#old fashioned sleepless nights

[morehotch]

each time you fall in love

how your boyfriend turned into your husband and how the two of you started and grew a family

spencer reid x reader, parent au, dad!spencer x mom!reader, time jumps (parts w/ pregnant reader), 2.5k

Your thing with Spencer is really good, sometimes it just feels too good and too right. Everything feels like it’s fallen so effortlessly and perfectly in place. You definitely don’t want to jinx anything, but after eight months of officially dating- and two years of mutual pinning through work, Spencer has been absolutely everything you wanted and needed in a guy.

It’s easy to talk to him, to laugh; to tell him anything. Spencer wants to get to know you, to understand and help you. When you talk, he listens with his eyes never leaving yours and a soft smile always dancing on his lips. And during moments like these, when you're lying in bed, limbs tangled together, his large palm over your waist, and when you pet his bed head and he smiles sleepily- you never, ever want Spencer to leave.

Spencer watches you now with a dazed, blissed look of total comfort. One you love so much on him, one he deserves so much. He smells like your clean sheets and his usual wood and sea salt cologne as his warm fingers trace different patterns against your shoulder.

You both have been slowly convincing each other to get up eventually and tackle your Sunday plans of grocery shopping and putting together Spencer's new book shelf he ordered after he outgrew his other one. But it’s been over an hour of falling back asleep and slowly blinking awake and neither of you has made much progress yet.

“Do you ever think about having kids?” Spencer asks suddenly, making you twist in his arms to look at his sweet face and dazed eyes.

“Yeah,” you whisper, watching how intensely curious he looks. “Sometimes."

You subconsciously match his small smile, thoughts of an incredibly wholesome future together making your heart unfairly twist in excitement and want. “I think about it all the time with you,” you continue and Spencer grins instantly. You've seen how delicately and kindly Spencer interacts with children, how naturally warm and gentle he is. You wouldn't admit it, but even before you were dating, you had a few fleeting thoughts about Spencer as a father.

“Really?” He asks and you smile, hand running down his bicep, “Of course.”

Spencer is quiet for a while before he speaks again. "And, you think- you think I'd be a good dad, right?”

Your eyes soften as you roll over to kiss him. “Absolutely.” 

Spencer just looks at you like you said something entirely captivating and consuming.

“What?” You smile, pressing your lips against his jaw gently, "I'm just telling you the truth."

“I just want it so badly, I don’t know.” Spencer bends his arms to rest them behind his head. He watches you, totally suddenly peaceful and content. “I want so much with you.”

-

2 years later

You wake up to the muffled sound of Spencer's voice, momentarily wondering if he’s on the phone but you smile to yourself when you listen closely and hear his softer and higher tone- his baby voice. You excitedly make your way to your kitchen, leaning against the doorframe and appreciating the scene in front of you. Spencer is carefully holding your daughter, Nora, with both arms, walking around the kitchen, while simultaneously trying to make eggs.

He has messy bed hair- similar to yours, a now permanent fashion statement in the Reid household, and stubble dotted along his jaw. You listen to his soft whispers and your heart swells as your baby’s small fingers cling onto his white undershirt and her chubby hand grasps at his arm, softly patting over his chest.

Spencer has his back to you so you stay unnoticed, enjoying the serene beauty of your husband and daughter together. Nora is already almost eight months old and time felt like it was flying by- even if the sleepless nights felt incredibly long. Now, even if time alone and a longer than five-minute shower felt like a luxury, you couldn’t and don’t want to remember a time without Nora.

You absolutely love watching Spencer with her, you love watching the way he so gracefully and perfectly assumed the role of being a father, especially after the late night conversations you had when you were pregnant when Spencer tearfully admitted his fears of his ability to be a good father when he lacked one as a child. But between Spencer's reading of basically every pregnancy book on the market and the way Nora kicked immediately at the sound of Spencer's voice, it was quickly obvious he had nothing to worry about.

You love how attentive he is and how much he dotes on her and takes care of you at the same time. How he diligently learned how to cook- and make fresh, healthy baby food, how he reads a ridiculous amount of baby books to Nora daily, and how he insisted on making sure you get at least minimum of a few hours of sleep a night.

You watch him bounce Nora gently, leaning against the doorframe and you smile silently until your daughter spots you from behind his shoulder. She reaches out and giggles with a tiny grin and Spencer turns around, mirroring her smile, which looks enduringly similar to his own.

“Need help?” You ask as Spencer laughs. “There’s probably a more effective way to make breakfast but I didn't want to put her down.”

Nora stretches her arms out towards you and you reach over to gently grab her from his hold. "Coffee?” He asks, knowing your answer.

“Yes please,” you smile down at Nora, her soft hairs and long lashes. She leans her head against your chest, already comfortable in your arms. You watch Spencer stand on his tiptoes to grab a coffee mug and you press a kiss to the crown of Nora's head.

What a nice morning.

-

“Come take a picture!” Spencer says and your daughter giggles and toddles over to you, hurrying as fast as her tiny legs can carry her, bound in a large winter coat, mittens, and ear muffs. A tiny chubby arm extends out to you- a wordless ask for stability and help. You smile as she struggles to wrap her small arms around your shoulders, tiny hands grasping your jacket. Her full pink cheek smushes against yours as Spencer positions the picture, grinning behind the camera, “Your first snow this year, baby!”

Spencer had retired from the BAU and started teaching full time only a year and half after Nora was born, determined to be there for his daughter and that meant so many more family moments like these. Mornings like these when you wake up beside your husband and you're both there to see one of Nora's firsts.

“Snow!” She says loudly, head straining up towards the sky with fascination. She had just started talking and loved impressing everyone with her linguistic skills, taking her limited vocabulary very seriously as she already loved to talk and communicate with the two of you. Spencer loved entertaining her- and himself, by sitting her in his lap and reading her favorite books, the ones she had memorized, together.

“Smile!” He says excitedly, grinning behind the large camera.

Nora listens, with grin that has always looked exactly like her father’s. Your arm finds its way to the small of her back, holding her securely as Spencer takes the picture. 

“Perfect,” he mutters, more to himself, watching his family in front of him.

-

“What’s the surprise?” Nora cries, toying with the hem of her shirt. Her anxious gaze darts back and forth between you and Spencer, upset that you both know something she doesn’t.

At three years old, Nora hates feeling like she’s being excluded from something. The hardest part of her routine is now attempting to convince her that it's bedtime and neither of you would dare have fun without her while she's sleeping.

Spencer hands her a small transparent piece of film and your daughter plays with it gently, turning it around in her palm. “What does this mean?” She questions, not able to stay still and scooting towards you with wide, curious eyes. 

Spencer holds her close to his body, wrapping an arm around her as she gives him her full attention. “It means in a couple of months you’re going to be an older sister.” Nora blinks with her mouth open, she has friends in preschool who were younger siblings or already had younger brothers or sisters. Spencer's cousin recently had twins and Nora was completely fascinated by how tiny they were and that there were two babies.

You knew Spencer always wanted Nora to have at least one other sibling and the timing had finally felt right for the first time since she was born a few years ago.

“Really?” Her voice grows louder in pure excitement, looking at you in awe before her eyebrows furrow, confused. “Why not right now?” She pouts, immediately turning to her father for an explanation.

Spencer laughs loudly with an endeared smile that is always reserved solely for Nora. “That’s not how it works, angel." He pulls her into his lap, noting that patience is still hard a hard virtue for a three-year-old.

-

You’re tucking Nora into bed a few nights later when she brings up the baby again.

“There’s a baby in there?” Nora asks, pointing to your stomach where a small but noticeable bump began to show. After Spencer's scientific but three- year old friendly explanation, Nora has been fascinated with her younger sibling, always asking you and Spencer about babies. It had even made Spencer briefly tear up one night, hit with the realization Nora wasn't a baby anymore. Even though you quickly reminded him she still was only three.

“Yes, sweetheart,” you laugh as she smiles widely. “Wow,” her big eyes fill with excitement and curiosity. She reaches out and lays a small, warm hand on your stomach, “Hi baby.”

You smile at your daughter, already knowing what a great sister she'll be. She grips the comforter tightly as she moves to your side to cuddle you closer. “Love you,” she mumbles, eyes tightly shut, trying to lull herself into sleep. 

“I love you too,” you say quietly and you eventually think she’s successfully asleep, tucked tightly next to you until she whispers cutely, “I love you baby.” You feel a small tap on your stomach and she snuggles closer, satisfied and closes her eyes for a peaceful sleep. 

-

“Look!” Your daughter calls as she thrusts a picture towards Spencer, a pink and purple fingerprinted flower. He takes her in his arms, “For me?” Spencer grins, looking at her art. Spencer loves her artwork and his office at the university is filled with her masterpieces.

Nora's arms find his shoulders. “No,” she giggles, “for Mommy!” She finishes, still laughing at Spencer's reaction.                      

Spencer pretends to look hurt, pouting, “Well, can I have one too?” he asks. Nora thinks about it for a few moments, face twisting in thought, “Okay!” The little girl decides and Spencer's smile grows instantly, “Thank you, baby.”

She frowns, chiding her father with a grin, “I’m not baby.” 

“You’re not?” Spencer asks surprised and she nods approvingly. “Yes, the baby is in mommy right now,” she explains, looking at him to confirm he understands.

“Ahhh,” Spencer nods knowingly, smiling tugging on his lips, “I see. You’re right. You're so smart, my big girl.” Nora hides her smile, leaning against Spencer's shoulder and tucking her face into his chest.

“You’re still my baby though, right?“ He whisper as Nora buries her face further into his shirt, giggling out a sweet, “Yes."

-

Nemo has been the chosen movie for your weekly movie night- for the fourth time in a row, because Spencer can never find it in him to say no to Nora and she is somehow still incredibly invested in Nemo's storyline. But now, as the end credits of Nemo play, Nora sits in Spencer's lap, letting him braid her hair. You’re laying next to them, a blanket draped over you as Spencer watches you sleep peacefully, getting your well deserved and needed rest.

Nora sighs against Spencer's chest as he pats her shoulder. "Let’s go to bed, angel.”

She lets her father hoist her up and carry her into her room, the one right down the hall from yours, with pink walls and a newly upgraded twin bed.

“Daddy,” she whispers suddenly, clutching her favorite teddy bear like she's nervous. “Will you still love me even if I’m not a baby anymore?”

Spencer blinks and brushes back stray hairs from her face with a soft smile, trying to ignore the way his heart breaks inside his chest. “Of course honey, I could never not love you, never ever.”

“Ok, daddy,” Nora smiles to herself, seemingly satisfied.

“Will you still love me?” Spencer asks and she giggles loudly.

“Yes!”

“I had to make sure!” He defends and Nora squeals, wrapping her arms around his torso and squeezing tight.

“Nora," Spencer finishes seriously, "Mommy and I will love you forever.”

-

“The baby is going to be small,” Spencer explains, walking Nora through the hospital halls as she swings their interlocked hands back and forth excitedly.

“Okay,” Nora bounces. “Isn’t it cool, daddy, that baby and I have the same birthday month?”

“Wow,” he looks down at Nora and her bright, excited eyes, “it really is.”

“But we have our own days,” she continues, “I think it was meant to be.” She decides, stopping when Spencer does, right in front of your hospital room.

“I think so too,” he smiles, squeezing her hand gently and opening the door carefully.

“Wow,” Nora gasps, consciously trying not to run up to the hospital bed where you hold a tiny bundle.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you smile, “Do you want to meet your sister?”

She nods with wide eyes, already on her tippy toes to try and peer over the tall bed. Spencer instead sits down in the chair next to you and lifts her into his lap. “Here,” he murmurs as you carefully pass over your newborn.

“Hi,” Nora stares at the small bundle, “Daddy,” she gasps, looking up at Spencer in awe. She touches the baby tentatively as her father's arm wraps around her waist. Nora is already hyper-fixated on her sibling, on her sister.

“What’s baby’s name?” She whispers like she’s scared of disturbing her.

“Amelia,” Spencer says quietly, meeting your eyes with a small, content smile.

“Hi Amelia,” Nora smiles, helping Spencer support the baby's head gently, turning to look at you. “Do you think she already knows how much I love her?”

You nod, “I know she does.” Nora nods with a satisfied smile, like that reassures her and you watch her hold her sister, sharing a silent but knowing look with Spencer; knowing now that your family feels so, so complete.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid blurb #dad spencer reid #girl dad spencer supremacy

[sweetghuleh]

[cws] fem reader. older woman/younger man. cheating. mentions of smoking. mentions of drinking. part 1 maybe. unedited.

Sometimes, when someone is young, there is always a mindset where they believe life revolves all around them—where they think that simply because they are young, they automatically stand on the highest pedestal of being intelligent. In some senses, their beliefs are so wide-spread that even the individuals around them tend to fall into that black hole as well, where despite their ages, the brain has yet to mature. You were once a happy woman, married to a beautiful husband who cherished everything about you. Meeting Gojo Satoru when he was in highschool was nothing short of fate, that’s what you liked to believe back then, he was talented at everything, adored by everyone—and so immensely ethereal it was hard to fathom he was human with an appearance so pure, his skin, hair, all of it resembled the clouds that the gods sit on. He had the face that an old master would paint to decipher an angel. Back then, you were all young and stupid, you particularly, on a different level, it wasn’t clear as before, but the memories were faint, bleary, like a forgotten song of childhood, but they were still there.

Personally, you couldn't remember the changes Satoru went through during his time in highschool, where his features became a little less soft and more masculine around the edges. Well, that’s all you could remember anyways, back when you took a young Ieri Shoko as an apprentice and caught subtle glances of him. Getou Suguru thought otherwise. He was quiet then, still is, you didn’t pay as much attention to him like you did with Satoru—despite them being best friends. You had known him as the boy who always had dark shadows under his eyes, purplish, bruise-like shadows, like he was suffering from a sleepless night. Suguru had a face you’d never expect to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. Suguru would entice and humor you sometimes, he’d tell you how much his best friend has changed in ways that didn’t involve his physical features, he’d tell you how he was the first to likely see the changes of how Satoru would look at you through his eyes, the ones so polished, that it felt as if the blue pigments could only be found in dreams.

Suguru would tell you, how anyone could see it through Satoru’s eyes—how much softer they’d become when he would look at you and then fall in love all over again. 

You wondered, what had happened for Satoru to stop looking at you like that? 

The porcelain light winked off the sting of your lashes and settled into the flesh of your partially nude body, the surface of the water in your bathtub was still as flat as a mirror, catching each intricate feature of yours—only to throw it back into your face. There was no ripple or tide, and if it weren’t for the gray lace of your cigarette filtering through the air and the ring of your phone in your opposite hand, you would have assumed that time itself had stopped. 

Twenty-Six.

That was the number of times Satoru had called you since the first stars of the night. The water in the bathtub was beginning to grow cold, but the sting of gooseflesh running up the delicate skin of your body was enough to distract you from the silent buzz of your phone, to be frank, you weren’t sure if you had the guts to try and answer his frantic calls. After a quick drag of your dying cigarette, you kill it off in the glass tray beside you, watching as the fumes rose like the figure of a phoenix, and you childishly searched for any shape that could be formed with the gray, fickle smoke. Suddenly, the phone in your hands rang once again. When you were a child, there was always a side of you that allowed to choose scarily accurate guesses that always brought you something good, guesses like knowing who was about to walk through a door without hearing their footsteps, or guessing the color of a cup accurately with your eyes closed, little things like that. You didn’t have to check the caller ID in order to know who was trying to reach out to you, the soft bed of your thumb swiping across the screen.

“Hey.” Your voice was quiet, barely above a whisper—but it was there. 

The opposite end of the call was quiet for a moment, a habit Shoko had whenever she called someone over the phone—something she wasn’t too fond of doing, but she would make an exception if it ever came to you. Always you. “..So? Should I schedule you a trip to the Cayman Islands? What about Miyako?” Her voice was soft, sweet in her own loner way, like the haunting echoes of a cave that harbored sirens. Shoko had been your best friend since she worked under you, after meeting in the more secluded parts of the hospital buildings where the stressed doctors and nurses went to have a quick smoke—the two of you clicked, she followed you like a magnet chasing towards its opposite end, growing closer and closer with each breath. You hardly blinked, your hair felt heavy, crystal water drops forming around, dripping onto your skin, your complexion refracting the pale light of the bathroom—you were something that could stun anyone to their core. 

“No, nothing like that.” Came your answer as manicured fingers got rid of the excess water in your hair, the water in the bathtub rippled around you like haloes as your bare legs shifted slightly. Silence graced the both of you again, and your fingers nearly trembled for another cigarette, aching, even.

“..Satoru let you go.” Shoko spoke again, so suddenly—her sudden words emphasizing the traits of her feline personality, your lips trembling for air, trying to come up with something clever to diversify the weight of devastation, but soon you realized that there are no words to dispute the feeling—calling it what it is. “Yeah.” Boundless embarrassment hooked into your chest and almost pulled it out entirely, as if the water hadn’t been cold enough, frigid heat stung painfully at your skin. The reciprocations of small breaths between Shoko’s lips had paused the minute she said this, almost as if she was captivated by your compliant statement. When you were a child, your mother always seemed to be amazed by how mature your brain seemed to be, if anything, you never believed her. It hadn’t been until high school that you truly realized just how true that statement seemed to be, back then—falling in love at the age of 17 held a kind of rarity that equated to finding rare gemstones, you thought so. When you were a teenager, you had always believed that the fragile beginnings of love was something only a few could find, mystifying around lands of infatuation until they finally found something real. 

It was why you were so, so incredibly hesitant to fall in love with Satoru even years after he finished high school. Back then, the two of you were young and full of life, youthful on different levels, he was far below your age for you to consider dating him at all—he was 16, you were freshly 28. Satoru was like nature’s graffiti; beautiful yet lawless, like he was the color after a storm that embraced the gray skies with open arms. You? You were more like nature’s poetry, gentle and lithe. Like every action you performed was meant to be on the surface of the earth. Or perhaps you were an author’s finest love story. You weren’t sure yet. 

Satoru barreled into your quiet, dark life like a blazing matchstick the very day he turned 21, he had a fire that made you so attentive to the dance of the flames—but you were so careful as to not to get burned, simply allured by the way he seemed to present the embers of his attitude in his tone. You’d never bothered to try and seek as to why Satoru could have been attracted to you, simply content with knowing that he valued you in some way. 

