#tea storage gift

[treasureboxindore]

Treasure Box In Indore

Treasure Box is the perfect place for those who love comfort shopping.

Discover our Treasure Box, where every item tells a story of joy! Curated with love, our charming trinkets and delightful treasures bring happiness for every occasion

Contact US

12, Manik Bagh Rd, Nai Duniya, Triveni Colony, Indore, Madhya Pradesh 452007

9294588000

treasureboxind@gmail.com

[handmadegiftpl]

Wooden Tea Box with 12 Compartments Gustav Klimt Inspired

Wooden Tea Box with 12 Compartments Gustav Klimt Inspired, Japonism & Art Nouveau Style, Handcrafted in Europe Gift for women

[oriarmcha]

Multi-tier storage jar for kitchen storage. You can store tea, spices, dry goods, and more. YOU can buy it in layers.

[luveline]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐲 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel assumes you're mad when you stop initiating kisses and tries to get back on your good side —featuring grumpy but lovelorn miguel and his head-in-the-clouds spider-girl. requested here. fem!reader, 3k.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Gàn de piàoliang!" cheers the puppy at the bottom of your screen. Well done.

You smile at him and slide your finger across a lilac candy to make another three-match. 

The music playing from your phone quietens as a text lines the top of the screen. You click it as soon as you recognise the contact picture beside it, your handsome Miguel with a filter over his face that paints rosy pink hearts over his high cheeks. 

Finished. his text says. 

Miguel is a man of little words. Over the phone he talks even less, easier to draw blood from stone than harness a conversation with him that isn't in person. His text demarcates the wall of messages you sent him earlier, not wanting for a reply but bursting to tell him things as they happened. 

You put your phone down carefully. It's one of your most treasured possessions, shimmering and high tech, you can fold it down the middle to fit in your little spider suit pockets, though the amount of charms and beads hanging from it now impedes that particular functionality.

Miguel gave it to you as a gift without any fanfare around the time you started staying in his apartment in the society, and while your bunking with him was supposed to be temporary, the phone is for keeps. You've decorated it accordingly.

The best charm is a beaded translucent jellyfish, and not solely because it's beautiful: Miguel has a matching one that he showcases shamelessly. 

You rush into his neat bathroom and lean heavily on the counter, propping your hand on the faucet to hold your weight as you assess your reflection in the mirror. When you turn your face, your nose shines in the light. 

You decide it's best to wash up. Miguel will be back soon enough. 

You get distracted by skincare, toner pads resting on your cheeks when you hear the door opening. A waste to take them off prematurely, you pat them flat to your skin and meet Miguel in his bedroom half ready. 

"I can see why you didn't text me back," he says, giving you a quick glance from the corner of his eye as he walks past the bed and your waiting phone. He beelines for the kitchenette and disappears around the corner. "What do they do, the squares?" 

"They're calming, I think," you say, following his path from the bathroom to the small kitchen. 

His apartment is big but not huge. The main room is his bedroom, with enough space for a couch and a TV he never uses that comes out of the wall. To the right is a utility closet for storage and a walk-in wardrobe, and to the left lies the kitchen and the bathroom. It takes you all of ten seconds to be by his side. 

Bottles rattle as Miguel opens the fridge. He grabs sparkling water for himself and a fruit tea concoction for you. You hadn't followed him for that, but you accept it anyway. 

He looks tired. Tilting his head back to drink, you eye the stiff set to his shoulders and the way he rolls his arm out, orchestrating an offer for a massage in your head. 

Miguel squints at you. "What?" 

"What?" you ask back. 

He doesn't explain. He screws the lid back on to his water and closes the fridge. 

With his empty hand, Miguel reaches for your face. You stay very still in anticipation of his touch, imagining how he might take your cheek in his hand and pull you close, or perhaps curl thick, long fingers behind your neck and guide your chin up. He can be rough in odd ways, as though he's unaware of his strength. 

"It's slimy," he says in disgust, pulling a toner pad from your left cheek. 

"It's going to make my skin clearer." 

"There's nothing wrong with your skin." True or not, you know it's Miguel's way of being sweet. He takes the second toner pad too, tossing them in the trash with a huff. "That's better. You look normal. Or, as normal as possible." 

"Jerk!" you say through a smile, thinking now's the moment. 

But Miguel hasn't peeled away your skincare to kiss you. He pats a spot of dampness on your cheek away with the back of his hand and turns on his heel, gunning for a change of clothes and a shower, if you know him. "Drink your tea. Did you eat? Me preocupo por ti." 

You sigh and trail after him. "I was waiting for you to come back. It's Vietnamese week in the cafeteria, they're making cá kho tộ. Do you like that? It's sweeter than hake." 

"It's fish?" 

"Catfish. Caramelised catfish." You sit down on the bed, flipping your phone open to play your game while he decides. 

That, and to ignore the inkling of doubt blossoming like mould under heat in your chest. An achy sort of worry… 

Does Miguel not want to kiss you? 

"What's the other option? I don't like sweet foods." 

You knew that already. "You could make pasta?" you suggest. 

"You'd love that." 

"Are you teasing me?" 

Miguel pokes his head out of the wardrobe, and with it comes his naked chest. His muscles are insane, lean tanned stretches of cord pulled taut as he grabs a shirt. "I'm making an observation. You like carbs." 

"Everyone likes carbs, Miguel, especially Spiders." 

"I know, but I don't make anyone else dinner." He's definitely flirting now, his voice playful and soft. "I'll make you pasta if you want." 

Why hasn't he kissed you? Offering to make you dinner, smiling at you just as soon as his face has been pulled through his t-shirt. He's acting as affectionate as a man who'd like to kiss you without pulling through. 

Well, maybe you kiss him too much. Come to think of it, you initiate the vast, vast majority of kisses, and you must kiss him twice a day at least. Miguel clearly favours you, but it's possible he isn't interested in as much physicality as you and hasn't had the heart to say. He likes watching vintage movies at night and half the time you're not interested in those. You haven't said a word about it because things between you are new and you like his being happy watching the things he enjoys. Miguel could be doing the same, allowing hugs and kisses he doesn't necessarily want in order to avoid hurting your feelings. 

A favourite phrase of his cuts through your thinking, "¿Alguien en casa?" Anyone home?

"Oh, sorry, were you not getting enough attention?" you ask him, pretending to be more nonchalant than you are as you open the match game on your phone. 

The puppy barks hello. 

"Ah, you're a cómico now." Miguel sits on the bed beside you in sweatpants, reaching across the sheets to give your arm a shake. "I said, I'll make you pasta if you want pasta." 

"I want what you want," you say honestly. 

He stares at you. You're not sure what he's confused about. "Alright. Did you want it now?" he asks. 

"Yes, serf," you say, laughing when he knocks your phone out of your hand and stands in a dramatised annoyance. 

You play a couple levels of your game to give him space. He's quiet as he washes his hands and gets out the cookware, but he appears curious in the door, rag between his hands. "You're not gonna come and sit with me? I really am your maid." 

Eager for an invitation, you join him in the kitchen. You brace yourself behind you to hop onto the counter and find his hands on your hips, helping you up. 

Miguel meets your eyes as he does, not close but enough to beckon down for a kiss. You think about doing it. He might let you, his straight lashes pointed with his gaze, his eyes a heavy weight where they trace your features unhurried. 

"How come you didn't text me back earlier?" he asks. 

"Oh, I didn't know you were expecting me to. I'm sorry, handsome, I was kind of grody–"

"Grody? I doubt that–" 

"–I figured I'd wash up before you got back." 

"So you were busy?" he asks, returning to the chopping board at the left of the stove. He picks up a glinting-sharp knife. "Not something else?" 

"No, why? Was I supposed to do something today?" 

Miguel begins slicing into a tomato, red skin splitting to reveal greener insides. "No. No, just wondering." 

You lean back against the wall, crossing a leg over your thigh. He's being kind of off. Your first impulse is to try and kiss it better but that directly fights your new theory. Being nice physically is far from your only weapon. 

"Did you have a good day?" you ask, and here's where you'd pull him close or sidle up behind him and twist his hair around your finger. "I was thinking about you a lot. Did the strike mission go okay?" 

"Fine. You didn't come see me, but it was fine." 

You eye him from the corner of your vision. He's still cutting up tomatoes, a pan of olive oil and minced garlic simmering between you. 

"I sent you all those photos," you say. 

One of the Peter's you hang around with got his arm stuck in a window after he said, "Is that a bad idea, do you think? I really wanna try," and Hobie said, "They can't stop you." 

The 'they' being unknown, Hobie was right. No one could stop Peter once he started climbing, but the window could certainly stop him from getting down. You'd sent Miguel pictures of his dangling body up in the atrium like a dark splodge, as well as a blurry photo of your face when you'd accidentally turned the camera. He responded to that one with a heart but the rest he didn't touch. 

"They got him down eventually," you continue, "but I had to stay for moral support! And to feed him popcorn so he didn't starve. Was it peaceful without me?"

"You know I like when you visit me, right?" he asks carefully. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah?" he mimics, waving his hand at you. "Can't deal with you. Get the cream from the fridge." 

You eat dinner as you and Miguel tend to do —you talk your way through it happily, smiling and joking, and he puts extra helpings on your plate when you aren't looking. 

The alien quality of what you're doing rears its head briefly. He's trying to stop the quasi apocalypse. You're willing to help, though you'd been more interested in Miguel and getting to know his enigma than your responsibilities. Weird how love makes you want to be better. 

"What was your course like?" Miguel asks, when the dishes have been set aside for washing and you've showered for the night. 

He's talkative tonight. 

"They taught us how to wield a baton," you say, climbing into his bed with a tired sigh. "One girl was crazy about it. She kind of looked like me…" You yawn, looking for his waist as he settles in the sheets and pillows next to you. "You're lucky I got my claws into you when I did. At least I'm not murderous. Much." 

