#A sprinkle of angst and fluff

[writermask-0807-backupblog]

TOSHINORI YAGI X READER {TRISTIS OCULIS." or: "YOU HAVE SAD EYES," }

A/N: It's Writermask, and it's my first post as the ✨BaCkUp bLoG✨!!! I officially got permission by Mod Eve (once-upon-a-scenario, you should really check them out if u already don't follow them), and am so happy!!! 😊this is a new writing s t y l e I've tried, and I hope u enjoy!!

Warnings: ooc Toshinori, mentions of blood, implications of abuse and depression.

HIS eyes are blue. 

They're the most bluest you've ever seen- bright, bright sapphire hues, the rich spill of azure and cerulean over the black of the canvas, a slice of cloudless skies, the crystalline haze of the ocean. 

And because you can recognize and dissect the character of a person through the shapes and colors of their eyes, (you know that sounds weird, and vaguely disturbing, even inside your head)- you know his eyes are the eyes of someone trustworthy, the eyes of a caring, friendly person- not the usually jaded, maybe even angry individual you usually encounter on these late night shifts.

(It's… refreshing, in a sense. Sort of, anyway. At least he's not glaring at you, impatiently grinding his teeth as you check his things out, or radiating the stifling aura of someone intimidating and not to be trifled with (like that Yakuza man with the cold, golden eyes that you met last week, but you digress), like the usual pew of customers that trickle in at this time of the night. 

Instead, this man just looks… incredibly tired even as he manages a polite, feeble smile for you, and his skinny, frail-looking frame slumps with fatigue, like he's particularly world-weary today- as though the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders, heavy with a burden no-one but himself could possibly bear. 

There are purple shadows under his eyes, and his cheeks are sunken in, and there's a certain hollowness to the way his sunflower-hued bangs veils his thin, tired face, a certain resignation to the way the sharp planes of his shoulders are hunched together, as he droops tiredly, looking like he's about to black out at any given moment.) 

His eyes- those bright forget-me-not blues- they're the eyes of someone bright and cheerful (just… not right now), the eyes of a soft, caring person. They hold true kindness in them- the rare sort of kindness that's genuinely heartfelt, and you can already tell that this tall, lanky skeleton of a man has a big, big heart, and honestly, you have a shrewd feeling that he offers this silent gift of kindness- this unaffordable, rich gift of anyone and everyone who needs it. 

And without even knowing this stranger, you just know he's the type of person who'd make a good hero. (Or maybe, the sort of person who's already a great hero, in his own way.) But despite all that, you glimpse something below that bottomless blue of his empty gaze, something hollow and empty, almost like… 

Melancholy. Loneliness. Sadness. 

And it’s contagious, somehow, in some way or another, and your heart aches for him- because you know that feeling all too well to not be acquainted with its presence, to the agony and inner turmoil that ensues with its touch. 

The wilting look of frailty, of fragility in his lowered eyes reminds you of your own dark days- (of spending time curled in on yourself, of the constant hunger roaring through your stomach, of the gaping void of loss in your heart, the wet feel of metal flooding your mouth, of screaming and screaming and screaming for a help that never came-!) 

You blink back the sudden bitter sting of memories flooding your mind, and you stare absently at him- at this poor, broken ghost of a man and wonder if this is how you once looked- once upon a time when you lost everything and everyone and had no more purpose to live, and his items suddenly goes limp in your hand as you lower them to the surface of the counter. The words spill out before you can stop them- hold them back, and for some reason, they taste sour on your tongue as you unconsciously murmur them out loud. 

"Tristis Oculis."

The blonde startles at the sound of your voice slicing the silence apart, as though he's forgotten your presence for a moment, and then he straightens immediately, hands clenching into fists at his sides, as he goes stiff-shouldered and rigid-spined, like he's ready to be attacked. Despite the cordial smile that's still twisting his thin lips as he realizes there's only you- the entranced cashier behind the counter, there's a wary look in those tundra blue eyes as he tiredly meets your flustered gaze, but there's also confusion veiled behind the fatigue, curiosity laced behind the wariness. 

"Sorry?"

He asks mildly, and you falter, breath hitching in your chest, eyes widening in absolute horror, as you realize that you've just voiced your musings aloud, and you slap your exasperated palms over your mouth, petrified at your blunder. 

Pure and absolute mortification and embarrassment dawns on you as you realize what you'd just spoken, and you bow immediately, a hurricane of apologies falling uncontrollably from your lips, as shame weighs heavily in your chest, accompanied by the familiar stitch of gnawing guilt knitting your insides together into an uncomfortable, anxiety-induced bunch. You can feel heat rush to your face as your cheeks ignite in a wild, brilliant shade of ashamed scarlet. 

You truly are sorry sorry sorry, you really hadn't meant to offend him any sort of way, you hadn't even meant to mutter that phrase aloud, you just-... You're awkward, and not really good at this, and you're deeply sorry, you really are. Sorry sorry sorry. 

You tell him as much, your arm flailing about in wild, panicked gestures as you scrabble to bow even more deeply for apology, and you're pretty sure you've confused the poor man even more, as now he's blushing heavily too, wheezing something along the lines of "No, no, there's no need to apologize, really, it's fine!" as he forces a strained, awkward smile for your sake- an effort that doesn't go unnoticed by you, despite the terror clutching at your chest and the panic flooding your veins. 

(Really, he's too kind-hearted.)

"But really, what did you mean by that phrase? I'm not… exactly familiar with it. "

The man says, when your panic finally dies down and all formal apologies has been exchanged between the somewhat exasperated him and your horrified self, tilting his head curiously, the corners of his mouth dipping down in a small, curious frown, and despite the blush of embarrassment coloring the apples of your cheeks, you can't help but compare him to an eager puppy. An eager, adorable puppy. 

As soon as the thought forms, you snuff it out defiantly, cheeks are flaming even brighter at the- the audacity of it! He's your customer, for God's sake! 

(But really, overlooking the momentarily halted drowsiness in his lanky, skeletal limbs, the fatigue sagging his shoulders and tiredness creasing his gaunt face, he really looks… cute. Not that he doesn't look cute regardless, but that's not the point!) 

You startle nervously when you realize he's still looking at you, with those intensely blue, blue eyes, steady gaze a relentless blizzard, and you wring your hands together in a nervous tick as you begin to explain your… strangeness. 

"T-tristis Oculis. It's um," You smile awkwardly at him, hoping to ease the storm of tension rolling thickly through the atmosphere, (that apparently only you seemed to detect, as the blonde seemed too preoccupied with searching your eyes for an answer.) "It's a- um, a Latin saying. It, uh, it means sad eyes." 

You answer, stuttering around the dryness in your mouth, and you tongue feels like a heavy, unmoving weight in your mouth as you reply, fingers flexing tightly as you fist the fabric of your shirt in your clenched palms, to soothe your forever worsening anxiety, and you can feel the flush on your cheeks sear even hotter.

He stays silent, unreadable, (you get the feeling that he's normally a very expressive person, but just… not right now. Maybe you hit a nerve, or finally offended him in some way?) and you begin to panic once more. You fumble to say something, to break the awkward, heavy silence but you fail for the proper words as your mind blanks of all coherent thoughts, meek voice withering at the back of your throat as you desperately try to breathe around the knot of panic squeezing your chest, and your heart lodges in your throat, hammering wildly. 

Before you can say anything, however, he speaks first, shattering the pregnant silence, and his voice is an incredibly, deceptively soft whisper, like he's on the verge of breaking down. 

"How do you perceive my eyes as sad?"

His cobalt gaze is steady and hard- unlike the barely concealed tremors in his voice, and it pierces right through you, and as you try your very best not to shrink and fidget under the heavy weight of his gaze, you get washed by a sudden, strange sensation that feels odd in the most strangest of ways- like he's peering right into your soul. 

(But despite the firmness in his stare, you see the minute shifts, see the way he falters, the smallest of breaths hitching in his chest, the slight widening of those powder blue eyes, the edges of darkness licking at his vision. Honestly, it's tragic, in a sense, because it's like looking into a shattered mirror and seeing what had once been yourself.) 

Your heart stutters and throttles in your heaving chest, and you swallow thickly, unsure as to how to answer properly, feeling as though you're treading on very thin ice. It doesn't feel like he’s going to hurt you, however. More like how you were going to hurt him, instead. 

You're seized by a sudden melancholy, somber feeling, and you feel the embarrassment ebbing away as you meet the crystal blue of his gaze, and you feel like you're sharing something of a very private, intimate moment, despite both of you barely knowing each other at all.

You decide not to lie. This moment feels too intimate, too precious for you to do so. 

The truth is heavy and bittersweet on your tongue as you voice it aloud, and there's still a bashfulness in the way you fiddle with the hem of your shirt as you reply, cheeks flooding with crimson. (You're pretty sure you resemble nothing short of a very red tomato at this point.)

There's a note of strength, a wavering finality in your tone, however- one that leaves no room for argument. 

"You- your eyes looked sad. And I- I know it's probably offensive and probably not my place, but, um, you look like someone that's normally really happy and bright, but- just, just very tired right now. Like you're afraid and broken and you want to be helped, but there's no-one for you to call out for… "

And indeed, despite the genuine friendliness and kindness and care that's thinly veiled behind the tire brimming in the ocean blue of his gaze, he has the saddest eyes you've ever seen- like he's breathed the air of war, tasted the bitterness of death and rot- like he's lost too many people and he's afraid and too broken to lose anymore. 