So mature, right? Perhaps that was the first mistake you had made. You wished you could have traveled back in time to tell your younger—supposedly mature self, to not fall for the boy with hair as white as the first winter snows, to save yourself from a life of pain. 

“What will you do now?” Shoko’s voice pulled you from the depths of reality like a savior, and you weaned off your plush bottom lip for a moment, before you allowed yourself to slink even further deeper into the frigid, cold water even more. It was almost starting to feel hot. “What do you think?” An elusive smile crawled onto your lips as you tapped the back of your head against the porcelain of the tub, taking in the relief that filled your lungs in the form of a heavy breath. It hardly helped, but it was something. 

“Well, you can’t go back to him, that’s for sure.” Shoko scoffed, tapping off the excess ash from her cigarette as she spoke into the phone. 

“You know I’m better than that, babe.” Your tone threatened to fall mute, only flashing a mere grin of gratitude that wasn’t quite convincing as you wanted it to be, devastation sunk right into your soul once again. You weren’t sad over the fact that you couldn’t go back to Satoru, you knew from the very deep depths of your brain that you would never go back to him no matter how much your big, golden polished heart wanted to. You were sad over the fact that it would take years to get over him, you were sad that your stupid heart blessed with the wit of a newborn angel, would likely yearn for Satoru no matter how much you know you would never have him back. Despite how much you would never take him back. Shoko spoke up once again, curiously. “Do you know the full story?” Came her question, there was slight shuffling through the other end, and you had a short feeling that she was getting ready to make her way over to ensure that you were fine. With that thought in your head, a small—short exhale escaped the plush of your lips, filtering through the air in a sweet, bell-chime manner as you helped yourself up from the bathtub. Soft flesh decorated with the crystalized droplets of water that luminated your body to an extent, tender spots pebbling as you eagerly brought a towel to your chilly self.

“I know enough. Young woman. Hormones. Something about his new secretary.” 

Shoko clicked her tongue, vibrant brown hair swirling in elegance as she locked her front door expertantly, dark lashes brushing against her fragile little beauty mark. “I don’t get it. Suguru and I have known him since childhood, it’s hard to believe he would pull something like this. Especially to you.” 

You grimaced, you wanted to laugh. Satoru was always a peculiar kid when you met him for the first time in your life, he being 16, you—28. You would always catch the way his eyes snaked their way around every inch of your face and chest with serpentine eagerness. You would tease him for that, too, not in a way that would initiate any romance, but how a woman would. You would magnify your lovely gaze towards him, lay a gentle finger under his chin and examine him like spectacles were placed over your gaze—forced to pile all of your raw attention to him. That’s when Satoru would crack from his sensuous facade and exhale shakily, comprehending the new feeling of a careful touch from a stunning, older woman. You could remember flashing him a gentle smile as you bid him an enigmatic farewell, leaving Satoru with a trembling bottom lip after the brush of his skin against yours. Back then, it was all playful teasing, you’d never register in your mind that he was really attracted to you.  You never acted on him either until he reached out to you when he was 21.

“..I don’t blame him.” Purring into the phone as you dried yourself off, catching your elegant features on the surface of your actual mirror with a slow blink of your nova eyes. Shoko made a sort of choking sound on the other end. “Huh? Are you kidding? He’d been pining after you since his junior year of highschool, why on earth would you not blame him for cheating on you?”

You sunk your tone into a softer, more somber one and let it into the air. 

“He’s still young, Shoko. It was a mistake on my end for letting it get this far.” 

 . ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡

Getou Suguru was quiet in most of his years in highschool, cool, calm and collected—graced with a mellow personality that charmed quiet girls without him even really trying. Always the peacemaker. Always the one to be bestowed right next to the sun that was Gojo Satoru, his forever best friend. Always there to keep the epiphany of a real angel from falling down habits that could cost him his life. Always there to help him when he seemed the lowest. Always there to clean up after his messes. Always there to listen to Satoru rant about the woman with captivating eyes. 

So, how on earth was Suguru meant to clean up this mess? Only a god could tell.

Slender eyes so dark it would take millions of years for light to venture through them focused on the mess that was Satoru. Suguru sighs, his temples aching as he quietly takes a seat on a stray chair a good distance away from the young man that appeared to be intoxicated, but he knew better—he knew that Satoru was a true lightweight. Suguru listened with keen ears, slowly gazing upon the mess of chairs and shattered bottles of liquor that were likely untouched, rattled picture frames of broken memories piled into a type of center environment. Suguru reached his slender fingers for one knocked over picture frame, on the back, in neat calligraphy, wrote. “Shoko - 21 yrs old - Academy Graduation - 2011” 

Suguru flipped the frame over, as described, there stood their close friend dressed in a satin, elegant blue graduation gown with her cap out of sight, holding a diploma with a small, polite smile. However, right beside Shoko, was her. Suguru could see why his best friend was so wild over her despite the years between them, she was tall, taller than any other girl they’ve seen, mature features and a body so sinful it made someone as polite as Suguru blush if he looked at her for too long. Whatever pallet the gods have used to craft her was so pristine and pearlescent, it could likely make any renaissance painter jealous. It clicked for Suguru then, this was a printed image from a collection of pictures Shoko had sent the both of them just to show that she graduated, and Satoru had likely chosen this one out of all of them due to the simple fact that she was in it. This was during the time where Satoru had finally met her in person, and became so infatuated it started bothering Suguru. 

Suguru wondered if she was the last time Satoru could recognize true beauty.

Suguru could recognize the scent of sweet magnolias and clementine mixed with earthly perfume coming from articles of clothing so feminine he knew that they didn’t belong to Satoru, who had draped himself across a couch so expensive it hurt to try and think of the numbers—draped across it like he was experiencing death, holding those articles of clothing to his face as if they were the key to block out all the bad things of the world that threatened to catch him. Infinite hues of bright white light fractured the space in between the sting of his lengthy lashes, deepening the consistent hue of sapphire in his eyes. There was something always so beautiful and alluring about wanting to possess something that Satoru thought he’d never have, for him—it was her. 

“Well, you sure fucked up.” Suguru hummed, his words oddly sweet-sounding despite bringing a harsh reality down onto his best friend, his voice was nearly flowery and soft—like Suguru could grow gardens of adoration from his voice alone. Vanilla and cedarwood intertwined from him, giving off a scent that is so perfectly synonymous with who he is, his slender eyes lifted to meet with Satoru’s wide ones, nebulous flecks of amethyst braided into his irises. 

“..That doesn’t help.” Satoru speaks, his tone was low and careful, distant in a way that almost seemed too close. The more Suguru began to pull in the heavenly creation that was Satoru’s face, the more comfortable he became. A smile faded onto Suguru’s face. “She’s beautiful, successful—a total catch. What'cha switch her out for?” He can’t help but ask, the smile on his face of stunning Asian features, becomes pointed and untrue as he taunts his best friend with words that were more painful than any wound on earth. Satoru straightened up from where he had been previously curling away. “That—I didn’t mean to–fuck.” He stammers, making a complete fool of himself. He wasted no time in pausing, afraid he’d stop speaking all together if he did. “...I fucked up.” Satoru finally admits, quietly, a striking difference to his personality. 

The blood in Satoru’s body stiffened into a painful mass in his lungs, and it was difficult trying to breathe. It was difficult admitting the truth. 

Suguru’s eyes soaked in the sight of the shattered bottles of liquor and turned to look at his best friend next, raising a well-groomed brow as if to ask, ‘did you get drunk?’. At this Satoru shook his head, and without another word, he slumped against the couch once more, his face landing on a pile of her perfect clothes—drenched in her scent, one so unique he had attempted seeking it in any beauty store. Each trip was unsuccessful. Satoru didn’t need liquor to get drunk, all he needed was to drink her appearance like a glass of finely fermented wine and get tipsy off every sip. Suguru shook his head in minor disappointment, his gorgeous head of charcoal-like hair—black and straight like the night sea, following his movements. Softly, like prairie grass in the summer wind, giving contrast to his face, porcelain skin with delicate features.

“Nothing to do from here, Satoru. There’s no chance she’s going to take you back.”

[a/n]: heyyyy i had a thought of like what if satoru fell for an older woman and married her but then cheated on her for some fuck reason and then make it into something full of drama but then i got drunk and forgot the whole plot so ya make what you will with this . i might add more but idk yet so pls send requests or something

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru #jjk geto #suguru geto #getou suguru x reader #jjk suguru #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru scenario #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo x reader smut #gojo x reader angst #gojo angst #jjk angst

[nottragic-stilltoothsome]

Astarion and Tav live post-Absolute in Baldur's Gate, with three cats, two named in true Astarion fashion, like Carnage or Bloodlust, and the third one, Scratch, a curious kitty that sometimes barks, but complies with the "no animals bigger than a peacock" decree (unless someone'd think to cast disspell illusion, but then, who'd be so ungrateful to pester the great defenders of the city like that).

Their home is somewhat peculiar, too.

A beautiful mansion gifted to the adventurers for their heroic deeds stands empty most of the time because of their travels, as if killings immortals and lifting centuries old curses weren't enough adventures for a lifetime.

The mansion seems very much lived-in, but then again, in a strange way. Even (or perhaps especially) on sunny, summer days the windows are closed shut and obscured with heavy curtains, forbiding any stray sunrays from entering.

"Curious", passing citizens might think, only to blame such habits of the residents on the nosy reporters of Baldur's Mouth, who wouldn't hesitate from peeking through windows, just to get a glimpse at the most popular baldurian couple.

If one of said citizens was invited inside, they'd be greeted by a big portrait of the couple (painted by *the* Oskar Fevras!, the guest might have fawned over the exquisite taste of their hosts) hanging right in the center of the hall, opposite to the door. As if instead of a mirror, that a guest'd instictivly look for in such a spot.

The guest would, perhaps, marvel at the unexpected dichotomy of decorations: what was clearly war-thropies, souvenirs from shadowveiled lands and cursed magic tomes, is presented right next to valuable art, gracious furniture and silverwear. Same sort of duality one could discover looking at the residents: battle scars surarounded by rich, silk fabrics and precious stones, golden goblets with fine drinks raised to lips used to commanding armies.

Astarion'd often mention, that everything tastes better from golden goblets and everything feels better in silk.

The goblets were yet another unusual detail: no matter the time of the day (or night, which appeard to be the preffered time the for masters of the mansion to receive guests), master Astarions' was filled to the brim with wine. He must have taken a liking to a particular kind, since it was always the same, crimson red and somewhat thick-looking.

The guest would be welcomed to a spacious living room, that was full of life indeed.

When the inhabitants stay at home interim their adventures, their house bursts with laughter and chatter and sometimes heated debate. From the Blade of the Frontiers to the High Harper, from the great Wizard of Waterdeep to the Paladin of Selune, from the one-horned tiefling to the githyanki with a silversword. The menagerie of powerful personage was never, however, received as guests, but rather as dearly missed family (although Master Astarion would not admit that under any circumstances, despite having made a significant improvement in the art of communicating in ways more genuine than through sarcasm). Their bonds, forged under the threat of the Absolute, were undeniable and lifelong.

Astarion and Tav often travel, not ready to hang their weapons on the wall just yet, but they both enjoy comming back to their own house, to rest and prepare for whatever the next adventure holds.

Astarion, somewhat reluctantly, became accustomed to being a hero, the good guy. He was relieved to discover that in the name of "goodness" he could unleash unthinkable carnage just as well as working with less moral goals in mind. And, in this case, people were certainly more inclined to part with their gold for his sake.

"Funny" he'd say, "I never pictured myself a hero". And after a short, thoughtful pause, he'd add "but it's really not at all suprising I'm amazing at being one".

Not all was always well, ghosts of the past lingering in the shadows of sleepless nights or in the nightmares he dreamt when he did fall asleep. It was a long process, the healing, because it was not only the body that had to heal - but at least at this time, it was demons of the past, not present, that troubled him and they got weaker with every passing day.

Sometimes, he was almost thankful for the destruction of the city, cause rebuilt, it didn't look exactly like the one where he suffered for so long, with Cazador's pretentious castle right in the middle, standing out, not at all subtle, forcing him to remember what he'd rather forget. Sometimes, he was almost thankful for the lack of reflection, for how he couldn't see the scars carved into his back starring back at him, for how he wasn't constantly reminded of everything that happend - and all the awful things that could have happend - anytime he looked at himself. The awarness that they are always there felt burning, burning along with every other memory of torture he had endured, that didn't leave a scar on his body, only on his mind. Some days, the presence of the scars was itching. Nearly painful.

And some days, they didn't matter at all.

They were merely a part of him, of his story, that he has left behide to live a new life.

As it often is, it depends on the day.

With Tav by his side and Cazador gone, even if still bothered by the past, he was truly happy. He was happy, when they slashed through enemy outposts, leaving behide gore. He was happy, when Tav sat in his lap in the morning (despite the fact that there was a perfectly good chair unoccupied right there, as he'd remark, feigning annoyance that he didn't feel and Tav didn't belive in), still in the nightwear, smelling of toothpaste and morning coffee, reading the newest edition of Baldur's Mouth.

He can't walk in the sun, no.

But he was truly free. Truly happy. And whatever the future holds, he knew it was going to stay that way.

#bg3 #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate 3 astarion #baldurs gate 3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 epilogue #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #astarion acunin #wyll #gale #gale dekarios #karlach #lae'zel #gale of waterdeep #jaheira #bg3 shadowheart #shadowheart #my post

[your-honor-im-zesty]

What do I deserve, really?

Will should've known better. He really should've.

When Nico had first mentioned the idea of a family dinner ("Persephone's just about dying to meet you, she'll turn me into a flower if you stay away any longer"), Will had been elated. It meant another significant step in their relationship; it meant they were becoming serious. Not to mention, he had always wanted to meet Hades. Call him weird, but he had a strange fascination with death. He was a medic, after all, and however much he studied and healed and learned, there were always surprises in store for him. Death was an infinite topic; Will would've gladly sat through a lyceum taught by Hades.

But now, as he sat at the dinner table in the Underworld king's palace, he wished he had just thrown his boyfriend under the bus and let him be turned into a flower.

It was just the four of them- Will, Nico, Hades, and Persephone. They each sat on one side of the long, rectangular wooden table, which would've been a nice table had there not been literal skulls hanging off the sides. Just his luck, he was seated all the way across from Nico.

He couldn't tell what was worse. Persephone's onslaught of rapid questions ("You're the camp medic, correct? The one for the past few years?" "Tell me, are children of Apollo allergic to lies? I've always wondered." "How did you and Nico meet?"), Hades's stony silence (the closest thing to conversation Will had made with him was a request to pass the salt, which he'd done with rather unnecessary force), or the amused glint in Nico's eyes as he watched the scene unfold. Will was very tempted to strangle him, except choking your boyfriend in front of said boyfriend's father was probably not the wisest move.

The only thing that kept Will remotely close to sane was the food. It may have been the Underworld, kingdom of the dead, but the food was spectacular. 5/5 stars. Hades truly didn't accept anything but the best.

He gulped. He hoped Hades would lower his standards for him; Will wasn't exactly the best, compared to other demigods. Like Percy Jackson, for one. But then again, Hades hated Percy with a vehement passion, so maybe that was all for the best.

But the dinner wasn't bad, per se. It was awkward, sure, and very much uncomfortable. But Will Solace was the master of uncomfortable. He was a veteran of 2 wars, had saved more campers than he would've ever dreamed of; he'd spent sleepless nights, working to aid injuries and prevent death. He could do uncomfortable.

At least, that was what he thought.

Hades signaled the skeleton waiter to take up their plates and prepare for the dessert course, then leaned towards Will. His eyes were dark, obsidian. Like Nico's, his mind thought unhelpfully.

"So...Will," Hades said his name slowly, like he was testing out the sound of it. It was probably just his nature, but Will got the strong impression that Hades had spent the appetizer and main dish courses analyzing him, sizing him up. Probably wondering why the hell Nico had even given him a second glance. "I understand you and my son have been...courting, for a while now."

Courting? Will bit his lip to hold back his laughter. It was such an old-fashioned term, yet Hades looked completely serious. "Yes, sir," he responded, trying to sound as amiable as possible. He schooled his features into an expression of utmost respect; across the table, Nico (the little shit) was smirking again. Will refused to make eye contact with him (first of all, Nico had absolutely NO business looking that good in his father's palace of all places).

Hades studied him, those dark eyes unnerving. It reminded him of how Nico first used to look at him- distrustfully, coldly. He involuntarily flinched.

The corner of Hades's mouth twitched at the movement. "I am sure you know by now that Nico has incredibly high standards."

"I do," agreed Nico- were they ganging up on him? A father-son duo? Gods, Will should've asked for Apollo to be invited; but then again, the sun god would probably rather be stripped of mortality again than step foot into the Underworld.

Will swallowed nervously and licked his lips; they were getting dry. Had he drank water today? He was supposed to stay hydrated; he of all people knew the dangers of dehydration. "Yes, sir," he said, almost hoarsely.

Hades leaned forward then, further this time. His eyes flashed. "Let me ask you something then..." There was something in his tone that incited a sliver of apprehension within Will's chest. Nico's face grew serious, like he, too could hear it.

"Do you believe you're worthy of my son?"

Nico stiffened up, his face flashing with unidentifiable emotions. Persephone's eyebrows shot up, and she gave her husband a look. Not surprised, but unimpressed, like she knew something along these lines would happen and disapproved.

Will felt a warm flush creep upon his face. He stared at Hades, stomach lurching unpleasantly. For some reason, his lips seemed to be sealed tight, and determined not to re-open.

"I..."

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

So this is part 1 of my angsty will + solangelo fic :))) i'll post part 2 prolly sometime this week lmao but until then enjoy this load of shit

edit: part 2 is up! check my blog :)

#percy jackson #pjo #pjo fandom #percy jackson fandom #pjo fic #solangelo #solangelo fic #will solace #nico di angelo #angst?? #part 1 #will solace centric fic

[nu11lar]

PHONE CALL - HANMA S.