Miguel covers your hand on his ribs. He squeezes your fingers together gently like he's collecting them under his palm for borrowing. 

"You didn't get your claws in me. I'm not easily led." 

"Course not," you snort. You actually agree with him, but he said it too seriously for bedtime. 

Miguel abandons your hand to pull you in, encouraging your head and upper chest onto his, hand coasting up and down the length of your arm lovingly. Firmly, like a massage, but adoring nonetheless. You languish in his touches and rub your lips, still tingling from spearmint, against the collar of his shirt gently. As indirect a kiss as you can manage, practically sick with longing after a day unkissed. 

"Are you mad at me?" he asks into the quiet.

You pause, fingers with a mind of their own as you take a long strand of hair that curls under his ear between them, combing it flat. "Why, have you done something?" you ask, hiding your confusion with a delighted lilt. 

"I've been trying to work that out." Frustration seeps into his voice, roughened syllables drawn tight, "But you're evasive." 

"I'm evasive," you say softly, tilting your head back to meet his eye. "Miguel, why do you think I'm mad at you? I'm not mad." 

Miguel glares at you. Brows furrowed, an especially formidable downturn to an otherwise pretty mouth, he looks as though he wants to start a fight with you, and as though he doesn't believe it. 

"I'm not mad," you insist, sitting up a little. 

"Then…" 

You scrunch your brows at him. "You've been thinking I was mad at you all day? Why didn't you say something, handsome?" 

He might roll his eyes at your pet name if he weren't knee deep in relief. You didn't know being mad at him was something he'd be sad with, and yet there he is lying beneath you, blowing a big enough exhale to ruffle the hair from his forehead. 

Miguel takes your face into one hand. Your eyelashes flutter against his palm like a shuddering butterfly wing as you lean into his touch, more than happy to offer him whatever relief it is he needs while enjoying in the feeling of being close to him. 

"You haven't kissed me all day," he says quietly. "I thought I must've pissed you off, 'cos you're more piranha than girl sometimes, but you weren't acting any weirder than usual beyond that." 

You roll your eyes and hide your face in his hand. He's kidding around, and his thumb rubs over your skin tenderly to prove it. 

"You're not mad?" he asks again. 

You kiss his palm. You kiss his wrist, happy when he knows the moves like a well practised dance, his fingers sliding behind your ear to steady you as you dip down for a kiss. 

It's a good kiss. Warm mouths vying for one another but trying not to seem desperate, Miguel's hand behind your ear growing harsher as you pull a breath against his lips. You press your hand into his pec too hard. 

"Sorry," you murmur, stealing another fast kiss and pulling away. 

You barely feel how uncomfortably you're skewed, you're that happy. 

"Is there a reason you wouldn't kiss me?" he asks. 

"I'm, like, always the first one to initiate and I kinda got it in my head maybe you didn't want me kissing you that much…" You grin at him. "The whole time you're playing twenty questions with me wishing I'd lay one on you. You know you have a voice for more than yelling at people, right?" 

Miguel gets this look in his eyes then, rolling his jaw a touch at the supposed audacity of what you've said. The tip of his tongue works at his canine tooth, his eyebrows rising as he asks, "Oh, is that how you're talking to me tonight?" 

"How else should I talk to you, Miguel?" 

He doesn't bother with swiftness nor a show of strength as he rolls you onto your back. He settles above you with measured movements, a pleased smirk playing on his lips now. His eyes are dark, pupils wide as dimes.

"With compassion, mi cielo," he says.

"Have some sympathy for me," you implore him, wrapping your arms around his waist. It diffuses the tension, though neither party minds, evidenced by Miguel's easy relaxation and your ecstatic mood. Happiness bubbles up like carbonated bubbles, your chest awake with a fizzing excitement. "You really thought I was mad 'cos I wasn't kissing you?" 

He avoids the question. "You think you're the only one who initiates?" he asks genuinely. 

"Why didn't you kiss me, then? When you came home?" 

"Your face was wet." 

"And after when we were eating dinner?" 

Miguel smiles at you. No sarcasm, no stress. He leans down to kiss you chastely, pulling away to say, "I thought you were definitely mad at that point." 

"A kiss would've made me feel better." 

You realise how quiet your bubble of the world really is for that handful of seconds, Miguel holding himself above you, your hands loose behind the broad stretch of his back. 

"You know you can just ask me, yeah? You don't have to worry and wonder how I'm feeling. I'll tell you how I'm feeling if you want to know." 

"Cariño, I always want to know," he says. 

You breathe out slowly. Miguel takes your face into his hand for another kiss, or so you think —he pinches your cheek. 

"And I always want to kiss you," he says quickly, climbing off of you. 

"Where are you going?" 

"I need a drink." 

A break from sincerity. You don't mind that he needs to walk it off as long as he comes back. You stretch out on your back and cover your face with your hands. 

"People think I'm the weird one," you say into them.

A hand clamps around your ankle and tugs you down. You shriek with startled laughter and climb away from him as he lands on top of you, a cold water bottle held to your bare neck. 

"No!" you laugh. 

Miguel laughs in tandem and presses it further down. 

"I really am going to be mad at you if you don't quit!" You yelp as condensation wets your collar. "Miguel!"

"You're a wimp," he says with a bright smile. 

You push him with some enhanced super strength and manage to get the water bottle off of your neck, but Miguel makes up for any differences in strength with enthusiasm and muscle alike, shoving you down. 

You're laughing and pleading at the same time, "Please, Miguel, stop, it's sooooo cold." 

Miguel laughs, dropping the bottle somewhere above your head, covering the cooled stripe of your skin with his big hand. The sound is warming enough, but you let him sweat for a second, content to be doted on. 

He gives you a once over. "I'll kiss you first more," he promises. 

"Starting now, please, handsome. Mi cielo." 

Miguel groans and digs his arms under your back. You don't fight it as he drags you back to the top of the bed. In fact, you quite enjoy it. You lay back to receive his sorry pecks and his all encompassing hug, forgetting what you'd been worried about one damp crescent moon of a kiss at a time.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!

[starlostseungmin]

husband!seungmin

✰ notes: my brain is not working properly and idk if i could write any lengthy fics as of the moment but here’s husband seungmin because i’m bored and i love our puppy so much. not proofread. DO NOT FORGET TO REBLOG, COMMENT AND LEAVE TAGS! thank you <33

（ seungmin ）chan , lee know , jeongin , han , changbin , felix , hyunjin.

ꔛ

Husband Seungmin who cried when he saw you walking down the aisle with a big smile on his face thinking that he’s the luckiest man on earth to marry you. He couldn’t wait for the priest to finally announce you as husband and wife then kisses you in front of your friends and family. 

Husband Seungmin whose love language is act of service and words of affirmation with a little bit of gift-giving. 

Husband Seungmin who is still shy about engaging in physical touch. But when he does, he gets really clingy and refuses to let you go. You never complain. He also loves looking at you dreamingly while you sleepーwhispering how much he loves you and kisses your forehead before going to sleep, hugging you tightly. 

Husband Seungmin who cooks every morning before going to workーsometimes at nightーand holds your hand while brewing coffee as he steals kisses whenever you aren’t looking. 

Husband Seungmin who would take the day off from work just to stay home and take care of you when you’re sick. He won’t allow you to move and insist that he’ll do everything you ask for. 

Husband Seungmin who gets a bit possessive when someone who seems interested in you makes a conversation so he’d kiss your lips out of the blue and say, “We’re married.” then show off your wedding rings. 

Husband Seungmin who doesn’t pressure you to have kids with him since he respects whatever decision you make. It doesn’t matter anyway, as long as the two of you are together, that’s enough for him. 

Husband Seungmin who is still feeling nervous when he asks you out on a date. It would always feel like the first timeーhis heart racing, cheeks red as a tomato, the giddiness and sparks, everything goes in slow-motion. He would take you to your favorite places and have the best time. 

Husband Seungmin who loves tea time and is literally serving you hot gossip from workーlaughing at how everyone was so dumb and problematic in the industry. 

Husband Seungmin who used to prefer texts over calls but now he tends to call you often because he misses you. He would also wait for you to hang up first.

Husband Seungmin who would hug you tightly while kissing the crown of your head and whisper words that might comfort you when you’re breaking down and vulnerable in front of him. He would refuse to leave until you feel better. 

Husband Seungmin who makes weird noises and funny faces just to make you laugh. 

Husband Seungmin who acts like a puppy when he wants to be babied and asks for a kiss. 

Husband Seungmin who treats you like royalty. 

Husband Seungmin who gets over the moon when you surprise him with lots of (useful) Sanrio-related gifts. Mostly Pochacco and Pompompurin with a little bit of Cinnamon Roll. 

Husband Seungmin who loves to take A LOT of pictures of you with his phone or camera. You’d complain (playfully) about his storage getting full but he doesn’t mind because you are his muse. 

Husband Seungmin who brings you flowers on random days because they remind him of you. 

Husband Seungmin who kisses your lips intimately because he wants to. It could happen multiple times a day which could lead to something moreーmost of the time. 

Husband Seungmin who would walk away after an argument and come back hours later to apologize. 

Husband Seungmin who doesn’t want you to see him cry but gives in when you hug him. 

Husband Seungmin who gets brutally honest, cries over silly things, and does his little twerk when drunk but still cute as hell. 

Husband Seungmin who always scores 98-100 on coin karaoke and gets cocky. He knows you love listening to him when he sings and gladly does the favor when you ask him to—wherever, whenever. 

Husband Seungmin who is always good at everything. 

Husband Seungmin who doesn’t say “I love you,” most of the time but expresses it in different ways or says it with the things he feels about you. 

Husband Seungmin whose smile is the most precious in the world. You promised not to take it away and never make him cry. 

Husband Seungmin who loves you so much, makes you happy, never fails to make your heart beat, makes you feel loved and accepts you no matter what your flaws are. 