(Like he's been strong for too long.) 

(There's something unsaid crossing your tongue, and despite the fact that you don't speak it out loud, you know the both of you can hear it's silent voice- because you're both survivors, and you both can recognize and understand each other's pain, hear the desperation better than anyone else ever will. 

"I know that look, because I've been there before- in that dark, dreary place you're in right now.") 

When you finally muster enough strength to raise your heavy gaze and meet his blistering stare (it's softened considerably), there's a pearlescent liquid collecting at the corners of his eyes, something raw and painful and filled with pure, unadulterated hurt smoldering in his eyes, and it makes your own eyes water with white-hot emotion.

(Because you know exactly how this feels- know how much relief and liberation fills you when someone recognizes your torment and offers help- no matter how meager it is, when your cracks are allowed to mend, when the agony lessens even if it is only by the mercy of some kind words and a gentle smile.)

And as the late evening light of the dying sun spills through the windows, the filter of waning sunlight silhouettes his sharp, lanky (not-so-stiff) profile in spools of molten gold and honey, highlighting the honeycomb color of his wild, wild mane of a hair, and his eyes, those bright, bright sapphire hues gleam like freshly cut gemstones, forget-me-not blues so very vivid and glimmering with a renewed  color and life that wasn't there before. 

He's smiling through the tears as he lifts a palm to rub at the corners of his eyes, and it's a tender, soft sort of smile, not quite as bright and cheerful as he might've wanted it to be, all sweet and appreciative and gentle as the corners of his eyes crease into half-moons with the force of it. 

(And your heart skips a beat as it lurches forward in your chest, and your breath halts, sitting still in your lungs, and your eyes widen, because his smile is so, so beautiful.) 

You suddenly realize that nobody else has noticed his pain, tried to heal his hurt the way you have, and the revelation makes your own heart ache for him in the most bittersweetest of ways, and you welcome the pain that follows. 

"And the part- the part where you said I'd make a good hero?" 

He asks, and there's sort of a hesitation- a tone of rippling hope and childish innocence in his voice that would make anyone buckle at the knees and coo at him, and you feel your cheeks flush scarlet once again. Had you mentioned that part out loud too? Gosh, you're really awkward, aren't you?

His eyes are blue, and they're brimming with a sort of childish inquisition and the rim of tears and hope that you absolutely cannot bear to crush. 

So- bearing your broadest, most brightest grin, you answer honestly, and you can't help but love the way those deep forget-me-not blues seem to light up from the inside out. 

"I fully believe it."

{BONUS}:-

(And maybe, you'll never learn the secret that the man you would come to know as Toshinori Yagi, and eventually to your best friend and then to your lover, was really the Number One Hero All Might himself, and that on that day, and many days after that, you would be his hero- the person who'd seen him at his lowest and help him climb back onto his feet once again.) 

FIN - 

[kotoku]

Hiii~

Can I request aventurine and Dr ratio (separately or together ur choice) with klee reader

Maybe Sunday too?

I just want chaos to unfold-

Take care ☺️

ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏ, ᴀᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀɪɴᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴅʀ ʀᴀᴛɪᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴋʟᴇᴇ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

pairings - sunday & klee! reader / aventurine & klee! reader / dr ratio & klee! reader

content - reader is gender-neutral/ klee! reader/ platonic relationships/ familial relationships/ chaos

warnings - a bit of angst (?), might be ooc i'm sorry guys T_T

⋘ ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ... ⋙

↻ Whether you met Sunday because you’ve been unknowingly stirring up trouble in the dreamscapes or you met him by chance, he’d be a bit worried and concerned about a child roaming alone in Penacony

↺ He may or may not slowly adopt you into his routine as he always finds himself being greeted by you on the streets of Penacony (or called by a family member because mayhem has been occurring in certain parts of the dreamscapes)

↺ Gazing upon the damage you had done in the dreamscape as you stared at him with wide innocent eyes, he couldn’t be upset with you but rather surprised by how much power this unknown child has

↻ Sunday would be a lot like Jean, but he’d be a little more lenient when it comes to you

↺ He’d probably have a small area/room that’s your designated play area whenever you’re with him and sometimes he’d have to give you a time-out for blowing up something in the dreamscape

↺ Said time out wouldn’t last long as he’d feel guilty looking at your saddened state

↻ Sometimes whenever the other family members had a meeting with Sunday, they would see you playing around with your favorite stuffed animal but wouldn’t dare question your presence (you had quite the reputation for being.. explosive…)

↻ I think when it comes to each character with a Klee! Reader, they’d have those animal backpacks with the leash attached to it just because you’re so chaotic

↺ One moment they would be walking with you and then the next you’ve run off to somewhere that caught your attention

↺ For Sunday’s mental well-being, he got you this backpack to help him keep an eye on you whenever you were distracted

↻ As I mentioned in previous posts, Sunday, whenever he’s anxious or worried for you, would pace around his office with his feathers just puffing up and some of them popping right off due to his stress

↺ When you are found safe and sound, he’d give you a tight hug and you’d start playing with the feathers that were scattered on the ground

↺ He’s.. amused by it

↻ Honestly, Sunday had no idea what to do with you as you were found to be alone and it didn’t seem like you knew any of your family members (Just going to ignore Albedo and Klee’s mother for my sake…)

↺ Eventually, he warmed up to you a lot and considers you his little sister, which Robin also adores having around

↻ Sunday would be very protective of you but a little.. nervous about your abilities, he knew to an extent you were capable of handling things yourself

↺ But you are still a child so he’s extra cautious about the dangers in the dreamscapes and makes sure that you don’t get into trouble

↺ Otherwise, he’d have to confiscate your bombs.. which he really didn’t want to do because then you’d be super upset

↺ He tried to confiscate them one time but that ended up with you ignoring him for the remainder of the day and you were sulking in your playroom

↻ Sunday, during the Charmony Festival, would keep a very close eye on you because of what has been going on within Penacony

↺ He’ll keep you in his line of sight at all times, whether it’s him personally accompanying you around or having you sit near him in his conference room, he wouldn’t want you wandering too far off

↺ You’d find Sunday mumbling to himself while looking at some documents, but you never really understood them so you always stuck to what you were doing

↻ Sunday is very fond of you, and he’d do anything to ensure your safety

-----

Sunday was seated at his conference table, hand holding his chin in thought as he scanned through the multitude of documents. He carefully looked them over and over again, thoroughly reading through the letters written by a family member he assigned an assignment to. 

With the Charmony Festival coming in full swing, Sunday wanted to make sure that things would run as smoothly as possible, despite the growing concern that was nagging him from the depths of his consciousness. He couldn’t afford to become distracted…

That is what he thought, but yet he still found himself engaging in your little antics. Although things were growing busier and busier by the day, he wanted to ensure that you were alright and safe, playing a couple of your games when you pleaded for him to stay. He didn’t find the idea of playing with bombs safe, but if it was what made you happy, then your wish was his command.

As he stood up to roam the halls of his mansion, he gazed out into the open through the grand windows, a million thoughts racing through his mind. The future of Penacony contained countless outcomes and he could only grow restless every time he thought of it. But having you around to distract him from his worries with your silly antics, even if for just a fleeting moment, made him feel as if everything was going to be alright…

He would make sure of that.

-----

↻ Aventurine would also find your chaotic nature interesting, in fact, he might even indulge in it by taking a role in your little schemes

↺ He’d be a little concerned when you go a bit too far with your bombs and antics, so he’d try nudging you into a not-so-concerning situation

↻ Aventurine would find you when you got into a little scuffle with his subordinates, somehow destroying some IPC property and getting an earful from his coworkers

↺ Those IPC grunts would be terrified of you if they saw what you could do, especially because you’re a CHILD playing with BOMBS (They’re seriously concerned about who raised you and why you are the way you are.. or how you even managed to have bombs on you??)

↻ He’d send them off to go do something else (or to go bother someone else..) and bend down to your level to ask about your guardians or caregiver

↺ When you are confused about what he is talking about, his concern would only grow before he’d take you to find a trusted person to watch over you as he was busy with an assignment

↺ However, he would only come back to find that you escaped a worker’s watchful gaze and were playing with that bomb toy you had on you (Docodo? Cododo?? Whatever you said its name was…)

↻ When Aventurine hangs around you a little more during his free time (whether he’s done with work or doesn’t feel up to gambling), inquiring about the little fella you had on you and about your background

↺ He’d kind of take you under his wing from there on out, having you accompany him on missions if he determined they weren’t dangerous and were minor assignments

↺ Topaz would find it surprising seeing him around with a little kid, she’d even be wary about his intentions with you as he had suddenly popped up with a small kid out of nowhere

↺ She’d introduce you to Numby who, to your delight, would play and spend a bit of time with you

↻ Sometimes you’d accompany Aventurine on his casino trips, but he’d try leaving you out of them as it wasn’t really a kid-friendly setting

↺ So sometimes you’d in up in a more appropriate setting like a small daycare where you were safe (yet you’d sometimes pop up next to him in a game and catch him off guard)

↻ Aventurine, as someone with a lot of money to freely spend, would spoil you with a variety of things that he’d think you would like

↺ You aren’t necessarily a spoiled child, but he’d still get you the things that have caught your interest, whether you voice what you liked or not

↻ When he passes by a shop that has a showcase of kid backpacks, he would see one with a plush animal and a leash and he’d automatically get it for you 

↺ You wouldn’t really care about the leash part as you’re too distracted by the cute plush animal backpack, so it really was no problem for Aventurine

↺ He’d be walking around the IPC’s headquarters or Penacony with the backpack leash in his hand, you following him yet straying whenever you saw something

↺ He’d have to give the leash a small tug to make sure you weren’t wandering too far off though

↻ If you did something dangerous such as blowing up something that belongs to the IPC, Aventurine would vouch for you, becoming your partner in crime (Him sending a sly wink your way as you giggle innocently, hands covering your mouth to stifle your laughter) 

↺ Topaz would be the one scolding you before Aventurine tries defending your honor, but then he’d end up getting scolded by her too

↻ Aventurine would try his best to protect your innocence, not wanting you to see the dangers that linger on the different worlds he ends up on or what may invade the IPC’s headquarters

↺ He’s seen and witnessed firsthand hand of losing his innocence at a young age, those memories of his past still haunt him to this day and he doesn’t want you living with the same burden so he tries his best to protect you from danger (even if you’re somewhat capable of protecting yourself)

-----

“_____, did you destroy a piece of the IPC’s belongings again!?” Topaz asked, a stern look on her face as you stood there innocently with your hands tucked behind your back. 