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟓𝐓𝐇

ꨄ︎ synopsis ; you've always felt a pair of eyes whenever you come home, always closing the blinds to be more secure, and always checking your ring camera for security. sleepless nights continued when a sudden phone call changes your entire night.

cw // stalking, phone sex, slight fear play, hanma says a death threat once, mutual masturbation (f & m), handjob, fingering, slight dirty talk.

you always felt oddly uncomfortable as soon as you come home or when you're doing your shift in the mornings. feeling pairs of eyes follow you everywhere with each and every movement that you make, trying your best to close the blinds that not every speck of light illuminates the room wether it's at morning or at night. your house is always pitch black because you don't want that person staring at you when you change your clothes, or when you're taking a shower. you've installed cameras everywhere around the house to be more secured, front yard and backyard, front door, etc. many nights continued lingering with worries, feeling as if someone might break in or even watch you sleep.

as the old fashioned routine goes, you come home tired from work, energy drained throughout the day as you had no motivation to clock out of work from your computer. you locked the door and closed a few blinds from the tinted windows of your house then immediately going upstairs to take a cold shower.

if the gut wrenching feeling of knowing that someone is watching you 24/7 didn't happen then you would be just fine, but no, this just had to be in the list of worries for your life, but it would soon change, right?

7:45 PM

with thoughts filling in your mind, you thought it was best to go to sleep earlier than usual. hoping it will help the cover of your worries and problems by going into deep slumber until the next morning arrives. so of course, shutting down all of the light illuminating the rooms your body finally collapsed onto the stiff mattress of your bed, resting your head onto the soft pillows while you placed your phone beside you on the nightstand. with a final sigh you closed your eyes and hoped to have a good sleep, all the while you forgot to close the damn blinds for your bedroom, having a good chance for the stalker to see your sleeping beauty trying to fall alseep.

9:07 PM

rolling around the bed, you were still wide awake with not even a close chance to sleeping. a frustrated sigh left your lips as you sat up on the bed, the rough headborad pressing through your back,"ugh.." you rubbed your forehead, seeming to grow tense and more frustrated as time passes. until, a ring from your phone pierced through the silence, making you jolt in surprise before you immediately grabbed the phone from the night stand. you thought it was just one of your employees calling you for what you'll have to do for tomorrow, but what it shows on your phone was... an unknown caller?

you looked at the screen confused, was it a wrong number? you were sure that it was just a spam call but you picked it up just incase. placing the phone in your ear you let out a small 'hello?', waiting for a response but all you could hear were some few deep breaths, they were shallow and ragged, making you feel extremely uncomfortable,"helloo?" you said again, more concerned this time but just as you were about to hang up the phone you heard a raspy voice speak through the line,"ah-ah, don't hang up yet.." his voice was a little deep, making you shudder as you pressed the phone against your ear again,"who are you?" that question made him chuckle in response, hearing the slight fear in the tone of your voice,"it doesn't matter who i am, dollface.." he avoided to answer your question, which only made you more suspicious of him,"well i'm sorry but you got the wrong number, sir." you tried to sound more stern before you pressed the end call button, hanging up on him.

once you ended the call you gently threw the phone across from you, feeling a little discomforted by such a quick but an absurd call. the only way you could forget this whole situation is that if you try to go to sleep again, but of course, it gets interrupted by another ring on your phone, making you let out a groan as you lazily picked it up again.

unknown caller, again,

"what do you want-" his voice interrupted mid-way through your question,"hang up on me again and i'll gut you like a fish, ya hear?" his voice laced with a bit of malice as he spoke through the phone, his threat making you gulp nervously at the sudden comment,"alright.." your hushed voice made him feel in awe, enjoying the way he was playing with your feelings,"good girl," he sounded pleased the way you obeyed him so easily, feeling a little pride towards himself. you rubbed the back of your neck nervously, anticipating on what he's going to tell you,"you look so sexy in that night dress," he cooed all of a sudden, making your breath hitch as you took this unexpectedly. how does he know what you're wearing? you let out a quiet "huh?" being confused and a little scared,"pretty girl can't go to sleep hm? poor you," he let out a dry chuckle as you took quick glances around the room and windows.

"you can see me?" a quiet hum escaped his lips before he spoke," 'course i can doll, like i said, you look so fuckin' sexy in that night dress.." his voice sent shivers down your spine, the feeling that you have right now was 50/50, you felt a little drawn onto the unknown person talking to you, but you also felt weirded out,"the fuck? why can't i see you then? where are you?" you walked towards the window, your eyes following around the neighborhood as you tried to spot him, but he wasn't nowhere to be seen,"don't worry about that, sweet thing.." that made you feel even more suspicious but you didn't comment on it, even though you should say something about it.

you went back to sit down on the bed, not saying a thing before the other line spoke again, his voice sounding breathless now as he was gulping more often. you felt a little confused, wondering on what he was doing,"y'know, i've always had these days where i always see you come out of the shower, fresh lookin'.." he cleared his throat before you heard some faint squelches coming through the other line, was he... jerking off? you tried to pay more attention to the weird noises rather than what he's talking about, and that made you feel a little tingly, an unknown and a strange man jerking off on the phone because he's already turned on by you,"and goddamn you look so- so... shit-" he hissed, his words dying off his tounge as he let out a small whimper.

"um..?" you spoke awkwardly, not knowing what else to do but hear him pleasure himself and tell you how sexy you were,"i always wanted to fuck you, hehe, wanted to feel that pussy suckin' me inn.." he let out a soft whine, you could just imagine him throwing his head back and giving his cock multiple strokes, feeling it twitch and throb against his palm while beads of pre cum spill out of his tip. your breath slowly got heavy, feeling your chest heave up and down as you heard him tell his dirty thoughts out loud. you gently bit down your lower lip, almost having that feeling on wanting to touch yourself too, but you held back; this was wrong. masturbating yourself with a stranger who clearly has been stating that he's been stalking you should be a big no, but something felt so right to do so.

you swallowed a lump of saliva as your free hand trailed down to lift up the hem of the night dress, going all the way up until your panties were on display and your stomach was shown. you were still unsure wether this is right or not but, it's for the plot,"hmm? touchin' yourself too huh?" he giggled a little once he realized you were almost doing the same thing,"s-shut up." you'd mumble, managing to remove your panties with just one hand while you slowly moved your fingers into your heat,"so naughty.." the way he said it made you feel even more aroused before you finally slip in your middle finger onto your drooling pussy, letting out a short gasp before the man on the phone spoke to you,"thaat's it, you're doing so well," he praised at you, acting as if he was in the room with you and guiding you on how to touch yourself.

your gummy wall tighten around your finger before you insterted another one, which was your ring finger. you slip out a soft moan, arching your back and throwing your head to the side as you felt yourself trembling with pleasure,"m-my god.. look what you did.." your voice trembled as you focused down at the lewd scenery in-between your legs,"and i don't regret doing that," he resisted, seeming to enjoy himself on the situation he brought up to you two, finding himself on stroking his own cock aswell. he bit back a moan while he teased himself by rubbing his thumb onto his sensitive tip, imagining that was you teasing him this way. faint curse words escaped his lips, his eyes focusing down on his cock as he found himself fucking his hand, bucking his hips eagerly while his thoughts filled up with perverted scenarios; thinking about fucking your tight pussy instead on his hand, destroying your pussy while he relentlessly thrusts in and out of you, making you swallow his dick whole and gulping down his cum and not wasting a single drop down your chin, breeding your cunt until your stuffed with him, and marking you as his.

meanwhile you thought the same thing, wanting to be absolutely destroyed by this man just because his voice is extremely attractive, even though he's a little weird. your fingers pumped in and out of you while you thought it was his girthy and lengthy dick, soft moans were being heard across your room and on the other line of his phone while the same was happening to him, murmuring dirty but sweet words to you as he gave his cock long and desperate strokes. a ring of cum already formed on his shaft as he chewed down his lower lip, fast breaths escaping his nostrils while your pretty moans fill in his ears.

your fingers curled, making you let out a mewl as your hips bucked once more. trying to hold still the phone in order to not drop it was too hard for you since the pleasure was overbearing,"f-fuck! ohmygod, gonna cum.." you cried out, feeling close to the edge already," yeah? s-shit, wanna cum together?" he stuttured within his sentence, feeling close to cumming aswell. your whines turned more high pitched, your thumb trying its best to rub your puffy clit as you hissed in pleasure. your fingers covered in your slick as you finally came undone on your fingers, your juices spilling down between your folds as you heard a low grumble bubble in his throat as thick ropes of cum spewed out. you could imagine what a mess he had done on his hands, his soft pants were heard as it made you tingle again and a light chuckle escaped your lips, feeling a bit surprised on what the both of you did.

"how was that hm?" he hummed softly, you could practically feel that he's grinning through that phone. you knew that it felt great but you also felt a little drowsy, everything happened so suddenly and so quickly you couldn't even process it through your mind, but overall it was great,"that felt... good.." you spoke slowly, feeling the tiredness now kick in, who knew that fingering yourself could make you this sleepy?

he giggled again, now noticing how tired you sound,"all of this made you sleepy huh?" you nodded before letting out a sigh,"thanks for that, now let me sleep.." you wanted to get this over with since you have to wake up early tomorrow,"alright then, g'night dollface-" you immediately hung up once he was about to finish his sentence, making you doze off to space from the aftermath of what just happened.

after all, this was kind of worth it.

-

the next morning you still haven't forgotten about anything that happened last night, blushing profusely each time that scenario pops up into your mind. but you tried to forget it, it was only a one time thing wasn't it?

so as you were about to leave work, you found your neighbor, hanma shuji, outside doing something. you couldn't see what he was doing but it almost looked like it was approaching at your direction. your neighbor was sort of attractive but you haven't been talking to him lately since you're always busy, but you would like to know him more so that you could get in the process on making the first move on him. it was almost like you had a little crush on him.

"why'd you hung up on me last night doll?" his voice was all to familiar as the one from last night, you turned around as you were a bit confused on what he was saying. he looked amused seeing you this way, enjoying this again and again that it never got old,"what do you mean?" you tilted your head, not sounding sure on what he was saying, did he call the wrong number or something? and that's when it clicked, your neighbor was the one that called you last night and said all of those dirty things.

"ya know what i mean." he grinned mischievously as he saw your shocked expression.

"wanna do it again?"

a/n: lowkey this was kinda rushed but here ya go 😚 and i'm sorry for not posting this at the right date but just act like i posted this yesterday

© nu11lar 2023 - do not plagiarize, translate, copy, or steal my work. all credits to the writing go to me and me only.

#kinktober 2023 #hanma x reader #hanma smut

[sturnioloshacker]

unexpected pregnancy, love prevails - chris sturniolo short

a/n: requested by anon: lowercase intended

cw: accidental pregnancy, mentions of periods 

summary: an unexpected pregnancy doesn’t change the love connection between chris and his gf

after meeting through instagram, chris and his 23-year-old influencer girlfriend y/n who is known for her fashion and lifestyle content, were deeply in love and, like many young couples, navigating life's uncertainties together.

however, their world took an unexpected turn after finding out that y/n’s period was late. sitting together in the bathroom of the apartment they shared, they found themselves anxiously waiting for the results of a pregnancy test. as the positive lines appeared on the test, their hearts raced with a mixture of excitement and fear.

"we're going to be parents," y/n whispered, her eyes filled with both joy and trepidation. 

chris nodded, his mind racing with thoughts of the future. they knew they were not financially stable, and their dreams and goals had yet to be fully realized, but the idea of becoming parents had an undeniable appeal.

as the days turned into weeks, chris and y/n decided to embrace this unexpected journey with open hearts. they knew there would be challenges ahead, but they also believed that they had the love and support necessary to overcome them. they started researching prenatal care, baby names, and nursery ideas, all while grappling with the realization that they needed to adjust their plans for the future.

y/n’s online followers noticed the changes in her content – less fashion, more family-related topics. she decided to share their journey with her audience, from the initial shock of the pregnancy to the excitement of preparing for their baby's arrival. her followers responded with a mix of curiosity, encouragement, and some skepticism, but y/n and chris were determined to be authentic in sharing their experiences.

months went by, and as y/n’s belly grew, so did their love and anticipation for their child. they attended parenting classes, built a crib, and painted the nursery walls with colors that would welcome their baby into a loving home. the support from their families and friends was invaluable, as they offered advice, babysitting offers, and even threw a heartwarming baby shower.

when the day finally arrived, y/n and chris held each other's hands in the delivery room, overwhelmed with emotions. their baby's first cries filled the room, and in that moment, all their worries and uncertainties seemed to fade away. they had created a new life together, and it was a beautiful, fragile, and utterly magical moment.

as they gazed at their newborn child, they knew that parenthood wouldn't be easy, but their love for each other and their baby would guide them through the challenges. y/n continued to share their journey as they navigated the sleepless nights, diaper changes, and baby giggles, and her audience grew alongside their family.

in the end, chris and y/n learned that life rarely goes as planned, and sometimes the best moments are the ones you didn't see coming. they embraced their unplanned journey into parenthood with open hearts, and it turned out to be the most incredible adventure of their lives.

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets imagine #sturniolo triplets fanfic #sturniolo triplets fluff #sturniolo triplets x reader

[cozyjae]

lovefool- j.suh 🌻🌷💐

info: johnny x reader, dad!johnny, parents au, pregnancy

wc: 2.2k

a/n: helllooooo everyone! i honestly didn’t think i would ever be back posting on this account but i rewrote this piece recently and wanted to share… just my usual pure fluff ❤️ i hope u enjoy!

Your thing with Johnny is really good, sometimes it just feels too good and too right. Everything feels like it’s fallen so effortlessly and perfectly in place. You definitely don’t want to jinx anything, but after eight months of officially dating, Johnny has been absolutely everything you wanted and needed in a guy.

It’s easy to talk to him, to laugh; to tell him anything. Johnny wants to get to know you, to understand and help you. During moments like these when you lie in bed together, when he holds your waist, and when you pet his bed head and he smiles sleepily— you never want Johnny to leave.

Johnny lays beside you now, smelling like your clean sheets and his usual wood and sea salt cologne, warm fingers tracing different patterns against your hip.

You both have been slowly convincing each other to get up eventually and tackle your lazy Sunday plans of grocery shopping and putting together your new Ikea desk. But it’s been over an hour of falling back asleep and slowly blinking awake and neither of you has made much progress yet.

“You ever think about having kids?” Johnny asks suddenly, making you glance up and twist in his arms to look at his sweet face and dazed eyes.

“Yeah,” you whisper, watching how intensely curious he looks. “Sometimes.”

You subconsciously match his small smile, thoughts of an incredibly wholesome future together making your heart unfairly twist in excitement and want. "You’d be such a good dad,” you continue and Johnny grins instantly. “Like an actual dilf.”

“You think so?”

“Oh yeah,” you laugh, hand running down his bicep, “you’d be hot, babe.”

“And like, a good dad?” Johnny emphasizes, making you bite back laughter.

“Yeah,” you admit easily, rolling over to kiss him. “Of course, you would be.” 

Johnny just looks at you like you said something entirely captivating and consuming.

“What?” You smile, pressing your lips against his jaw gently.

“I just want it so badly, I don’t know.” Johnny bends his arms to rest them behind his head. He watches you, suddenly peaceful and content. “I want so much with you.”

-

4 years later

You wake up to the muffled sound of Johnny’s voice, momentarily wondering if he’s on the phone. You smile to yourself when you listen closely and hear his softer and higher tone. You make your way to your kitchen, leaning against the doorframe, appreciating the scene in front of you. Johnny is carefully holding your daughter, Julie, with both arms, walking around the kitchen, while simultaneously trying to make eggs.

He has messy bed hair- similar to yours, a now permanent fashion statement in your household, and stubble dotted along his jaw. You listen to his soft whispers and your heart swells as your baby’s small fingers cling onto his white undershirt and her chubby hand grasps at his arm, softly patting over his floral tattoo.

Johnny has his back to you so you stay unnoticed, enjoying the serene beauty of your husband and daughter together. Julie was already almost eight months old and time felt like it was flying by, even if the sleepless nights felt long, and now, time alone and a longer than five-minute shower felt like a luxury, you couldn't and don't want to remember a time without Julie.

You love watching Johnny with her, love watching the way he so gracefully and perfectly assumed being a father, how attentive he was, and how much he doted on her and took care of you. How he started cooking most days, how he read a ridiculous amount of baby books, and how he insisted on making sure you got a minimum of a few hours of sleep a night.

You watch him bounce Julie gently, leaning against the doorframe as you smile until your daughter spots you from behind his shoulder. She reaches out and giggles with a tiny grin and Johnny turns around, mirroring her smile, which looks enduringly similar to his own.

“Need help?” You ask as Johnny laughs. “There's probably a more effective way to make breakfast but...”

Julie stretches her arms out towards you and reaches over to grab her from his hold. "Coffee?" He asks, knowing your answer.

"Yes please," you smile down at Julie, her soft hairs and long lashes. She leans her head against your chest, already comfortable in your arms. You watch Johnny stand on his tiptoes to grab a coffee mug and you press a kiss to the crown of Julie's head.

What a nice morning.

-

“Come take a picture!” Johnny says and your daughter giggles and toddles over to you, hurrying as fast as her tiny legs can carry her, bound in a large winter coat, mittens, and ear muffs. A tiny chubby arm extends out to you a wordless ask for stability and help. You smile as she struggles to wrap her small arms around your shoulders, tiny hands grasping your jacket. Her full pink cheek smushes against yours, as Johnny takes a picture, “Your first snow this year, baby!”

 “Careful,” you call, reaching out to grasp her hand as she pulls herself into you. she wraps her arm around you, hugging you tightly. you brush back a loose strand of her hair as Johnny repositions the camera, moving around for the perfect picture. 

"Snow!" Julie repeats loudly. She had just started talking and loved impressing everyone with her linguistic skills, taking her limited vocabulary very seriously as she already loved to talk and communicate with the two of you.

“Smile!” He says excitedly, grinning behind his large camera.

Julie listens, grinning with a smile that has always looked exactly like her father’s, and smushes her cheek closely next to yours. Your arm finds its way to the small of her back holding her securely as Johnny takes a picture. 

“Perfect,” he mutters, more to himself, watching his family in front of him.

-

“What’s the surprise?” Julie cries, toying with the hem of her shirt. Her anxious gaze darts back and forth between you and Johnny, upset that you both know something she doesn’t.

At three years old, Julie hates feeling like she's being excluded from something. the hardest part of her routine now attempting to convince her that it's bedtime and neither of you would dare have fun without her.

Johnny hands her a small transparent piece of film. Your daughter plays with it gently, turning it around in her palm. “What does this mean?” She questions, not able to stay still and scooting towards you with wide, curious eyes. 