✰ taglist: @notastraykid , @ameliesaysshoo , @l3visbby , @reignessance , @lix-ables , @skzfelixlove , @rachabreathing , @hyunverse , @minluvly , @sleepyleeji , @starseungs , @midsoulz , @oddracha , @armystay89

©️ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍 , 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒.

[ddarker-dreams]

How much do you think it takes to fluster the husband rotation???

it doesn't take much?? not most people's definition of 'much', at least.

for chrollo, overhearing you talk about him (whether it be on the phone or you haven't noticed him standing there yet) gives him pause. it's in instances like these that people reveal their true colors. he's confident in his ability to read you, sure, but hearing your unfiltered thoughts out loud? that's an opportunity he'd kill for. metaphorically and literally. he waits with bated breath, almost embarrassed by his anticipation. you'd think he was a school girl eavesdropping on her crush. and when he hears you not only call him handsome, but emphasize just how much you enjoy your discussions with him? those very discussions that he cherishes dearly? he smiles without realizing it. faced with death, his heart remains steady. faced with anything related to you, it can't slow down.

gojo is, to the surprise of no one, kinda weird. you could huskily whisper the naughtiest line into his ear — he'd just grin and flirt back. he gets so caught up in outdoing you that he forgets to feel embarrassed. want to leave him speechless and knock the air from his lungs? it's surprisingly simple. steal one of his shirts, wear it as your PJs, then doze off waiting for him to return home. he secretly feels bad that his work hours are so erratic. he'll tell you not to stay up for him, but that doesn't mean he isn't touched when you try. the idea of you sitting there, fighting to stay awake because you want to spend time with him? cupid's arrow couldn't compare to the emotions that makes him experience. this, along with the added bonus of his too large shirt engulfing your form does him in. gojo takes enough pictures to necessitate buying additional cloud storage.

for scaramouche..................... just be nice to him without ulterior motives. that's it. no, really. he can't comprehend kindness. he understands transactions, where anything done for the sake of another is still ultimately for one's own benefit. this cynicism has helped him navigate fatui politics yet impedes any personal growth. brew him his favorite bitter tea, organize his belongings, gift him a homemade trinket; he'll flitter through multiple emotions. suspicion, confusion, then, finally, this warm sensation in his supposedly hollow chest that he can't find a word for. this little act haunts him. he can't stop obsessing over it. he wants to find proof that you're like every other wretched, self-serving creature in this world — (or does he?) — but his investigation proves unsuccessful. confronted by this undeniable reality, he's left to wrestle with the implications. you're genuinely thoughtful (ew) and most egregious of all, he likes it (ew x2). this is going to be his undoing, isn't it...?

blade is similarly simple. you needn't jump through hoops of fire to get his obstinate heart pounding. as for what does him in most effectively — your greetings. it's why he shows up unannounced. you'll freeze, giving him a once over, eyebrows cutely scrunching together as your brain puts two and two together. then stars twinkle in your eyes. you glow with the radiance of a thousand suns, running at him, your arms outstretched and legs keen on jumping. he catches you with ease. he's grateful that your face is buried into his chest. otherwise, you'd spot how the tip of his ears go red. what has he ever done to deserve such an enthusiastic welcome? nothing, as far as he's concerned. he doesn't deserve it, doesn't deserve you, yet here you are, excitedly rambling in his arms over his return. he'll say he just happened to be in the star system and decided to stop by. don't believe him. he traveled across the universe for you.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

After 35 yrs. the owner of this fabulous 1877 Victorian in Mantua, NJ is retiring. The florist business and all the inventory comes with it (and there's a LOT- wait'll you see). Plus, the owner's apt. is upstairs. It has 3bds, 2ba. Asking $624,950. (And, I want it so baaaad.) It's also a venue for weddings, and the conservatory is used as a tea room/celebration room.

It's seriously a Victorian store. But, don't you have to learn how to be a florist? Like you have to know how to do floral arrangements, bouquets, corsages, etc. You have to know how to order, where buy from, all that stuff.

I could do the gift stuff, but I don't know about fresh flowers.

I wonder how hard it would be to convert it back- you can see the dining room entrance here.

Wow, too much stuff.

The conservatory has tables and chairs, but in this photo, it looks like it has Valentine roses ready to go.

This is the powder room for the conservatory.

More merch. Wonder what the turnover rate for this stuff is. I mean, you can keep the same stock out, but how can you buy more if you haven't sold any of this? If you rotate it, regular customers will notice.

Then, this is the workroom.

Look at all the sinks.

So, this is the little kitchenette in a corner where they make the tea and stuff for the tea room. And, those are the stairs to the apt.

And, after a long day, you climb the stairs home.

Here we are.

Comfortable living room.

Nice large kitchen. Look at the ceiling. No dishwasher? After being in the store all day, you have to come up here, cook and wash dishes, too?

Nice bath. Very pretty.

The primary bedroom has an alcove.

In the attic, there's storage.

The gardens are absolutely beautiful.

How pretty.

The wedding area.

The name of the business is Lavender & Lace.

How the house looked originally.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/130-Bridgeton-Pike-Mantua-NJ-08051/2052976688_zpid/

[coldfanbou]

Presents

I got the idea earlier, and Nayeon happened to post something I could use, so I took it as a sign. So we have a soft Nayeon smut for this week.

Length 1.8K

Nayeon x Mreader

Sitting on the floor, you have the pieces of your Christmas tree arranged around you as you assemble it. Nayeon looks on from the kitchen, her hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea. You glance at her, noticing her smile. “This would be a lot faster if you helped me, you know.” 

“I like watching you work. You’re so big and strong.” You shake your head at the compliment. The praise was meant to make you drop your request.

“I’ll build it, but you have to put the lights on it.” Glancing back at Nayeon, you see her pout before she fills her cheeks with air. It was cute and made you chuckle. “You have to do something, Nayeon. So just get the lights and all that ready, will you?” Nayeon puts down her cup and heads to the storage cupboards, looking for the box of Christmas lights from last year. After grabbing them, she brings the rest of the tree decorations. You finish putting the tree together. It was bare, not having any leaves on it. 

You turn your head in her direction as she brings in the decorations. You smile; Nayeon had put one of the garlands around her neck and the lights around her body. “Do you like your present?” You laugh as you walk over to her. 

“It’s the best present I could ask for.” You pull on the garland, making Nayeon come to you. She wraps her arms around you as you embrace. You give her a little kiss on the forehead and are about to let her go when she pulls you back in.

“No! Right here!” She whines, pointing at her lips. You give Nayeon a proper kiss, pressing your lips against hers. You feel her arms get a little tighter as she holds you in place. You hold onto her waist, feeling her slowly loosen her grip on you. You break apart and see the satisfied smirk on her face. “There, all better.” You shake your head and pat hers before walking over to the cup of tea she left out. Nayeon starts layering the garlands on the tree before beginning with the lights. The tree already had lights on the end of the branches, but the plain white light coming from them didn’t feel very festive. Nayeon kept the garland around her neck, combined with her fuzzy hat; it was a cute image. You pull out your phone and take pictures of her as she puts on the lights. You’ll keep them as funny memories. 

Once Nayeon has finished with all the lights, you walk back to her, putting your arm around her shoulder and taking in the sight of your tree. You give Nayeon a kiss on the cheek and tell her she did a fantastic job. You notice she got a bit sweaty putting the lights on and ask her if the garland caused all that. Nayeon punches your shoulder in response. “And what’s my gift, mister? I deserve something nice for all the hard work I put in.”

“Well, I’m not sure you deserve a gift. You’ve been very naughty this year.” You reply, giving Nayeon a spank. She opens her mouth wide and sees the look on your face. She immediately understands what you’re doing. 

“I promise to be a good girl from now on.” She says in a sickly sweet voice. 

“You’ll have to convince me that you can be a good girl, Nayeon.” 

Nayeon takes off her fuzzy hat, throwing it on the couch before getting on her knees. “Let me show you how good I can be.” She says while pulling down your pants. She pulls your cock, and gives it a couple of strokes. As it comes to life, Nayeon spits on her hand and begins her handjob. She moves from base to head slowly, her big, soft hands wrapping around your shaft. “Am I a good girl yet?” You shake your head and grunt, Nayeon’s handjobs were the best, and you thoroughly enjoyed them. After hearing that, Nayeon stopped stroking your cock as she reached the head. She moves her thumb over the tip and rubs it, making small circular movements. It makes you groan, more so when you feel Nayeon’s tongue at the base of your shaft. It was warm and coated your shaft in saliva as she moved her way up. Once Nayeon reached the head, she took her hand off it, letting it slap onto her awaiting tongue. She takes the head into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it slowly as she stroked your cock. 

You place your hand on her head, guiding her as she bobs her head. “You’re earning that present right now.” You feel Nayeon’s lips form a smile before she refocuses. When you look down, you can see her small mouth wrapped tightly around your cock. You start to move your hips, letting her head remain in place. You push your cock down her throat, and the tightness of it makes you groan. Knowing she needed to breathe, you pull back. Nayeon takes a few deep breaths before opening her mouth and sticking her tongue out, waiting patiently for you to put it back in. You slide your cock back into Nayeon’s mouth; her tongue runs along the underside of your cock. You moan Nayeon’s name as you reach her throat again. You start thrusting, Nayeon’s saliva coats your cock. It collects at her lips and runs down her chin when you push back in. Nayeon moves her hand under her skirt, moving her finger along her folds through her panties. A wet spot quickly develops. Nayeon begins to look at you with hungry eyes. You both know you’re close to cumming. Your cock is starting to throb. Nayeon places her hand on your thigh, pulling you in.

You moan Nayeon’s name again before shoving your cock down her throat. Your cum shoots straight down her throat. Nayeon’s muffled moans are still loud as she goes through her orgasm. Her panties are soaked through, her nectar staining them. 