“No… I didn’t do anything I swear! You can even ask Dodoco!” You answered, shoving Dodoco out in front of you as if to emphasize your statement. Topaz sighed, shaking her head.

“_____… I know you want to play around but sometimes you need to be careful of where you are. You could get hurt or, well.. damage things that aren’t yours.” Crossing her arms, Topaz looked at you with a softer gaze. You persisted in your stance. 

“But I swear! I didn’t do it!” You cried out, holding Dodoco closer to your chest. “Y-you can even ask Mr. Aventurine!”

“I heard my name?” Aventurine slinked to the spot right next to you, giving Topaz a questioning yet sly look. Topaz couldn’t help but groan when he popped up next to you, feeling as if she was on the verge of being teamed up against. 

“Mr. Aventurine! Please tell Miss Topaz that I wasn’t the one who blew up some of the IPC’s equipment!” You begged, tugging at his coat as he looked down at you with his cat-like eyes. 

He gave you a closed-eyed smile, patting the top of your head. “Is that what’s going on? Well, I have unfortunate news for you Topaz, as little _____ here was busy helping me out with an assignment.” Aventurine had a smug smile on his face as if to tease Topaz and tick her off, which worked.

Topaz, rolling her eyes, heaved a deep sigh. “Fine, I believe you, _____. You can go run off and play now.” 

With a joyful smile on your face and a cheer, you thanked Topaz before turning to thank Aventurine, bowing slightly with a quiet giggle.

“Thank you Mr. Aventurine! Promise we’ll play next time?” 

“I promise, _____. Now go play with Dodoco in your room, okay? I’ll check up on you later when I’m done with work.” 

“Okay!” 

-----

↻ Dr Ratio wasn’t necessarily fond of children…

↺ He understood that they weren’t the brightest of stars, but he could barely handle some of the behaviors they exhibited

↺ I imagine he’d be so disgusted because of how kids can be known for doing the weirdest stuff… (Picking their boogers, touching a variety of items, being unsanitary... the list goes on)

↻ When he meets you for the first time, he’s curious about the construction of your bombs and how you were able to make them

↺ To his disappointment, you are only able to draw crude drawings of the construction of your bombs and poorly explain how you built them

↺ He takes it upon himself to sample one of your bombs to see what they’re made of and how they’re made

↻ You’d invite him (more like drag him) to help you create and play with your bombs and he’d reluctantly follow you to where your room is

↺ Aventurine walking in on you playing dolls (or your bombs) with Ratio

-----

“How are you doing?”

“Mister Ratio, say it in your girl voice.”

“Sigh… How you doin’? 💅”

*Aventurine laughing before Ratio throws the doll he’s holding at him*

-----

↻ Ratio, knowing him, would tutor you if you went to a daycare or school, helping you understand your homework and teaching you about different subjects

↺ You wouldn’t comprehend half the things he’s teaching you but you follow along anyway

↺ Ratio would be genuinely happy if you were able to learn something new from him and apply it to your life

↻ Ratio is the type of teacher figure to give you random quizzes to test your knowledge and understanding but he rewards you with things like snacks or trinkets he gets from his trips

↻ Ratio would be delighted to talk about his trips to you, explaining the history and geography of the planets he has traveled to you when he comes back

↺ He would draw a small map for you to understand the general location of the places he’s visited

↻ You’d be excited to learn about what places he’s seen and you’d ask him a myriad of questions to which he’d patiently listen and answer 

↺ The thought of Ratio being patient with a young child warms my heart, this is how he’d find out that maybe he can tolerate specific kids

↻ Ratio reading stories to you to help you fall asleep, but those stories would probably be academic books he uses to teach his students

↻ If you were to get in trouble for blowing something up, he’d show his disappointment and sternly give you a punishment that isn’t too harsh on you (he’d give you school work lol)

↺ Ratio would check in on you here and there when you’re in your room, if he finds that you’re asleep he’d tuck you in before looking over your work

↺ This makes me think of Ratio walking in to see that you had drawn him an artwork of the both of you with Dodoco (who he came to know as your prized friend)

↻ Ratio doesn’t have a clue who your parents or guardians are, so he tries to locate them at first to no avail (he ends up pretty much adopting you as his own kid)

↻ Sometimes you’d sit near his desk in his lecture hall when he was teaching his students, swinging your legs back and forth as you eyed everyone in the room

↺ His students find you adorable and get distracted by your presence at first before their professor sends them a chalk their way

↺ His students give you little gifts or snacks as they leave the room, a part of them hoping that Ratio’s rampage on his grade book will be softened by your happiness at the gifts you received

↺ He finds out what his students are doing, but lets them do it anyway since it’s making you happy (he’d probably set some limits though before you get way too much stuff)

-----

Veritas had just finished up his lecture with his students, organizing their work into neat stacks on one side of his desk. Once the last student had left his classroom, he took off his plaster head and sat it in front of him. In his peripheral vision, he saw a small empty chair to the left of his desk. It was where you normally sat. 

The violet-haired man was then reminded of your absence due to the sudden sickness you had caught the day before. With a sigh, he turned back towards the ungraded stacks of paper on his desk and got to work. He’d try to be home before midnight. 

…..

By the time he finished, it was already 9. Walking out of the campus, he was met with the emptiness the night brought with it. Students were already long gone, the handful of teachers that had stayed late already packed up and left for dinner, but he was running a bit late. So with a brisk pace, he set off in the direction of his home, the cool night air hitting his skin.

Once Veritas reached his destination, he quickly unlocked the door and went inside, the warmth of his home greeting him. His shoulders fell, the weight that had been put upon himself leaving his body as he could see a faint light coming from your room. 

Slipping off his outerwear, he quietly walked across the hardwood floors and stopped outside of your bedroom door. Veritas listened for any signs that you might be awake, but nothing. He placed his hand on the door and gently pushed it open so he was able to enter. 

You had left your bedside lamp on, with a couple of papers and crayons scattered across the desk you normally drew at. His eyes had landed on your small, curled-up form, snoring away beneath the comforters of your bed. He softly chuckled to himself, walking towards your bed and lifting the blanket so it reached your shoulders. You had stirred but only shuffled to get comfortable. Placing a small kiss on your forehead, Veritas got up to put away the crayons and papers you had left out.

While picking up and putting away the crayons in the correct order that was directed on the box, the bright, grainy colors on a paper caught his eye. He gently picked up a piece of paper that you seemed to have been working on while he was gone. It was a drawing of the both of you in a field of flowers, your best friend, Dodoco, in between the both of you. Veritas had to admit that it was cute, a small smile appearing on his face before he gathered the rest of your drawings and slid them into a folder. 

When he had finished making sure that everything was neatly put away, Veritas moved to turn off the lamp, wishing you sweet dreams. 

-----

⋘ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ⋙

note - hey ya'll.. nice weather we've got here... 😀 i really need to blast through my requests-- wearesobackipromise.

[yayll]

Could you maybe write smth up. About literally spoiling Dazai. Because i want to sit him down on the couch and kiss his pretty fucking face and buy him everything he even glances at.!! Hold his hand on walks, take him to like roooftops to stargaze and stuff and just stare at his PRETTY AHH FACE instead. Kiss his forehead goodnight!!! Cook him stuff and cuddle him and kiss him (again)!!!!....

Im lonely and past the point of no return sorry shdkhdkfjf

HIIII there, angel! i'm so sorry this took me a bit, but umm... i kind of went insane with this concept i read your ask and i immediately just blacked out because oh do i feel the same way about this god forsaken man.. and HEAVY on the spoiling. ahh, i hope it's to your liking, and i hope it makes u feel less lonely :') it was such a pleasure to write my first request xx

~ a little something about cherishing Dazai on days he needs it the most ~

Spoiling Dazai. Now there's something you can proudly admit to being happily guilty of. You couldn't count the times you've held him for hours after a terrible day at work, or made sure he had more than just canned crab and a few bottles of Sake. You'd do anything for him to be comfortable in his own skin, and you want to make sure he knows how much you adore him... that he knows he's allowed to take up space in the world too. You're also aware that he would rather die than to ever elaborate on the vague and dismissive little comments he makes about the debilitating weight of all of his past mistakes, the ones that make him resentful and tired when it really gets to him, but that never deters you.