Johnny holds her close to his body, wrapping an arm around her as she gives him her full attention. “It means in a couple of months you’re going to be an older sister.” Julie blinks with her mouth open, still in shock. She has friends in preschool who were younger siblings or already had younger brothers or sisters. Johnny's cousin recently had twins and Julie was completely fascinated by how tiny they were and that there were two babies.

You knew Johnny always wanted Julie to have at least one other sibling and the timing had finally felt right for the first time since Julie was born a few years ago.

 “Really?” Her voice grows louder in pure excitement, looking at you in awe before her eyebrows furrow, confused, pouting. “Why not right now?” She pouts, immediately turning to her father for an explanation. He laughs loudly, “That’s not how it works, baby," he pulls her into his lap, noting that patience is still hard a hard virtue for a three-year-old.

-

You're tucking Julie into bed a few nights later when she brings up the baby again.

“There’s a baby in there?” Julie asks, pointing to your stomach where a small but noticeable bump began to show.

“Yes sweetheart,” you laugh as she smiles widely, “wow,” her big eyes fill with excitement and curiosity. She reaches out and lays a small, warm hand on your stomach, “hi baby.”

You smile at your daughter, already knowing what a great sister she will be. She gripes the comforter tightly as she moves to your side to cuddle you closer. “Love you,” she mumbles, eyes tightly shut, trying to lull herself into sleep. 

“I love you too,” you say quietly and you eventually think she’s successfully asleep, tucked tightly next to you until she whispers cutely, “I love you baby.” You feel a small tap on your stomach and watch her gently pat your stomach. She snuggles closer, satisfied and closes her eyes for a peaceful sleep. 

-

 “Look!” Your daughter calls as she thrusts a picture towards Johnny, a pink and purple fingerprinted flower. He takes her in his arms, “for me?”Johnny asks shocked, looking at her art. Her arms find his shoulders. “No,” she giggles, “for Mommy!” She finishes, still laughing at Johnny’s reaction.                      

Johnny pretends to look hurt, pouting, “Well, can I have one too?” he asks. She thinks about it, face twisting, “Okay!” The little girl decides and Johnny’s smile grows instantly. “Thank you, baby.”

She frowns, chiding her father with a grin, “I’m not baby.” 

“You’re not?” Johnny asks surprised and she nods approvingly. “Yes, the baby is in mommy right now,” she explains, looking at him to confirm he understands.

“Ahhh,” Johnny nods knowingly, smiling tugging on his lips, “I see. You're right. So smart." Julie hides her smile, leaning against Johnny's shoulder.

“You’re still my baby though, right?" He asks as Julie buries her face into his neck, giggling. “Yes,” she laughs, muffled by the cotton of his t-shirt. 

-

The three of you watched Nemo while Julie was incredibly invested in the story, watching while sitting in Johnny's lap and letting him braid her hair. You're sitting close to them, a blanket draped over you and Johnny watches you sleep peacefully.

Julie sighs against Johnny's chest as he pats her shoulder. "Let’s go to bed, Jules."

She lets Johnny hoist her up and carry her into her room, the one down the hall from yours, with the pink walls and newly upgraded twin bed.

"Daddy," she whispers, clutching her favorite teddy bear. "Will you still love me even if I’m not a baby anymore?"

Johnny blinks and brushes back stray hairs from her face with a soft smile. "Of course, I could never not love you, never ever."

"Ok, Daddy," she smiles to herself, seemingly satisfied.

"Will you still love me?" He asks and Julie giggles.

"Yes!"

"I had to make sure!" He defends and Julie squeals, wrapping her arms around his torso and squeezing tight.

"Jules, Mommy and I will love you forever."

-

“The baby is going to be small,” Johnny explains, walking Julie through the hospital halls as she swings their arms back and forth excitedly.

“Okay,” Julie bounces. "Isn't it cool, daddy, that baby and I have the same birthday month?"

"Wow," he looks down at Julie and her bright, excited eyes, "it really is."

"But we have our own days," she continues, "I think it was meant to be." Julie decides, stopping when Johnny does, in front of your hospital room.

"I think so too," he smiles, squeezing her hand gently and opening the door carefully.

"Wow," Julie gasps, consciously trying not to run up to the hospital bed where you hold a tiny bundle.

"Hi, Jules," you smile, "do you want to meet your brother?"

She nods with wide eyes, already on her tippy toes to try and peer over the tall bed. Johnny instead sits down in the chair next to you and lifts her into his lap. "Here," he murmurs as you carefully pass over your newborn.

"Hi," Julie stares at the small bundle, "Daddy," she gasps, looking up at Johnny. She touches the baby tentatively as Johnny's arm wraps around her waist. Julie is already hyper-fixated on her sibling, on her brother.

"What's baby's name?" She whispers like she's scared of disturbing him.

"Jordan," Johnny says quietly, meeting your eyes with a small, content smile.

"Hi Jordan," Julie smiles, supporting his head gently, turning to look at you. "Do you think he already knows how much I love him?"

You nod, "I think he does." Julie nods with a smile, like that reassures her and you watch her hold her brother, feeling like your family with Johnny felt so complete.

#nct imagine #nct blurb #nct fic #johnny suh fic #johnny suh imagine #nct dad au #nct blurbs #nct scenario

[fireandiceland]

Hey I just wrote this in *checks time* like thirty minutes after it’s been on my mind since last night. It’s probably far from perfect but I think you will get what I want to project from my brain into yours 🥺🩷

usukus, very domestic very fluff, much scene and mood building with minimalist dialogue. a little offering from me to you in these trying times 💕

Alfred wakes up in the middle of the night sometimes, warm and cuddly under the sheets, but as he stirs he finds the bed empty by his side. A warmth still lingers but it’s almost gone entirely.

He doesn’t think too much of it, tries to doze off, back into the land of dreams, but after a couple of minutes the pressing matter of urgent natural needs force him to leave the warm embrace of the bed.

He stumbles out of the bedroom, bleary eyes barely cooperating as he feels his way along the wall until he finds the bathroom door. A way he has marched countless times in all states of wake and tiredness yet it’s always a surprise when his hand finds the door handle and switch for the bathroom light.

When business is done and his eyes have become used to the darkness he finds a soft light coming through under the door to the living area. The open kitchen, dining room and living room have always been a dream of his.

He pads towards the door, towards the light. His steps are still clumsy with sleep clouding his ability to move more elegantly.

“Arthur?”

He blinks a few times to give his eyes the chance to adjust to the dim light of Arthur’s reading lamp. First the pitch black of the hallway, then the offending intensity of the bathroom light, back to darkness in the hallway again - Alfred rubs his eyes, the action almost childlike to him when Arthur acknowledges his presence with a look.

“It’s late. Why are you awake, love?”

Could ask you the same, Alfred thinks but doesn’t say out loud. He shakes his head in sleepy disbelieve and finally entires the scene.

As Alfred comes closer, Arthur puts down the needlework he was working on and unfolds his legs under the soft blanket that covers his lower half. With the still lightly steaming cup of tea on the side table and his reading glasses on he looks like the epitome of domestic.

Without another word Alfred sits down, lays down, cuddles into Arthur’s side, forcing him to find a position where he can support his boyfriend’s need for physical closeness without either of them rolling off the not so spacious double-seater where Arthur had made himself a nightly home.

It isn’t unusual for him to spend a sleepless night doing needlework or reading one of his more explicitly ‘romantic’ books or simply indulging in the unintentional comedy that is late night tv commercials. But for Alfred to be awake too is a rare pleasure.

“How long ‘ve you been ‘wake?”

Alfred’s words are muffled by his face being hidden in the soft warmth of Arthur’s ridiculously charming, old fashioned flannel pyjama shirt and the blanket covering his face up to his nose.

“Depends. What time is it?”

For him to tell the time Arthur would have to turn around to face the nearest clock and disturb the sweetness that is a cuddly Alfred, close and soft and adorably pliant. A sacrifice he isn’t willing to make.

“T’late t’be ‘wake…”

Touché. Arthur quietly chuckles and threads his fingers through Alfred’s blond hair. In the orange light of his reading lamp it looks like threads of pure gold spin around his fingers. Even at night the warmth of a summer’s day radiates from Alfred and Arthur lets its light touch his skin, feels it prickling on his cheeks as he too settles into a comfortable position for the night.

“Yes, indeed it is… Good night, Alfred.”

The light is extinguished, but this time Alfred finds comfort in the darkness. Because this time he knows when he awakes, it will be with Arthur in his arms. He hugs him a little tighter at the thought and feels a brush of lips at the top of his head.

“G’night, Arthur..”

#aph england #aph america #ukus #usuk #hws england #hws america #Riva.fanfic #hetalia #hetalia fanfiction

[tartagliaxx]

。BUT EVEN JUPITER HAS BOUTS OF MERCY

━━ INCLUDES: albedo, diluc, tartaglia, xiao

━━ SUMMARY: for the first time in years, jupiter budged from his flux — his storms softening into one that might welcome room for optimistic outlooks for the future; or his point of view in the events that transpired, plus what happened after you confronted him, learning that all this time, the relationship you valued was a mere ploy in order to escape his admirers

━━ CONTAINS: fake dating!au, modern!au, highschool!au (albedo), college!au (xiao), language (childe and xiao), dubious mental states, questionable scientific and philosophical themes + others, alcohol mention (non-consumption), open-ended?

━━ PREREQUISITE: jupiter was cruel

。 ALBEDO — “ princeps cretaceus | chalk prince ”

before you, albedo never really cared much about social interaction nor did he see any point in interacting with his classmates when they were unlikely to give any useful feedback about his research. it wasn't as if he thought of himself as someone above other people because there was a time when he stood by the swings of a playground, watching and wishing he was one of the people who ran away from the seeker in a game of hide-and-seek. it's not exactly a big deal as every child goes through a rather playful phase while growing up but the five-year-old albedo struggled to fit inside the world he looked upon with wonder.

he was older now and that desire to belong has evaporated as he found through trial-and-error that he was perfectly fine as he is. faint traces of contentment flickered inside his bright, curious eyes as one by one, likeminded individuals drew close to him like birds of the same species and genus flocking together. social interaction was far from his strongest suit, especially when it's not with sucrose or his senior, timaeus, but it was a task he did nevertheless for the sake of his academic pursuit. at the very least, he had the company of the wonderful strangeness of science and for that alone, he was able to pour dozens of sleepless nights reading through piles of full-text articles that always left the right amount of his curiosity sated and the right amount of questions that would leave him wanting more. the most recent conclusion he had was about himself. he was happy being the quiet honor student that nobody quite knew. he was content that he already has plans for the future, no matter how loose: a degree in biological sciences and if he was lucky, then maybe he'd chance upon a world-changing discovery. if not, well, it wasn't as if that was a priority for albedo believed himself to be relatively simple and old-fashioned — just a kid who wanted to learn so much more.

when he was eight-years-old, a child the same age as he approached him by the swings — his spot. they told him that he looked like he was feeling down and he wondered how they came to that conclusion when he had always worn a creepily emotionless face (as referred to by a bully in his class). they simply shrugged saying that some things didn't need an explanation because you just know and it was then that he realized that there was so much to learn from that person.

that was the last interaction he had with them and he wished it wasn't. he still remembered the way the tiny snickers bar fit in his tiny hands — a little something they gave to cheer him up. he never got to say thanks. he’ll be sure to do so, if he ever got the chance to meet them again but even albedo doubts that strange forces would make their paths cross again after ten years.

on his senior year, he was seated beside a face quite familiar and it took him two days of pondering to figure out that the stranger from his childhood now sits beside him in class. it was a curious turn of events and he was suddenly the same eight-year-old boy who struggled to strike up a conversation.

he knew you to be a quiet kid who no one dislikes. you’re always ready to lend your notes that were sometimes hurriedly scrawled with a regular ballpoint pen and sometimes decorated with pops of color from your assortment of highlighters. you sat with your friends at lunch, keeping to yourself like you all shared a bubble separate from the rest of the world. he never managed to catch your name, just that you and he interacted before and he remains to look back on it fondly.

he was observant so it was easy to see that your attention was easily stolen by a familiar shape on the clouds or something similar. you also procrastinated on science projects a lot and you would pull all-nighters the day before the deadline. you don’t think twice before lending him a pen when his ran out of ink while doing his experiment notes and you’re pretty observant yourself, giving him another snickers bar when he got caught up in astronomical research.

the next day, he was wondering what to say to you after staying up all night chastising himself for not saying thank you before you left. in no time, the bell rang and you were packing your things. it was… quite embarrassing to look back on and he said the first thing that came into his mind when he saw that you were stepping away from your desk.

“blood moons could be refreshing to look at,” he says before realizing just how awkward it was to randomly spout science trivia and averting his gaze to fake writing something on his notebook. he could feel your confused stare on his form for a brief second before you ultimately left, leaving him to regret his god awful social skills.

ah… he forgot to say thanks again… 

the next day, he spots the dark circles under your eyes and he wondered if you managed to complete the paper for your biology class on time. actions speak louder than words, he thinks as he slid a snickers bar to your table just as you had done before for him. he expected a little mumbled thanks or even a polite rejection but perhaps, he kept his head low too much for him to recognize the array of surprises his seat mate offered.

"in a lunar eclipse, the earth's atmosphere scatters most of the blue light which causes the remaining light to reflect on the moon with a red glow."

he found himself amused and a strange weightless feeling makes his heart spur. he doesn’t know what to reply but he realized that he just so happened to have his book about observed celestial events with him that day so that was what he slid over to you before you part ways.

interactions with you were limited to small things like that for a long while but he knew better. his seat mate, whose name he now knows after you introduced yourself thinking he never noticed you before, was more observant than he assumed. you weren’t the most sociable person to ever exist but you handle conversations well enough. it might be just him and the strange haze that overcomes him every time you talked but he can’t help but believe that you enjoyed and appreciated your interactions with him just as much.

he lacked the social skills that could deem him charming so it came to a surprise when a stranger approached him once more while he was walking home from a convenience store run. this time without the kind undertones of your gaze or the subtle mischievous lilt of your voice. it wasn't you and for a brief moment, he realized that it was only you who made social interactions a little less tedious than they actually were.

the stranger had sickly pale skin and an equally sick smile that had his mind flashing red in even intervals. the human instinct for danger caused the hairs on his skin to rise up in alarm, every single nerve aching to run and never look back. this... person spoke of an admiration that made his stomach churn — of a romance that he could not find any pleasure in. it wasn't everyday that his composure was broken but as he murmured an apology, albedo realized that his agitation was displayed white as day on his face.

everything that happened after was a blur and all he could vaguely remember was saying that he had already promised himself to someone else and that was not exactly a lie. so many days had passed since then and just as many were the days where he impulsively asked you out as he saw a strange shadow lurking behind the corner. pretending that things were perfectly fine so as to evade your worry was an easy task but he didn't know that the cost was hurting you even more.

the moon was neither cruel or merciful but it was beautiful and mysterious. it was something he would compare to the look on your face as he haphazardly confessed his feelings for you if only the uncertainty of the situation didn't terrify even the stone-faced scientist of year three's class b. the truth — his honest mistake and his uncharacteristic fear — gnawed on his throat like a secret waiting to be spilled but albedo, who has learned to hold your strangeness close to his heart, feared the expanding distance between you two. but now that the truth was spilled with neither of you willing to clean it up, the pale glow of the satellite above illuminated his way as he stepped into a neighborhood now familiar to him.

"...what are you doing here?"

though the moon may not be cruel, perhaps he was for allowing his dark sea of selfishness to dictate where his feet may lead.

"i have something to admit."

"leave, albedo." you whisper as you avoid his gaze, eyes red from what was left of your tears, "it's late. it's not safe for you to be outside."

"i'm— i'm not here to apologize. i don't think your forgiveness is something that i should have but i have to let you know the whole truth, at least."

you mimicked his words, "the truth? there's more to this than just you playing around?"

he didn't respond, only sighing as he tears his eyes away from your feeble form. the small silence was deafening but even more unnerving was the solemn smile that graces over your soft lips after giving him a once over. without once meeting your eyes, he told you everything — from the stranger to his brewing feelings to his conversation with timaeus.

"i knew," you sighed as you motioned for him to enter into your dimly lit home, "i told you i knew."

"everything?"

a humorless chuckle slips out of you as you fiddled with the hem of your pajamas. with little to no effort, you repeat the words you uttered just a few hours prior "you don't need to be a science genius to be observant. i guess it also helps that you're a horrible liar."

albedo doesn't reply for a while, gaze downturned before he accepts the small cup of water you were offering, "are you mad at me?"

"yes," you answered without missing a beat.

the spark from when your fingers grazed over his when you handed the cup turned into a fire that suffocated him from within. though he didn't see his reflection, he was certain that his eyes dilate at the slow-burning fear for what your approaching form could say next, "it was unfair of you to keep me in the dark when you could've easily told me. you knew i would help and don't give me the "i didn't want to pull you into my trouble" because that's not something you get to decide for me."

silence ensued for the longest time, well, at least for him. to you, only a minute and a half had passed as you phrased your following words in your head. time was not askew and it did none of the fancy slow-mo shots they do in overly tragic telenovelas. it was just silence — an unbearable kind that still had him waiting with bated breath.

"you know... you really suck at expressing your feelings," you snort humorlessly as you sat beside him a mere few inches away from touching him, "no one translates "we can't keep doing this forever" to "i can't keep giving you less than what you deserve." not like it matters because it's not your place to decide for me in any way. only i can do that for myself and i don't know where you or timaeus learned that it's okay to do that but it sucks for you guys because it doesn't matter what you think. if i'm happy and content in receiving all that your sincerity can offer then that's that. you don't get to argue or leave me hanging just because you think i deserve chocolates or flowers every other day."

this time, you don't miss the way albedo nibbled at his lips with a profound sense of loss. this conversation was something beyond what he could ever hope to expect. he was a so-called genius and his hypothesis included your screams of anger but seeing you so understanding made his heart constrict in a way that knocked him off his rational thoughts. 

"i'm sorry."

