to get yourself back out there, man. You’ll be old and grey if you keep waiting for the perfect girl to come knocking on your door, so just talk to her. Just fucking talk to her and put me out of my misery.”

“Are you trying to make this about you, right now?” Rin stares at his best friend in utter disbelief, but he’s not truly upset. He knows that Sae holds good wishes for him in all manners of life - this being no exception - and takes his words to heart. He’s right. Of course, he’s going to lose you if he doesn’t even try to get you back. “The sun must be falling out of the sky because I’m actually considering following your advice.”

“That’s a pretty picture to imagine,” his older brother chuckles, causing Rin to roll his eyes. What’s the sensation that everyone has with mentioning imagery every five seconds? “Just talk to her, man.” Sae continues, “Please, I’m all out of advice.”

Rin takes his brother’s pleas to heart. It is quite ridiculous that he’s spending his time depressed and lonesome when he could be reconciling with you. Perhaps it’s his fragile masculinity acting out and refusing to take blame for the situation, although he’s fully aware it’s completely his fault that you’re upset with him. 

It’s difficult for the gears to begin turning in Rin’s head. They’re covered in brittle rust that’s been creeping deep into the crevices of his mind for his entire life - slithering down his spine towards his blackened heart that you had only just begun to breathe life into. He misses the feeling of spring that came when you called. The freshwater rain of your laughter and budding blossoms of your smile that washed away his loneliness and replaced the awful emotion with an overgrown garden of bliss. He still doesn’t understand how he managed to mow that garden down with one sentence. He might as well have taken a chainsaw and brutally hacked into every connection that he’d managed to make with you in your time of knowing each other. 

Now he’s going to be on his knees begging for forgiveness with his hands stained by the minced grass. Does grass stain green or yellow? Hopefully not brown, dear lord. He’ll be buried deep into apologies that should definitely be rehearsed, but he knows he’s not an artist with words and he won’t bother to waste your time with crumpled-up ‘I’m sorry’ notes and improvised tears. 

You deserve nothing but the best - so much more than he’s been giving you and he needs you to hear those words come straight from his mouth. 

When did you begin to mean so much to him? Rin doesn’t even know. 

It could’ve been when you showed up to his game unannounced, with first row seats and a booming cheer that he never knew he desired. ‘C’mon number ten! I know you can do better than that! Beat their asses, Rin!’ He nearly tripped at the sound of your voice, and falling on his face was the last thing he wanted to do in front of Isagi - but to be completely honest, he doesn’t remember much of his qualms with his rival from that day. Rin was solely focused on playing well for you. The world stopped and he was given all the time needed to impress you. You give him a reason to be better, a selfless reason to do good. 

Perhaps it was when you’d shown him around your homey apartment, with maple art easels and splattered canvases lining the walls, and watched with glee as he made his best attempt at a finger painting (which may or may not have ended up looking like two worms kissing). ‘It’s abstract’, you’d say every time he found something new that was wrong with the art piece, ‘All it needs is a home. See?’ You hung his shitty little sketchbook paper on your living room wall, right next to your TV for the whole world to see. The way you stood there staring in awe still rattles his brain. You’ve always been able to find beauty in even the smallest things. 

Or maybe his heart had begun to beat a little faster that Saturday night on the way out of the theater. The romance of the film the two of you just witnessed was still on Rin’s mind, provoking his alcohol-induced body to make a pathetic attempt at holding your hand - which resulted in him accidentally knocking you over into a street puddle that swallowed the heel of your shoe. ‘I needed to take a shower anyway, Rin, it’s fine!’ Your smile continued to be bright despite the low temperature and sprinkling rain, and he can recall wondering how you managed to stay so positive in such a dreary situation. As you discarded your soggy heels into a nearby trashcan and skipped barefoot on the pavement, you called, ‘Come on! Dance with me!’ The shared laughter between the two of you echoed through the seemingly empty streets that surrounded you - hands connected as you swung in circles around each other and fell over one too many times, until he carried your sleeping body home. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever been able to make him laugh as hard. 

The way the corners of your eyes crinkle amidst fits of giggles is his favorite image to replay. He doesn’t need to know the color to be able to see how beautiful they are - to appreciate the blinding sparkle that overwhelms your irises when he accidentally trips over the uneven sidewalk or knocks over your painting station - or even when he unintentionally makes a sexual innuendo that you just so happen to pick up on. ‘That’s a love hotel, Rin! Why would I have stayed there before?’ It was almost as if you were conducting a symphony of glorious laughter that night. The violins played the tune of your voice in a higher octave and the cellos added a punch everytime you’d bite your lip in an attempt to calm down. He hadn’t known what a love hotel was intended for before that night, but he’d also made the mistake to say, ‘I wouldn’t mind going to my first one with you, it could be a first for both of us.’ and you still haven’t let him live it down. Rin’s honest with himself for the most part. He’s awkward, insufferable, and a bore to be around - yet, for some odd and unknown reason, those are your favorite things about him. Why?

Why is it that he can’t function like a normal person when your eyes meet his?

Why do his words rearrange themselves and become complete gibberish when he attempts to woo you with his charm?

What is it that keeps him coming back to you, despite holding such deep hatred for the things that you love most?

“I need to text her.” Rin feels his chest vibrate as he finally makes a decision, the words pouring from his mouth in a short word vomit - forcing Sae to piece together the jumbled mess and attempt to comprehend whatever it was that his big brother was trying to say, to which he jumps up from his seat at the island and aggressively pats Rin on the back. 

“That’s what I’ve been saying, dumbass! Get those fingers movin’!” 

His phone falls into his hands in a millisecond, with Sae eagerly awaiting to hear his poetry. He’s grateful to have such a supportive friend. Rin knows that there aren’t many people who would be willing to put up with him for so long - having been moping around and complaining day-and-night of relationship problems that were solely caused by him - and he can’t imagine not having his support. Hopefully he’ll be able to introduce you, one day. You’ll both give him so much shit for his attitude. Oh well. It’ll all be worth it having two people he loves get along. 

…

Did he just…

What did—

There’s no way.

Did he really just use that word? That godforsaken word?

He’s trembling. Rin’s phone is shaking in his hands as he finally comes to the realization that he does, with his entire heart and being, love you. In an instant, his entire world scrambles together with rapid dashes and line art that he can’t even comprehend. There’s no rules to follow with these types of feelings - this insistent need to see you. Hold you. Kiss you.

Fuck, he wants to kiss you. He can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing. 

Like tapping raindrops that never cease their fall, his fingertips move against the keypad in a rhythmic motion - singing a song of love that can’t be contained into a simple lullaby. His heart pours out into the message, apology after apology being pasted in paragraphs, and hopes with his whole soul that you’ll find it in yourself to at least see him in person. There’s no way you won’t. Rin knows you well enough now that he’s certain he’ll be seeing you again. All he needed to do was take the first step towards forgiveness, and he’s finally willing to be vulnerable and own up to his inability to be honest about his feelings, because he loves you. He loves you and he wants to tell you a hundred times, a thousand times, and a million times until you beg him to shut the hell up and kiss you. 

‘I’ll be at the studio tonight. I miss you, ______, and I’m sorry.’

He ends the message with a final apology, begging fate that you’ll read it in time to meet him while he still has courage - and with that, he’s on his way to the place he hates most, awaiting the person whom he loves most.

An hour has passed - well technically it’s been fifty-seven minutes, but who’s counting?

He’s counting.

The sun went into hiding ages ago and the moon now stalks him as he sits in his chair, lonely with two vacant eyes that wish they were gazing at yours. Rin can’t even tell if you’ve read the text or not - the grey speech bubbles look the same as they always have, and the delivered sign is posted at the bottom with no response. He wants to send a follow-up message, just a little ‘hey, you there?’ but he knows that’s a little bit much. If you want to see him, you’ll see him and he’ll confess his feelings once-and-for-all - though, he’s feeling much less confident than he was an hour ago. Ahem, sorry. Fifty-nine minutes ago. 