You've put the pieces together long enough to understand that it's not easy being Osamu Dazai, no matter what silly mask he puts on for the world. He hasn't always been a good person, an exemplary man, and you're more than well aware of that. Still, he doesn't have to be the jester who's always entertaining the masses at his own expense.

You remind him that he isn't cursed forever, that he IS worthy of flesh and blood, and when you kiss him it's like you're absolving him of all sins... you make him new again. He is utterly bewitched by you and you feel it in the way he comes up behind you and rests his chin on your shoulder, squeezing your waist just enough to let you know your warmth is the reason his own blood circulates. Or when he whispers the most silliest and unhinged things in your ear late at night so you'll curl up those precious lips into a smile... Just for him. He gets off on the happiness he gives you, simple as that. He already feels he doesn't deserve to hold on to such a good life, but he's nothing if not defiant, and he'll squeeze out every little bit of love within that void of a heart for as long as you'll have him.

But... Today is your turn to love him so much it actually hurts, It's what he gets for being a menace 24/7! That is why you chose to make sure he has an extra special day today, by bringing him out of his comfort zone with a... mystery date!

"Oh? And to what do I owe the pleasure of being courted by such a beautiful creature such as yourself on this fine day?"

Dazai sips on his tea, eyes narrowing as they peer at you from the teacup curiously. You flash him a cheeky grin, already plotting your mission to make him so flustered he can't even look at you later.

"I thought we could go out somewhere and spend some time outside... Since we've both been so busy lately. Wouldn't that be nice?"

He raises a brow, and gives you a knowing smile back. Dazai's freakishly omnipotent in that way, and it's one of the many reasons you can never truly know if your surprises land or not.

"Mmm, it could be. Where to, my love?"

"... It's a secret."

He then pretends something has hit his chest, and he grips it, dramatically throwing himself back onto the chair causing his tea to flop about in the teacup.

"Oh my, is today the day you finally take me out and end it all?! I don't know if I can take the deceit, the absolute betrayal... What an occasion-"

You cut him off with your index finger as you place it right on his lips, zipped tight and his eyes burn into you, waiting for your next words. He eats this shit up.

"Shush! Let's go."

And with that, you grab your coats and zoom out and into the day. It's one of those days where It's cloudy, but the sun still peaks out just enough to send down warm rays of light. As you walk hand in hand, you see the way those very rays hit Dazai's side profile in the most devastating way.

You want to take a photo but you don't want to ruin the moment, so you quickly tip toe and peck him on the cheek, causing him to abruptly stop in his tracks. He blinks for a few seconds, still facing forward, and you swear you can see the highs of his cheeks turn red. You end up tugging him to follow you to the park, smiling to yourself in triumph as he recovers.

You walk to a quiet part, and plop yourselves down next to each other on the soft grass. Still holding hands, you rub your thumb in circles over his bandaged fingers, silently looking up at the cloudy sky. Finally, Dazai is the one to break the silence.

"Love used to always be an empty four letter word to me, but you..."

He pauses for a moment, swallowing hard as he tries to feign composure.

"... You are, by far, my greatest love, and my most beloved weakness altogether."

You were supposed to be the one to sweep him off his feet today, now your vision is blurry and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. You slowly sit up, and look down at him, noticing that his eyes are closed. He looks like a sleeping beauty. Your chest aches, and you wonder if this is the same type of ache he lives with on the daily. You murmur, studying the way his messy bangs frame his face, and his expression unreadable.

"That's not fair, Osamu..."

"You sound so pretty when you say it like that... Osamu."

You swallow hard, and curse him in your mind for being the man that he is. For being all you've ever yearned for. You look down at your watch, and check the time, heart beating wildly.

Thump, Thump, Thump.

"... It's fifteen till 5."

"Mm, why does that matter?" Dazai purrs as he squeezes your hand, eyes still closed.

"It always matters. Any time with you matters. You matter, Osamu."

You spend the rest of the evening nuzzled into one another, whispering secrets and trying to name constellations and giggling when you can't figure them out. He lets you kiss him silly, his eyes closed the entire time while you also toy with his hair and the nape of his neck; where you smooth over the soft fabric of his bandages and his skin, giving him goosebumps. Your touch is a sensory heaven. He's dreaming of you while awake. You'll always wake him up from the nightmares, from what cannot be undone.

When it gets too cold to stay out, you head back home and cook him whatever he asks for as he rests his chin on his palm, gazing at you with those unreadable dark eyes... always thinking too much. Always somewhere else. This time, however, you could tell he was present. He would eat sewage if you poured it for him with that loving manner of yours. You finally crawl into bed together, and Dazai cradles your face in between his hands, facing you. He mumbles, so soft.. so tender. It's a tone only you get to hear.

"It really is selfish of me to think I can have this and more."

"Desire isn't bad, Osamu."

"Mm, no, I suppose not. But it's not always wise to have desire, not for someone like me. I can't afford that."

You hear the genuine ache in his voice, and you lean in to kiss his forehead, a gentle kiss that stays planted for a few seconds before you pull back.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing, love?~" He whispers, his voice a little strained as he looks at you with those eyes, those beautiful and endless orbs of cosmic proportions that are going to consume you one day. Hopefully.

"I think so. I'm being selfish."

You smile faintly, and you proceed to make sure that you end the night the way he deserves, the way you wanted to spoil him.

[the-apocrypha]

at least two miracles part 11 of the cottagecore series (complete) Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling || 15k || Complete

Alternate Universe - Medieval, Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Physical Disability, Mpreg, Kid Fic, Fae!Dream of the Endless, Hedgewitch!Hob, The Long-Awaited Happy Ending

Hob is a hedgewitch. Dream is fae. And Orpheus is the best of them both.

The conception of Orpheus had been a surprise for the both of them, though it must be said, for entirely different reasons. 

“Why would my gender be of consequence?” Dream asked, with appallingly genuine confusion. 

“Because,” Hob started, and then could not continue past this. Gender was—this was the whole point of gender, the cause for all the shapes and sizes, the reason for the holes that had been delved for columns and the columns that had been shaped for holes—and if gender did not matter then what else was a lie. The seasons? The gods? Did the sun not revolve around the earth?

“Just because your species has chosen to limit childbearing to half its population does not mean the rest of us are so primitive,” Dream sniffed. “You are aware that mortal women die in childbirth at a rate far higher than any other species in this realm?” 

“Wha—no, I did not know that, why would I know anything about childbirth, I didn't—I didn’t marry a woman, I didn’t think anyone would be birthing anything!” 

He’d just said the word birthing. 

Dream would be birthing. 

A baby. 

Hob felt lightheaded. 

“Yes. Well.” Dream lifted his nose in the air. “Neither did I.” 

“But—but you knew,” Hob floundered. “You knew that you could—that I could—” 

“Incorrect,” Dream disagreed. 

Hob let his expression fully convey his thoughts on this. 

“I knew that I could,” Dream clarified, and then tilted his head. “I was unaware that you could.” 

“You—” Hob’s mouth worked for several seconds. “What did you think was coming out of my dick?” 

Read on AO3

[thefreakandthehair]

weaponized insomnia strikes again, my friends. I wrote this between the hours of 2am-3am so if you see errors, simply ignore. I don't even really know what this is but I just think the idea of Eddie reaching out for Steve is neat. <3

It starts innocently enough— a simple touch of his fingers to Steve’s forearm.

A ghost, a whisper of skin to skin, is all it takes to ignite a fuse that’s been destined to burn since the second Eddie held that bottle to Steve’s throat in a rundown shack. Eddie shouldn’t be surprised that that’s how their story starts, really. What had he expected? Something traditional? Laughable. No, instead, the very tips of his fingers reach for Steve’s arm from the lumpy mattress of his hospital room, surrounded by beeping monitors and sterility, and that’s all it takes. 

When he learns how to walk again, it’s Steve on the other end of the room, an encouraging smile plastered across his face and ready to grab his hands to steady him at even the slightest wobble. 

When he wakes up screaming, it’s Steve at his bedside before even the nurses. They’re ready with sedatives but Steve rubs his shoulder, traces over the scars on his collarbone to quell the phantom burning, and sure, the medications help but he keeps reaching for Steve first anyways. 

When he finally leaves the hospital, flanked by Hopper, Wayne, and Steve to shield him from ignorant townspeople who don’t get the he’s innocent memo, it’s Steve he finds himself reaching for once they’re safely in the backseat of the Hopper’s cruiser. 

It only makes sense, then, that it becomes a habit. Outside of the hospital walls, Eddie keeps reaching and Steve’s always there, reliable as a lighthouse guiding ships to shore. 

It evolves slowly as the fuse sparks, and sure, Steve’s still the one he reaches for when the anxiety sets in, like the time the old clock chimes in the library as he studies for his GED, but he finds himself with his hands on Steve for less dire reasons, too. 

Movie night? Their forearms touch from the cramped quarters of Eddie’s living room, or their thighs line against one another, or Eddie’s arm drapes over the back of the couch so his fingertips graze the soft material of Steve’s Henley. 

Smoking in the back of the van? Eddie knows that Steve can light his own joint, he’s seen him do it hundreds of times at this point, but he can’t help the urge to light it for him, letting his fingertips graze the warm skin of Steve’s knuckles in the process. 

Lugging the kids to and from the arcade? Steve makes a joke about someone’s attitude (the someone depends on the day, honestly, but Dustin’s emerged as the most frequent offender) and Eddie can’t hold himself back from nudging their shoulders together and watching Steve’s smile grow at the touch. Eddie knows he’s reaching for a reason, but he tamps it down the best he can with his metaphorical Rebooks because it’s Steve. He can’t risk losing his tether, his anchor, by fucking it up with feelings. He can ignore it. It’s fine. 