As you pull out of Nayeon, you take the time to slap her tongue with your cock. “Thank you for the present.” Nayeon moans as she wipes the saliva from her chin. “Do you have any more for me? Because I have a present for you.” Nayeon falls onto her back and pulls up her skirt, revealing to you her wet panties. Nayeon grabs the bottom of her shirt and takes it off. Her breasts are now free, and you grow hard again. Her beautiful mounds seemed to grow in the past few years. You crawl over Nayeon until you reach her tits; you squeeze the left and run your tongue over the right. Nayeon’s gasps turn into moans. She holds you to her chest with one arm while the other tries to get her skirt off. You help her as best as you can, leaving Nayeon naked on the floor.

You slowly align yourself with Nayeon and press your cock against her entrance. She whispers into your ear to do it. A second later, you’re driving your cock deep inside of Nayeon. Her pussy welcomes you, gripping you tightly as you push deeper and deeper. Once you’re buried inside Nayeon, you kiss her. She returns it, moving her tongue along your lips. You place your hands along her thighs, giving them rough squeezes as you pull out and thrust back in. Nayeon moans into the kiss, her legs wrapping around you. You break the kiss and move to her neck, giving it small licks. You feel Nayeon’s walls squeeze your cock when you lap at her neck. When you look at her face, you see her biting her bottom lip with her eyes closed. You hadn’t noticed her moans go quiet. She’s trying to keep her voice down.

“Let me hear you.” You whisper into her ear. Nayeon releases her voice, and you hear her beautiful moans. They’re constant and powerful as you slam yourself into her. Nayeon pulls you in close. You feel her walls constrict around your cock, rubbing every part of it. You groan, the pleasure filling your body. “I’m going to cum, Nayeon.” Nayeon nods her head, giving you the go-ahead to cum inside her. You drive yourself back inside her, filling her up before you explode inside her. Your hot cum fills her pussy. Nayeon’s cunt, tightens around you, milking your cock.

You remained attached to Nayeon until both orgasms passed. You pull out slowly and see the mess you’ve made. Cum leaks out of Nayeon’s cunt, her nectar mixing with it. The sight makes you get hard again. You pull Nayeon up and place her on your lap as you sit on the couch. You spread her legs and ram your cock back into her. She moans loudly, “I just came, hold on.” You were both sensitive, but you didn’t care. You reach for her mounds, squeezing one in your hand as you use the other to hold onto Nayeon’s waist. You buck your hips, moving your cock inside Nayeon. It rubs against her G-spot and makes her scream. Nayeon is resting against your body, tired. As you thrust, she lets out more moans, and her cunt grows tighter with each thrust. You play with Nayeon’s tits at the same time, massaging them and pinching her nipples. Nayeon turns her head to the side and asks you for a kiss. You give it to her as you continue to use her body. The kiss muffles your moans. You feel Nayeon nearing climax and get closer to it. You pull on Nayeon’s nipples as you bury yourself inside her again. 

You trigger Nayeon’s orgasm with yours. Your cum floods her cunt again, painting her walls white as it rushes into her womb. Nayeon’s walls hold your cock tightly, not wanting to let a single drop escape. Nayeon slowly rocks her hips as you move to lay on your side. You move your hands to Nayeon’s stomach, holding her close as both of you look at your Christmas tree. You keep yourself inside Nayeon past your orgasm, letting her act as a cock warmer. 

“Thanks for the present.” She mumbles, turning her head slightly to get a look at you. You kiss the back of her head in response. “You did get me an actual present, though, right?” Nayeon’s concern for a physical present makes you chuckle.

“Of course I did. You’re my little bunny. I wouldn’t forget to get you a Christmas gift.” You and Nayeon continue to stare at the christmas tree.  “You got me a gift, right?” There’s a moment of silence between your question and when Nayeon answers.

“I’m your present.” She says. You shake your head. You knew she would answer like that. Tired from your fun, the two of you drift off to sleep on the couch; you’d clean everything up later.

[fatkish]

Hey hey I was wondering if you could do a aizawa with his teen daughter who just found out she was pregnant and how he and her deal with everything

[Since Anon didn’t specify whether the daughter was impregnated by choice, I’m going to go a darker route and say that the reader was r~~~d by their ex (they were together at the time, but they broke up after the reader found out their boyfriend assaulted them in their sleep) and although they are upset about the situation, they can’t bring themselves to terminate the baby.]

Aizawa x Teen Daughter Reader: Teenage Pregnancy

You and your boyfriend had a really good relationship going. You both had agreed to save sex for when you were out of Highschool and both had stable jobs

At least, that’s what you thought

You were 17 years old when you got ‘sick’. Constantly throwing up in the mornings and certain smells made you puke.

Aizawa had noticed this and hoped it was just the flu but decided to be safe and went to buy Pregnancy tests and left them on your bed with a note saying:

“I picked these up for you, I promise I won’t be angry or upset with you if you’re pregnant. You’re old enough to know that every action has consequences. Just know that I’m here to help in any way I can.

Love, Dad”

When you missed your period you decided to take the tests. Needless to say they were positive.

When Aizawa heard you crying through the bathroom door, his heart slightly broke, so he tried to talk to you

“Sweetheart, are you going to be able to come out and talk to me? I know that you’re upset but please know that I’m not going to be mad at you or scold you. You knew that this was going to be something that could happen when you had sex”

Cue the reader crying even harder. That’s when Aizawa knew, he f~~~ed up.

Oh, oh this is much worse then he could have possibly imagined. His heart broke in two and he felt a simmering of rage start to boil in his gut

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry, forget what I said, you didn’t choose this but I promise I’m going to be here and help you no matter what you choose to do.”

Eri was awake and heard the commotion and asked about what was going on. When Aizawa tried to explain what was happening that’s when you exited the bathroom with a positive test

You knelt down and did your best to explain to Eri what was happening and what it meant. When you saw the look of wonder and excitement on her sweet little face, that was when you decided to keep the baby

Aizawa had called Mic and let him know what was happening as well as Midnight. They both drove over and stayed with you (Midnight didn’t die in this story) whilst Aizawa left to go deal with your Ex

First Trimester:

Aizawa, Mic and Nemuri are there for everything. Aizawa is there at every checkup and has a picture of the ultrasound in his wallet

He started getting things early and stocking up on necessities like diapers, bottles, wipes, etc.

Started to baby-proof the house, helped get a crib set up as well as the nursery

Second Trimester:

He started preparing for you to be homeschooled during maternity leave and made sure you would still be on track to graduate

He and Mic start to buy gender neutral baby clothes, books, toys, etc.

He takes you to every appointment

Third Trimester:

Oh boy, he nervous

His students hear about it and hold a baby shower for you. Each member of class 1A gets you of the baby something. Some of their gifts include: an All Might and Eraserhead onesies, cute baby clothes, some books, a baby food processor and recipe book with storage containers, maternity friendly tea, stuffed toys, etc.

As you start to show more, Nemuri takes you shopping for clothes

Aizawa and Mic surprised you with a painted nursery as well as a car seat

Birth:

Aizawa never had so many mixed emotions all at once

When he got the call at school that you went into labor, he dropped his things and immediately headed to the hospital

Grabs the to go bag as an after thought

Eri calls the baby her little brother and promises to be the best big sister ever

Every milestone, Aizawa is taking pictures of

Of course, uncle Mic helps out with the baby and everything

[sk-lumen]

How to declutter for a fresh New Year 🫧

The very first time I got into the spirit of minimalism and decluttering physically, mentally and emotionally, it was challenging as I still had a lot of resistance and attachment to things.

I started this during winter many years back, and it's becoming easier and easier. Not just as a great practice before the new year, but also as a habit throughout the year or whenever I feel like it.

When I started seeing how the mental load, the brain fog and distraction and worry... shifted into peace, relief, joy and mental clarity every time I let go of things, I understood why it's important to not be a hoarder. Physically or otherwise. (Of course this has nuance to it and it can be a privilege to be able to do it, but that's for a different topic.)

Here are ways you can start the new year fresh (or just clear the energy any time you need):

Online / social media

delete old files or photos you don't need from your devices or cloud

unfollow accounts on social media that don't inspire/uplift you

delete old messages

archive or delete conversations you no longer want to see

block or delete numbers that are affecting your mental health

Home

throw away things that are broken or falling apart (clothes, items, lingerie, etc)

donate or sell clothes you no longer use or want

sell items you don't use anymore but which are perfectly functional (hair straightener, lamp, etc)

throw away or repurpose gift bags, bags, cards

put away items you still need but are not using in this particular season - ie. put away into storage any winter clothing during summer, it's just cluttering your hangers

reorganize your home, your room, your bathroom, move furniture around or replace decor to give it a fresh exciting new feel and remove any stale energies

Physically

salt bath with essential oils to release any tension or toxins

lemon water, ginger and turmeric shots for cleansing

drink plenty of water or green tea or mint tea for improved digestion

Mentally

dedicate a journal to write down tasks, lists, to vent any negativity, or just thought-dump at the end of the day in order to feel lighter and clear-headed

have a calendar or agenda to note any important things, to lighten the mental load

say things that keep bothering you for days/weeks, do things you've been antsy to get done for days/weeks

Emotionally

journaling is an amazing way to offload emotionally

going to therapy

talking to a friend or family

cultivating healthy boundaries and communicating your needs

Spiritually

do a guided meditation to clear your head

spend time in nature, in the forest, by the sea, away from noise and crowds to clear your energy

you can also use crystals like crystal quartz to cleanse your aura

[sourpatchys]

•Shigaraki Headcannons•

Some SFW❤️ and NSFW❤️‍🔥 headcannons for Skigaraki Tomura, this is my first time writing for this character so I hope it’s not OOC haha (though I’ve been writing for emotionally unavailable and touched starved men for years)

Warning: 18+ do NOT interact if you are a minor (this goes for all my explicit works) there will be a warning before the NSFW content starts if that’s not your cup of tea <3

Reader: this is written with a *female reader* in mind.