Rin has a plan of what he’s going to say to you, and hopefully it makes sense when the words begin to fall from his lips. He’s said it many times before, but he’ll say it again, he’s never been good with words or feelings or anything of the sort. He wants to get better, though - to become more emotionally aware for your sake, because he knows that’s a priority for you. You have an image of your dream guy that’s been in your wishes since primary school - tall, handsome, daring, dashing, yada, yada, yada - and he’s trying to be that guy. He needs to be that guy. He’ll be anything for you. 

Anything and everything…even the desperate guy who can’t get a text back. 

Y’know, for a moment - a brief and fleeting moment - the world seemed a little more beautiful in his self-realization of love. The stars glistened brighter and the street lights sparkled in their reflections. Before tonight, Rin hasn’t ever been able to appreciate the natural beauty of what surrounded him. He never understood your fascination with replicating real life into paintings and sketches, but he seems to have digested the concept - at least a little bit. The only thing that could undoubtedly make his world more dazzling would be the sight of you, and holy shit there you are. There you are opening the front door - and your gorgeous, perfect reflection in the glass is looking straight at him. 

He doesn’t need the ability to see color to know that you’re the most fascinating and jaw-dropping sight in the entire universe - and that the rainbow should be rearranged in the letters of your name in honor of your ability to captivate attention and inflict a multitude of emotions on him that he’s never felt before. 

“Rin?” Your melodious voice is the remedy that his ears have been yearning for. “Rin, is that you? Why’re you in the dark?” 

This means you haven’t read his text, right? Otherwise, why would you be confused as to why he’s here? Wait, why’re you even here?

You begin to explain yourself without him needing to ask, “I left my phone in here earlier like an idiot and I’ve been looking for it all day. Isn’t that so dumb?” You let out a little laugh, amused at your inability to keep track of your personal belongings. Why aren’t you acting like you’re upset with him? The last time you talked, you could barely look him in the eye - yet now, you’re so casual, almost as if nothing happened. “Here I am looking for my lost phone, but instead I find a lost Rin Itoshi.”

“What are you doing here? Sitting in the dark?”

The repeated question is met with a pregnant silence as Rin fails to piece together the rehearsed words he had come up with earlier, settling on a bear hug that nearly suffocates you. 

He’s so overwhelmed by the feeling of touching you again that he barely notices how stiff your posture is. You’re practically a piece of rock in the midst of being carved by its maker, frozen and unable to formulate an action in response - which, in this case, means that he’s your artist. Rin relaxes his hold, urging you to reciprocate his warmth by nestling his face in your neck. Your right arm finds its place wrapped around his waist and your left around his neck, allowing him to engulf you further into his hold. You smell so nice. He notices the lavender perfume that he bought you is still rubbed into your skin, and he’s glad that you’re finally using it. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

Rin’s fingers run through your hair in smooth waves, gently kneading out the small knots and helping you relax - and he can tell that your full attention is on him. For the first time in knowing you, there aren’t any distractions or excuses to avoid this conversation. It’s just you, him, and the bare truth. He just hopes he can execute this right. 

“There aren’t enough words to explain how sorry I am, genuinely. I shouldn’t have ever belittled you like that, ______.” He takes a deep breath, one of many, and closes his eyes. The scene of you stomping away from him has no end in his mind. It constantly plays at every hour of the day, re-run after re-run, to torment him and remind him how horribly he screwed up with you. Please, please forgive him. “You’re not just my mom’s student. You’re not just a friend that I get coffee with. You’re so much more than that and I’ve been such a fucking chicken and haven’t been able to be honest with you.”

“You couldn’t have possibly known about my condition and it was wrong of me to take my frustration out on you.” Rin can feel himself begin to cry, his tears raining down his cheeks in cascades of pent up anger and hatred for how he made you feel that day. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve to be treated like shit by him. “Your work is important to you and I know it should be appreciated. What’s important to you is important to me, okay?”

“You love your art, and I love you.”

He says it over and over again. Those three special words rapidly become six words, nine words, eighteen, forty-two, and onwards as you look at him with an empty expression. Please, please say something. For every second of no response, he confesses his love to you. He confesses as if it’s his source of air - the only way that he’ll be able to survive this encounter is if he bares his emotions with no regrets. If this were a movie, he’d be the desperate protagonist in the climax of the story who fucked up his love life and is begging for a second chance - hell, this is real life and that’s exactly what he’s doing. Just, please, have a happy ending.

You open your mouth, yet nothing comes out. No words. No statements. No confessions. You’re simply staring at him like he’s just told you the most absurd news in the existence of the universe…

…and then a tear falls. 

One tear slips from your eyes, followed by another, and another…until your face is drenched in salty rain with black mascara creasing your eyes. You look like a raccoon. Rin almost starts laughing. No. He is laughing; laughing because your false lashes have fallen into your hands as the glue refused to be waterproof - and now you’re standing before him in a puddled mess of makeup and disheveled hair. You’ve never looked more beautiful. 

Rin brushes his fingers across your cheek, attempting to wipe away your tears like an artist covering up a beautiful mistake. If he were a painter, he’d paint you a million times and more - hanging every portrait on every single wall of his apartment, until there was literally no space left for a scrap of paper. You’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever laid his eyes on, and the smile that suddenly bursts from your sobs confirms it. 

“What’s going on? I’m so confused, are you happy or are you sad?” He’s so concerned and his inability to read emotions correctly only makes him more helpless. “Talk to me, beautiful. C’mon.”

You lean into his touch and he instantly knows that everything is going to be okay. 

“I just never thought I’d hear you say that.” Your smile is directed at him now, and he feels a warmth that is so familiar yet unfamiliar and he can’t get enough of it. It’s similar to the feeling of being showered in sunlight or snuggling beneath a comforter in the winter - an overwhelming comfort that’s a gift from you to him. “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever. Fuck you for that.”

Now you’re both laughing, giggling, and beaming at each other. His heart feels so at peace. The civil war between his divided emotions, love and loneliness, has finally ceased. 

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

Neither of you can stop the flow of confessions that slip from your tongues and in an instant your lips are on his - clashing and colliding in a furious kiss that rivals the strength of a hurricane. It’s almost as if he can physically feel your love pouring into him and warming his heart into a heated flame, stoked by the embers of your touch. God, he missed your touch. The feeling of it is addicting. It’s his personal heroin and he’ll never get enough of it. 

Your lips are just as soft as he imagined them to be, perhaps they're a rosy pink color with the slightest touch of strawberry lip balm that he keeps getting a fleeting hint of taste from. Never in his wildest dreams did he think you’d love him too. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. He silently repeats over and over - grateful that he’s been so blessed to know you…feel you…and love you in the awful world that he hated living on his own  - the world void of color that you’ve somehow brightened by simply breathing beside him. 

His hands are everywhere. Your hips. Your waist. Your breasts. Your neck. He can’t get enough of the feeling of you. With every passing second he’s falling deeper and deeper in love. You’re utterly perfect, he would kiss you for years if that was an option—

Aw shit, he knocked over an easel. 

“Goddammit,” he mumbles while briefly pulling away from you. Of course he had to interrupt the moment he’s been waiting months for with his clumsiness. He’s such a dumbass. If he could punch himself in the gut, he would - but that would be way too embarrassing in front of you - hold up, this painting is familiar!

“Well I'll be damned.” He chuckles and turns the canvas towards you, to which you burst out laughing. “I thought you’d have thrown this out.”

“No,” you gaze at the painting with love in your eyes. “I could never, that’s how we met.”

The painted streak he accidentally inflicted upon your artwork remains in the same position. It seems that you never even bothered covering it up and embraced the imperfection. While Rin cannot decipher the magnitude of colors on the canvas, he’s sure that the various strokes look gorgeous and masterful. You’ve always been so talented. He’s so lucky.