And it is, until one day, Steve reaches for him. 

The movie they’d chosen didn’t warn them before showing a brutal slasher scene and Eddie’s skin crawls at the sights and sounds of the victim being torn apart. Every scar on his body feels like it’s on fire but before he can reach, before he can grip Steve’s arm tight enough for his fingernails to leave little crescent moon marks in the summer-baked tan of his flesh, Steve’s hand is on his thigh. Warm, heavy, and grounding, Eddie stares down where their bodies connect. 

“Not really feeling this one, let’s do Ferris Bueller again?” Steve stops the VHS and sets it to rewind.

Eddie’s still staring at Steve’s hand on his thigh. Even before it was Steve, Eddie’s always been the one reaching. For friends, for comfort, for companionship. He’s reached with his hands, his heart, his words. Hellfire and Corroded Coffin are both tangible expressions of the depth of his reaching but for all of the ways he’s extended olive branches to those he felt deserving, few have reached back— and the ones who had felt nothing like Steve. Steve touches beyond something his skin, touches something buried deep, perhaps a locked chest to which his fingers hold the lone key.

“You alright?” Steve asks, turning his body slightly to face him and leaving his hand in place. 

Eddie finally tears his eyes from his thigh to meet Steve’s gaze. His eyes, green specks and all, watch him with such fondness that it makes him ache. He nods and swallows the lump in his throat. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. Thanks.” His voice is barely more than a whisper and Steve’s brows knit together, a little wrinkle appearing between them. 

“You sure? You look, I dunno, off. Wanna talk?” 

It's a loaded question and the facade of it’s fine that Eddie's built up over months shatters like the glass it’s made of. 

“You— I— Steve, please don’t let this fuck up our perfectly good friendship, please—” He’s sure that Steve can hear the clattering in his chest but just ignore it, opting instead to move his hand from Eddie’s thigh up to his shoulder. Soft fingers brush his hair away from his face, rub small circles into his skin over his shirt, settle there like a weighted blanket. So many soft touches, so much reaching, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do with any of it. 

“Take a breath, man. I’m here. What’s up? Was it the movie? You looked fucking tense, I probably should’ve picked up on it soone—” 

“Why? Why should you’ve picked up on it sooner?” Eddie interrupts, turning to face him with wide eyes and hope and terror. 

“Uh, because it’s you? I know your tells, Eddie. I do pay attention.” It’s almost indignant, the way Steve phrases it. I know you, I see you, duh? As if it’s not the first time in his life that’s happened. 

Eddie thinks he’s going absolutely batshit when he hears himself say, “Steve, I like you.” The fuse that’d been lit creeps down to its final thread and Eddie explodes. 

“I like you way more than I should, way more than a friend should like another friend, you know? And, and touching you the way I have been has been enough for me, really, because I’d rather have that than have nothing because those are the obvious two options and I just— fuck, I don’t know why I’m talking or saying any of this but I convinced myself it’d be fine but now you’re touching me and you’re seeing me and I don’t— I don’t know what to do with that?” Eddie stops for a breath and pushes on, talking himself in circles. 

Steve watches with the same raised eyebrows and beguiled expression he gives Robin when she rambles, except the drumming of his heart is a dead giveaway that no, this fondness in his chest is not the same. Finally, his own fuse burning out in tandem with Eddie’s, Steve lets his hand travel from its resting place on Eddie’s shoulder to trace his collarbone, the side of his neck, and landing gently against his cheek. Eddie’s mouth snaps closed mid-sentence and he glances down, trying to see his own cheek and the hand that’s thumbing beneath his cheekbone. 

Silence is a heavy blanket, wrapping them together in the warmth they’ve created on the oversized couch. 

“I’m gonna kiss you, okay?” Steve’s close enough that Eddie can smell the pizza they’d eaten for dinner and feels his breath against his skin. His lips part unconsciously and he nods, the only response he can muster. Steve gently pulls him in and presses their lips together, his other hand gliding across to grip Eddie’s waist while Eddie’s tangle themselves in the front of Steve’s shirt. It’s slow, and it’s patient, and it’s just as wonderfully soft as Eddie’s imagined the many, many times he’s let himself imagine. 

Eddie keeps reaching, and Steve reaches back.  

[jeiyuuen]

"You're funny. I like you." "Spare me."

more Law's sunny roommate sketches, Ig we're calling it that now. Just a silly lawlu AU because I need tired med student Law to deal with his new very much not-human friend that he unintentionally invited into his life.

(There are positive side effects down the line that he doesn't want to admit, but his friends point it out, it's okay.)

[stevesbipanic]

For my lovely Cass @henderdads because I owe you a happy, birthday fic 🎂

Steve had a weird relationship with his birthday.

When he was little his birthday was a big event. His mum would wake him up with a big pile of pancakes that he'd get to eat in bed and wouldn't need to worry about getting syrup on the sheets. Then his parents would load him up in the car and they'd go to Indianapolis where they would have lunch in the big park and then his dad would take him to the biggest toystore he'd ever seen and little Steve would pick anything he wanted. He would always fall asleep in the car ride home and his parents would carry him upstairs and tuck him into bed.

Once he started school his parents would throw a big pool party for him and his classmates with cake and presents, one year he even had a bouncy castle. Tommy would get to sleep over and they would get to stay up watching movies and eating popcorn.

Steve could remember the year it all changed.

When he was twelve his parents had to leave for work at the last minute, some emergency Steve didn't really understand. They apologised that they'd miss Steve's birthday but they'd make up for it when they came back and left him money so he and his friends could get pizza or go to the movies while they were gone. It was ok, it felt weird not getting birthday pancakes, he just made himself some cereal and hung out with Tommy and Carol. When they came back they still went to Indy but it felt different, felt forced.

The next year they missed it again, they still left money but there was no Indy makeup trip on their return.

The following year they didn't even realise they missed it until they came back, they gave him some money for pizza, they were leaving again.

By the time he was sixteen he didn't expect anything. He made himself pancakes now, still ate them up in bed, he was a lot better at cooking now. He hung out with Tommy, took Nancy on a date. It was fine, it was just another day but with pancakes.

Robin brought back the magic of birthdays.

When she discovered what his birthday was she insisted she get to plan his day. Steve had no plans so he agreed easily with his best friend.

The night before his birthday she slept over, they crashed on the couch together under a pile of blankets, the TV still on. Steve woke up the next day to noise in the kitchen. He saw Robin making pancakes and almost cried.

"Hey birthday boy! Sit, sit, these are almost done, my mum always makes me pancakes on my birthday so I thought you'd like the same."

"Y-yeah thanks, Robin."

They ate their pancakes as Robin told him about her plans for the day, she had convinced Jon and Nance to carpool the kids to the quarry and they were going to have a picnic down there with the whole little family.

It was a perfect day.

Steve spent his twentieth birthday in a hospital room. Eddie had been here for weeks, Max just down the hall, Steve barely left, only to help volunteers and get a change of clothes. At least Eddie was awake, Steve loved talking to him, learning everything about him. He didn't even realise his birthday had arrived until Robin arriving with a little Tupperware of pancakes.

"Didn't think I'd miss the big day did you? You're old now dingus the big 2-0."

Steve cracked a smile, his eyes stung a bit with tears seeing the pancakes.

"Thanks, Robbie."

"Stevie, you didn't tell me it was your birthday, shouldn't you be doing something fun."

Steve smiled at Eddie softly, "I'm exactly where I want to be, Eds."

The three of the shared the pancakes and swapped stories of birthdays past.

Steve could never pick a favourite birthday but the morning of his 21st came pretty close. He woke up just as the sun started filtering through the curtains of his tiny apartment. Their soft rays gently stirring him. He opened his eyes to see the space beside him empty, he was confused briefly before the bedroom door opened.

Eddie cracked a soft smile as he gazed at his boyfriend.

"Good morning, sweetheart, special delivery for the birthday boy."

That morning they shared a big stack of pancakes in their bed and didn't worry about getting syrup on the sheets. Pretty close to a perfect birthday.

[majorbuckyegan]

Rules: post a snippet from one of your current WIPs and pass on the love by tagging other writers.

I was tagged by @nicijones thank youuu 🫶 y'all know I love posting snippets lmao

“I don't know if you still feel like that, but I need you to promise me that you'll just talk to me the next time.” He pleaded. Maybe he couldn't do anything about it, but he could at least be here for John to talk to; so he'd know he wasn't alone.

John sighed, shaking his head, “What does it even matter, Buck?”

“It matters because you are so, so loved.” He said, his fingers itching to touch John, to draw him close, “The folks in this town don't matter, and honestly? Fuck your family if they didn't care enough to come and see you when you were hurt. But the rest of the boys in the 100th? They love you so much, and I love you so goddamn much, no matter what happens. You got that?”

“Why?” John asked, finally looking at him, and there were unshed tears shining in his eyes, “I'm.. I'm broken, and that shouldn't be on you to fix.”