A/N: I know this isn’t usually who I write for, but honestly I think you all saw this coming at one point or another! I needed a way to get out of my writing funk and Shigaraki seems like the perfect candidate.

SFW❤️

Shigaraki isn’t exactly what you’d call the perfect partner.

He can be loud and demanding, he has no idea how to interact with other people, and there’s been a giant learning curve for the both of you.

If he happens to get too angry at you, or snaps at you in a way he finds himself regretting (he regrets it every single time don’t be fooled) he will immediately shower you in gifts.

While touch is his love language, he isn’t quite sure how to cuddle your problems with him away, apologizing isn’t, and never will be, something he thrives at.

So instead he looks into your search history, looking at all the things you’ve thought about buying, and just goes crazy.

Your love story isn’t as cut and dry as most. Honestly, when you met he had every intention of killing you where you stood, but he didn’t— instead choosing to keep you captive, and somehow you managed to force your way into his heart.

You do actually have your own room, though now it’s mostly used as a storage closet for all the apology gifts. If you’re really mad at him you sleep in there— and that’s when he knows he’s fucked up big time.

Though as the months go by and you learn each other limits (as he learns your limits) the bed in your room gets colder and colder.

As harsh as he can be verbally, he’s never once gotten physical. The whole reason you have an entire room to yourself is because he was too afraid to let you sleep with him. The first month of the two of you being official, you hadn’t even touched.

Eventually you had enough and put in an anonymous request with some hero costume designers, getting some specially made gloves so his pinkie would be covered without the threat of the fabric disintegrating.

He told you he’d never be caught dead wearing them.

He lied.

When he got to hold your hand for the first time, his entire nervous system shut down. He never wanted to let go.

He doesn’t wear them around the others, he’s not a fan of PDA, and if he ever feels like someone’s coming onto you he just kills them.

Out of sight out of mind.

He’s a really gentile lover, In the time you spend alone with him you’re always glued to his chest or being littered with kisses.

His favorite thing to do is to bite the tip of your nose or the shell of your ear and watch you try to pull away while you complain and pout

Even with how much love he has for you he’s still a sadist at heart.

He often has nightmares about you dying. He’s never had the chance to love someone like he loves you, and the fear of you being taken away from him is too much to bear.

So occasionally you’ll be put on house arrest so he knows you’re okay no matter what he’s doing or where he is.

If he’s out in missions while you’re at home, he always keeps his eyes open for things you might enjoy.

It started off with sea glass, some of the shards he’d find reminded him of the shine in your eyes

Other times it would be flowers

One time you complained to him about not having a pet, so he got you a moss ball

He didn’t want a stupid fish stinking up his room and he definitely didn’t want anything that could make noise

He soon learned the moss ball was a horrible idea though, because now every time he left you, he had to find some sort of material for you to make it a new hat. (You never asked him too)

The two of you don’t share the typical “I love yous” in relationships. He isn’t good at expressing any emotion that isn’t negative, and you don’t want to be over bearing when you know it’s hard for him ti say it back

Sometimes if he’s feeling really good, he’ll write the words out with the tip of his finger in the back of your hand.

And he’ll never admit it out loud, but he does it every night on your back once you fall asleep as a reminder to himself that you’re still here.

—

NSFW❤️‍🔥

Sex was complicated

Tomura was a virgin, he’d never cared enough to try before you came along, and even if he had he knew he’d just destroy whoever he tried with.

It was actually a pretty rare occurrence, your sex life was healthy, but it took awhile for him to feel safe touching you everywhere you wanted to be touched, you still felt fragile in his hands, even with the aid of the gloves you’d given him.

Though there was nothing he was against trying. No position was too bold, no act was too dangerous.

Once he found what he liked— he went all in.

His absolute favorite thing to do was pleasuring you.

He loved your harsh breaths, your whimpering.

He loved the fact that he could overpower you and gain complete control without even trying.

He would always start at your throat, nipping along the sides making sure you knew who was in charge and what he was going to do to you

He always made sure to leave a messy trail wherever he went, his tongue constantly darting out and tasting your sweet soft skin

Your breasts were his favorite, no matter how big or small, he loved leaving marks there, in a place only he ever got to see, a strong reminder that you belonged to him and him alone.

The malleable flesh always fit perfectly in his hands, he was sure they were made just for him

By the time he got down to your panties, your cunt would be pulsating and screaming to be touched

The way he would proceed would depend on how his day went

If he was pissed that day, he took time making you unwind, keeping your panties on, moving them ever so slightly to the side and blowing tiny puffs of air right where you wanted him most

He wanted you to squirm, to beg for release, dipping his tongue on every part of you but the part you craved, driving you insane with anticipation and want

He never went down on you properly when he was pissed, he never had too— he would tease and tease until the simple act of touching your inflamed clit drove you to finish

He always made sure you finished first, after all, you were his priority.

If he had a good day, he would eat you out until you saw stars

Ripping your panties down your thighs as if they were the plague, spreading you open and eating you as if you were the first meal he’d eaten in weeks

He craved the taste of you

He was almost positive the simple act of you comming in his mouth made him stronger.

If he could get over his anxiety’s of hurting you, he’d hold you down day and night, lapping you up until you couldn’t handle it anymore and begged him to stop

It was like a drug, a drug he loved to participate in.

When it came to intercourse, missionary was his favorite.

Seeing your face contort with pleasure as he fucked you senseless

The way your tits moved with his thrusts, it would be enough to drive any man mad.

He always made sure you were taken care of, weather he was rough, soft, or both, you always got the princess treatment

He would always return with a damp wash cloth, running it’s rough surface over your body, wiping away any trace of your activity

You were his prized possession, he needed to be sure you were polished to perfection— he simply didn’t trust you with that job. So he took it on himself.

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 15

Figured I would go ahead and get this part out since it was already halfway written. Just some super fluffy and domestic stuff since I've been in my feels lately.

Also. JJk fandom. The name is for you. It's pretty obvious.

btw. I'm running out of OPLA Gifs of Mihawk, so you might start seeing some anime gifs.

Warnings! kissing is all.

Song reader is singing! Here!

Masterlist

Time passes as time does. Weeks turn into months since the day Dracule stumbled upon your island. He visits when he can, usually staying three or four days at a time, every couple of weeks. During that time, you and Mihawk have grown closer, to the point that the two of you were in each other's thoughts at every waking moment. There was nothing in this world that would keep Dracule away from his Snow Angel. 

Today Dracule had a rather unusual gift, so his ship was packed with the things necessary to take care of it. Dracule dearly hoped that you would like this one. He surely did not. Or maybe it didn't like him. 

As the months passed by, Dracule gifted you many things, some for you and some for your home. The three chickens, one rooster, and two hens had arrived not long after Mihawk had figured out your true heritage. Your garden expanded another four plots to accommodate all of the new seeds and saplings the warlord brought you. He had even gone so far as to help you build a pen for the goat Dracule had brought along on one memorable trip. The poor man had not been happy and made you help him clean his ship. 

The best gift of all was being able to finally meet Perona after weeks of speaking over the phone. The pink girl had quickly become your closest female friend, and it felt incredible to have someone to speak to about the girlier things in your life. There were some subjects that Mihawk just didn't get. 

Thankfully, Mihawk arrives at your island before he decides to toss your gift overboard. He gathers his things and then flashes off the ship, making sure the ocean doesn't touch the wiggling body in his arms. Golden eyes glare up at him and he glares right back down, and the warlord swears this thing is worse than the goat. Dracule can hear music pouring out of the cottage when he gets close enough. 

And then there suddenly appears before me 

The only one my arms will ever hold

I heard somebody whisper “Please adore me” 

And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold

Mihawk huffs at the lyrics. His timing was far too good. The closer he gets, he begins to hear your voice as well, and Dracule would much rather hear you sing to him than some man who is long dead. He would stand and listen if his gift wasn't threatening to claw his eyes out. 

The warlord steps through the open door of the cottage, and his shoulder slumps as soon as he enters the humble abode. This place is his home away from home, and it never fails to bring him peace. 

Dracule finds you in the back storage room, a crate full of the older and unneeded stuff you had lying around. After not having anything but the couch for Perona to sleep over on, you had decided that it was about time to clean out the back room for her. Or anyone else that didn’t want to kill you first thing when they washed up on your island.

Blue moon

Now I’m no longer alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own 

He leans in the doorway, watching you finish up dumping a broken oar into the crake. Mhawk knows that you see him when you jump and turn to look at him with narrowed eyes and a cute little sneer. 

“Bastard. You scared me,” you grumble and then you cross the floor to carefully slide his hat off, holding it to the side as your free hand slides into his hair and brings him down for a sweet kiss, “Welcome home, dear.”

Mihawk hums into the kiss, gently nipping your bottom lip, and then sliding his tongue inside your mouth when you open up for him. You taste like sweet chamomile, and it leaves a soft smile on his face when he pulls away to gaze down at you, “It is good to be back, Angel.” 

The two of you share several more sweet kisses before the wriggling bundle in his arms finally gets your attention. You pull away and look down to see a very angry feline staring up at you. You break immediately at the sight of its pitiful gold gaze and hand Mihawk his hat back so that you can scoop the kitten up.  

“Where did you find him?” You ask and have already abandoned Mihawk in favor of giving the orange tabby in your arms all of your attention. The kitten purrs happily when you scratch behind his ears. 

Dracule glares at the creature, and the kitten glares right back from where it is happily curled up against your breasts. Mihawk doesn’t know how much he likes this idea anymore. 

“I stopped for a resupply before I came here. There was a fishmonger that had chased it off, and I knew that you would give it a good home,” Mihawk explains. He sighs when you baby talk at the kitten, not giving half the attention he deserves for bringing the little demon to you, but your happiness was definitely worth it, “I have what you’ll need to care for it in my ship.” 