As he places the painting upon a now-standing easel, you rest your forehead against his. He loves you. He loves you so much. So much so that he can’t help but take a step closer, not just one but many, and embrace the overwhelming love and passion he holds for you. There are so many words he wants to say, confessions that can carry on for an infinite number of lines, but there’s no need for that now. You have forever - and he decides to start that forever with his favorite thing…

…a kiss. 

“I love you.” You whisper.

“I love you more.” He replies.

read the final part here. THANK UUUU

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⊹₊｡ reblogs are greatly appreciated! ˚₊⊹

[pablitogavii]

Hey i really appreciate and love your writing 💕 it's so realistic an your hurt/comfort and fluff stories always turn my day better and it's all just so adorable. Thank you for your writing

Can I please request a gavi x reader fluff where she is a talkative person (which Pablo thinks is just adorable and loves her) but her "friends" always tease her about it and never let her finish and make her third wheel with them. One day, Pablo comes back from training and finds her sad and quiet and asks her what's up and she asks him whether he thinks that she's annoying which he absolutely denies and asks her why she would say that and she finally confesses about her toxic friends and he comforts her. Thank you once again and love you ❤️

I relate so much to this!! I can talk so much about stuff I am passionate about that I fear others would be annoyed with me :((

Chatty

"And I visited this museum when I traveled to Paris with Pablo and the art there is just beyond this world..like the expression and the way the colors match on top of the oily portraits..so breathtaking" you were showing photos to your friends from your recent travels really feeling passionate about art but none of them seemed to care.

"Yeah..yeah..we get it! Your boyfriend is rich and is paying for your travels to see some old paintings" one of them said rolling her eyes and soon afterwards everyone else joined.

"I mean who even cares about some old paintings that all look the same anyways!?" she added and you gulped turning of your phone feeling sad that they spoke like that about something you cared so much about.

"And you've been talking about it for the past hour! Can't you just shut up already!" and with that you grabbed your bag and walked out of the cafe catching a taxi that drove you back home.

Pablo was in training and you just curled up on the couch turning on some TV but weren't really paying attention to what's on the screen. You started to wonder if Pablo thought the same as your friend..were you talking too much? Were you annoying him too?

When he came home, he found you on that same couch just starting in one spot with a frown on your face and he sat besides you immediately asking what is wrong.

"Nada.." you said and the fact that you were not using many words like always to explain details made him curious as to who got you this sad. He was even a little angry that someone would hurt his precious girl like this.

"I know you better than that preciosa..you can tell your Pablito everything, alright?" he took your hand and you sighed looking into those kind brown eyes giving him a weak smile. He was so gentle with you that it warmed your heart.

"Maybe that's the problem.." you say and now he furrowed his eyebrows in complete confusion as to what you mean with that.

"Am I talking too much Pablo?? Am I annoying you??" you ask and Pablo was taken back staying silent for a moment wondering why would you ever think something like that.

"You're not saying no...I knew it!" you said about to move away but he pulls you back holding your face and making you look at him.

"I couldn't believe you asked me something like that princesa..that's why I was quiet..I love hearing you talk..especially about art because your eyes sparkle and you get all excited..and then you smile which drives me loco" Pablo said and a tear escaped your lip and he dried it pulling you closer and kissing your lips lovingly.

"Who told you that you talking is annoying princesa?? Huh?" Pablo said after pulling away and you sighed telling him what happened with your "friends" this morning.

"They are cabrónes princesa! Jealous and simple minded. Taking you to that museum and seeing that bright smile was enough for me to fall in love with art the same way I fell for you..you made me want to like it" he said moving a strand on your hair behind your ear and you smiled remembering how fun it was when you explained history of each painting to Pablo who listened intensively.

"I love you so much Pablito.." you moved closer sniffing a little and resting your head onto his shoulder as he smiled kissing the top of your head pulling you even closer and you cuddled on the couch together.

"Can you tell me that story about the painting we saw in Paris again..the love story?" Pablo asked and you blushed nodding your head and starting to tell him the supposed love story between the artist and model who was on the painting you saw and Pablo liked the most.

"And she loved him because he would talk to her while painting..he didn't only care about her looks" you finished blushing when you realized why Pablo asked you to tell this story again.

"Precioso amor.." you say and he chuckled nodding his head and leaning in to kiss you lovingly while nodding his head.

[lightlycareless]

Since Naoya dyes his hair, do you think his kids would have some sort of confusion(when they’re of a younger age Ofc) when others around them would say they have their daddy’s hair or do you think maybe for a period of time he’d stop dyeing his hair to match with his kids lol. Idk this is a silly thought 🙈

ahahhHHAHAHAH yessssssss This just gave me all sorts of ideas of how to embarrass Naoya as a dad lmao!! It's you know, mandatory. We've all felt that way once in our life!!

But let's start with one thing first 🤭

I want to say that he’ll grow out of it, but honestly, I don’t think so; that man was 27 and he still dyed his hair lol.

But moving on…

At first, yes. They’re going to be a bit confused as to why his dad has this bright yellow color on his hair, when everyone else’s is dark. But once they surpass that confusion, in true innocent nature, they’re going to be nothing but intrigued by it—and hey! Maybe they’ll say “wow, I want my hair like that too!”

Also, they grew up seeing Gojo, and sometimes Nanami (NOW I WANT TO WRITE HIM MEETING NAOMI someone coerce ME QUICKLY) so unusual hair colors don’t surprise them anymore lol.

But as always, when your children begin to grow aware of their surroundings, start questioning things… is when “issues” with Naoya arise.

In other words, the infamous “second-hand embarrassment” towards their parents.

Now, it’s happening for both you and Naoya no matter what you try to do to avoid it. But as of right now, it’s more onto him because he’s the most obvious out of the two.

I mean, the piercings… the hair—it’s screaming “please drop me off two blocks away from the school entrance so my friends won’t make fun of me.”

What they once thought cool, now they can’t stand the sight of it 😂 and it really, really upsets Naoya.

“Why do you paint your hair, dad…?” Naomi would ask one day, dying to do so for like… years now.

“Because I like it.” Naoya responds. “…why do you ask?”

She twists her lips, as if skeptical of his answer, before shrugging and leaving. He’ll tell you about this interaction later that day, but you don’t have the heart to tell him that Naomi once confided in you that she thought it was a bit… weird, mostly since it’s obvious yellow is not his natural color.

Yet, no matter how much you tried, he still gets to hear about it from someone on the staff and boy, does it finally break his heart.

“You don’t like it?” he asks Naomi one day after picking her up from school.

“…No one else has it.” She eventually admits. “My friends think it’s… funny.”

“Do you think it’s funny?” Naoya insists, Naomi simply looks away; she never liked being put on the spot like that, and the conversation ends soon enough.

He sighs, and all he could think of is:

«It’s already started, isn’t it?»

It’s certainly a long way from the days where Naomi was nothing but enthralled by his appearance, admiring him with those big adorable round eyes of hers as she reaches for one of his strands and pulls at it, as if trying to decipher whether his hair was real, or not—or how she’d do the same for his piercings, gently removing her little hands from them so she wouldn’t hurt him, reminiscing on the day you brought her press-on earrings so she could look like him.

Luckily for Naoya, that’s only one stage of their life, for when they grow a bit older and stop caring about those trivial things, they’d actually being to look up to him for advice on how to dye hair or where to get their ears pierced without having to worry about infections and such; the moment the tables turn and they begin to admire him for his style when he was younger, Naoya feels nothing less than amazing, and a bit cocky too 😂.

“Come on daaaad, tell me!! How did you manage to keep your hair with that tint and without it looking like trash???” Naomi would whine; no other color seems to have stuck the way she wanted it, always washing off after one shower or two. “Like, I remember that you even went on missions, and it would still look good!!”

“Ah, so now you like it? What about the kids that thought it was funny looking?” Naoya teases as if that hadn’t hurt his feelings; Naomi rolls her eyes.

“Ugh, whatever… if you don’t want to tell me I guess I’ll just go with Gojo or something, I’m sure he knows a few places or some—”

“No, wait! Don’t go to him! I’ll tell you all you need to know!!”