Tagging: @alienoresimagines @moghraidhs @hogans-heroes @angelfruittree @spaceshipkat @ackackh @c-goldthorn @buckbiddick

[the-red-thread-that-strangles]

AkAm Sweater AU masterpost

NEW: also on AO3

Because all the links are broken now that I changed my username we're redoing things and just putting them into chronological order, that's probably less confusing

The Original Sin (The Tea Party sweater theft)

Intermission I: Petty Thieves

Akai family revelations (Part 1/Part 2/Part 3)

Rei realizes he has a problem™

The Last Briefing

The Immediate Aftermath

Dinner for Two

Akai Shuuichi and the mortifying ordeal of being known

Operation Campfire (Part 1/Part 2/Part 3)

Bonus thoughts, loosely canon to this AU until they're incorporated properly:

Akai family shenaniganry

Hiding in plain sight, if one is optimistic and can look up (so, not one Furuya Rei)

Alternate end to Part 1 of Operation Campfire

Rei's non-existent relationship history

[strawberry-car]

Your howl fics are amazing!! I am so happy someone writes for Howl and Male and GN readers! :) Thank you so much.

Can I request a Howl x Male reader, where Howl is dealing with his own problems and is getting more annoyed by the minute, so when the reader comes to him with a small problem (like maybe they ran out of some magic ingredient idrk T~T), he just couldn't add a new problem to his list and snaps. He takes his anger out on the reader.

When this happens to me I usually snap, then go somewhere and come back home to sleep and forget about what I did when I snapped till the next day.

Maybe this can happen with Howl? Like the next day, when the reader is scared to talk to him he remembers what he did and comforts the reader.

Sorry if this is too long, I had ideas for Howl for so long but I can't write them out ;-; So you're like a miracle to me.

Take care <3

you are the sweetest anon ever. I can and will write this but it took a bit, sorry bout that. So here it is! Also, feel free to come to me with all your Howl x Male/gn Reader ideas I need stuff to fill my time anyways. I do apologize for this being so late I've been dealing with a lot of shit.

At the current moment, you were trying to make a potion that would help Howl recover less painfully after his little trips through space and time. That specific wizard was sitting at the table with his eyes closed and the bags under his eyes rather prominent.

You worried your bottom lip between your teeth. You couldn't find a certain ingredient you needed and Markl was out. You'd have to ask Howl.

"Eh- Howl?" Your voice started quiet. You fiddled with the hem of your shirt. "Uh, Y/n? Y/n, kid, you shouldn't do that!" Calcifer warned from the fireplace. "I don't know where the dried maple flowers are! And I doubt you know." You countered.

"Howl, sweetheart, I'm sorry but-" You just barely touched his shoulder when he jumped up. "Fuck off, Y/n!! Why do you have to be so fucking annoying?!" He yelled, his eyes full of rage.

You flinched back, eyes wide. You quickly left the room, leaving the ingredients by the fireplace. Abandoned. "Howl.." Calcifer sighed. They both looked after you with mixed emotions. "You don't deserve that boy. Never did."

~Next Day~~

The morning fell around and you woke with some difficulty. Your face was red from crying and you were glad that there was more than one bathroom in this castle.

You washed your face and listened carefully for any signs that anyone was around. None. You slipped from the tiles onto the wood and were met with the glittering eyes of Markl. "Hey, Uncle Y/n, I was wondering- Wait are you okay?" He asked.

You nodded. " 'Course. What's up?" He shook his head. "Nevermind. I'll be right back! I have to do something real quick." Markl ran off down the hall, his red hair floofing out a crazily.

You gave s small smile before turning around and being met with sapphire eyes. Your face fell and you suddenly felt scared. "Wait, Y/n, please don't go." The desperation in his voice startled you. You looked back up at him.

"Y/n.. Darling, I'm sorry. I really am." His voice was quiet, like you'd never heard it before. "..." He raised a gentle hand and brushed a stray lock of hair from in front of your eyes.

"I was just..." He seemed to be struggling with his words. "Angry. Frustrated. Overworked." You finished for him. Howl nodded slowly. "Forgive me?" His voice was no higher than a whisper now.

You thought for a moment, gently intertwining your fingers together. "Sure. But this is your one and only free pass. You kissed him softly, no more than a peck. "Do you still love me, at least?" You blinked. Then giggled. "Of course, you moron."

He swept you up in his arms before bringing you to bed. Howl buried his face in your chest and restricted most of your movement. You twirled a finger through his hair.

The door opened, just an inch. And a hand came through with a handmade craft. Markl placed his little gift on the dresser and left, thinking he was unseen completely. You chuckled. How darling.

~The End~

I hope this is to your standards, if not I apologize Again, I apologize for it being so late I've moved twice in the last year and moving schools is a pain in the ass. Doesn't do much mentally either.

[shinakazami1]

"Love is stored in (un)familiarity": Rhack snippet based on my TFTBL AU

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58404214

less than 2k words This is a snippet of a bigger AU, at the happiest moment of it :^) but before we get there, it will take quite a bit so, I thought I would post this already!

Rhys' bad tastes and Jack being a sweetheart,,,

===

"Heyyyyyy-- pumpkin?" "Yeah, Jack?" Rhys looked over the kitchen counter, trying to remove a stain from the unwanted Skag guest. "What's the question for the day?" "Oh, well I wanted to ask you what you want for dinner but, if you're so insistent - what's your favorite ice cream flavour?" 

Rhys stared down at the man. The last few 'daily questions' were a bit more stimulating. How he got the prosthetic, what it was like to be an Atlas CEO, had he kept the Jack AI, some heavy stuff in general. This felt like a trap, but one that was most welcome. 

"I don't like ice cream. I like frogurts way more." 

Jack stared back at him, waiting for him to continue. The man's face, frozen solid, was enough for Rhys to know something was up. This state was only a few seconds long but that was still more than wanted. The sudden drift to a salesman's smile was also not a sign of everything being okay.

"OK, if you have such a blast destroying your taste buds, tell me at least what knife you're using. I need to know if I should ever let you cook or not. I feel if you'd try to poison me, you'd actually make me healthier, knowing your-" "Chocolate dill pickle." 

Jack seemed frozen solid for longer than before. But something was... different. This exact scenario happened a few times before already but, every time, it left Rhys a bit on the edge. He could imagine the big hands wrapping around his trachea and snapping it if they wanted to. It felt like a matter of time, even if the man before him hadn't made such a gesture before. The eyes were the key difference. They weren't, like a moment ago, staring through a fog at the world surrounding them. The small shines and the relaxed brows didn't keep Rhys off his guards, but they did make him wait for something.

He didn't expect laughter. Not just any laughter - a whole fit. A maniac, full, from the chest, belly moving, spine bending laugh. Hands flying, from thighs to the forehead, to waving in the air, as the big, loud, manic laughter, continued. It caused Rhys to relax - Jack probably was imagining the taste and while he loved it, Jack probably hated even the mental image of it. Something, about watching this man laugh to such an extent, made the warmth spread in Rhys' chest. It was not perfect but, it was nice. It felt like they were used to this. And - to make that happen, Rhys decided to be more confident and say something more. 

"You can't judge a good frogurt just by some mediocre tastes! Why do you need a vanilla when you have Last Night Midnight? It was a limited edition taste that had ingredients making -" "You're not him!" 

Barely, through a dying laughter, Jack, with the help of a chair he was holding on, got those words out of his mouth. Scared, a bit disappointed, Rhys could only stare at the man as he still fought through the teary cackles. Jack, with his hard-working diaphragm, barely got any words out. 

"It's cus-oh, oh kiddo, oh my god - it's not him! My Rhysie - man! Ah, oh my - - loves some citrus-- Cheesy Lemon Zest--lord! Kiddo, oh God your taste is so shit - - Chocolate Flush the most!" 

Rhys let Jack slowly get out of the torturous laughing tone. The warmth was no longer making him flutter. It felt embarrassing, it felt sad and burning through everything he's done wrong till then. If not for him... 

"You're not him." Jack panted, sweat slowly dropping off his forehead. 

It was true. He was not him . 

And it made Rhys feel stupid for being so happy hearing that.

===

For the rest of the evening, Jack spent the time in the kitchen. The new policy of not sleeping together made Jack quite insomniac but, Rhys felt he shouldn't comment on that at all. It felt like a very important thing for him to do by himself. Still, Rhys couldn't stop being worried for the man. Especially after Rhys wasn't let in the kitchen. 

The first sign was Jack telling him to get busy and just do things around the house. Then, it was him not being allowed to even brew some coffee. After enough pestering, Jack made him some and closed the door, telling Rhys he couldn't come to the kitchen for some time. Thinking it was a bad prank, hungry for a snack, Rhys attempted to get to the kitchen with no fruition, especially since he didn't get the fruit he wanted. Being told 'later, kiddo' and given a banana made him feel like he was back at school but he tried his best to not show how it annoyed him. Jack's comments about poutiness not being the stronger weapon said he sucked at it. 

The worst, however, was the moment Jack smashed the door in his face when he was trying to sneak in and take a slice of the pizza they had for dinner. Annoyed, hungry and tired, through the door, he told Jack if he wanted to cook some pot, the kitchen was the WORST place for that type of cooking. Instead of any of the typical Jack-making remarks Rhys expected to hear, the man opened the door, checked his nose he even forgot he was holding, and gave him a heated-in microwave two pizza slices and soda with three ice cubes. 

Apologies coming from that man's mouth felt still like a fever dream - too face-warming. Too weird. But it was important to hear and receive.

"I'm just making something atrocious in the kitchen. Smells horrible - so I'm doing you a favour, Rhysie. Don't stay up too late, we have a few things to do tomorrow." 