"what happened to "i'm not here to apologize?" came your snarky reply but not even a few moments later, you were uttering your own apology for your sharp tone, "i'm not... forgiving you. i don't think there's any way you can justify your actions but... i know you. you're socially awkward and you miss the innuendos that usually came with your innocent words. you're... i don't know... you're too honest and i knew that you cared loads for me as a friend and i return the sentiment. it doesn't matter if you could only see me as a friend for the rest of your life but... i don't want to lose you. i can't forgive you right now but i'm selfishly asking you to make it up to me... someway... somehow."

social interactions were not his cup of tea because it reminded him too much of everything that could go wrong with just one misplaced sentence. still, albedo finds himself with renewed determination to try, only following the correct steps this time around.

"you were wrong about one thing," he mumbles as he averts his gaze from yours one last time, "i do like you more than you believe i do. i like you enough to admit that you deserve more than the socially inept seat mate you have."

you snort, "if you're trying to win me back, please don't tell me that's your best shot."

"not precisely... i still have flowers and chocolates to give you every other day," albedo shakes his head with the beginnings of a mildly amused smile. 

it was eleven in the evening when you see albedo out of your house and you couldn't help but note how happy you are that you didn't sleep early and miss a night so beautiful with a perfect full moon.

。 DILUC — “ noctua | owl ”

how do you know if you love someone? is it when they make you remember yourself despite living in a world that makes you forget your unique identity? is it when you find someone's body to be just the right kind of warmth to wake up to? love was a strange thing and diluc often finds himself remembering that it was a terrifying thing too. love makes you do all sorts of extremes and the fear that your other half loves you less than you love them was enough to make him hesitate. 

how else would he piece himself back together when he is hurting if he was to avoid plotting a distance?

as a child, he never liked playing house. it all seemed too romanticized. sure, the domesticity was real but growing up with an adopted brother and a single father who he saw very rarely because of work made him realize a lot of things. kaeya would fight him over the littlest things and he would end up fighting back even when he swore he'll be the bigger person. it's not something out of hate as it was more out of mischief but it doesn't change the fact that those perfect, calm households all appeared to be a hoax when he looks at kaeya and the chaos he brews around himself.

still, diluc ragnvindr was a human who craved intimacy and a place to come home to. as cheesy as it sounds, it would be nice to find someone who'll find belongingness in his embrace like two puzzles clicking together. it must be fun to let loose and be mundane, dancing in the kitchen with blinking light bulbs waiting to be changed. he wondered how long it'll take for that person to enter the doors of his newly bought apartment — or rather, if he'll have the courage to let them in. as romantic as proclaiming "i'm home" is, he knew that an other half can turn into a stranger in minutes, leaving behind only the ruins of what that home was. it doesn't matter how long they stayed together because, in one second, he would've had only memories of what love was to cry over.

he's afraid of commitment. he was scared of losing. so what? he was fresh out of college and anything goes. he bumped into someone whose eyes screamed "welcome home" and the murky skies of his mind told him that it was best to just visit and go back on his merry way. diluc wasn't a romantic and so he definitely didn't believe in love at first sight. he was lonely, yes, but he wasn't quite insane enough to entrust a stranger he bumped into with all of his heart and wonder. instead, he handed you his handkerchief to wipe away the remnants of the coffee on your shirt, and gave you his number for renumeration. it was common courtesy and with that, he leaves.

it was by chance when he heard sobs inside the office pantry one year later, and ever the gentleman, he sat beside you silently in a wordless act of comfort. he's just being a decent human being, he argues as the wind howled in his head. he was certainly not patting your back despite his bones creaking from uncertainty and awkwardness because he felt drawn to you, and the hopeless thunder in his heart? it's likely only concern for his colleague. though time ticks away quickly and diluc never had a penchant for delaying his duties, he stays and hides the turmoil in his eyes behind voids akin to those in space. that way his beloved distance remains to keep him secure.

"thank you," you croak out with a pitiful smile, "sorry for ruining your handkerchief again..."

he swallows, tells you its fine before dismissing himself once more. he may be no astronomer but big bangs disturbed the heart he was trying to still. merely being objective, he convinces himself as he stared at his confused reflection. admitting that the constellations in your eyes — burning, passionate, explosive booms, and supernovas — were beautiful was merely being honest and factual, nothing more, nothing less.

diluc breathes, only to muffle a curse as kaeya cackled behind his back, "what's this i'm seeing? my dear brother has a crush on the intern?"

the world stills as if caught red-handed but diluc refused to plead guilty. instead, he shoots a glare and a muffled "you don't know what you're saying" before witlessly fixing the files on his desk. ever the troublemaker, kaeya begins chattering about you and diluc paid very little attention, too absorbed in tapping his fingers against the wooden frame in thought. 

he learned your name and objectively speaking, it suited your face a lot.

in retrospect, it was then that all went downhill as a particularly insistent business partner offered an heir's hand for his perusal. if only it ended there, but he had managed to catch the same heir's eye and they all but thrown themselves over his lap just to catch his attention. though thoroughly amused, kaeya took pity on diluc and told that person that he was, in fact, in a happy relationship with someone. to make matters worse, kaeya had offered your name, thus convincing diluc to talk to you before the heir sees through their blatant lie.

asking for your time was easy enough but as you peered into his soul with an innocent smile, his face contorted to one of nervousness and helplessness. how could he bring up that kaeya had dragged you into his mess and that he was hoping that you could help him in this horrible ruse? but even more troubling was the sweat in his palms, the fear of rejection in his heart — every minuscule detail that made this situation cherry-sweet and real. he knew it was wrong to fool you into thinking that it was all a lie but was it really wrong to crave intimacy minus the inevitability of being hurt? it was a madness he started and when you pulled him into an embrace as you accepted his feelings, diluc felt his guilt being washed away by light showers. how much was his statement a lie if it has always been the untold truth?

another year passed and the light showers that cleared his head has turned into a storm that flooded his mind with anxiety. everything felt vivid now. the way your hands cup his cheeks, the way you smile at him when he comes home from work, the way you ask him about his day — everything was real and the fear that came with the increasingly affectionate touches he gives you became less fictitious. 

he loves you. what has he done? how does he even begin to explain the truth that was hidden behind the curtain this past year? will you leave him because of it? he admits that it would be smart to do so.

"what time will you be coming home?"

“i’ll be ho—” he pauses, shaking his head with a deep frown before he turns his back on you, “i’ll be back by eight. you don’t need to wait for me.”

“it’s fine… i’ll wait for you no matter how long it takes. stay safe. i love you.”

he reluctantly nods and he feels you watch as his back vanishes from your line of sight. when he heard the door click close, diluc runs a hand down his face in frustration. a curse falls down his lips and he defeatedly looks up at the greying skies. you had reminded him of the weather forecast and if you weren't there, he'd probably be arriving at the office drenched. guilt boils down in his stomach and cools as remembers your sweet greetings. you were always too good to him — for him. though fear screams at him from the edges of his mind, he loves you and he feels that he owes you his honesty.

no matter the cost.

perhaps he was sick — crazy evil for still having the hope that maybe, just maybe, after all this time, you would still give him your favor and offer him a sweet and tender smile that eases all of his aches. would you cry? would you leave? his wounded heart trembles. if he thought you leaving him was bad enough, clearly he was unready for the sight of your tears; tears that he bought as it was ultimately he who drove the sword in, not kaeya who had merely suggested the idea in jest.

with an unreadable expression, diluc sank deeper into the luxurious seat of his car — the same one he bought because he was told it was charming to drive (the hidden intent of trying to boost his charm in your eyes must not go unrealized). he laughs emptily at that, starting the engine methodically as guilt once again eats him up like a bloodthirsty viper. if he could only have one wish, he’d hope that he could turn back time to the days that a mere mention of your name would send him into a fit of gut-wrenching remorse.

lies were dirty. lies were horrible. lies never amounted to anything good. and even after knowing all of that, you stay and diluc wonders why. had he been in your shoes, he would probably packed his bags and left a long while ago. no amount of water could wash away the grime that is the weight of a play-pretend that only had one willing actor. did it not hurt more than it’s worth? he slows to a stop as the light went from yellow to red and he takes this time to reminisce about his absence this past year. with that he decides that he truly was not worthy of any of your love.

not like it mattered, not ever. you were too kind and too generous; a true angel who spares no one their warm embrace.

with slow and heavy steps, diluc trudges towards the winding halls of his building. with the interest of an eroding rock, he attended his meetings. with the loud ticking of a clock, diluc signed paper after paper with a distracted glaze over his eyes. he was sure that his odd behavior earned him a few wary glances but that was a mere afterthought to his increasing dread. the only thing that could help him now was a boring routine — a routine that takes his mind away from the drive home and his confession. but even that can only take him so far as before long, he was once again facing the entrance to your house — home, really, if he was going to take his honesty with him.

his keys turned with a small ‘click’ and the door opens. warm, yellow light peeks out from the kitchen and he finds himself in a space he ironically feels comforted in. here, there is no anxiety. just your welcoming gaze and your apron-clad self in its full glory. somehow, even with the remnants of flour on your hands and cheeks, you’re still the epitome of purity.

was it finally time?

"i'm back,” he swallows but before he could dislodge the word from his throat, you beat him to it.

"welcome home," you smiled ever so gently, "so... how was your day?"

you’ve always been like this, playing your role with effortless ease that it hurts him.

"it was alright. have you eaten dinner yet?"

"i was waiting for you. let's?"

"let's."

and what can a selfish man do but find a salve that removes that burning pain of cowardice?

it took only five steps to find heaven and as it turns out, heaven was your hands tangled in his hair as you pulled him impossibly close, sweet lips pressed against his. it’s the irreplaceable kind and diluc was convinced that even if the world were to burn outside right now, he would not be able to part from the astronomical pull of your person — just as it had always been.

。 TARTAGLIA — “ monoceros caeli | narwhal sky ”

if he could laugh at only one joke for the rest of his life, he’d choose to laugh at himself and the immense foolishness that seemed to run through his veins more prominently than his own blood. he’s a fool — an even greater fool than the romanticists who adore all things reminiscent of their muse — for letting go of possibly the greatest love he’ll ever come across in his lifetime. 

growing up with doe-eyed sisters and a picturesque couple in his mother and father, ajax loved the idea of soulmates. he lived for it, daydreaming of one day locking eyes with someone who will always be there for him. he closes his eyes and he sees a beauty blessed by aphrodite and a heart favored by eros. just thinking about it makes him flex his hands that are hardened and scarred from an accident back when he was seven. he sees his muse shine radiantly as they cradle his rough hands into their own, pressing little kisses on each ruined flesh in a soft profession of “you’re perfect. everything about you from your unruly hair to your deep blue eyes to your tender gaze is perfect and i love you for it.” sure, maybe the poetries were exaggerated but those exaggeration bleeds of hope; of a determination to overcome even the most cruelest of pains and ajax, ever a fighter, finds that he loves it. if believing in everything that could go right instead of everything that could go wrong dubs him a fool, then a fool he should be and a proud one at that. he’s loved before and yes, they haven’t all been pretty but he thanks the stars and the moons above that he met them anyway. for him and probably every other brave soul out there, love is more than just meeting and tolerating. it is also finding and growing and being in the most preciously delicate of ways. it’s beautiful in a way that no man can ever hope to describe because it is all in the heart; all embedded in the soul that speaks its own kind of indecipherable language.

ariel was a warrior and he always believed it so. she took a leap of faith by trading what was dear to her person in order to gain and become one with someone who could give her so much more. cinderella, too, was a warrior. she overcome the fear and the years of doubt engraved into her being by her malicious family for the sake of coming home to someone who can wash away all that pain. that’s love — finding strength in another and becoming greater than you could ever be had you been walking on your own. love was as glorious as they claim it to be: it feeds your eyes images of a thousand fireflies and your stomach, a kaleidoscope of wild butterflies that dance in celebration of your fluttering heart. love was as magical as they claim it to be: ajax finding himself giggling with his siblings at 2am as they binged an obscure rom-com series from the 90s with colorful hopes for the future. the soft light of the television illuminates their face as they all proclaim in their heads, “someday… someday, that love will be mine and it will be more than enough.”

love isn’t a painkiller, at least, not to him. it’s something closer to a vitamin that invigorates your restless mind. love is something supernatural and yet, so ironically mundane. it’s not a one-two fix for any of your woes but it does leave you laughing incredulously as you find yourself charging ahead with your flames renewed. maybe he’s lived a relatively peaceful life to be able to say such words but everything seemed so easy as long as he could find it in his trembling legs to jump and free fall into whatever that may come to pass. he’s blessed that way; that his family taught him how to nurture another’s soul while letting them return the favor; that the authors in the few books he has read all spoke of how despite being imperfect and scared, people still choose to love just because they could; that the old ladies in the nursing home he volunteers at all said that while hurt has come to them in more ways than one, they bore no regrets because the happiness they gained from their experiences patches that hurt all too easily. it’s strange and complex and far too intricate for his simple mind but he knew that if there is only one thing and one thing alone that he knows for sure, it’s that people need love.

love is what colors the world with the blue in his eyes and the pink on his flushed cheeks. love is what makes him see glimpses of yellow and green at each blooming romance of young high schoolers who are still testing the waters. it’s a vibrant, mind-blowing shade that throws even the power of jupiter to shame. after all, what else will you call a power so supreme that it pushes you to live, live, and live some more? he has yet to find that kind of love for himself but he knows that it will come eventually. someday, he will love someone and they will love him back and they would put james dean and audrey hepburn to shame. they will dance with him to the tune of ‘can’t help falling in love’ because they truly can’t help but fall for each other every time they’d flash a gummy smile and they will fall asleep side-by-side on the living room as the credits of some mediocre hallmark film plays in the background.

yeah… that sounds about right… sounds about what everyone deserves to have…

they say that twenties was the marriage age but ajax argues that there is no "one" time for love. he does make the effort of putting himself out there as his friends called it but that was that. he was in no particular rush and he finds no need to plead for destiny’s threads to pull him forward. destiny was an expert in reverse psychology though because ajax received an answer to a prayer unsung and he found it at the corner of an overhyped cafe a few blocks away from home.

he found the idea of love at first sight cute but always thought that it wasn’t for him. it was unfair to think about now that he learned that it didn’t matter a single bit what he thought because love comes however it wants. in that crowded place, time seemed to stop and so did his heart that froze before starting back up with a pace that would usually send him flying off the walls. his throat closes up as he hurriedly averts his gaze from you in the middle of a flustered panic. was his hair fine? did he remember to wear his lucky cologne? seemingly useless questions flitted through his mind and before long, he was at the front of the counter ordering some random coffee brew because he just couldn’t be bothered. was this what the bards meant when they said “you’ll know it when it happens”?

with a hesitant step forward, he cleared his throat before smiling apologetically (and he hopes it also came off as charming), “is this seat taken? sorry, i can’t see any other empty space…”

so what if he said a little lie? so what if the second floor of the cafe had a few spare tables? if he was going to shoot his shot, he might as well omit all the negative details from his head — just like the tense frown you were wearing from the moment he saw you.

ajax waited with bated breath and stiff muscles as you considered your options. when you sighed in defeat, he sighed in relief and he all but slammed his tray in a hurry in case you suddenly change your mind. he was barely situated in when you brought out your headphones. panic-stricken, he wore another bright smile as he tapped on your mug, “what’s your order? it looks good!”

you frowned and ajax winced internally because of all things he could say, he says the one thing that didn’t make sense, “good? the most you could see is the murky leftovers of the good parts. what’s there to look at?”

“i guess but,” he shrugged relaxedly (it was all an act), “is anything really good if you could only appreciate it on its best of days?”

he thought that he caught himself well but you seemed to disagree, rolling your eyes and completely ignoring him by the next second. he halfheartedly twirled his straw, wondering if he just sucked at conversing with attractive people or if you were just naturally pessimistic and cold. either way, the defeated slouch of his body was not hard to see by any interested onlooker.

so what if he was a romantic? he didn't think that there was something to be ashamed of in embracing a positive outlook in an otherwise dreary world. there was nothing wrong with adoring chick-flicks and pumpkin spice lattes during fall. there was nothing strange with choosing to highlight the good than the bad. there was nothing to criticize in the way he immediately felt drawn to you like two halves of a whole separated for the longest time and suddenly — by complete happenstance — finding each other again. so what if he believed in the irrational notion of soulmates? he'd stand his ground through it all if it meant being able to turn what appears to be a permanent frown on your face into a smile.

he's seen you before in his dreams and it's rather amazing how you beat all the odds when you chose to come at the right day and time and prove to him that you do exist in real life. you had the fire he imagined he'd gladly dance in and the small pout that would put all those celebrities to shame. you could tell him that adonis and aphrodite have nothing on you and he'd believe it in a heartbeat. it's this weird magnetic pull that makes him stare like some poet that wishes to immortalize your attractiveness in his books. the one time he diverts his gaze, he sees you catching a staring at him from the mirror that hung from the wall close by. fueled by the adrenaline and perhaps, hope, he schools his expression into what he hopes looks like a smile that can send anyone swooning like those picture-perfect guys in the novels.

"if you wanted to look, you don't need to be so sneaky about it."

he watched you blink, eyebrows pulling together in a show of annoyance as he sent a wink for good measure. without a skip of a beat, you said, "you have something on your lip."

"what? fuck..." he had been too preoccupied with your reflection that he didn't catch his. now, his mind was in shambles and dark thoughts filled them in response to his embarrassment. "shit, i thought i was being slick and all that—"

though troubled, he didn't miss the small smile that graced your lips that you tried to hide with your hoodie. he counts that as a win so he shoots you a big grin before looking down at his coffee. hesitation brews in his heart but it was now or never so clearing his throat, he asks. "hey, can i get your number?"

you demeanor changes and for the nth time, ajax beats himself up in regret. 

"easy there! i'm really not trying to get in your pants or something. i just thought you were pretty cool and i figured we'll be good buddies!"

he gave it his best shot in damage control but you still refused to give it. he asked nineteen times in total and for the twentieth time, he calls upon the world to give him just one sign that you're really the one for him and so, he proposes a game of rock, paper, scissors — placing everything at the hands of his luck and to fate.

you lost.

but he lost too, he chuckled emptily as he twirled the stirrer in his cup. here he was, still sat at the corner of the cafe you first met in but this time, there was no you. he burned that bridge foolishly because of some drunken drawl incited by irrelevant fears. what a joke. he lost you faster than it took to fall for you which was absurdly swift even in the dictionaries of the gurus. you're midnight wine and campfire talks and hushed giggles in the corner of a big, storied library. you were everything he asked for even when sometimes, you behave like the exact opposite of him. that has always been fine though. opposites attract until he had to ruin it with his stupid mouth.

he should've known better; should've known that all the good things in his life would come crashing down because of him.

the pain in your voice was something that would haunt his nights for the rest of his life, possibly even the lives after that. when you asked why the fuck he'd done the things that he did, he can't even bring himself to look for answers because why the fuck did he? he could only watch as your face morphs into a person he once knew and killed — the you that was cynical and doubtful of good intentions; the you that hated disney films and fairy tales because it's too good to be true; the version of you that would refuse to draw matching hearts when he'd write your name in the back pages of your notebook.