The grin you grant him is worth it too, and Dracule can’t help himself when he crosses the room to press you against the wall, lips connecting with yours in a kiss a little more fierce than the ones earlier. Mihawk has missed you, far more than usual for some reason. You moan into his mouth, eyes sliding shut when Dracule slides a hand around your jaw, angling you just how he likes.

A loud yowl interrupts the two of you, and Mihawk pulls away to sneer down at the kitten who proceeds to hiss at him. You laugh, seeing his jealousy clear as day, and over a cat of all things!

“I guess we should name him, huh?” You say and it’s your turn to be on the receiving end of that sneer. You scoff at him and lift the kitten, dangling him in front of Dracule, “You found him, so you get to name him.”

Dracule scoffs and turns on his heel, stripping off his coat to hang on the mantlepiece, quickly followed by his hat, “He is your cat, so you are the one naming the demon,” He dismisses and stalks to the kitchen, but you only pout and follow after him. 

“Nu-uh. That’s not how this works. You saved him, you name him.” You weren’t about to back down on this. The kitten mewls and you snuggle it back to your front, tucking the fuzz ball under your chin. 

Mihawk ignores you in favor of pouring himself a glass of wine and snacking on the green grapes you must have harvested earlier today. He feels you slide up beside him, and chances a glance down to see his darling staring up at him with wide, pleading eyes, “Ugh. Fine. Give me a moment to think.” 

You cheer at your victory and patiently wait for Dracule to decide on a name. He does you the courtesy of actually thinking of a name and smirks when he settles on a proper name for the hellspawn.

“Sukuna,” Mihawk decides and you repeat the name, getting a feel for it. You don’t know the story behind the name, but it must be an interesting one with the way Mihawk is smirking at the kitten. 

“I think that’s a good name,” You agree and scratch Sukuna’s little ears again, melting when the kitten only purrs louder and snuggles close. You giggle when you catch Mihawk glaring at the kitten again, “Let’s find Hank. I think he’ll like his new friend.” 

Hank turned out to not like his new housemate very much. Sukuna had taken one look at the big hound and had puffed up, long fur bristling so much that he resembled nothing but a cotton ball. Hank had run from the tiny ball of anger straight to Mihawk, cowering behind the man, and whining whenever Sukuna got too close. 

“Nothing but a coward,” Dracule says, but he is already kneeling to give into Hank’s puppy dog eyes and give him some pets. Sukuna stalks from one end of the room to the other, fluffy tail straight up in the air as he surveys his new home. 

Mihawk straightens up when he sees you approaching. You settle in his lap, hands cradling his handsome face as you lean in to press your lips to his brow. Mihawk grasps you by the hips, tugging you flush against his front and holding you close. He noses along your jaw, “Are you happy with your gift, sweet thing?” He rumbles quietly. 

You nod, “Very happy, Mihawk,” you assure him and settle more fully in his lap, letting the man under you take your weight. He massages your hips, causing a soft sigh to slip from between your lips, “I missed you.”

“Did you, Darling?” Mihawk breathes and pulls you down to press his lips to yours for half a second, “What all did you do while I was gone? I see that you already started to clean up, even though I told you to wait for me.” 

You shrug helplessly, “I couldn’t help it. I was really bored, and we already decided what needed to be thrown out, so,” You trail off and lean forward to snuggle against his chest, “You can help in the garden later?” 

Mihawk huffs and presses a kiss to your hair. He watches as Sukuna chases after Hank’s tail, lips twisting in satisfaction to see the two animals getting along better. His arms tighten around you, and you have relaxed completely in his grasp. 

“Whatever you wish, dear one.” Dracule agrees and says nothing when he feels you grin against his neck.    

@writingmysanity @kenkenmaaa @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar

[sleepyomi]

gift giving with the hq!! boys

a/n: y’all we’ve reached the last first part of the love language series (giving)!!! I’m so excited to be able to start on part two of acts of service, physical touch, and quality time after this. the boys we have today are what I loving refer to as the gentle giants featuring short king daichi because they scream chivalry which makes me scream haha.

ushijima —

it had started during the winter of his third year when ushijima realized just how much the cold affected you. his own schedule and conditioning was focused around him gaining strength and maintaining his health but yours wasn’t. upon realizing this, he had taken it upon himself to make sure you were well taken care of. obviously you could take care of yourself but what kind of boyfriend would he be if he didn’t make you you’re favorite tea when you were congested? or pack you a bento the mornings you had important assignments since he knew there was a chance you’d forget, and carry your preferred lotion and chapstick in his bag since he knew the cold dried out your hands and lips? a shitty one that was what. and if he occasionally kept his favorite hoodie that he knew you loved in his bag along with treats he didn’t eat no one would be able to prove it.

daichi —

with daichi you occupy a good portion of his mind, which means he can’t help but grab your favorite snacks when he swings by the convenience store on his way to picking up his younger siblings. it always puts a smile on your face anyway so why not? if he just happens to do it more often then he previously did, that’s no ones business but his own. if it happens to coincide when you have a bad day too? no one could prove it. on top of that though, when the summer comes to an end, he begins packing an extra jacket in his bag for the even slightest chance your cold, happily giving it you even knowing there is slim to no chance of him getting it back.

aone —

with aone being at the height of his high school volleyball career, it had started when he just wanted to let you know he was thinking of you. a small keychain with your favorite animal on your desk when you’d both had a busy week and couldn’t meet up. a small drawing of a turtle giving you a thumbs up on a post it note the morning you had a speech due. your favorite hoodie of his in your locker the day after you walked home together and had needed to use his. he loved being able to do small things that would make you smile and know he loved you when he wasn’t able to say it himself. the way you always texted him a selfie with the item didn’t help to deter further attempts though it did cause him to quickly lose storage in his phone.

asahi —

hand made gifts all the time. he enjoys making things for you to enjoy that he made himself so it’s like you have a token of his love with you at all times and also because it makes it obvious who made it. he always tries super hard on his gifts whether it’s something material or not. making you a lunch with his is something that he enjoys so much it has become habit and he cherishes making you scarfs, hats, and other articles of clothing as the awed smile on your face when you ask, “did you make this?” with wonder in your voice gets to him everytime. you don’t need to know that he started it back when you were both keeping your relationship a secret and he wanted to see you in his clothes, it ended up working out in the end.

do not edit, claim, or repost my works as per @sleepyomi

[lewkwoodnco]

omg hi you said you were opening requests for lockwood in general and not just songfics so i was wondering if you could write one where lockwood gets hurt in a mission trying to protect reader (they’re dating) and when they get back to portland row she gets mad at him and they have a really bad argument that ends up with the reader saying she doesn’t love him anymore (shes lying) and wants to leave lockwood and co !! (if it’s possible for you to end it on a happy note it would be amazing but if it’s hard to write there’s no pressure)

only love can hurt like this - Lockwood x Reader

Psst I now have a taglist! yippee!

A/N: okay SO I know the title is from a song but it’s nottt a song fic and gosh this made me realise what a crutch music has been in my writing 😭 if any of y’all have more non-songfic requests I would rlly appreciate it 🙏the beginning's a lil fluffy hehe, inspired by this post! P.S. condolences for shadow and bone </3, wc 4.7k She was in the kitchen when George and Lockwood returned from their case, dusty and exhausted, and fixed up some tea for them. George took his tea up to his room with a mumbled thanks and Lockwood pressed a distracted kiss to her temple as he pulled out the biscuit tin. She made a calculatedly casual remark about going down to the basement to help Lucy sort out their storage, at which he rolled his eyes and pulled her into the chair next to his.

But that was about an hour ago, and now she could hear the tired flipping of pages and stacking of files from the library, where he was buckling down to fight the growing pile of paperwork on his desk. He's facing away from her when she steps in, and from the looks of it, the paperwork seems to be winning.

"I know you wouldn't want to make a fuss..."

He stiffens, and when he turns there's an incredulous tilt to his eyebrows and the ghost of a smile tugging on his lips. She keeps a hand over the candle's flame as she walks in balancing a card and cupcake on her palm.

"How did you find out?"

"I badgered Barnes for your birth certificate. Took me months."

"That can't be legal."

"Don't think he minded much in the end. Anyway, the card was like a pound and the cupcake is a gift from Arif so you can't refuse either of them."

He smiles despite himself, glancing through the card with a bemused interest, red glitter coating his fingertips.

"Well, I didn't know I was your 'precious sweetheart.'"

"Oh, shut up. It was that or a condolences card."

"Hmm, this card really is the gift that keeps giving. 'To my dearest darling...'"

"Maybe I should have had a look through."

"...blah blah blah 'perfect day for my adorable sweetheart -'"

"What on earth kind of a shop is Arif keeping?"

"'Happy birthday handsome'?"

"I think we're done with the card!" She snatches it from him and stuffs it under the large stack of papers on his desk, face burning, but it still takes him a while to laugh it out of the system. It's an endearing sight to see him so carefree, if exhausted, and even after months of dating she watches him shyly through her eyelashes. His haggard face makes it easy to see him as far more than only a year older, but for now it's enough that he's laughing and alive.

"First and last time I trust Arif's judgement on birthday cards."

That sets him off again, though he has the decency to try and choke it down, but even his suppressed amusement is infectious enough to make her lips twitch. She hadn't realised what a stirring experience it would be to watch him celebrate another year alive. He looks like he wants to say something, but she's not sure she can bear it.

"Y/-"

"Shh, just blow the candle out. Wait! You have to make a wish."

He sighs dramatically, but acquiesces, briefly muttering invisible words under his breath with closed eyes before blowing out the candle. She tries to match the fluttering of his lips to words but nothing quite fits, and she half wonders if he's spouting incomprehensible gibberish just to appease her. It isn't until he pulls out the candle and jabs her with it that she realises she was staring.

"You want to know what I wished for?"