Nodding in agreement, Rhys stood up and went to eat what he was given and slowly, very slowly, in fact, prepared for bedtime. Scanning through all his Echo Eye files for some clues hadn't been fruitful for the past few days but there were enough folders to check for eternity. He had that, in a way - just not at the place he maybe would want. Not realising when he stopped seeing the Echo Eye layout, with a droll falling from his left cheek, Rhys slowly opened his eyes, seeing a figure above him. The hand on his shoulder didn't leave many suspects on who it might be but, the cold point on his cheek wasn't as easy to guess. "Open up, buttercup." "Oaaaghaa?", Rhys said very charismatically, obviously. "Come on, it will melt. Just say aaaaa or eeee, both are good. Or even waaaah, just don't do it too loud. We're no longer in kindergarten." "Mmwha waw you tal'in aboth...", Rhys straightened his back and said in the most professional tone. "I'm talking about the ice crea- yogurt, I mean, oh you get what I mean. Taste it." "I ion wanna. I washed my teeth, just.... now...." "Princess, it's 4 am. You're dressed in your clothes, you have one shoe still on and it's only between you and one Skag probably where the other is gone. I want to fall asleep soon but I won't be able to finish this if I don't know, you know like, if I did a good job." "Mm but is athrosiosh...." "To me. Fortunately, there is only one person with good taste in this room, so this should be up to your liking. Now chop chop, I don't want it dribbling off my fingers and staining me for life."

While the metal of the spoon was getting a tiny bit warmer, the trails of the frogurt slowly melting off Rhys' skin made him reluctantly open his mouth and give the cold mass a lick. The familiar taste made his eyes open, while not fully, a lot more, and he grabbed the spoon, eating everything off it.

"How did you find Fran's here?" "Who's Fran." "The frogurt lady. Unless she started selling these goods through grocery shops." "Oh yes, pumpkin. I just spent 7 hours on opening shop-bought creams." "That sucks on you." 

Rhys cackled and yawned. "But, where did you find my Fran's fav?" "Where? Well jee, princess, let me think of every shop being close by. Oh, right - they typically don't have atrocious and horrible tastes. I'd be scared living here if others would like this as much as you." "Mm, so, was this what you got from Elpis?" "I don't think - - My God, please don't act dumb, I'm doing everything in my mind not to kiss you at this moment. No, it's--I worked on it. All day. Based on the description you said. No ice shop here, and no van with fun music around. It's just me, making you a treat." 

Rhys felt his mind open a bit more, finally letting the information he was hearing process. "Wait so - you made it?" "Unfortunately." 

Jack's face was still covered in shadow but, the softness of his voice and the hand, wrapped under the right ear as the thumb was slowly careering his cheek, felt like enough signs the guy was in a good mood. 

"You didn't have to but... How did you get the perfect combination of flavours and textures? It feels just so right." "I had my fair share of horrible meals I had to make in my life to sustain someone." "You truly didn't...have to-" "Yes, and I won't redo this massacre anytime soon. But check the freezer on your 'sad nights ice cream times' or some other shit mood." "No - - I meant the kissing. I mean - both." "... Kiddo I..." 

Rhys' consciousness was drifting back and forth but he knew he was speaking very nonchalantly.

"Come to bed then. You look tired." No one had ever said these words in a more confident, job-winning way. "I need to put the atrocity in the fridge but -- I'll uh. I'll be back." "That would be nice." "Don't fall asleep before I'm back. Wait for me." 

Not even five minutes later, after running what felt like a marathon, Jack came back to the master bedroom and heard Rhys soft snores. Shaking his head and talking about how the guy would get mad in the morning for the state of the clothes, Jack gently joined him in the bed and wrapped his arms around him, finally feeling the tiredness hitting. He didn't mind it, though. The warmth, spreading in his chest, helped him fall asleep easier than the past few alone nights. This wasn't a sweet moment. Probably not even bittersweet. 

But a weird mix of ingredients the guy in his arms liked. 

His tongue was to be examined but... 

Maybe some other time.

[shroomwar]

Loving the general consensus that the s3 reunion will be so intense that there’s a huge blackout, loving it more after thinking about how many stars would be visible because of it, and how delighted Crowley would be as they go up onto the roof of the bookshop and watch the residents of Soho gaze in awe at his creations, how mesmerized Aziraphale would be by the smile on Crowley’s face. Give them the quiet gentle and romantic moment they deserve

[peaches2217]

Traduzione, Per Favore?