'can't help falling in love' plays in the cafe radio and ajax runs a hand across his face in humanity's greatest portrayal of the character, misery. it was in moments like this when figments of the past you shared come passing around him like shadows that he realizes how much his heart longs to just grip the clock and turn the hands of time himself. he misses the way you'd laugh as he curses out the liars in tv shows. he misses the way he misses you every time you had work and now, your split second replies had all turned into one sided conversations in blue. what can he do?

"what's this? you look pathetic." he jolts in his seat as if all he needed was to hear the voice he hasn't heard in weeks to come back to life. ajax decides against saying that you were far from faring any better. your eyes were swollen like you haven't stopped crying all this time and your lips were trembling at the mere sight of him. his lips twitch up at that. guess he still had some effect on you... he'd rejoice if his tongue wasn't tied in undoable knots. "well? you wanted to talk and now that i'm here, you're not saying anything."

you place yourself before him, setting down a tray that had the same steaming drink you ordered before. he was right. it did look good on its best form.

"you feel unreal. i dreamt of you so many times these days that i don't know if i just finally lost it since you're actually talking to me this time."

there was no response, just the white noise of people having their own conversations that were faring far better than his own. a lump forms on his throat and he forces it down like the way he forces himself to meet your gaze. he didn't know what to expect to see but it certainly wasn't concern.

"just... i don't know... start from the beginning, i guess? i want to know what could possibly be running through your oh-so-brilliant mind for everything to end up like this."

so he tells you everything from the start. from his love at first sight that you couldn't help but laugh at since he spared no details and no thoughts for his dignity, the stalker that has been bothering him for years, the night he drank his concerns away, the way he adored how you rushed and picked him up when he couldn't even stand, the desperate attempt to remove that unsettling feeling in his chest, the timid but excited smile he was greeted with when he woke up to your excited smile, the instance he knew he fucked up, the dreams of a heart stopping confession fading away like a wisp, the fear of losing you if you find out that how it started out was a misunderstanding even if everything else was the truth, and finally, the gratitude he can't help but gurgle out through his tears. all this time, you listened, not interrupting him for one second except for when you awkwardly slid the paper towels in your tray over to him when he started having a breakdown.

you stayed silent for quite some time, ruminating on your thoughts and ajax believes he hasn't known anxiety until today. five minutes passed before you spoke with an unreadable smile, "you're an idiot, you know that?"

"...excuse me?"

"you're an idiot. i don't know how i fell for you," you sigh as the chair creaks when you leaned back, "but i did and for some reason, i can't find it in myself to regret it when emotions died down."

there was just no way that the man you knew who liked having raspberry sherbet after kicking the ass of some random date that stood you up was fake. you chose to believe that not because of some optimistic dream but because it might as well become a scientifically proven truth. he was a guy, well-built and kind, actually clumsy but firm and honorable and— fuck, he has honor and principles in his bloodstream that you decided to give him a chance to explain.

"i didn't block you, you know... i saw each message you sent me hence this," you motion to yourself with a stiff smile.

"oh."

ajax swallows before looking back down to his drink that now turned lukewarm and murky. it stops him from forming any thoughts and he's unsure if he's happy with that since it meant being left alone with the muddled reflection that stared back at him.

"i... honestly don't know what to tell you, ajax, but i... i understand where you came from and i don't think i'm getting the closure i was supposed to get today."

just like back then, he steels himself.; he schools his expression into what he hopes looks like a smile that can send anyone swooning like those picture-perfect guys in the novels although this time, it's weaker and wearier in comparison.

"is that some roundabout way of telling me i can still win you over?"

you don't respond again, only sipping on your drink for the first time that day, and neither of you knew what to make of that.

it's cynicism that saves young hearts from recklessly bolting out of their well-made confines to find something that didn't exist. it's scrutiny that disproves the existence of love and by extension — the macabre heartbreak you were never meant to feel. it's hope that ruins everything that guards your delicate heart. you didn't believe in happy-ever-afters, no, not after all that, but for some reason, you think that this story isn't meant to end in this bitter note after all. maybe the tragedies you heard off were, all this time, interpreted differently by the people who lived it.

shit... you should know better but he was someone you'd risk it all for and that's the dilemma. you supposed you owe him a part of your humor. in this irony, for the first time in a few weeks, you feel like you can laugh again and mean it — genuinely and wholly.

"please—" ajax speaks abruptly, eyes shaking as he eyed your now empty cup, "don't go... not yet..."

you don't. not yet.

。 XIAO — “ alatus nemeseos | winged nemesis ”

mysterianism is the belief that not a single being in the entire vast universe can decipher the hard problem of consciousness. the limits of human comprehension makes it impossible for anyone to grasp the idea of qualia — that is, an individual's subjective yet conscious experiences. it's a bitter acceptance that stops you from falling into the pitfall that is called existential crisis. in a way, it's a philosophical view that is both an answer and not in a big world overflowing with questions because truly, how exactly would you attempt to prove the nature of consciousness? of souls and minds? of their eternal nature or their temporality? what exactly was real? 

xiao, at least, believed that this was solution enough. you may never know if the love in someone else's eyes weigh as much as the one you held in yours but at least, you're certain that it is real and there's no more need to spare doubt on something equivocal in spirit. you don't need to question their 3am thoughts, their strange thought process and conspiracies because it's something that just exists. they exist and you know them. you know their soul and their body and their mind; know what keeps them awake at night and the untold fears that has never seen the light of day until now. he'd know. he feels it every single time in every single conversation. he's kinda you and you're kinda him and it's so easy to say that you belong side-by-side together because there is some unexplainable, hidden force tying a string in your hand and in his. whenever he's in bed, thinking of nothing but which series to binge watch with you next, he knows that you exist and he exists with you.

you've always been his best friend — now and forevermore in each version of ending regardless if it's a happy ever after or not. the insomnia that plagues your mind is something that he mirrors and each night passes easier ever since he met you. whether it be imessage billiards or some philosophical dilemma you found because of your brilliant mind, he types for god knows how long until he settles for a reply that's worthy of your time. he likes you and that's why it doesn't matter to him if he comes to school with dark circles underneath his eyes. he likes you. of course he did. it's harder to not like you than it is to stop breathing. you're everything that he's not — soft and well-rounded, always knowing the right words to say when he's feeling numb after a day of exhausting exchanges. you're not the best at one-sided conversations but the way you'd squeeze his hand in yours is a whole tale in itself. you're his favorite person and for that alone, he speaks the words that are so hard to come to him on normal days.

he says 'i passed by your favorite cafe so i got us some drinks' but mean 'i thought of you while going through my daily life' because he gets so overwhelmed by the saccharine taste of those words when it finally comes down to it. each sentence is some profound expression of his heart and it leaves him trembling in his doc martens every single goddamn time, leaving him to regret not saying what he truly meant later at night when everything's said and done. 'these songs reminded me of you and i don't know how to thank you for being in my life,' 'you're my favorite person and your face is the one that pops inside my mind when i think of the one person i don't ever want to lose,' and ' i love you'; so many things he wanted to say but cowardice comes around to bite his throat until not even a word can be coughed out.

when did the switch between platonic to romantic happen? when did your name become the missing piece to the absurd solution to an equally absurd problem? who knows... maybe it was never platonic in the first place and he just never noticed because mysterianism cannot explain your soul. everything's blurry these days and the only clear thing in his incomprehensible mind was the recognition of the sharp pains that throb in his chest whenever he eyes the last text message you sent.

he loves you. he loves his best friend and your shitty playlist and your store-bought cookies. he loves the criticism you spout whenever the random movie you managed to put on turned out to be some horribly written romance. he loves the way you'd send him random memes throughout the day for no good reason other than you can. he loves you and he misses you especially on late nights like this when your replies came as scarce as water in the desert. was it desperation? some god's pity? he thinks no further before trying again, sending another "hey" among the many he has sent before in an attempt to start a conversation.

he can't explain why he's still staring at his phone expectantly... what does he expect to see?

it chimes and xiao jolts up like a child on their birthday morning.

words are beautiful. they can convey anything from sorrow to glee to adoration and hatred. they're like roses in that sense and roses were dangerous. they're thorned and adorned with hidden malicious meanings. you've given him roses before and he never feared being pricked by them because he knows you. that's why the anxiety he feels now is unfamiliar — because now he doesn't know if he's ever understood you at all.

your half-hearted, playing innocent replies greeted him and the conversation ended faster than what was once the usual but it was a start. he managed to invite you to his next performance and that... well, he supposed it was something to be happy over. amber eyes strayed to find the hoodie that he gave you that he never managed to return. with renewed vigor, xiao kisses the idea of getting any sleep tonight a wonderful goodbye. he has better things to do and words? words are beautiful but they fail him more often than not. if he could get someone else to say the words he desperately wanted to say for him, would it matter? it's still real, is it not? regardless of its validity, the rest of the night was silent save for the soft strumming of a guitar and lonely humming.

friday afternoon came faster than he anticipated and so did the lump on his throat. backstage, his arms feel like jelly that was strangely conducting electricity to the tips of his cold hands. his legs weren't feeling any better being comparable to lead itself. he hates this, he thinks and he mussed up his hair with an annoyed groan. whatever... whatever! xiao repeatedly mumbles to himself as his grip on his guitar's neck grows ever tighter.

if not anything else, then he was still your friend. he has that, at least. he still has you even if it'll never be the same as before.

his band mate tells him they're on stage in five and he peeks through the curtains to see you nursing a drink by the exit. you were wearing one of his shirts and he wonders; do you wear it because you still care about him somewhat or have you just forgotten that it was his once upon a time? regardless, his heart that was already in such a dangerous position trembles at the sight of you. it beats against his ribcage until the excited cheers of the crowd becomes a whisper compared to his own heartbeat. 

has it been weeks since he last saw you? it all feels unreal.

"for the first song," xiao tuned out the band's lead singer who just finished hyping up the crowd, busying himself with adjusting the grain for his electric guitar so that he didn't have to meet the gaze that he knows is focused solely on him — just like other times, "it's actually written by our guitarist, xiao. we hope you enjoy it."

what does it mean to say something? was it merely sending your thoughts to another? whatever it was, it can't possibly be the way xiao could only spare you a passing glance before he had to grit his teeth, feelings of sadness, regret, and longing bubbling to the surface of his normally schooled expression. he catches your raised brow, eyes surprised and dare he say it, concerned, as he finds his world closing in on him.

"if i could turn back time... if I could find a way, i'd take back those words that've hurt you and you'd stay."

relationships ruin friendships, they say. xiao just never considered that there would be an end to something that seems so inexplicably perfect. holding onto hope was foolish but a part of him considered that maybe... maybe you'd find the answer to your question in his song and stop this cruel game of tag. 

"i don't know why i did the things i did. i don't know why i said the things i said"

liquid courage was nothing compared to the state of his sanity. you had on the most unreadable expression he's ever seen. heck, you had never reacted like that the entire time he knew you; not when you had sat so close together, knees and arms touching under one blanket and not when he came knocking on your door one rainy night.

"words are like weapons, they wound sometimes."

he strums his guitar, words — lyrics — popping in his mind in time with the singer who was singing his heart out. words are beautiful because sometimes, they tell you exactly what you want to hear and this time, he means it. it is real. him on the stage, you by the bar; this is reality and each word he wrote for you are the words he hadn't been strong enough to say the night you became mercury and him, pluto.

"i didn't really mean to hurt you," he sees you cover your face with your hand and he stills, wondering if he messed up all over again, "i didn't wanna see you go."

before you were whatever this was, he was your best friend. he used to look out for you in his stupid, unconventional ways because that's the best he could do in his awkward, socially inept skin. he would wordlessly pass his lecture notes to you, pay for your fast-food runs, sign your excuse letters so it wouldn't be obviously fake. he never knew why he made such an effort with you when if it were anybody else, he'd scoff and move on with his day. looking back, maybe he knew the answer all this time. he's in love with you. for real this time.

you're kinda him so you knew what he meant with those words, "if I could reach the stars, i'd give 'em all to you. then you'd love me, love me, like you used to do."

such bittersweet words shake your resolve and you don't know how much more you can take. you're taken back to christmas eves spent in your apartment, hot cocoa and foam on his lips as 'the grinch' plays on the background. you finally meet his eyes after a long while of avoidance and you knew that he's there too.

"when you walked out that door i swore that i didn't care but i lost everything, darlin', then and there."

words were truly beautiful.

this time, he doesn't escape the conversation that must be had and you didn't either. he leaves his guitar the moment the song ends and runs to the backstage where you stand there looking aimless and very, very real. reaching his hand towards you was instinct — like he couldn't believe this was reality and you respond in kind, knowing how lonely it is to be alone in not knowing what you can believe in.

"you'll..." he sighs when your skin touches his, hands interlinking just as how he was used to, “we'll be okay, right?"

"maybe? i think so..." 

you sent him a watery smile and downing pride and fear better than vodka, he tugs your body until you're as close as can be. xiao still can't help but wonder if this is a dream.

you're his best friend and more. selfishly, he doesn't want to lose you — not again after coming back from that hell. you're the one who pulls him back when his aggression takes the better of him. you're the one who stubbornly forces tylenol down his throat whenever he was feeling sick. you were the one who approached him first and stayed even when he refused to return the trust you give him whenever you question everything in this world. you knew him and his intricacies first, the same way he was the first to unearth yours. you're the one who keeps his mind from spiraling — the solution to every single problem he can't seem to understand.

"don't cry," you murmur through your own tears, "i can't stand seeing you cry."

he can't help it, body relaxing with each passing second as the distance between you decreases once more, just as it should always be. frost thaws like the first day of spring. suddenly, it was like the december nights he endured were but a part of his imagination; his weird consciousness manipulating the sensory experience of bearing through the lack of warmth emitted by your body in his hold.

mysterianism is the belief that not a single being in the entire vast universe can decipher the hard problem of consciousness. the limits of human comprehension makes it impossible for anyone to grasp the idea of qualia — that is, an individual's subjective yet conscious experiences. the relief that renews his bones is one that cannot be explained and he preferred it this way out of the fear that if he questions it too deeply, the world will take offense and take you away from him again. his love and your forgiveness, though he can understand neither, he feels nothing but gratitude. it's beautiful, isn't it? in this vast world, you and him made perfect sense and no science or craft can ever come close to placing a value to the way your lovely smile was enough to calm all the raging thoughts in his head.

there was still so much that needs to be said — to be talked through — but that can wait until tomorrow morning. today, he basks in joy. love disappoints and love changes but he was able to catch you before you fully depart. he eyes your face and he can still read through your micro-expressions that speak so loudly of the way you were feeling the same things he was. he sees you and you're still the same as he remembers, if not more precious. it's you. it's really you and admitting it makes him feel like he's one of those down bad boys from dramas who'd jump and scream their professions of love from high school rooftops. and well, if that's what it takes to steal your heart away, he'd gladly be one with this version of him in some other universe.

"you've been staring at me for quite some time now," you promptly avoid his gaze when you hear the familiar lilt that cues his mischief, "you're not still thinking that you're the only conscious mind in this world, right?"

"...well, aren't you such a dream to have?"

mysterianism is a word and words are beautiful especially when it's so powerful that it can patch up old wounds in a minute. 

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#genshin #albedo #diluc #childe #xiao #tartaglia #genshin scenario #genshin imagine #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #gi x reader #albedo x reader #diluc x reader #childe x reader #xiao x reader #—𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 #—𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 #genshin angst

[puckleberryfinnie]

covey!reader in the quarter quell (opening ceremony!!)

read these first for this to make a bit more sense!

original idea post: click me!

introduction story: click me!

thank you to anyone who showed support in any way on the first introduction for this, it means a lot <33 there’s a lot of just reader content in this (mostly because I’m still working on doing a large amount of dialogue between characters), so if you want, you can skip to later down into this to find more interesting stuff!!

summary: reader goes through the opening ceremony process, meeting people along the way!! - reader meets a bunch of the characters! (Finnick, Johanna, Katniss and Peeta)

warnings: fem!reader, slight mention of ptsd?, alcohol, really bad writing (specifically dialogue)

“Get to know those new winners, the lovers. It’ll be good for your image,” she had said, pouring herself another cup. “It’s not lookin’ too good, kiddo. I’ll miss ya’, if I’m honest.”

Both of you knew your partner- the 50 year old, previous farmer, current jobless winner, would be no help to you. He’d made it known very early on that he hated you- hated the Covey as a whole, if we’re being honest. No amount of kindness, no amount of cheerful smiles could make this man like you. If he saw you in the games, he’d kill you. No hesitation, especially if it meant his chance at survival.

The predestined goodbyes made your heart ache, but in reality, they were better than none at all. Getting one last word in was something of importance to you, with anyone you loved. The games had forced you to realize the value of human life more than ever.

Those lovers, though. Katniss and Peeta- You’d have to understand them, before you arrived. Even if you couldn’t make it out alive, you’d like friends in your final moments. Someone to talk to. The last games had been filled with sleepless nights alone, humming melodies to the mockingbirds in the trees. “K-A-T-N-I-S-S,” typed slowly into your search engine device, one implanted into a high-tech table on the traveling train, headed for the Capital. Millions of articles popped up, lighting up the screen with bold titles, attached with colorful images. This Katniss girl, she was something different from the tributes you’d met. There was no determinable factor to it, she just had something about her that made you curious. You dismissed the thought, closing out the browser before turning your head, looking out the fast-moving train through the pristine, freshly cleaned windows.

It didn’t take too long for you to arrive at your all-too-familiar destination- the Capital buildings towering over you, providing shade for your short trip to the training/housing facility. There were people calling out your name as you walked along the gold paved path, asking you questions. All of them wanted to get the inside scoop on the nearly-dead, newly returned tributes, getting their last words before they reached the end of their life. You smiled, waved, said hello to the reporters before escaping them through the front doors of the tall building in front of you.