Just to name a few interactions hahaha.

But either way, I feel that around… probably late 30s Naoya is going to outgrow the whole hair dyeing thing and just let his hair return to its natural dark color.

Everyone around him will take a while to get used to his new appearance, specifically his kids, since it was always blond for as long as they could remember… but they get used to it soon enough. As for you, though, you’re the one that likes it the most and you make sure to let him know whenever possible—he rewards you appropriately that night, I dare say, Naohime was born out of that lol.

“We finally look like a family.” You’d jest one day—as if all his kids didn’t look exactly like him: dark hair, golden eyes…

If anything, you’re the outcast here 😂

Ngl, I wonder what a much older Naoya would look like; would he still have piercings? Grandpa out there still rocking the blonde hair lmao!!!

Ahhh thank you so much for sending in this ask!! While writing this two ideas came to me on the type of dynamic Naoya would have with his baby when she's all grown up; one of them is sweet, the other one is a bit sad :'( we shall see which one I write first 😏

Once again, thank you so much for sending in this!! I had fun :> Take care, and hope to see you soon!!

[myobmaya]

Heart in Hawkins

Sweet Home Alabama Au! (Based on the movie) disclaimer: this is an AU based off the movie, however I have changed and added some of my own creative ideas to this.

Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Reader (they/them)

TW: description of young!reader having hair (just a strand in the front) none for this part but eventual angst, mention of marriage and divorce, cursing, cheating, allusions to smut

Eddie Munson swore he’d never return back to the town where he left his heart. His career is kicking off and he has all he could ask for with a lovely new fiancé. All is ready for him to begin his new life, except for one problem. He left you in Hawkins with your marriage still very legal. He goes back with papers in hand ready for you to sign, except you’re no longer the same person he left. And he’s no longer the same boy that took your first kiss all those years ago. A simple one day task turns into more as Eddie quickly realizes not everything goes as planned.

The Introduction.

September 17th, 1978

The storms were coming in strong with lightning painting across the sky. Rain poured down bouncing off the window , straight to the ground. The arcadium you and Eddie were at was set to close due to the weather knocking the power out. The place is only lit up by an emergency light and the owner sits in the back waiting for the two of you to get picked up. Wayne was on his way to get you both up, in the meantime, the two of you sit on the floor by the window watching the rain meet the gravel.

Lightening dances across the sky followed by a loud crack from the thunder. You jump out of instinct hitting the side of Eddie’s shoulders. His obnoxious laughter immediately fills the atmosphere.

“You’re such a scaredy cat!”

“Am not!” You glare up at the twelve year old boy. The both of you now facing each other. He points a finger at you.

“Am too!”

The thunder rolls and you jump once more looking outside. He still laughs at you but his scrawny arms wrap you up immediately. He gives you a tight squeeze. The growing hair on his head scratches your cheek and you pull back. Eddie releases you with a stupid grin on his face.

“Told you!” He says standing up. He holds his hand out to you and you reluctantly take it.

“Shut up! Don’t act like you aren’t scared of it, Munson!” Your arms cross around your chest looking up at him. He was only two years older than you but he was hitting his growth spurt causing him to pass you in height.

“Oh I’m terrified but I have to hide it so you can see that I can protect you.”

You stick your tongue out of him before turning your head up. “I don’t need you to protect me.”

Eddie shrugs throwing an arm around your shoulders. He looks out the window admiring the calmness of the rain before the storm sets in. He always loved the rain. There’s something about the way the sky weeps for hours; floods the streets and brings fierce thunder. But despite it all, the rain always leaves behind a reassuring burst of color in the form of a rainbow as a sort of way to remind people there’s a reward after a storm. Eddie thinks about what your statement and only smiles looking over at you. “I know but that’s just what husbands do. And since I’m gonna marry you I have to prove it to you now.”

You scoff moving your hands to your hips, “Who says you’re gonna marry me?”

The young boy shrugs his shoulders, “Everyone.”

“Well I don’t listen to everyone,” you say in a matter of fact. Eddie smiles nodding his head. He knows this. It’s one of his favorite qualities about you right behind the way you beat him at Pac-Man.

“Yeah but it just makes sense.”

Eddie turns to you looking down at your eyes. A piece from your ponytail hangs over your forehead. He thinks about the movie his mom used to watch and how the main character pushes the lead actresses’ hair behind their ear. How his mom used to awe at the action. You scrunch your nose up at him when he reaches up and mimics the move. The hair falls back into your eyes and you simply push it back onto your head.

Your hands stay on your hips as you up look up at your best friend. The thought of marrying your best friend didn’t gross you out. His chocolate eyes never look away as you think of the next question to support his claim. “Why would you wanna marry me anyways, Eddie Munson?”

He immediately responds as if he’s had his answer memorized his whole life.

“So I can kiss you anytime I want.”

He leans forward and swipes his tongue over his lips. They’re dry and he figures you wouldn’t want the rough surface meeting your soft ones. Both of your lips meet and press hard against each other. His lips feel wet and his nose is pressed up against yours. Three whole Mississippi seconds go by and you both pull back. Your cheeks are painted red and he grins at you. You immediately wipe the kiss away.

“Gross.”

Eddie nods in agreement, “Yeah it looks better when Popeye and Olive Oil do it.”

A honk from outside breaks you two from each other as Wayne pulls up. Eddie takes your hand and you both sprint across the parking lot up to the truck where his uncle sits inside. He opens the back door and you slide in with right behind you slamming the door shut.

Wayne looks at the two of you from the rear view window sitting side by side. You’re still blushing while Eddie wears a Cheshire cat smile on his face. He doesn’t see the two of you are still holding hands.

“Have a good time?” He asks turning out into the street and towards the direction of your home.

Eddie looks at you just as you look up at him. He winks at you squeezing your hand. Your thumb wipes over the back of his. Wayne pays attention to the road mumbling a reminder to himself to get new windshield wipers.

Eddie speaks up looking at your hands intertwined. That piece of hair sticks to your forehead thanks to the raindrops. He pushes it back behind your hair and it stays this time.

“It was a great time, Uncle Wayne. A really great time.”

Masterlist

Part One: Verse One

Part Two: Verse Two

Part Three: Verse Three

Part Four: Verse Four

The amazing handcuff banner featured in every part was made by the very talented @sweetsweetjellybean 🖤

[lix-ables]

a party elsewhere. hhj.

genre — 18+ smut (minors dni) includes slight blowjobs and handjobs, teasing, marking, fingering, hair pulling, pet names (baby, angel, doll), praising, etc.

ᴡᴏʀᴅs ─ 1464.

summary; everyone knew hyunjin to be the quiet, shy art major that he was. but that night, he showed you he could paint something else worth more than words could speak.

note. ─ okay, so this was in my mind a lot like A LOT, and i needed to write it, hopefully it came out okay. aLSO, thenks kathy for beta reading this istg i would’ve cried if you didn’t

(let's all pretend i didn't use a fuck ton of h.e.r as inspiration yeah?) i hope y’all enjoy !! do send a feedback about this fic, i'd appreciate it !!

© lix-ables. translating and/or reposting is not allowed.

main masterlist | navi

hyunjin didn’t expect to be here tonight. but neither did you. more specifically the position you were in right now. the music being too loud as always, hyunjin thought, but he expected it. it was his dorm apartment after all. did he care? no, his roommates could do whatever they wanted. he would rather be someplace quiet, instead. 

not that he was shy, at least he thought he wasn’t. he had other plans, ones which included him close to losing his mind.

close didn’t even begin to cover it. more like a bit too intimate, you realized in that moment, much more than you imagined. with hyunjin’s fingers wrapped around your neck, just a slight brush until it wasn’t. his other hand grips your hair, bunching it up, a small tug got a whine out of you. the hand that was around your neck moves away, his knuckles caressing your cheek and you looked up at him. your nails digging deep into the skin of his thighs when he tugs on your hair once more, pulling you away from your current position. 