"It's killing me."

"I -"

"No! You can't tell me or it won't come true."

"Y/N, it's a candle in a cupcake."

"I'm not putting up with any of your cynicism on your birthday." She thinks about the overly zealous card, and the crumbling cupcake that would be gone in a few minutes. "Should have gotten you a gift. At least a small one."

"This is perfect. Really."

"Still. Could have scrounged up a keychain, or a mug."

"What, from the kitchen? My kitchen?"

"You know me so well."

"Well," he leans back in his chair, almost superficially nonchalant. "I suppose there is one gift you could give me."

"Anything."

"What's it going to take for you to read the card out loud?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That day had a sluggish quality which made it feel like years had passed by the time they set out for their job at sprawling, if ancient, mansion on the outskirts of London. Looking up at the giant house that nearly completely blocked out the setting sun, relief over knowing where the haunting was centralised washed over her; she wasn't quite in the mood to be running up and down impractically ornate flights of stairs.

The neighbours had reported seeing a ghostly figure drifting aimlessly in one of the open-air courtyards, and occasionally it would appear on the balcony directly above the courtyard, climbing over the railing before vanishing into thin air. Lockwood and George were stationed at the courtyard, Lucy at the stairs, and she on the balcony.

She stepped onto the balcony hesitantly, eyeing a thin, jagged crack running through the stone. The house was too cavernous to be considered flimsy but some of the crumbling walls made her feel as though one good thump would bring the whole place crashing down. She started to unzip her duffel bag when an ear-splitting scream ran through the courtyard.

She jumped, her ear prickling unpleasantly. It was as though the visitor had been standing right next to her, but as her heart rate came down, she realised she wasn't even feeling chilly. She peered down, where George was squinting up at her, Lockwood already with one foot out of their chains. She shook her head, trying to muster a thumbs-up with her fumbling hands, but he was already walking towards the stairs briskly.

She wasn't sure how long it took him to reach her, but it definitely felt longer than it should have. The adrenaline from the scream had made her especially nervy, with a sickly fog of paranoia settling over her mind. Those trees seemed too lush, too dense, dark green leaves quivering under the whims of some invisible wind. She tried to think about the cupcake, and Lockwood's face when he first saw it, and it was enough to stop the balcony from dissolving under her fingertips.

But when he reached her, hair tousled, his grip on her shoulder just a little too strong to be entirely comfortable, she saw a very different version of Lockwood. His lips were moving but there was something rampant in his eyes, something that gave her pause. She glanced at the monstrous night sky, which seemed to threaten to swallow them whole, and then at the inky black heat in Lockwood’s eyes, and she suddenly felt overwhelmed by them both.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Wha - hm?"

"Are you hurt?"

“No, I’m fine. You didn't need to come up here."

His hand slipped from her shoulder, sliding down to her hand, which he stared at as if he couldn't quite understand it.

"Are you okay?"

He looked up, the furrow in his brows dissolving, though he didn't seem ready to let go of her hand yet. “Hm? Oh, yes, I'm fine. It's just...I...I could have sworn..."

“Breathe, Lockwood. You look like you’re stretched thin.”

"I'm fine," he repeated, but it's somehow more hollow than the last. Part of him turned to leave, but something made him stop. He opened his mouth, then closed it again as if he thought better of whatever he was about to say. The burning in her chest grew.

"You feel it too, don't you?"

He exhaled wearily. "He's playing tricks on us. Maybe Luce should join you here -"

"No, it's best she stay halfway. It'll be fine; we can see each other."

He nodded stiffly, before finally walking away with considerable effort. The balcony somehow felt more alive as Lockwood left, the trees rustling louder than they should as the air around her seemed to contract. It unsettled her.

Eventually the visitor made his appearance, and though her Sight wasn't the best it helped calm her nerves to have something solid to watch out for. He was in the courtyard, dodging Lockwood's salt bombs while trying to fly at George, who was desperately looking for the source. There was only so much help she could give as any flares she threw from her height were only going to hit George or Lockwood rather than the visitor, so she focused on hunting for loose panels or hidden latches in the balcony and the walls of the house from which it protruded.

When she walked back to the railing, she felt a stab of panic at the blanket of grey mist that obscured her vision of the courtyard. She gripped the railing, trying to calm down. She could still hear them, but given what Lockwood had said about the visitor playing tricks, she wasn't sure how much faith she could place in any of her senses. A crash sounded, as if one of the weaker walls had caved in, making her wince. She put her hand on her rapier, steeling herself to make the trip downstairs.

Another crash sounded, but this one seemed to resonate through the mansion's skeleton. There was an awful grinding sound and she felt the floor beneath her feet tilt. She clutched what she could reach of the balcony's doorframe, hanging on by her fingertips, not daring to even breathe as she desperately tried to plant her slippery soles onto the marble floor. Her palms were sweating, and her grip was slipping. She closed her eyes, fed up with the hallucinations, and braced herself for the fall.

Instead of the swooping sensation of falling, she feels strong fingers closing around her wrist. She opened her eyes to the sight of Lockwood pulling her to the safety with a badly scratched cheek, but otherwise unhurt. It makes her want to sob with relief, but she settles for scrabbling for his palm with numb fingers. She leans against the doorframe, reveling in the solid wall pressing against her back, though her relief was short-lived.

The visitor shrieked much closer now, startling her as she turned to watch it hurtling towards them, obsessively staring at the chalice in Lockwood's hand. The growing pit in her stomach swells as she rifles through her belt with increasing agitation, panic stabbing her in the eye with every empty pocket. Lockwood twisted his hand out of her relaxed grip, and in that split second she realised what he was about to do. He took a final step onto what was left of the balcony, and the whole structure came crashing down.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Among the roar of the rubble, she picked out what she thought was the sickening crunch of bones, and it took everything in her to fly down the stairs instead of jumping after him. Lucy was already there with George talking on a phone nearby, and their faces paled when they only saw her coming down the stairs. The three of them frantically started shifting through the rubble, yanking at the larger pieces together. She couldn't see the visitor as the dust settled, which saved her the trouble of ripping it to shreds, limb by limb.

She heard a familiar cough coming from under one of the pieces, and with strength she hadn't known that she possessed, she pulls the piece away to reveal a dusty, battered Lockwood. George and Lucy aren't far behind, quickly freeing him from the mountain of debris. This time she does cry out in relief, pressing her fingers into the skull behind his ears insistently, shaking from the blessing that it was to see him alive and breathing. He winces, and her grip on his head tightens reflexively.

"What? What hurts?"

"Your screaming, right now."

As the DEPRAC vans pulled up, George filled out the necessary paperwork on behalf of Lockwood, who was impatiently letting the paramedics check only for broken bones. As the relief of finding him alive faded, all that was left was a smarting irritation. Lockwood would forever and always remain addicted to playing the hero, she knew that, but it didn't piss her off any less, especially when he put his life on the line for it.

Once Lockwood finally managed to shrug off the last exceptionally persistent paramedic, the four of them trudged over to one of the cabs DEPRAC had flagged down for them.

"Hang on - what about the source?"

George turned and she followed his gaze to the team of DEPRAC officers delicately draping an iron net over the rubble.

"Given that it was the balcony itself, I think it's been taken care of."

As they settle into the cab, Lockwood carefully scans her face which is still as inscrutable as it was ten minutes ago. She relents, but only a little, giving his hand a light squeeze. She closes her eyes and leans her head on his shoulder, whispering quietly.

"I wish you'd let them look over you properly."

"M'alright. I can deal with a few scrapes myself. Fractures, not so much."

George's tired voice floats from the front seat.

"You better not have a concussion, idiot."

She feels him still next to her, and suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. Why couldn't he let the paramedics do their job properly? Why did he have to be so stubborn?

She thinks about a night from long ago, before they were dating and before she learnt how to bully him into taking care of himself. They had just come home from a case, and he was sitting in his room in a curious manner: staring at the wall without even realising his door was ajar, or that he was still fully clothed. The patches of skin peeking out from under his clothes were littered with scratches and cuts, but nothing major enough to warrant first aid, save for the bruise on the side of his face. She paused at his door, watching him, and wondered if he knew she was even there.

“No library?”

“Not tonight.”

She didn’t like the way he was speaking. The response wasn’t immediate, as if it had taken him a while to detangle himself from his absorbing thoughts. The tone of his voice was as cordial as always, but there was some kind of agency missing, as if he were in a trance, and it unnerved her. And yet, something tethered her to him, some desire to protect him from some violence brewing close at hand.

“You should really get some ointment on that.”

“I know.”

But he made no movement to do so, and she felt awkward leaving him alone. That was how she ended up sitting next to Lockwood on his bed as the sun started to peek in. There was a misty tinge to the first strains of light, and Lockwood looked so pale she wondered if he was fully solid. She had watched his fragile and ambivalent spirit restlessly pace in the room for the past few hours, while his corporeal form withered lifelessly, but she didn’t understand him any better.

She slipped her fingers in his own, mildly frowning, as if trying to hold on to an increasingly amorphous Lockwood. His fingers reflexively tightened around hers before relaxing just as quickly, his first movement in hours, though his face remained impasssive. His hand remained relaxed, but when she didn't pull her hand away, he allowed his thumb to rest on hers. She had felt some kind of tension then, between the part of him that wanted to drift away and the part of her holding onto him for dear life. But now, the Lockwood sitting opposite her at the kitchen table was slipping through her fingers like sand.

"Y/N, about those conflicting jobs in Hackney - do you want to split up or should I cancel?"

"I don't know, Luce. Why don't you ask Lockwood? Since he seems to always know best."

Lockwood frowns, briefly looking away from the torch George was shining into his eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She ignores him, muttering under her breath.

"God forbid someone ask him to try to stay alive."

"Will you cut it out?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, which one of us has a head injury again?"

"I'm fine."

"How dare you lie to my face?"