The outfits available to you for the opening ceremony were better this time around. Your stylist, bless her heart, knew nothing of Covey fashion, and struggled with finding something with farmy-like elements of District 11 while still reaching the level of luxury an event like this one required. This year’s selections were much better- she took the Covey’s bright colors, taking inspiration from patterns found in the little art markets that used to be found in District 11 and 12, tended to by Coveys looking for some extra money for dinner. You picked the one you found the most suitable for yourself, knowing you’d at least semi-match with your partner.

Exiting the building into an area close to the path for the ceremony, you saw many familiar tributes standing around. Johanna Mason. Finnick Odair. Beetee and sweet old Mags. Despite the screaming from the crowd who’d catched a glimmer of your appearance, you calmly walked towards your pair of horses, placed in front of District 12’s. Katniss was standing there, brushing her hand along her horse.

Walking up to Katniss wasn’t a problem- your mama raised you to be confident like that, knowing that’s the only way to live the Covey life. Smile raised, you prepared to give a classic Covey welcome, sure to draw anyone in!

“Katniss, right? Y/N L/N! I love the dress.”

Poor Katniss had been a bit frightened, not planning for anyone to approach her during this experience. She’d seen you before, though- in the games before hers. She’d remembered Prim saying something about her wanting to win the games like you had- no killing, no violence perpetrated on her part. It’d stuck with Katniss after her own games, knowing she’d played against her sisters ‘morality rules’ with her ever-lethal bow and arrow.

Haymitch had mentioned the girl, too- “she’s not much of a threat- that voice of hers is her only weapon when it comes down to it. But she’s smart- slick and sneaky in the arena. An ally like her would mean more sponsors (her adoring fans) and better hiding places.”

Before Katniss could even get in a word to you, a large arm was wrapped around your shoulders, making you tense up slightly before relaxing at the slight of the boy next to you. Finnick. Finnick Odair. You didn’t know him very well, but whenever you sang for those Capital parties, he’d make sure to send a compliment your way, sauntering off after talking for a moment.

“Now, what’re you girls talking about? Me, I’d suspect?” Finnick gave Katniss a nod before looking down at you, smirking.

“You wish, golden boy,” you laughed, taking a closer look at his ensemble of clothing (or lack thereof) for the evening. You turned back to Katniss, still very aware of the touch between you two.

Katniss gave a strange look to the two of you before saying “Yeah, definitely not talking about you… maybe that ridiculous outfit, though.”

“Ouch! I think it looks pretty nice, don’t you think, singer girl?”

“It’s alright, I guess. Not much to look at, though.” You answered.

“Oh, believe me, singer girl, there’s plenty to look at.” He winked, before walking off with a smile on his face.

You watched as he walked away, realizing what he was insinuating. You slowly turned back towards Katniss, shaking your head before resuming your conversation, the one left unattended when Finnick had blessed the girls with his presence. Now, however, a new person has joined your duo- Peeta. Peeta looked a lot kinder than Katniss, his overall aura more inviting.

“Anyways- I wanted to come meet you, given we’re the two newest winners.” You smiled before lowering your voice to a quiet whisper, leaning closer to the pair. “Covey has loved what you’ve done so far, with the movement and everything. I’ll help in any way I can.” Noticing the cameras pointed right towards you three from above you, you ended the conversation as quickly as possible with: “Well, thank you for your time! I better get to my ride before it leaves without me.” You waved before walking quickly to your place in line, fixing your outfit before getting ready in your pose.

The opening ceremony was the same as last year, for the most part. Not as much smiling, though. A lot more frowns and angry faces were found on the faces of tributes highlighted on the giant projector screen. You kept your smile, though. Smiling and waving is what you knew best. Before long, the event was over, and you found yourself heading to your assigned room. Considering your living space was the second highest floor (District 11 bonus!)taking an elevator was your most efficient mode of travel. There weren’t too many tributes left on ground floor level, most of them had found their way to their rooms at this point.

“Mind if I step in, Songbird?” Johanna Mason, leaning against the elevator door, smiling expectantly at you, waiting for an answer.

“No, no, I don’t mind. Come on in!”

Johanna strutted into the elevator, standing awfully close to you, both of your shoulders almost touching.”Thanks. Johanna, by the way.” She said, turning towards you.

“Lovely to meet you, I’m Y/N.”

“Oh, believe me, I know your name. I see you singing those songs of yours all the time. Pretty good, if you ask me.”

“Oh? Well, thank you! It’s… disappointing that my music will be going away pretty soon… with the games and all…”

“I think there’s some more song left in you, Songbird.’ Johanna sent a slight smile your way before stepping forward with the ding of the elevator. The doors open to her floor, and she steps out before turning around again, “Nice talk, Y/N. See you soon.” The doors close, leaving you alone in the elevator.

You fell asleep promptly after arriving in your room- the day had been quite tiring for you, and you needed to prepare for the next day ahead of you, too. You’d begin training tomorrow, and soon enough you’d have your all-too-stressful skill evaluations. And there always was the impending doom shadowing over every thought in the form of the start of the games, just a week away. As you drifted off, you thought of relationships you’d form in these next days, vital to keep your ever-falling spirits from reaching rock bottom.

ooo they’re flirting with youuuu

I hope you guys liked this little part of the story, let me know if you want more or want to be added to the tag list for this series <33 I’m soso sorry this took me so long, too!! I already have some parts of another chapter started, so it should come sooner!! hopefully my writing had improved just a little, I promise I’m trying <33

INBOX IS OPEN FOR REQUESTS OR CHATS <33

tag list (love you cutie patooties so much 💋💋)

@randomgurl2326

@marvelescvpe

love ya!!

#tbosas #the hunger games #finnick odair #finnick x reader #johanna mason x reader #johanna mason #the covey #catching fire #thg x reader #thg series #mean girls soundtrack has been in my head non stop #I kind of like the new version on crazy in love? #sexy is the best though #omg and pjo!! #love aryan so muchh

[missoneminute]

Combing my two biggest interests - The Libertines and perfume, recalling the scents which defined that era for me.

Libertine by Vivienne Westwood - Notes of Pineapple, Lily-of-the-Valley, Oakmoss, Labdanum and Musk. Released in 2000 and sadly discontinued. (A tester strip from this perfume was pasted into one of Peter’s early journals.) There are many perfumes that have had this same name since, but only one that smelled exactly like the year 2000 - mossy, earthy but soapy and clean, playful and lively, wiping off the grass stains of grunge and soaring into a new millennium, determined to cause trouble before it had consequences.

Stella by Stella McCartney - Notes of Rose Oil, Peony, Tangerine and Amber. Released in 2003. The syrupy rose jam scent of nights spent losing your mind - sleepless weekends, the eye of the storm of a cultural shift. Everything is alive, everything is exciting, everything is happening, and you can’t stop pressing your nose to your wrist, or a lover’s neck, to breathe it in, the hint of sour among all the flowers.

Prada Amber by Prada - Notes of Bitter Orange, Patchouli, Benzoin, Sandalwood, Labdanum and Tonka Bean. Released in 2004. A little sexy, a little dirty, things were getting messy. Sold via the cleanest of clean girl advertisements that were a total lie. This is the scent of a skanky cult - filthy and addictive, sweetness left on skin days after a kiss. An almost incoherent blend of vanilla and knees caked in mud - an ad for clean sheets when the bottle contains what went on between them.

Anglomania by Vivienne Westwood - Notes of Cardamom, Rose, Violet and Leather. Released in 2005 and also sadly discontinued. Where Libertine smelled of 2000 this smelled of 2005, the height of indie sleaze - leather jacket rock ‘n’ roll, hats and suits and ties and ironic nationalism, the celebration of all things British, driven at least in part by the explosion (and implosion) of The Libertines in English music and fashion culture. Weaved in with the spice of Brick Lane, the bootleg band shirts of Camden, the incense burning in the corner of your ashtray-scented flat.

Youth Dew Amber Nude by Estée Lauder - Notes of Cinnamon, Ginger, Carnation, Amber and Sandalwood. Released in 2005 and discontinued. The amber era for perfume, and the start of Tom Ford’s reign with ingenious collaborations that took dusty heritage brands into the modern age with their glamour intact in a time where we looked back to look forward. All the trash gathered up and made beautiful, injected with new life and resold at a premium. But didn’t it smell delicious, just like history, just like old money.

Belle d'Opium by Yves Saint Laurent - Notes of Jasmine, Incense, Tobacco, Peach, Rose and Patchouli. Released in 2010 (and yes, also discontinued). Rich and bold and witchy, the end of an era creeping in, all things indie drifting away, diluting but leaving their indelible mark - one last gasp of the rock star girlfriend, clad in her vintage faux furs and laddered tights, the messy glamour, the scent trail of a fearless era falling away, all those heightened, drunken memories of dollar store incense and roll-on oil remade into its final form.

#the libertines #perfume

[bee-the-loser]

₊ ⊹☼ Prologue - #808080 Grey ☼⊹ ₊ ──────────────────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─────────────────── ₊ ₊ ⊹☼ Pairing: Heeseung x reader ₊ ⊹☼ Synopsis: An introduction to reader's life growing up in grey-scale and how they found their love for art ₊ ⊹☼ Genre: College au, soulmate au, artist reader, colourblind reader ₊ ⊹☼ Word count: 506 ₊ ⊹☼ Warnings: Mentions of death, connotations to self-harm and slight bullying. (Take care to put yourself first) ₊ ⊹☼ A/N: I'll probably post a little explanation of how the soulmate system works in this au, but it does take a backseat for a while to focus on other aspects. ₊ ⊹☼ Masterlist ☼⊹ ₊ ₊ ⊹☼ Next ☼⊹ ₊ ──────────────────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───────────────────

A greyscale world was all you had ever known, there was no vivid pops of colour, just the dulcet hues of light and dark. A sort of smoky look that made the whole world blend into one another and seem to go on for miles and miles. It wasn’t something you minded at first, not knowing any better as a young child, it was like living in an old-fashioned movie and you loved to take pleasure in the soft hues of some of the classics. It was comforting to know everyone could see them the same as you. The pictures moving across the screen and painting stories of romance and life. The slow dance of the decade done in the late foggy night.

However, things change and as you grew up the simple greys changed from clouds to storms and the fog that once encompassed your very being started to suffocate you. Breath didn’t come easily during those years. Things were different and you were different.

It became obvious in the ways whispers followed you around the corridors of school, with fingers pointing at your back and commenting on how unlucky you must be. How maybe you’ll even be so unlucky that you wouldn’t even be able to spot your soulmate link due to your condition.

Because that’s what it was to them, a condition. Achromatopsia. The diagnosis didn’t come as a shock to you but the aftermath scared you more than some word. It was something that left you isolated and alone as others finally had a reason for their hatred. They were so afraid that your unluckiness might somehow rub off on them too.

The greys no longer were slow dancing and fog, but instead were the storm clouds that accompanied your evening walks. The times where the blood dripping down your arms mixed with the pouring rain, leaving in your wake puddles of dismay. The grey of the silver blades that were your closest friend, accompanying your journey and the smoke that left you with one less parent, and sleepless nights.

The smoke that slipped through your fingertips and left behind ashes.

The months afterwards left you confused and more alone than ever, feeling for once like your vision almost reflected how you felt. Numb. You hadn’t been living freely for a while, but those days surviving felt almost impossible.

Solace ended up being found in a place you weren’t expecting at first. An empty sketchbook given by your therapist, where you inked out your monotone dreams and nightmares. It contained it all: the films, the slow dances, the whispers, the stares, the nights, the smoke, the fear, the smoke, the rage, the smoke…

But art allowed you to let go of it all, you could almost pick out these scenes in your brain and place them down to forget about for a while. You weren’t forgetting it all, you never would, but instead letting go became an easier process than before. The once ash covered fingertips made way for charcoal dusted hands.

#bee's writing #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fluff #enhypen au #enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen heeseung #heeseung x reader #kim sunoo #enhypen imagines

[mermaidchan05]

Vesuvia Weekly: Wardrobe Raids

Just gonna put some little bullet-point drabbles here for the things that my MC's borrow from their LI's or vise-versa... intentionally or otherwise.

Julian and Damian: For the Love of Gloves

Damian is an alchemist. 

Julian is a doctor. 

Between them, they have a lot of gloves.

Particularly leather gloves.

Sometimes, when one is tired or distracted, they’ll grab the other’s gloves.

Despite the fact that most of Julian’s gloves are black and most of Damian’s gloves are brown. One would think they would figure that out, but no.  

Damian has lost count of the number of times he has warned Julian not to bring gloves that were used for handling highly caustic materials into the clinic. 

But he can’t really complain, since some sleepless nights have led to him wondering why “his” gloves got a little too big for him in the past few hours. 

Oswald and Malak spend far too much time each week bringing the gloves back to their proper owners. They practically have a dedicated glove-return business by now.

When it comes to actual, on-purpose clothing swaps, though, it tends to go one of two ways.

One, Damian wears practical clothes and has virtually no fashion sense, so Julian likes to get him some nice clothes every once in a while.

Two, Julian has completely forgotten something important (like a coat that’s actually functional) and Damian lends one of his own. They’re kind of similar sizes, so it usually works. Mostly.     

Asra and Meleia: Sharing is Caring

Meleia’s much more in the habit of finding Asra’s misplaced clothes for him or just making him new ones than borrowing his things. 

Asra playfully “borrows” Meleia’s clothes sometimes, much to her fond exasperation.  

“Really, Asra, if you want to wear a skirt, I can make you one that actually fits you...” “But yours are already so comfortable!” 

The two of them have rather distinct fashion styles, though, so borrowing things doesn’t happen too often.

Asra will always offer his coat if Meleia needs it, and Meleia has plenty of jewelry and other accessories she loves to share with Asra 

(Side note, in their canon, Meleia gave Asra the blue crystal pendant he always wears, as crystals are kind of a “thing” where Meleia was born) 

But that’s really the extent of it. 

The one thing that’s always fair game, though? Scarves.

They have more scarves than they can keep track of. And with the two of them, there are no “your scarves” or “my scarves.” Just “our scarves.”

Nadia, Chimalus, and Portia: Triple Trouble

Clothing and accessories are... interesting with these three. 

Nadia grew up as the youngest member of a royal family. 

She had everything provided for her, and all kinds of things made brand new for her... but she was the youngest, so her sisters had a tendency to gift her with their old clothes because it was cute and wholesome. 

Nadia found the whole thing demeaning. 

So she would never do the same thing to anyone else. Particularly not someone she loves. 

She’s much more inclined to have entirely new outfits commissioned for Chimalus and Portia than to give them anything second-hand. 

Portia grew up with lots of other kids, and absolutely wore lots of hand-me-downs. 

She’s much more comfortable and casual about the whole thing. 

Sure, she enjoys having things that are purely hers now. 

But sharing clothes was pretty much a part of everyday life. 

And though Chimalus is much taller than Portia, she has absolutely no problem tossing them a shawl or a scarf or whatever other accessory they might need. 

Chimalus, meanwhile, is happy to share whatever they can with their two girlfriends whenever they ask, though it is a little embarrassing to give such plain and simple things to the Countess and her right-hand assistant. 

So clothing, sometimes, is a bit of a weird subject. 

There is one category that is never awkward:

Accessories.

Nadia: "Why yes, Chimalus, you can absolutely wear some of my jewelry. In fact, keep those earrings, they suit you much better." 

Portia: "Of course, Chimalus, I've got tons of ribbons and hair pins and fun little bracelets for you. Look, I made this one myself!" 

Both Portia and Nadia love showering Chimalus with bangles. 

And Chimalus is rather flattered by the whole ordeal and touched by the generosity.

It’s gotten to the point where Chimalus practically needs a whole shelf just for gifts like that.

And sure, they might be “borrowed,” but Portia and Nadia aren’t asking for them back any time soon... what if Chimalus still needs them? 

#vesuvia weekly #the arcana apprentice #apprentice damian #apprentice meleia #apprentice chimalus #the arcana #the arcana game #borrowing clothes #oc info dump

[carrogath]

Someone (there’s a lot of good pairings with her) See’s Hoshi in leather/her biker gear for the first time and has a crisis as a prompt

Lungmen looked its best at night. That was what Swire had always thought, from her first day stepping foot onto its pavement as a child, to her last day at the police academy for the LGD. The streets swathed in black. The endless rows of streetlights like silent sentries overhead. The sleeplessness of the city, all the cars going back and forth on the highways no matter the time of day, the bustling night markets and looming glass skyscrapers and bright neon lights of the entertainment districts, twenty-four hour karaoke and buzzing nightclubs with patrons who stumbled out at five in the morning just in time to get ready for work. It was a far cry from the old-fashioned staidness of urban Victoria, all brick and plaster, all skinny townhouses and winding alleyways and cobblestone streets, with nary a modern building in sight. Lungmen looked like progress, unlike Victoria. Unlike Yan. Only Columbia was comparable in terms of spirit and ambition, but no one wanted to be compared to Columbia. So here Beatrix Schwire was.

Stranded in the middle of the road. At two in the morning. With no car. And plenty of money, she thought. But money couldn’t get you everywhere.

“Bullshit,” came Hoshiguma’s muffled voice over the phone. “You woke me up to play valet?”

read the rest here

#arknights #fanfiction

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Flesh and Blood

Part 3: An unexpected visitor

Pairing: Prince Aemon the Dragonknight x Fem. Reader (Northerner /House Stark | Third Person POV)

Themes: Some angst

Warnings: Mentions of prior emotional neglect | References to canon Targcestuous marriages (Daena and Baelor)

Word count: 2.7K words.

Summary: Y/n receives a most unexected visitor.

Minors DNI

Rules and tag form can be found here.  

Part 1 | Part 2

Y/n was seated under the shade of an old frangipani tree, reading several letters addressed to her. The tree was still flowering, and the air was sweet. She took a deep breath and sighed. The sweetness of the flowers was cut by the sharpness of salt hanging in the air. Y/n did not mind. The air was cleaner here than it was in the city. And the manse was near a sheltered cove. The water was calm most of the time and perfect for fishing and swimming.

"What did the letter say?" Uther skewered the last fish y/n helped him catch and clean. He stuffed the inside with herbs before placing it over a small fire to cook like the others. "Mother insisted I do not ask about it, but what did Aemon say?"