“fuck, pretty little thing aren’t you?” he whispers, his head thrown back against the headboard, sheets all messed up under the both of you. his fingers reach to stroke his cock, precum spread on the tip, pressing it to your lips, resting it there. “lick.” a single word making you needier than you already were, your tongue darting out to tease his tip with kitten licks. “no teasing, precious,” hyunjin scolds lightly, his hand resting on his stomach, the other playing with a single strand of your hair, watching you.

you smile at him, your hand moving from his thigh to stroke him, and he lets out a small grunt. that's when it hit you. 

hyunjin loved being vocal. and you love hearing those sounds leaving his pink lips, that were now red from biting back moans. even if he had his fingers in your hair, guiding you as you took him in completely, your tongue licking the base of his shaft before he pulls out of you, his cock hitting his abdomen. his eyes look at you, until he moves you from between his legs with a soft shove — one could say he seemed rough, but you didn’t care if he was rough or soft, fast or sensual, you just needed him. 

“let me take care of you,” he bites his lip, getting up, waiting for you to lie on your back, your eyes fluttering when he spreads your legs apart. you could feel yourself getting drowsy, the feeling of being in heaven with his touch. you had to admit it, hyunjin always had a way with words, just like he had a way with colors and paintbrushes during classes.

the times he came over to your dorm apartment, spending time with you, the day ending with him kissing your body, haste movements of him trying to remove your clothes, while you undid his. clothes everywhere, making a mess on your floor, but you didn’t care about that when hyunjin was eating you out on the couch. his fingers would always rest on your stomach, tracing patterns, but also giving so much attention to the task at hand — pleasuring you. he ate you out like a man starving, like you were his first priority, like only you existed to him.

you honestly didn’t know where this night would lead the two of you, but it looked like you were waking up in his bed tomorrow morning. “what are you thinking about, baby?” hyunjin mumbles against your skin. you whine at the feeling, your eyes fluttering. your brain was filled with thoughts of the boy next to you, even though he was right there, in flesh. “hmm?” you manage to let out, unable to let anything out your lips other than lewd sounds. “need to know what you want, yeah? just like always. i need to know what’s on your mind.”

“just thinking about what we could’ve been…” you sigh, when hyunjin moves your knee, seating himself between your legs. “all those nights, what were they?”

“nights of me loving you. nights of me wishing i was yours,” he whispers, pulling you close by your knees, his fingers coming in contact with your cunt. his free hand brings your leg to wrap around his waist, his lips pressing soft kisses to your skin, just a soft brush of lips. “nights of me wishing i could mark you up, make you mine, but couldn’t. call it what you want. but, let me mark you up, angel. let me paint your body with all of me,” hyunjin pleads, his eyes on your face as he watches you prop yourself up on your elbows, lips apart, waiting for your response and you nod, wanting him to do what he wanted, wherever he wanted.

“so fucking pretty for me, so gorgeous when you’ll be covered in my marks,” he groans against your knee, his thumb now rubbing small and slow circles on your clit, earning a whine out of you, your toes curling as your legs pull him closer to you. “gonna take my time with you, yeah? ‘m gonna make the most of tonight,” a single finger slides in your slick pussy, and your nails dig into the sheets, biting your lips to hold you back from moaning, eyes fluttering constantly when he starts moving in and out. 

“no, no, don’t hold back from me. i need you to be loud for me, doll. tell everyone who’s fingers are making you feel good, whose tongue gets to taste this pussy,” hyunjin smirks, holding you down with his free hand, his fingers gripping your waist, nails digging into your skin, and you moan out his name. your hips grind into his hand, moving into the friction that was pleasuring your body, and he groans when your walls squeeze around his finger. “fuck, do that again. can you do that again for me, precious?” 

your body moves into his hand, squeezing around his finger once again, just as he pumps in and out of your cunt, before pulling out and bringing his finger to his lips, licking the fingertip, then bringing it to your own lips. “open up, baby. taste yourself for me,” he purrs, when you open your mouth, taking his finger in, the digit pressed down on the base of your tongue, an easier access for you to taste. 

hyunjin pulls his finger out of your mouth, and you whimper in protest, until he pulls you to him, his hand extending to take yours, pulling you to his body, his face nestling at the crook of your neck as his arms wrap around your body. your hand reaches to stroke his cock, causing him to nip at your shoulder, making you gasp, and you feel him smile against your shoulder. “lemme mark you up, please,” he moans, mumbling against your skin, his moans filling your ear from your finger teasing the tip of his cock. “mark me up good, hyunnie,” you find yourself whispering, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, your nose nuzzling at his neck when he sucks on your skin, painting your body with his marks, slowly, his lips making no attempt to leave your body tonight.

your mouth opens to say something, your fingers still palming hyunjin’s cock, a knock on the door making both of you move away from each other a bit. you were surprised you still heard it, with all the music. “yo hyunjin, you in here?” a voice calls out, and hyunjin pulls away from you, your hand still teases his tip, making him bite his bottom lip, and you mouth the words ‘answer him, baby,’ making him frown, but staying in his place. another knock on the door made him untangle himself from you, and walk to the door.

“what’s up, bin?” he shouts out, only for the voice outside to die out into the music. you shrug your shoulders when he walks back to the bed, climbing in next to you. you lay back down, your head resting on the pillow, bringing the sheets to cover yourself. hyunjin tilts his head at you, and your eyes question him. “you still owe me an orgasm, pretty boy,” you smile, patting the side next to you, silently asking him to lay down next to you. 

“you’re getting more than one orgasm tonight, angel. you’re not leaving this room until i’ve ruined your pussy,” he snickers, wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you close to him, his fingers reaching to massage your breasts, trailing down to your core, and resting there. “you’re definitely not leaving this room until you have my cum dripping down that pussy of yours."

taglist: @cosmic-railwayxo @i-narizaki @bbyboychanyeol @hwajin @chvnnie @stayminnichris @erotichan @ethereallino @chrisbahng @starlostseungmin @niinjo @lixhues @joonszn @evqans @meowtella​ @janvibutbetter @cherryhanji @blueberry-chan @dnadoublefelixx  (let me know if you want to be added/removed by sending in an ask/dm!)

[k-martins]

Words: + 2K Prompt: Cooking together and healing wounds Warning: Slight season one spoilers; hurt/comfort; slight descriptions of blood and negative thoughts; sad ending. N/A: I had this idea a while ago while looking at the first season, but I just got up the courage to finish writing and editing it now. It's a bit ironic that I write tentative comedy with Megumi while leaving the angst to Yuji. The title is from the song Happier by Marshmellow.

“Please, Fushiguro” Itadori begged, hands clasped in prayer and a prominent pout on his face.

“I won't do that, Itadori. Do not insist." Megumi took a sip of his coffee, watching the pink haired boy offer the biggest version of kicked puppy dog eyes he had ever seen. Before Itadori opened his mouth to argue, Megumi added, "Besides, it's late to be playing cook with you."

From the couch in the common room, eyes still down on his cell phone, Kugisaki groaned in impatience.

“Just say yes so this idiot will shut up.” She points a blue-painted fingernail at him. “Not a piece of that emo ass of yours is going to fall off anyway.”

Megumi muttered an expletive.

Kugisaki was proving to be much more frustrating than Itadori.

Well, actually she wasn't wrong, but the very idea of cooking after a training day when everyone could very well order takeout was silly to say the least. What's the point of having Gojo's credit card if they can't use and abuse it?

“Okay, fine.”

"Yes! Good one, Kugi!” Itarori exclaimed at the same time that Kugisaki, with the same petulant expression as always, retorted: “See? Not a single strand of that sea urchin hair of yours has fallen out.”

Megumi wasn't really sure about that, but he was too grumpy to care about Kugisaki's nasty nickname. Instead, he got up and took the mug of coffee grounds to the sink.

He sometimes hated his outgoing classmates.

Even with his back turned and clearly pretending to be ignoring them, Kugisaki added:

“And make sure those meatballs are excellent! I'm a very demanding girl.”