George clicks the torch off, hastily moving to another corner of the kitchen, while Lucy's weary drifting slows down. Lockwood still looks peeved, but there's a hint of bewilderment on his face. She sighs irritably, pressing her eyelids.

"What I mean is...you don't look fine."

"It's only a bump. Not even a concussion - George checked."

"At least let me ice it for a bit."

"Don't fuss. I'm fine. Just sit and have your tea."

I’m begging you to let me help you, she wants to say. But she doesn't, because she's tired and angry and still very much scared, so she's in no mood for tea. He glances at her face when she continued to stand, and his jaw set when he sees she's in the mood to pick a fight.

"It's like you don't even think you did anything wrong." Do you know how much that terrifies me?

"I was only doing my job as your...employer, landlord, boyfriend...one of them."

"Why must everything be so complicated with you?”

"Fine. I'm sorry I didn't want to watch you break your neck."

And I didn't want to watch the life leave your eyes. "Oh, but yours is fair game?"

He doesn't respond, and it's almost as though she can see the invisible barriers he's putting up between them. She feels a brief stab of panic that she mistakes for anger.

Don't shut me out. "And now the silent treatment! God, you're such a child."

He stops drinking his tea entirely, and it doesn't give her the satisfaction she thought it would. Between the exhaustion from the case and the frustration over the brick wall that was Lockwood, her tongue gets the better of her and she sees red.

"Sometimes I wonder how I ever loved you."

The activity in the kitchen grinds to a halt for a few, terribly long seconds, before George walks out, Lucy not-so-subtlely following him with their tea. The anger on Lockwood's face evaporates, leaving an irritatingly smooth expression of mild surprise. She Silence suspends on the precariously thin string connecting them. He waits, but she doesn't backtrack. She turns away, unable to bear the look on his face.

"I'm...I'm sorry you feel that way."

"I've been thinking about leaving for a while."

"...leave...Portland Row? And go where?"

"I don't know. Anywhere's better than here." Anywhere I don't have to see you make stupid, reckless decisions because of me. Anywhere I don't have to look at you nursing fractures in barely-healed bones. Anywhere I don't have to watch you dither for peace you can never quite seem to reach.

He doesn't say anything, and she's not sure if there's anything he could say. She leaves the kitchen, dragging her feet up to their shared room. She empties the contents of her drawers and closet into a bag as if on autopilot, as she hid in some dark corner of her mind, waiting, begging for some force of God to tell her to stop. Her bags get packed, she gets undressed, and it is only after she turns out the light that she lets herself grieve the life she's leaving behind.

She's looking out of the window when the door swings open, warm light from the hallway spilling into the dark, illuminating her barren nightstand. He pauses at the threshold but she remains completely still, and after a moment or two he steps in, closing the door behind him. He shuffles about, getting ready for bed in the dark, and doesn't look at her face even when climbing into bed. She wants to tell him to try to get some sleep, but she isn't sure if it's her place, so the words remain unsaid.

He was so close she could just...extend her arm...brush her fingers on his back...clumsily soothe the unfettered demons which came out at night. There's a heady oppressiveness to the dark which weighs her down, not as cool and fluid as it normally is, waxing and waning around their shifting bodies and burning skin. The moonlight reflected on the pale patch of skin above the collar of his t-shirt, skin which looked like liquid glass. Close. She was so close to this delicate, temporal force which wrought a religious kind of faith from her hopelessly melancholic soul.

What a misery it was to love.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She wakes up to the sun streaming over the rumpled sheets of the empty bed. She sits up, the house significantly quieter than it usually is at this time of morning. In the kitchen, George is standing by the toaster and Lucy's pulling out the sugar bowl, making tea. Lockwood's sitting stiffly in his chair, and he looks much more whole in the daylight, though oddly fragile with the protection of his suit stripped away. Their eyes instinctively meet when she walks in, after which they avoid each other's gaze until much later.

She gently takes her mug from Lucy, brushing off her protests with a distracted pat on her hand. The emptiness from last night hasn't faded, and she puts together a cup of tea and collects 2 pieces of toast mechanically.

Without thinking, she swaps the mug Lucy's placed in front of Lockwood with her own, only realising what she's done when she feels three pairs of eyes on her, her own eyes fixed on the mug in front of him. She clears her throat awkwardly.

"Lockwood doesn't take sugar with his tea."

Lucy probably mumbles an apology, but she isn't entirely sure given how all she can think about is how close his fingers are to hers. She wills her hand to let go of the mug, and it takes a moment to reluctantly cooperate.

"Thank you."

Lucy takes advantage of her pause to place her mug next to his, so she hesitantly takes her seat next to him. She picks up a piece of toast and starts buttering it while Lockwood talks in an unfamiliar voice.

"So...any plans on where you're going?"

"I've got an aunt in Brixton. Might stay there for a while, until I sort out something more permanent."

He gives a half-nod, as if he hasn't bothered to listen to her words too closely. "Well, you're more than welcome to...stay, at least for a while. If you'd like."

"I...don't think that's a good idea."

"I see."

She can't bear the way his face falls before he attempts an unconvincing smile. It makes her heart ache. Even though they're sitting close enough to have their knees occasionally brush, here in this grimly-lit, transparent kitchen, she's never felt more disconnected from Lockwood. She wants to reach out, slip her fingers in his, btu all of a sudden she's paralysed by doubt and she doesn't know how. She slips the buttered toast into his plate. His lips quirk into a faint cursory smile, but it's gone as soon as he turns back to his plate, a vaguely miserable twist to his pallid lips. They eat in silence, and it's the hardest breakfast she's had to endure at Portland Row.

In another life I’m easier to love. I’m less complicated, less convoluted, less given to bursts of self-destructive/violent tendencies.

Afterwards, she gets dressed, but she cant bring herself to leave just yet, so she sits on the bed vacantly, looking up when he . He pauses at the door, looking at where his fingers delicately rest on the doorframe, the same way they always rested on her shoulder when he wanted to dip his head to whisper something into her ear, as if compelled by some unrecognised desire to hold her close. She steels her face but her eyes desperately drink him in, all of his rough edges and limp shadows, the hazy outline of his body. He holds out an envelope.

"What's this?"

"Your paycheck. The last one." He adds in the later bit almost as an afterthought, and it's almost enough to make her stay. She slips it into her bag, choosing not to point out how he had just given out their most recent paychecks just last week.

"I know I can't change your mind, so...thank you for...everything."

He glances at the birthday card on his nightstand, and any regret she had over buying the card instantly evaporates. At least she managed to somehow get out how she felt once upon a time.

"You'll get another next year."

"Don't think George shares my love for cheesy birthday cards quite like you do."

"Do you think I'm making a horrible mistake?"

"Y/N..."

She wants to feel the comforting weight of his hand in hers, wants to lean against him weakly and have him tell her everything would be alright. But her bags were packed, her dresser as bare as her heart, and she can't help but feel as though she would never be happy again.

"Humour me. Please."

He sighs, but relents.

"Up till yesterday I thought George didn't love me quite like you did, so, frankly...I don't know what to think."

"So...you want me to leave?"

"I didn't say that."

"So you want me to stay?"

"I didn't say that either."

"You make me…so scared, Lockwood. And...sometimes...I don’t think you realise it.”

He moves from where he's leaning against the doorway to sit next to her. She leans her head against his shoulder. He lets her.

"You and I both know I won't be around for long. I just want to keep you safe while I'm still here."

"You don't honestly believe that. Right?"

"It's...hard to say. Some days I feel normal. Mostly. Some days I feel like no amount of candles, eyelashes or wishbones can keep me from an early grave. I don't want you around to see it. I put you through so much, Y/N. I can't say you won't be better off without me."

"What about you?"

He smiles bittersweetly. "You're too...kind to see it now, but one day you'll realise that...it's what I deserve."

A silence fills the room, until she breaks it by violently chucking the envelope at his face.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He gasps and splutters incoherently, still in shock from her attemoted assault.

"It's 'what you deserve'? What you deserve is a good knock on the head!"

"Fine, I'm sorry!"

"Don't ever let me catch you thinking like that again!"

"I won't!"

"What's it going to take to get it into your thick skull? I love you!"

"Okay!"

"I mean it!"

"I get it."

"And don't you forget it!"

"I won't." He wraps his arms around her, and she squeezes his torso aggressively, muttering increasingly extreme threats darkly under her breath. It's a sobering moment to hold each other as a new day blooms outside their window. "I won't."

They pull apart, but she still leans against him, and in that moment it's a dream to be sitting there, pressed impossibly close together, listening to each other breathe.

"I want to take evening walks with you. I want to watch you iron your ties on sleepy Sunday afternoons. I want to lose to you in chess. I want to manhandle you into celebrating your birthdays. I want to rub away the crease between your eyebrows whenever you’re thinking too hard."

Her hand drops from his waist to his wrist.

"Damn it, Lockwood. I want to hold your hand. I want to love you."

He interlocks his fings into hers, distractedly running his thumb over hers.

“Let me help you. Please.”

”I don’t think I know how.”

She tightens her arms around him again, overwhelmed by the burdens stretching out in front of them. Nothing was easy, not even this. Not even him.

"Just...hold on."

"I'm holding on. I'm holding on...to you. I'm holding on...for you."

TAGLIST: @mitskiswift99 @dangelnleif

[millionsnife]

@thathollowsound || welcome to my lair, which vash has filled with tea pots. i promise it's still imposing

There's a pile of tea pots on the counter when Knives steps into the kitchen, Midvalley on his heels. Vash has, clearly, been using his spare key to great effect. "This is the kitchen, which as you can see my brother has been using as a tea pot storage facility for his upcoming tea pot smuggling ring."

Actually they were all tea pots he kept gifting Knives, but the former was less embarrassing.

"Do you want some tea? I'll give you the proper tour after if you do."

He hopes the reporter hadn't painted his bathroom neon orange again.