"Read it," y/n said, holding out the letter for him. She trusted Uther implicitly. "I do not mind."

Uther washed his hands in a bowl of water and took the letter after cleaning them. He read it once, then twice, carefully parsing through every word and line. There was sincerity in Aemon's words, and warmth. The prince wrote of the miseries plaguing his family and why he was so close to Naerys.

None of this is an excuse, he went on to say. You are my wife, and our marriage must come first in everything. I have come to see that I was wrong for not confiding in you and not being the husband that you deserve. I should have shown concern for your well-being instead of leaving you to fend for yourself. I cannot undo the past. I certainly cannot ask for forgiveness. The Seven alone know I have lost any right to do so. All I can do is ask for a chance to earn it. May I ask for it, my lady? 

Your humble servant,

Aemon

Uther returned the letter to y/n. "The man has a way with words. Do you want to do it? Forgive your humble servant, I mean?"

Y/n had spent three sleepless nights considering it. Lady Cerwyn made discrete inquiries and learned that Aemon was indeed telling the truth. There was nothing untoward between him and Naerys. And y/n thought of it—forgiving him and going back. Then she remembered the lonely nights, the awful days, the pitying looks, and the ugly gossip. Going back to her husband without a second thought did not sit well with her after that. 

"I do not know," y/n said. Her attention went to her sister's letter. "And I do not know what to tell Serena either. She was against the marriage, you know."

"She is not the only one," Uther said. He stretched out his legs and sighed. "We were all against it." His eyes glinted mischievously. "Your grandfather looked at father and mother and asked if I wanted to take you off his hands. Then he would have an excuse to give the king."

Y/n snorted and laughed, for the first time in days. "Us? Married?" she looked at her cousin with fondness. Uther would only ever be like a little brother to her, just like she would only ever be like an older sister to him. "We would drive each other to madness and murder before long."

"That is what we all said." Uther chortled. "I still have not forgotten what you did with my tea."

"Only because you put ink into my tea first!" y/n cried. Her eyes twinkled when she remembered. "My teeth were black for weeks!"

"Three days," Uther corrected her with a blithe wave of the hand. "Mine, on the other hand, were black for weeks. Oh!" He clapped his hands to his chest in a theatrical fashion. "How I mourned for my teeth!"

"Yes, well, when Becca Mormont fussed you got over it quickly enough," y/n retorted. After she repaid his trick in kind, Uther walked into the Great Hall, ink-stained teeth and all, and the ladies fussed over him like hens, something he enjoyed thoroughly.

Uther flashed her a grin. "Yes. Yes I did. It felt wonderful to have Becca spoil me."

Y/n could only roll her eyes and mutter under her breath. Uther cackled.

"Little wolf." Lady Cerwyn walked up to them with a heavy basket in one hand, and a picnic mat in the other. She bent over to kiss Uther on the head. "My son."

 Y/n looked up and smiled. She made room for her aunt. "Sit with me, aunt Emma."

Emma spread her skirt over the dry tufts of grass and sat down. She eyed Aemon's letter. "Have we made a decision?"

"I do not know." Y/n put the letter down and sniffed. "I do not know what to do. He asks for forgiveness but how do I do it? How do I just forgive him? I cannot do it."

Emma ran a hand down her niece's hair and tutted affectionately. "Would you like to go home with us? End the marriage and leave this miserable place behind you?"

"You can do it," Uther added. "Your grandfather will demand an annulment once you tell him everything."

Oh, to go home and put it all behind her. To wake up to a late summer dusting of snow and the castle's wolfdogs baying beneath her windows. Hot pies and mulled wine for supper. Her lord grandfather entertaining everyone with his tales. Hours spent talking and gossiping with Serena. The feasts that would end in a brawl. The laughter that followed when heads inevitably stopped ringing. Staying up late during autumn nights in the hope Long Fang, an ice dragon that lived in the white waste, would circle the castle in his search for his lost love.

"No," Y/n said. Her grandfather was old and had enough troubles to contend with, and his demanding an annulment on his grandchild's behalf could turn the crown against the North. "Grandfather has enough as it is, dealing with Uncle Jonnel and Uncle Edric. I will not place more burdens on his shoulders."

"Then take your time and make Aemon come to you," Emma insisted. She looked over the garden wall. Her other children were on the beach, looking for pretty seashells and hunting for tiny crabs. "Make him earn his place by your side."

Y/n grew thoughtful. Aemon's letter was a first step, but it was not enough. She decided to heed her aunt's advice. Her husband had to make an effort. 

"Will you help me write a reply?" 

"You know I will." Emma smiled and spread out the picnic mat. She brought out what was in the basket. Freshly baked bread, butter, and cold water to wash it all down. Uther pursed his lips and whistled between his teeth. His siblings heard and ran back to the manse. 

The next hour was spent eating and talking. Y/n heard that Long Fang had already been sighted near the Fist of the First Men. The first bud had arisen on the old winter rose vine in Winterfell's formal courtyard. These were the first signs that autumn was approaching. Micken, Winterfell's chief scholar, would be sending the White Raven to the Grand Maester before long. 

I wonder what winter in this crowded city would be like. Y/n went over the letters before her. Her sister had written to say she was well and could travel. She would board the first ship bound for King's Landing. Lady Cerwyn made plans to leave after she arrived. The other letter was from her mother. Y/n went through Aemon's letter once more. She decided to deal with it after supper. 

A servant was seen hurrying towards them. "My pardons, my lady." He bowed and took a moment to catch his breath. He then knelt beside Lady Cerwyn and whispered in her ear. Emma listened and nodded.

"Thank you, Jory." Emma turned to y/n, her eyes filled with worry. "You have a visitor, little wolf. Finish up here, children. I will take your cousin in with me."

Believing Aemon had come calling, y/n rose and mustered her courage. She followed her aunt inside, not stopping until they had reached the solar. When her aunt opened the door, y/n stepped inside first. She was stunned to see who their visitor was. 

"Princess Naerys," y/n said, her mouth agape. "To what do we owe the honor of this visit?"

Naerys was standing by a window, looking out into the sea. She had been garbed in the pale gray and blue robes favored by novice septas. Her hair had been bound and hidden under a cowl. A string of polished prayer beads with a seven-pointed star between every seven beads looped around her right wrist. Y/n thought she looked pale and worn.

"Good sister," Naerys said timidly, her gaze turning to her feet when she caught sight of y/n and her aunt. "I... I must insist you call me sister. You are married to my brother. We are equals. And family."

Y/n nodded, confused. She had no idea what this visit was about. Her aunt called for refreshments. 

"Pray sit down," y/n said after Naerys helped herself to nibbles of bread and olives and cups of cold water. "You look tired."

"Thank you." Naerys smoothed her skirts and made herself comfortable on an upholstered oak chair. "The Grand Maester was against me traveling so far out of the city, but I insisted."

"Did you come by yourself?"

"No. Lord Commander Hardyng and a Maester traveled with me in case something happened."

The room went quiet. Naerys kept throwing glances at Emma. Perhaps she wishes to speak to me alone. Y/n turned to her aunt. "It is all right, Aunt Emma. I think I can manage."

Emma reached out and took y/n's hand. She gave it a gentle squeeze. "I will be nearby if you need anything."

Emma made her excuses and left. Y/n sat opposite the princess, and an awkward silence settled between them. Neither of them knew what to say. All that could be heard were the sounds of their breath and the waves beating against the shore. Y/n glanced at the princess. Naerys was beautiful, but delicate and frail. She was hardly seen about, preferring to remain cloistered within her chambers. The only times she left her rooms were to pray or watch Aemon joust. And that too only when her health permitted it.

One of us will have to start talking. Y/n finally opened her mouth to speak, but Naerys coughed and jumped straight in.

"My brother..." she said, her cheeks coloring with embarrassment. “I suppose he has spoken about our family?" 

Y/n thought of Aemon's letter, her aunt's discrete inquiries through loyal servants. "He has, yes."

“He said he would," Naerys said, bobbing her head like a little bird. "He said he made many mistakes when it came to you, and now he does not know how to make amends for any of them." She sighed softly. "We had no one to show us, you see. Uncle was always a joyless man despite his queen's many efforts. And my own parents… mother leaving us... and father…"

“Your brother said it all in his letter." Naerys was struggling to talk about her family. Y/n understood. She would find it hard if someone asked about her half-uncles. 

Naerys nodded and looked around. "Aemon is a good man," she said in defense of her brother. "He truly wants to save his marriage and make you happy. Please. Give him a chance. I promise you will not regret it."

"I... I need time," Y/n said. Aemon's letter and his sister's visit were too much to take in all at once. Her mind was a roil. "to think."

"I understand," said Naerys. She looked around again and said, "Your cousin Ser Uther is quite the fighter, Aemon tells me. Ser Addam is still abed with aches and bruises."

"He is." Y/n smiled. "My grandfather taught him." 

Naerys managed a weak smile. "Aemon speaks very highly of your grandfather. He said he had never faced a finer swordsman than Lord Cregan Stark. He speaks highly of your father, too. He said Lord Rickon was very brave, and the men respected him. A pity, really, that he died for the sake of Daeron's foolishness." Naerys gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth. "Please do not repeat that to Daena," she murmured out of fear. "She does not take kindly to anyone who insults her brother."

Y/n pursed her lips and nodded. Grief gathered around her heart like bees. The reminder that her father passed before his due time, and that too due to a king's foolishness, made a sharp pang of sorrow shoot through her. She took her time to compose herself and wondered what else to say. The room grew silent once more. Y/n knew she had to say something, her sister by marriage defied all good sense just to come all this way to clear the air. When a nearby bell struck the hour, Naerys rose and spared her the effort.

"Pray forgive me, good-sister, but I must leave," Naerys said, looking out the window. The sky was awash with a glorious display of gold, yellow, and orange streaks of light. "The Grand Maester was insistent I not stay away too long. Before I leave, I wish to offer my condolences for your father's passing. And comfort, however little it may be." 

Y/n rose as well. "Thank you... good-sister," she said after some struggle. Naerys was not responsible for her brother's failings after all. "Farewell."

Naerys smiled and took her leave. Y/n escorted her to the gate, alarm taking root when she recognized the courser by the carriage. "Did you bring your brother here?"

"No." Naerys appeared to be as stunned as her good-sister. "Aemon was away when I left."

Aemon had been talking to Lord Commander Hardyng. When he turned and faced y/n, he really smiled. It was as if nothing pleased him more than seeing her. Y/n did not know what to make of it. 

"Sister," he said and took Naery's hand. "The Grand Maester came looking for me. He said you went against his advice and came here. May I ask why?"

Naerys leaned in and whispered something in his ear. Aemon merely smiled and nodded. He helped her into the carriage. Y/n stood by the gate and watched while the carriage lurched and moved forward. She stayed while it and Lord Commander Hardyng turned into little specks in the distance. Y/n was aware of Aemon’s gaze on her. She mustered her courage again. This too, had to be dealt with.

"My lord," she said, turning to face Aemon. 

"My lady." Aemon grew bashful. "Are you well? You... you look a little..."

"Worse for wear?" Y/n finished for him. She laughed bitterly. "Well, three sleepless nights can do that to you."

"Is it because of me? Is it because of what I did?" Aemon stopped and shook his head. "Is it because of what I did not do?"

Y/n looked over her shoulder. Uther was standing by the front door, his arms folded across his chest. Emma was standing next to him. Her other children were a step behind her. 

At least I am not alone this time. Y/n drew courage from their presence and turned back to her husband.

"It is a lot of things," she said plainly. "I do not like being the target of court gossip. I want a real marriage—a husband that wants me, someone who wants to spend time with me instead of running off as soon as he has done his duty. I am tired of coming last, of being the object of pity, and of being treated as nothing more than a chore you want out of your way. I am tired of being alone, and unwanted, I am tired of trying to make myself more acceptable to you, only to see my efforts yield nothing. I..." Y/n sighed. Loneliness and the trials of over half a year came crashing onto her shoulders. "I... I am just tired,” she said softly.

Aemon came closer. He took y/n's hands into his. She was startled. Aemon had never done it before. She wanted to shrink back, to pull her hand away. And she could not bring herself to do it. Y/n felt like she had been starved and could not find it in herself to refuse such a tasty morsel.

"Your struggles are due to my failings as a husband." Aemon brought her hands to his lips. He kissed each finger repeatedly. "You had no one here save for me, and I failed you. I give you my word it will not happen again. I would be so grateful and honored if you came back. And I... I was wondering if I could ask for the chance to court you. I realized we never had a courtship, and I would like to start now, and get to know you better. I wish for nothing more than a chance to do that and earn your forgiveness. One chance. All I ask is for one chance."

Y/n swallowed. She tried to frame a reply. It was hard to do so when Aemon kissed her hands so tenderly. Her stomach started to flutter.

"I..." She finally shook her head and fought for composure. She remembered her aunt's words and strengthened her resolve. Aemon was not going to have an easy victory. She would not let him have it. He would have to earn his place in her heart first. "I would like to stay here. And I cannot promise anything. I am sorry."

"I... I understand. And I will come to you," Aemon promised, albeit sadly. He let go of her hands and walked over to his horse. Y/n looked over his shoulder while he fished around a bag attached to the saddle, wondering what he was up to. Her curiosity was answered when Aemon returned with a letter in his hand. The red wax seal bore the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. 

There had not been a feast since the tourney began, and etiquette demanded the host, in this case the royal family, provide food and music and dancing at the end of each day of the tourney. Y/n considered the invitation. A royal hunt was one thing, she was grateful her aunt thought ahead and brought their owls for a hunt of their own. But the other things... a coronation... there was so much to be done and not enough time for it all.

"An invitation from the king and queen," he said, and gave her the letter. "For you and your kin. There will be a royal hunt in a week and Daena's coronation a fortnight after that. There will be a feast. I... we... would be honored if you all came." 

"I will give this to my aunt," y/n said, accepting the letter. Despite it all, she felt a giddy sense of excitement. A queen had not been anointed since the days of Aemma Arryn. "And we will come."

"Thank you," Aemon said gratefully. He took her hands into his once more and brought them to his lips. His hands were warm when they pressed over hers, and gentle. "And I will call on you on the morrow. Farewell, my lady."

"Farewell, my lord." Y/n stood by the gate, and watched Aemon mount his horse and ride away. Her hands tingled. She could still feel the impression of her husband's lips against her skin. 

Tags: @immyowndefender​ 

#aemon the dragonknight #aemon the dragonknight x reader #aemon the dragonknight imagine #angst #x reader #reader insert #a world of ice and fire #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #asoiaf x reader #💫whimsy's shenanigans #💫a world of whimsy writes #writeblr #fanfiction

[natikoko]

Agent 4 (Adrian) character sheetzzz

I’m so sorry my baby I was procrastinating doing yours for like a week I’m so sorry

Adrian. Last Name unknown. 19 years old.

- 6’1ft

- From a lanky kid to almost 250 pounds of beef and gain. Had an extreme growth spurt in his teenage years, and combined with constant agent activity, made him into the guy he is today.

- Observant and calculating. Fueled by one single-minded determination at a time, he is easily one of the most effective agents in the NSS.

- Is selfish but selfless. His selfishness can be mistaken for heartlessness, and his selflessness can be mistaken for self sabotage. Make of that what you will.

- Insecure and vulnerable during splatoon 2, where he was fourteen. Helping Marie helped him boost his confidence plenty and made him feel needed when he was lost. His relationship with Marie is strong because of it.

• he doesn’t mention his life before meeting Marie often. It’s a sore spot.

- Confident and sensible. Manages to stay calm during the most stressful of situations. Meditates in his free-time helps. He’s very reliable.

- Can be a pushover at times. He just wants to help everyone!

- Enjoys literature and music. Is studying for a degree in music theory at Inkblot art academy. Takes up many extracurriculars (but has a hard time managing his time)

- Mains rollers, specifically Carbon’s or Krak-ons. Used to use dualies plentifully, but considers himself too tall to preform the evasive maneuvers he constantly did. Prefers strenuous weapons.

• Is ranked score is very high, despite him not playing often. Is probably really rusty now.

- Gets money funneled from his parents. Has a complicated relationship with them.

- He actually didn’t meet both 3(tilly) or 8(marlon) until almost half a year after Octo Expansion occurred. He was busy with his academics and Tilly and Marlon were both recovering from the deepsea metro, so they couldn’t meet right away.

• they instantly clicked when they met. They visited each other frequently and it strengthened their relationship.

• he “amazingly brought these two bumbling idiots together because they couldn’t confess” which is a complete lie, because Adrian is horrible with romance. They wouldn’t never started a relationship if Marlon didn’t state the obvious.

• Many sleepless nights trying to understand his feelings for those two…

- Is very good at shuffling cards, for some reason. But he’s horrible at card games, so…

- Physically the strongest out of all the NSS members. Marlon is strong, but wouldn’t last long without a weapon for aid. Tilly is his strongest competitor. It’s a debate amongst the NSS.

• he and Tilly fought to settle this debate. Adrian clotheslined Tilly so hard she momentarily passed out not even three minutes into the fight and it’s obvious who won

- Doesn’t cry. It’s an unhealthy habit that he’s trying to unlearn. When he does cry, it’s messy and snotty and it’s loud and gross

- But he will NOT let his girls bottle their emotions up. He will beat those feelings out of them if he has too. If he sees any ounce of repressed trauma he’s going therapist mode

• he sees a therapist! It’s nice to just have someone to talk to, yknow?

- Is the only one in the relationship who can remotely dress well. That’s not saying much

• wears plenty of shorts and plain t-shirts. Very much is a minimalist clothes kinda guy, but that’s on par with his shitty fashion sense (me tease)

- Huge fan of Hightide Era and Ink Theory

- Animals HATE him and he does not Know Why

- Speaks very loudly. Will ask the simplest question but shout it. He’ll ask “WHATS FOR DINNER‼️‼️” without knowing he’s shouting. Cannot control the volume of him voice

- Weird eating habits. Puts Ketchup in his tuna and peanut butter on his chips but he eats a lot of good home-prepared foods so it cancels out

- Tilly called him babygirl and I don’t think he’s been the same since

- Best hugger! They’re warm and comfortable and welcoming and he always rocks you back and forth, maybe even a firm pat on the back

- A big excitable guy! Don’t be mean to him!

#splatoon #agent 4 (adrian) #agent 4 #splatoon oc #splatoon headcanons #sorry for typos I’m not rereading this