Itadori suddenly appeared at Megumi's side, slipping an arm around his shoulders casually and intimately. The sponge slipped from his hand. Megumi knew that the pink-haired boy was an enemy of personal space, just like Gojo, but even so, the one-armed hug took him by surprise.

The room was hot.

"They'll be the best you've ever had." Itadori hummed. “Family recipe!”

“I think it's really good. I'm giving up one of the food at a nice restaurant because of you, you hear?"

When Kugisaki left, presumably heading towards Maki's dorm, Megumi pushed Itadori's arm away from his space. The pink haired boy just laughed out loud, apologizing before heading to the fridge.

Megumi snorted, white foam on his hands.

“I don't know why you would need my help. After all, this is your family recipe.”

The accusing tone didn't seem to faze Itadori, who spoke without looking at him:

“Well, I thought it would be nice for you, you know. Eating only instant ramen and drinking black coffee is not healthy.” The boy cocked his head as he looked him up and down. Megumi forced herself not to shy away from his scrutiny, but heat still licked his cheeks. “And what do you weigh? 60 kilos? You need to eat better.”

“There is nothing wrong with my weight.” Megumi retorted, feeling torn between offended and intrigued that Itadori knew his weight. He studied the ingredients placed on the counter by the other boy, testing the weight of the chicken packet, before adding, “And I don't just eat that. Shoko wouldn't let it. She is very strict about food.”

Itadori stopped whistling an irritating pop tune upon hearing this.

“She's the doctor here, isn't she? Wow. I didn't know you'd known her for quite some time.”

“What are we doing anyway?”

If the change of subject surprised Itadori, he didn't show it.

Megumi didn't feel like telling Itadori that he had known Ieiri Shoko since he was six, when Gojo had taken him to her to find out what his red face, fever and vomiting could mean. Intestinal problem, of course. Anyone would have these problems being put on the candy-based diet that Gojo kept. At least, that's what Shoko said while ruffling Megumi's hair.

Itadori held out a knife to Megumi and a cutting board with a large ginger on it.

“Chicken meatballs with ginger sauce.” Itadori answered, as if it were obvious, which it wasn't. “Can you cut the ginger for me while I grind the chicken?”

Megumi shrugged.

"Clear."

“It needs to be really thin.”

"Okay."

“And watch out for...”

“Itadori, I am perfectly capable of cutting a ginger”

"Right. Just making sure. But if you have any doubts...”

"One more word and I'm leaving." Megumi threatened, pointing the tip of the knife at the boy. "Stay quiet."

Itadori raised his hands, as if defending himself against a wild cat. The smile on his face was so big it pushed his eyes and the scars beneath them up, almost as if they were closing. Megumi wondered if he didn't feel pain from smiling so much.

“Sure, sure. Pardon me. I will not talk anymore.

“You are still talking.”

This only made Itadori laugh harder.

"Now. Now I won't talk anymore. Interest. Pinky promise."

“Itadori...”

The pink boy pursed his lips now, sliding his index finger over his thumb as if zipping it up.

He turned his back on Megumi, working on what should be the chicken, leaving the sorcerer the simple task of chopping – in thin slices, as “ Chef Itadori” said – the ginger. The penetrating and spicy aroma was not unfamiliar to Megumi. It reminded him of when he cooked with Tsumiki, adding more seasoning than necessary since neither of them had a recipe book, which resulted in spicy, strong food. His sister just stuck out her tongue and moaned in disgust, but Megumi always liked the sting of his tongue.

It was good. A good memory despite all the poverty they lived in.

Of course, that all came to an end when Gojo came along and included sweets in his routine. Tsumiki loved it and Megumi liked that she was happy. She deserved it after all.

Megumi felt that familiar feeling of anguish in his chest, the same as when he remembered his sister.

Tsumiki was good, kind and understanding. She deserved all the happiness a human could deserve.

But the world is uneven, isn't it?

And people like Megumi end up getting what they don't deserve while people like Tsumiki, truly good and without a hint of selfishness, are affected by curses and thrown into a hospital bed with no prediction of waking up...

The spiral of thoughts is cut by a wave of pain.

Red drips onto the cutting board.

“Fushiguro!” Itadori exclaims, appearing at his side quickly. "Are you well?"

“Oh, sure.” He replies, still staring at the small cut on his index finger. A red line runs down the milky skin. “It was a small cut.”

"He is sure? I'll get the first aid kit.”

“Itadori, this is an exaggeration...”

His comment was of no avail, as Itadori already had an arsenal of bandages and antibiotics. It would be ridiculous if the selfless gesture didn't take Megumi by surprise. It wasn't a deep cut and it would probably stop bleeding if he just pressed on it, but Itadori didn't seem to think that way if the way he carefully held Megumi's hand to clean the cut, much larger and warm fingers gently wrapping around his fingers – and perhaps reverence? – it meant something.

Megumi swallowed hard, not knowing how to deal with it – or with the way his heart missed a beat when Itadori gently blew on the wet wound.

He had a notion that Itadori probably wasn't used to seeing open wounds as often as Megumi himself had. No, the pink-haired boy had a nice life with his now-deceased grandfather, with friends and probably middle-school sweethearts all around him. Before meeting Megumi, he had never seen a curse rend the fragile flesh of heedless sorcerers with just one movement, never had to tend to their wounds after intense training and without pause because – according to Maki-san – 'curses won't care if it's sold out'. Yuji Itadori never saw what Megumi saw.

That thought makes his mood sour, any enchantment that Itadori is nursing his wounds dimming.

“Let go of my hand, Itadori.” Megumi ordered, pulling his hand away from Itadori's softness, caress and seal. He can't handle this anymore. "I already told you it's an exaggeration."

"But I'm not done yet." The pink boy whimpers, holding tighter, careful not to touch the cut skin. When Megumi tugged again, now feeling as if the tips of his ears had been dipped in embers, Itadori had the gall to laugh. “You look like a skittish cat. Let me take care of you.”

The words come out before Megumi can reflect.

"Why? Why would you do that?"

Why do you care about me when I threw you into this shitty life?

Megumi wanted to kick herself for having those thoughts.

He doesn't need help, Itadori's kindness, much less someone to care for him. Everyone knows that being a jujutsu sorcerer was a sentence, a race whose end was just a pile of corpses and dried blood. There was no gratification, there was no glory, there was no happy ending for anyone who entered this life. All that existed was a sense of purpose that each of the sorcerers clung to. Allowing people to come together, cross lines and bond was just a more painful way to end this marathon. Even the great Satoru Gojo knows this. Megumi doesn't want someone tending to his injuries, sharing fleeting moments like cooking together and caring. Because in the end, when all this shit with Sukuna is over, all he'll have left are sour memories.

He won't let Itadori do this to him, not when Megumi was the one who put him through this.

So why, even when he was hostile and visibly defensive, did Itadori still hold his hand and smile as if that was a silly question asked by a small child?

“Because I always take care of my friends, Fushiguro.” Itadori's eyes widened comically and his mouth dropped. “Is that a problem for you?”

Friends?

Megumi blinked, confused and a little incredulous. What was the damn logic behind Itadori's thoughts?

"What?"

“I know we don't know each other well, but I consider you one. I think near-death experiences do that.” Itadori responds genuinely. There's a crease in his forehead as he furrows his brows, seeming to contemplate that thought. His hand retreats after finishing the band-aid and Megumi tries not to miss the warmth of his fingers on his normally cold skin. "But if you're not on the same page, I understand."

"It's not that." Again the words leap out of him. "It's just... I never..."

I had someone to cook and heal wounds.

I had someone who cared besides Tsumiki.

I had a friend.

Even though Megumi knows he didn't say any of those things out loud, the soft look Itadori gives him shows that it wasn't accurate. He understands.

“Good, then I guess I can be first.” There's no pity, shame, or compassion when Itadori says this to him, just a softness and appreciative contemplation, as if knowing something new is a personal gain. “How about it, Fushiguro? Are we going to be roommates and friends?”