EDIT: AO3 link!

~~~

“What would my name be in Italian?”

Mario studied the princess’ face briefly. Her sapphire eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun, full of sincerity and curiosity; he almost wanted to make something up, something exotic-sounding yet convincing enough that those crystal eyes would shine even brighter.

But she was far too clever for that. She’d see right through him. Or worse — she would be so giddy that she’d believe him, then eagerly relay what she had learned to Luigi, and then his brother would never let him live it down. Mario, impulsive as he could be, knew how to calculate risk and reward, and that was one risk not worth taking.

“...Peach.” Uttering her name sent a chill through him that he only barely repressed— no, that felt so wrong, far more intimate than he was permitted to be with her. “Principessa Peach,” he corrected, and he pulled his cap from his head, absently fanning himself with it. It was a warm day. He could easily pass the color he felt pooling in his cheeks as a consequence of the weather.

The princess’ face fell. “Oh,” she said, soft, but curt. Her brows furrowed, and her lips gathered into a gentle pucker. Suddenly, Mario was happy he hadn’t given into his earlier temptation, because how many people had ever seen the beautiful and regal Mushroom Princess pout?

It caught him off-guard enough that he chuckled, and that in turn softened her downtrodden expression. For a moment, she graced him with a gaze full of the fondness and warmth he’d become so familiar with… and then the pout returned with an indignant force. And, of course, that only made hiding his amusement that much harder.

“Don’t look at me like that!” she chastised, though the dimples that formed in her cheeks betrayed her lack of sincere ire.

Mario, already luckier than most, supposed his day couldn’t get much better than this. 

Oh, he was so glad she had expressed interest in learning his native tongue. It was an interest she’d held for some time now, she had confessed — “It never felt right to ask,” she admitted one day, looking down as she tapped the tips of her fingers together, “since it’s one of the few things you and Luigi were able to bring from your birth world. I… felt that asking to partake in it would be overstepping.”

Mario had never seen it that way. To him, it was one more thing he could share with her. One more wall between them that didn’t seem quite so insurmountable anymore. 

Granted, he didn’t fancy himself much of a teacher, so he mostly just taught her assorted words and phrases over their bi-weekly tea and pastries (merenda, as she had learned last week; today he was greeted with an uncertain yet cheerful “Facciamo merenda!”, and were he any bolder, he would have asked her to repeat it over and over again, just for him). And as endearing as it was, the thought of the princess privately straining to overhear one of the brothers’ personal conversations just so she could enjoy the foreign melody of their otherworldly tongue, he certainly enjoyed this approach much more, and could say with certainty that she did too.

Still, as she sipped at a fresh cup of peony tea, something a hint sour lingered in her expression. 

“You’re disappointed, Princess?” he guessed. She hesitated for a moment, clearly prepared to deny the accusation, but she sighed instead and leaned back into her chair.

“It’s so silly, I know.” She shook her head with a small grin, as if in disapproval of her own behavior. “I just thought… well, I’m named after a fruit. Surely you have a word for ‘peach’.”

“Yes,” Mario agreed, pulling his hat back onto his head now that he was properly cooled, “in which case you would be Principessa Pesca. But you’re not a peach, are you? You aren’t small and round and fuzzy.”

“No,” Peach agreed in turn, “that would be you.”

The force with which she clapped her hands over her mouth sounded downright painful. 

In the ensuing silence, they gaped at one another, him in astonishment, and her in pure, stupefied horror; the white silk of her gloves only served to make her flustering features look redder still. And that did him in.

The shock of her response melted into pure mirth, and Mario buried his face into his hands, his shoulders shaking and his breath coming in gasps. “Hey, there’s a new phrase for you to practice!” he offered where he could find air. “You can tell people, ‘Il mio amico Mario è tondo e peloso, come una pesca!’” Somehow, he found himself hoping she actually would. Never had he been so delighted to be 5’1, over two-hundred pounds, and scruffier than his own father. 

And that was before the most wonderful, most heavenly sound he’d ever heard even hit his ears. Once it did—

It was like windchimes on a cold winter morning, singing out into bright and beautiful emptiness. Like laying out on the rooftop of the high-rise he and Luigi once inhabited and watching the stars, forgetting about bills and budgets and feeling for one fleeting instant like he was alone in the universe. She was laughing, really and truly laughing, bent ever so slightly forward under the weight of her amusement, eyes screwed shut and brimming with unshed tears.

Mario forgot his own amusement, even as Peach sputtered apologies and wiped at her eyes. He’d never heard her laugh. Giggle, yes, but nothing like this.

She looked up at him, eyes still brimming and squinting, face still pink with shame and humor. Her light lipstick was smudged at the corners of her mouth, and he noticed now that it stained the palm of her right hand as well. This was, to some extent, the most human she had ever looked.

A dull but urgent pain coursed through Mario’s body, and only then did he realize he’d stopped breathing.

He could die, he thought as he sucked in a breath as quietly as he could manage, he could honestly die here and now, and that thought didn’t worry him nearly as much as it should have.

“...Princess.” Mario scrambled his head for ideas. He needed to hear that laugh again. “What… what would my name be in English?”

Peach looked confused for a moment — right, it wasn’t called English here, though what it was called had escaped his memory — but she connected the dots quickly enough, and her lips began to quiver.

“...Mark?”

"Oddio!" Mario called, almost choking, because a well-meaning but sheltered Brooklynite had once suggested the brothers advertise themselves as Mark and Louis to attract more business and fewer bigots. Had Luigi told her that story?

The laughter began anew, with renewed vigor, and Mario stifled as much of it as he could into his glove just to hear hers better. It was even more wonderful the second time.

“No,” she said as the last of her giggles died down, “I can’t see you as anything but Mario. Your name is perfect as it is.”

“And yours is too!” Glancing down, Mario caught sight of a miniature tart on the tiered tray between them, lemon-flavored, from the looks of it. “You have a lovely name, Princess,” he assured her, plucking the delicacy from its resting spot. All that revelry had made him hungry again. “It needs no translation.”

“I’ve learned today that I especially like hearing you say it.” 

Mario blinked, the tart in his hand suddenly forgotten.

Peach’s eyes locked onto his and commanded his full attention. She dabbed a cloth napkin at the corners of her mouth, correcting her makeup, and smiled softly. A feeling not dissimilar to his earlier air-deprived pain returned, as though his entire abdomen were being tied into knots like a big balloon animal, though he knew for a fact he was still breathing.

“You needn’t be so formal all the time, you know,” she said. When she set her napkin back onto the table, she looked once more as she always did: perfect, as though she were carved of marble. “You are my friend.”

Was that… an invitation? Mario gulped at the thought. He knew full-well how Peach cherished him, and she in turn knew he loved her just as much (and then some, but that she would never learn about, he’d decided long ago). But she was still… and he was just…

“I’ll… keep that in mind,” he finally said, nervously glancing back to his tart, “Princess.”

The silence that fell between them as he chewed wasn’t uncomfortable, per say, but it felt oddly heavy. Something in Peach’s smile changed, and she glanced down as well. But before he had time to analyze what that change was or why it made his chest feel tight all of a sudden, she reached for the teapot sitting beside the tray.

“Now,” she said, leaning forward to fill Mario’s half-empty cup, “walk me through that last one again, please?”

Mario raised an eyebrow, because speaking through a mouthful of lemon curd would be unbecoming. He wondered for a moment if a bout of such poor manners might make Peach laugh again. 

Peach struggled through a few syllables as she refilled her own cup: “Eel-mee-oh, um, ah-mee…”

Mario made a noise of understanding, swallowing the last bite of tart and wiping the crumbs from his mustache. If he couldn’t hear her laugh again yet, he could at least hear her still-untrained accent, and that was almost as good. “Il mio amico Mario,” he started, initiating a call-and-response sort of game. And when she learned what she was saying, she laughed once more, a sound Mario knew he would be addicted to by day’s end.

Maybe one day he could return the boldness she’d shown in teasing him today. Maybe one day he could accept that invitation, could call her la mia amica Peach instead of la principessa, could really and truly feel he deserved her presence, her companionship, her friendship. 

One day, maybe.

[neonganymede]

[wip wednesday – beefleaf, mutual pining]

Another knock, this one a little more desperate.

He Xuan immediately stood, unable to keep her waiting now that he had an idea of what had brought her here. He yanked the door open just in time to watch the way her dejected expression fucking brightened at the sight of him. His heart rattled against his ribs, tender flesh beating against bone in a way that made him feel like he might be dying.

Or maybe He Xuan was already dead. The air robbed right from his lungs by nothing but Shi Qingxuan’s smile. He might’ve hated her for it if not for her ignorance on the matter. Best friend this, best friend that, He-xiong, you’re my best friend—it was utterly detestable the way she just didn’t know what she had done to him.

“You have a key for a reason,” he grumbled by way of greeting, not missing the way her smile fell just a little. Fuck. Just what the hell had happened at dinner?

“I know, I know!” she claimed, airy and dismissive. Her voice was annoying, delicate and charming like chimes in the wind that haunted his brain even in moments of stillness. He Xuan could have listened to it forever.

[stevesbipanic]

Eddie felt sick to his stomach with nerves.

Today was the day he was going to tell Steve how he felt about him. It was fall now, only six months since Steve had fallen into his orbit, it felt longer. It was easier to think about March being the month Eddie's sunshine boy had become his friend than the month he faced unspeakable horrors.

Eddie wasn't even nervous about telling Steve because he thought he'd get punched in the face, no, Steve had come out to him in the summer, tales of feeling different and a little birdie to help him along the way.

Eddie hadn't had a lot of luck in the past with his heart. No boys in their small town that would dare step a toe out of the closet and men in Indianapolis that just wanted him for a night. There was one boy once, a sweet bartender but after months of what Eddie thought had been flirting the other boy just wanted to be friends.

It was hard to see himself as someone a person could want, a person could care about. The scars didn't help, no matter what his friends said it was hard to look in the mirror and see someone beautiful, not like Stevie, who was perfect before but somehow made the scars look like a masterpiece on a tan canvas.

Eddie has been staring at Steve's from door for ten minutes now, too afraid to knock on the door. He has to tell him though, even if it doesn't work out, he hopes he and Steve will at least be the same after this, he doesn't want to lose him.

Steve makes the choice for him though, opening the door with a questioning look on his face.

"Eddie? Is everything ok? You're not seeing clocks right now are you?"

Eddie shook his head, coming out of his daze, "No, no I'm fine Stevie, um, I came to tell you something."

"Oh, ok, well come on in," Steve smiled brightly, Eddie tried to capture the smile in his memory forever just in case it was the last time he'd see it directed at him.

The two boys sat down on the couch facing each other.

"What did you want to tell me, Eds?"

Eddie prides himself on being a storyteller and good with words, this was not one of those moments.

"I like you, like I really really like you. You're the best part of my everyday Stevie and I just can't help but like you. You don't have to feel the same way, I get it, just don't let this change things between us ok?"

"What if I want things to change?"

Eddie felt his heart break at that, "I understand, I'm just, I'm gonna go."

Eddie stood but Steve quickly reached out his arm to him, "No wait, Eddie! That came out wrong I mean I like you too, that's why I want things to change, so I can do things like this." Steve moved forward and gently kissed Eddie's lips.

"Oh, well I guess I want things to change too."

Steve's face broke into a bright grin again and Eddie knew he wouldn't have to commit it to memory since he'd be seeing it every day for the rest of his life.

[kittttycakes]

I loved your hand kissing fic <33

would you mind writing another fluffy one? maybe forehead kisses with morpheus x hob x reader?

I can’t say no to more fluff! (And a tiny sprinkle of angst to get us there…)

On days when the world was simply too vast, when the chest labeled Loss in his heart threatened to crack open and spill names he had not spoken in a hundred years—Robyn, Eleanor—on those days, Hob found her, wherever she might be. When she could, she would stop, leaving the dishes undried, her book unread, work undone, to sit with him and allow him to rest his head at the join of her neck and shoulder.

He could not abide the self-pity he had seen in other immortals; living was the greatest gift he had ever been given, one he refused to give up. But that did not mean that there weren’t times where the weight of the thousands of days he had lived pressed down upon him just a bit more than they had the day before. It was only human, after all. Hob was, even now, still human.

He sighed, and turned his head, the length of his nose pressed to the warmth of her neck. He could smell her perfume, fainter now than it had been when she applied it before walking out the door that morning. Her hand rested gently on his head, her fingers occasionally carding through his hair. She had turned the volume down on the television when he sat beside her, but he could hear the faint comforting hum of it, the rise and fall of the voices from one of her programs providing just enough noise to soothe and lull.

They did not have to speak, like this. His breathing had fallen in line with her own, steady and even. She shifted slightly beneath him, just enough to tilt his head and place a kiss to his forehead, the smooth warmth of her lips pressing once against his brow. The feeling was not entirely gone, and would, one day, come back again, but Hob was content to stay there, his arm around her. The world, and the rest with it, could wait.

-

She hadn’t realized just how much of Hob’s behavior Morpheus noted and tucked away to try later until he slowly and carefully folded himself to her side, his head cradled in the valley of her shoulder. It was impressive enough that he had managed to so unobtrusively settle beside her; he was not unlike a cat, carefully slipping in unnoticed, before making itself at home as if it had always lived there.

Out of long habit, one hand came up to cradle his head gently, his hair soft as silk underneath her fingers. For a moment, she considered breaking the silence of the room; her now forgotten book dangled from her other hand, her thumb marking the page she had been reading. Before she could make up her mind, Morpheus sighed softly, the sound nearly inaudible, and all thoughts of speaking fled.

Did she need to know right then, after all? He would tell her later, or he wouldn’t, and she would find something like the truth from Matthew in a day or two. What mattered was the slight weight of him against her, the angular ball of his shoulder digging in to her side just slightly, not enough to be uncomfortable, but enough to remind her that he was there.

He exhaled, his breath soft against her collarbone, an action that he did not need but an affectation that he kept for her, for Hob, not playing at humanity like one would a game, but playing as one would a role on the stage, trying out a part. She shifted beside him, turning just enough to slip into a position to press her lips to his temple, and when he turned his head, to his forehead, squarely in the center of it.

Morpheus stilled against her; when was the last time, she thought, that someone had kissed him like that? Not with any romantic intent, but just because he looked rather like he needed to be kissed? He relaxed, not as Hob did in incremental parts, but all at once, like matter changing state. His arm slipped around her, holding her close to him, and there she stayed, with her cheek resting against the top of his head, the two of them folded together like leaves in a book, wordless.