Megumi doesn't understand what's going on.

He doesn't understand Itadori.

It's frustrating.

Before he can offer a response, said boy backs away with wide eyes and a new urgency on his face.

"Oh no! I forgot the meatballs!” Itadori exclaims loudly, turning his back on Megumi. There's comic desperation as he adds, "Kugisaki will kill and use his nails to nail my coffin if I burn this!"

And, while Itadori fiddles with the pots and comments trivial things about the importance of being always careful with food, Megumi looks at the bandage on his fingers, memorizing the simple and tiny drawings of tigers under a blue background – it was probably bought by Gojo as a kind of a silly joke – and thinks maybe it's not so bad to have that kind of bandage under that kind of wound.

He'll think about what that means later.

_

There's no later when Sukuna rips Itadori's heart out and throws it away, a red smile coloring his teeth, as Megumi stares at the scene with cold horror coursing through his insides.

[canarycolemine]

Vignettes of Paradise

Vignette II

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x Fem OC

Summary: Evie’s quiet nighttime ritual has preoccupied Copia’s mind. How nice would it be to have someone brush your hair?

Content: lots of fluff and comfiness, mild suggestive content

WC: 1.2k

AO3 Link!

Picture:  The Reconciliation of the Montagues and Capulets over the Dead Bodies of Romeo and Juliet (1855) Frederic Leighton

Long and straight was her hair; brushing from the ends to the roots, that was the best way to prevent tangles and distribute the oils. Evie had, for many years, brushed her hair to relieve stress - a simple act of taking care of oneself, with the benefit of softer, healthier hair.

Her veil had often covered her long, raven black locs. On those rare occasions when she opted out of her customary habit and veil, she would braid her hair the night before, right after she brushed it. Mostly dry, some moisture was optimal for the desired result. Gentle waves, brushed through with a firm bristle brush, would flow carefully but carelessly all around her. It was a contrast to the pallor of her skin, to her hair - black as the night.

There were more modern ways of curling and maintaining one’s hair, but much like the other siblings of the Abbey, there was something charming about doing things the old fashioned way. From the nun’s habits they wore, to lighting the halls with lanterns and candles, all of it - a carefully selected antiquity, the beauty it could behold.

Copia had loved to watch Evie brush her hair - how smooth and shiny it would look - how soft it would feel in his calloused hands. Just like her skin. It was a small moment each day, something you wouldn’t think to mention to one another, a pleasant moment remembered only before seeing it again.

On a particularly rainy evening, as the pair was preparing for bed, Copia had done what he had loved to do - simply watch the lovely woman. She was nearly done with the process before she began the arm-aching process of braiding her hair.

“Why are you staring at me, Copia?” She teased.

“I dunno.” His face still damp, slightly red from removing his paints for the evening. “You’re just beautiful.”

“Ew! People will think you have a crush on me or something.” She chuckled. “Why, do you?” She widened her eyes, teasing him, feigning shock. “That would be soooo weird. Unless…” She bit her lower lip to make him giggle at her new character.

And giggle he did, a sweet grin grew on his face. A warmth from his chest.

He walked over to her, dressed in a more utilitarian pair of pajamas - black briefs, and a silly shirt Evie had purchased for him, solely dedicated to being a sleep shirt. Plopping himself next to her, he began running his fingers through her hair, feeling the silkiness, smelling the lavender scent that lingered.

“I like how you brush your hair, amore, it makes it all, eh, soft.” His gaze met hers again, her smile cemented on her face. How sweet he was to her.

“Thank you, my love.” She giggled. “Would you like me to brush your hair? I promise it’ll feel good.”

“Ah, why not? But my old gray hair, it will look just like yours when you’re done, si?”

“Oh certainly! But then I will get all the gray hair - the law of transfer of hair pigmentation, Copia.”

Truth be told, Copia was insecure about his steadily graying hair. He worried it took away from his looks; his Evie, she was not a vain person. No, but a beautiful woman must have a beautiful man to take care of her.

Oh, but how Evie loved Copia’s hair! Sure, the graying hairs meant he was getting older, his body and stress catching up; also true was that it was evidence of the life he had lived. His wisdom, his guidance, something to trust. And how it complimented his complexion! The contrast in his hair from the dusty brown to the white strands, it made him look so handsome - as if his white iris glowed.

Evie repositioned herself behind Copia, sitting on her knees as she began to brush.

“This is exactly what we used to do in the Sisters’ dorms, every single night. Then, we would have pillow fights in our pjs and then kiss each other and then touch each other’s boobs!” She began weaving another hyperbolic story.

“Oh my!” Copia entertained her stories, she was so silly sometimes. “You should go back there sometime, it sounds like too much fun.”

Long brush strokes from his hairline, all the way to the nap of his neck. The firm bristles gently grazing the sensitive skin of his scalp. She moved slowly, working the strokes from the left side of his head to the right. Not a spot missed.

“Oh no, I think my room now is much better. I’ve got a roommate, though, and he’s okay, I guess. He always smells nice, and is sooo handsome, and gives me really good orgasms.”

“Damn right he does!”

“But he works too hard, sometimes. I wish there was some way I could make everything easier for him.”

“Oh, you just say that because you want him all to yourself, huh?” he turned back to face her, smiling to reassure her.

“Papa, you know my tricks all too well!” Waving her hands in the air, admitting guilt. “But not really, I just like it when you’re relaxed. You have more time to do things for yourself. It makes you happy.”

“Well, amore, I am very relaxed right now.” Taking a wide yawn, as Evie chuckled. “It is very relaxing, the brushing. But now! Your turn!”

He snatched the brush from her hands, crawling further onto the bed, so he was positioned behind her.

“How do you do it? Just all in one piece or the smaller sections.”

“When it’s really wet, I do the smaller sections. I think it should be mostly dry, so you can do bigger pieces.”

“Okie dokie!”

He gathered all of her hair in his hands, capturing it all in his grasp, so it could all fall on her back. Nervously, he made small brush strokes at the ends of her hair, terrified to even add more pressure. Gathering the hair in his hands once again, that would make it easier to brush, having it all in one place, he thought.

Working the brush down the black hair, he delighted in how it shined and bounced. How smooth it looked after the stroke was finished. He eased the brush up, continuing his gentle brushes until he reached her scalp.

How Copia wanted to make the sensation as relaxing as Evie made it for him. But how careful he had to be! The bristles must hurt if too much pressure was applied. So delicately, he worked the brush forward to back all over her scalp.

Nearing her ears, Evie shivered.

“The tinglies!”

Copia merely chuckled, listening to his girl.

He worked the brush much longer than Evie normally would, but how calm they both were. Reaching to set the brush onto the side table, Copia marked his work completed. He sat back up, grabbing Evie’s legs to face him.

“All done?” Evie said.

“All done.” He kissed her little nose, brushing a fallen stand of hair behind her ear.

“Maybe next time, I will teach you how to braid my hair, too!”

They both laughed. Sweetness, calm. The rain poured outside, and how safe they were with one another. As it was always meant to be.

~~~

thank you for reading! I was possessed by this idea right before I went to bed, so I just needed to write it tee hee!

[0oolookitsme]

Picnics and Fist Bumps

Type- One-Shoty Blurb!

Verse- Artist!Harry x Housewife(tuition teacher)!Y/n

Word Count- 1.2k

Warnings- Only fluff and slight financial description.

A/N- I hope this one gets some attention. I get I didn't post for a while, but I've been so active recently, at least show some interaction... No matter how much I try and convince myself that I write for myself, the appreciation is something that's in your hands. Hope you like this <3

"Harry are you ready with her?" Y/n shouts from the kitchen, wiping her hands in the kitchen towel. Leaving the towel hanging from the fridge handle, she picks up the two basket-lunches and places them on the table, tying the two white handkerchiefs on their handles.

Out of instinct, she wipes her hands on her jeans once again. Just as she rushes inside the room, Harry shouts back a 'yes' to her, fixing the headband on Opal's head.

When he does notice her, a slight jump makes him stumble back a bit. Breathing out as he gladly takes in the fact that she didn't notice.

"Bangs really do still suit you, huh."

"Mhm. I'm glad they do- they always made me look good," she laughs sheepishly, setting up the hair strands on her forehead for the last time. "Remember when I let them grow for the first time in your sight and you were really fascinated with my forehead?" She wheezes as soon as she finishes.

Red creeps up Harry's cheeks as some laughter skips out from his nostrils. "I had seen your forehead for literally the first time!"

That explanation just makes the duo laugh more, awing when the baby also squeaks to join them.

Picking up Opal and securing her against his chest with his arms snaked around her, Harry bounces her up and down on his hips for a bit. "I'm seriously very excited for this picnic. This is the first time she's going right?" He asks, moving out of the room behind his wife, who only hums back in response.

They used to do picnics and cliche dates a lot but ever since Opal came into their lives like sunshine, they couldn't help but get more tied down with life.

Harry started painting more and more, pulling up all nighters to finish one and sell it to bring in money. Y/n, who had to already look after a newborn baby and the also house (partially), started taking tuition classes in their house itself. It wasn't long before they recognized their path which led a straight way to burn out one day.

Although they couldn't leave those activities, they decided taking breaks every once in a week would be nice. That could either be taken by just sitting doing and doing movie marathons or taking long naps in the afternoon. It was just today that Harry remembered about their picnics and decided that it was time to take Opal on her first one too.

He stops making funny noises to the little bundle of joy as he picks up the house keys from above the fridge.

Waiting for y/n to fully get out of the main door with the two lunch boxes, he takes the tote bag from the chair and retraces her steps.

"Oh, I had totally forgotten about it!" Y/n shrieks, taking the tote bag from him. While it had some of her own essentials, it also had two water bottles, Opal's milk bottle and some honey in a small glass jar. "You've become smart living with me, I see," she smirks teasingly at him, laughing when he rolls his eyes at her.

He takes back the tote bag from her and lets it hang down from his other shoulder. Intertwining his fingers through hers, he starts rubbing his thumb on the back of her hand, at the very spot she had gotten a small cut yesterday.

He thinks back to when Opal was still very young, not older than a year and they'd take her to their college campus. Everyone out of their friend group managed to pull some time out from between their classes to look after her when both Harry and Y/n had to go attend classes at the same time.

"Good Ol' times," y/n smiles beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder when they come straight under the sunlight and on the final street they have to walk through to get to the park.

"It's like the campus was her playground. She was so happy around everyone... Wait! She learnt how to fist bump there only!" She laughs out loud at the memory.

Harry's brain again rolls back to that time period. She's sitting on a highchair someone had arranged from somewhere on the campus- probably stole from a lecture room, and all the boys are standing in a crew, all sweaty from their game practice. As their turns came, they pressed their fists against hers and cheered loudly, making her flap her arms happily and make baby noises.

"She was such a happy baby, I mean- she still is. Very good at socializing," Harry chuckles hoarsely, letting y/n take ahold of Opal as he takes the cloth out of the tote bag and spreads it out on the slightly dying grass- winters really are approaching now.

Y/n places Opal on it first and the little girl immediately sprawls out her limbs on it. Harry follows and takes the lunch boxes from y/n as she sits down opposite to him. Opal laughs in her baby voice as Harry drags her closer to his self, giving her a light cheeky.

"It feels so good," she moans, stretching her back under the sun and smacking Harry's naked knee when she sees him squinting at her.

She watches as he continues to serve the lunch, cheering as he sees his favourite snack inside the tote along with two Oranges.

He keeps on showering her in compliments and cheers throughout the lunch, sharing a few more of his childhood memories with her for the thousandth time. She loves listening to him, he knows it and makes proper use of it.

Every once in a while, Harry has to lunge forward to prevent Opal from crawling out of the cloth though. But they knew it'd happen, so they continue chatting away in the warm sun.

Wiping his hands off the same handkerchief as y/n's, he lets out a small burp while stretching his legs out.

Slowly but surely, Harry completely lays down after very normally taking off his t-shirt. He turns on his stomach, his feet touching the cold soil, but he doesn't seem to mind one bit. He's well aware of the dumbfounded look on his wife's face but proceeds to ignore it and close his eyes- not being able to keep the smug smirk from pulling up.

Y/n looks at him as he cushions his head on the folds of his arms, while she cradles Opal, feeding her the bottled milk after mixing in some honey in it; because she. is. a. honeybug. When they thought they'd teased her enough by calling her a 'honeybug', Harry had passed her the tote bag to let her fetch out the needed bottle.

Opal seems to have dozed off too, her lips shut around the mouth of the bottle and her eyelashes resting atop her cheeks. Y/n cautiously pulls the bottle away and places Opal against Harry's body, smiling as his body involuntarily curves against her tiny one.

Before she can control it, her wandering eyes land on her husband's back. It looks quite toned and slightly tanned, looking way too good under the golden sun light. Wishing she could write her name on it because of the random strangers that walk by every once in a while, (especially the women) eying him up.

Sighing, she pulls out her phone and clicks a picture of her most beloved ones and uploads it on her private Instagram for the boys -now grown men- who taught her how to fist bump, to see how she still remembers how to do it; because in the picture, Harry's almost fisted hand is pressed against Opal's lightly fisted ones.

[hopepetal]

What's your favorite piece of personal writing? It doesn't have to be something shared on Tumblr.

Hmmmm

Oh gosh, I really don't know. I can't remember all of my writing... but I do have this one unfinished bit with ocs! (Set in the FFXIV universe, slight Endwalker spoilers ahead!) Would love if this got some attention, but doubt it because it's not my usual stuff lol

Persephone often found herself in Elpis, by that lone pink tree surrounded by vibrant purple flowers. It was a place she came to in order to calm herself, destress, take her mind off things, and generally just enjoy the view. From the vantage point on that tiny sanctuary in the sky she could look out upon the rest of Elpis with a caring gaze, watch the sun set and rise, or just lay back and close her eyes, feeling the soft breeze bring strands of her hair to tickle her cheeks.

Not often, however, were others there. Given her tendency to take respite from her duties at the strangest hours, it was rare that she ever ran into another during her time off. It was to her surprise to find a familiar person sitting in the grass, staring blankly towards where the lightening skies promised the sunrise. As Persephone drew closer, she noticed how Soteria's hand twitched slightly– the only sign that they knew someone was there. Having grown closer to them after what everyone had taken to calling “the incident”, Persephone had learned much about them. Their tells, body language, how their soul would seem dim compared to the vibrancy with which it would shine before it had been torn apart and pieced back together.

When Persephone first laid eyes upon Soteria's soul, she had been, for lack of a better word, heartbroken. Before the incident, the bright shine of their soul had only been rivaled by the vibrancy of Venat's, the previous Azem as well as Soteria's mentor. Battered and broken, she knew it would never be the same again, just as the bearer of the soul would never quite be the same. Persephone knew this to be true the moment she saw that one of Soteria's eyes had become the same blue shade of their soul. Just like Eleos. A nagging thought that she quickly swept away. ‘You did the right thing,’ she told herself, ‘sacrifice is necessary for the greater good.’ And yet she could not help but recall those vibrant eyes, the way Eleos had clung to her, looked to her for guidance and comfort, and how she had begun to find comfort in them as well.

“May I?” Gesturing to the ground next to Soteria, Persephone waited for the muted nod they gave her before she sat down. The grass was soft and dewy, the sky beginning to bleed oranges and pinks, gold ichor mixing with calming reds to paint the background for a lovely sunrise. Persephone's gaze briefly turned to Soteria, who was continuing to silently stare out at the sunrise. Their hair was down, she noted, seeming much longer now that it wasn't in their usual braid. They looked tired, bags under their eyes like those Hades would have after a long day of meetings with the Convocation of Fourteen. Without their mask and cowl, it was much easier to notice...

And that's where I left off! Lemme know what you guys think?