#Breakfast loves colors and patterns

[lulu-draws-stuff]

Outfits :)

[shouyuus]

18+, vi-shaped brainrot, mdni

consider college roommate!vi who is the star of the rugby team and just such a fucking jock about it, spends hours at the gym, has pre and post workout drinks and never closes her door when she's blasting rock music, leaves pink hair dye on the bathroom counter, stains the tub when she gets drunk and tries to redo her roots, calls you everything but your name -- sweetcheeks, dollface, cupcake, princess -- isn't shy about her hookups, doesn't even bother to apologize the mornings after another pretty cheerleader scampers out of her room, shrugs and winks when you come out of the bathroom with a tiny thong dangling off your finger that's clearly not either of yours.

college roommate!vi who does kickboxing on the weekends and teaches a kid's course at the local gym. the first time you go there to drop something of her's off as a favor, you can't help but stare at the way she laughs and chases the kids around, so gentle with her movements, so careful, guiding their punches, correcting their forms. and the kids love her -- it's so easy to see, the stars in their eyes, the color high in their cheeks, the way the girls cluster around her legs and the boys are constantly vying for her approval, how she tries her best to divide up her attention equally between all of them.

college roommate!vi who goes real quiet the first time you laugh in her presence, a real laugh, not one of those ha-ha ones you snipe at her when she's trying to get a rise out of you, or teasing you about spending all your time in the library, but one that shakes your shoulders and makes your whole face light up. who has to blink when you cock your head and ask if she's okay bc she was so busy staring at you, wondering about the weird thumping in her chest, the tightness in her throat.

college roommate!vi who's there for you when you're stressed about your dissertation, and she knew you were smart, but listening to you rant about it at 3am in the morning, she's starting to realize that... you're kind of a genius. to be so young and already doing a doctorate in mechanical engineering, and the things you're trying to do -- they could conceivably change the world one day. who freezes when you let your head drop onto her shoulder with a heavy sigh, telling her that you don't know what to do.

"you'll figure it out, cupcake. with a brain like yours? you always do."

college roommate!vi who realizes way too late that she's kinda got it bad for you, bc since when did she start getting used to the sight of you wearing one of her gym shirts in the mornings, making scrambled eggs, rolling your eyes when she yawns her way into the tiny kitchen, leaning an arm against the fridge as she looks you over before asking what's for breakfast. who's gotten so used to falling asleep to the soft clatter of your computer keys that when you leave to visit your family for a weekend, she tosses and turns and can't figure out why it's impossible for her to get to sleep, wanders into sliver of space you guys have crammed a couch and tv into to call a living room, slumping down there to stare at the ceiling, only to feel her fingers graze against something on the ground, who tugs out the thing from under the couch only to find herself staring at one of your bunched up socks with the goofy cartoon cats pattern, and she remembers (suddenly) finding you tearing your room apart the week before trying to look for it because it's your favorite pair of socks.

she finds herself chuckling, letting the sock fall again, but the tightness in her throat doesn't recede, and invisible fingers clench in her gut as she lets her eyes fall shut.

"well... fuck."

college roommate!vi who doesn't know how to act when you get back from your weekend away, when you throw yourself into her arms, your skin still smelling of the crisp fall air and something warm, and spicy -- it reminds her of the holiday market you dragged her to last year, the cinnamon and spiced apples, the hot, mulled wine, the way it burned all the way down when she took the first sip, the way it worked the most darling flush into your cheeks above your pink knit scarf.

"i've got a present for you!" you say, when you finally extricate yourself from her gasp, your arms still around her shoulders, her hands still settled around your waist.

"y-yeah? you didn't have to do that, sweetcheeks --"

"yeah, but i saw this in a store window and -- well i just... it reminded me of you," you say, pulling back to dig something out of your travel bag, and it takes everything in vi not to tug you back into her chest. so instead, she settles for knitting her arms across her front and coughing to hide the fact that her throat's just tightened over itself at your words. you? seeing something and thinking of her? gods, she was so far gone.

"here," you say, pulling a small black box out and offering it to her on the palm of your hand.

vi stares, before reaching out to take it, her eyes flickering up towards your face, only to catch you chewing on your bottom lip in a way that makes her mind frizzle out at the edges. she refocuses her attention on the box -- opening it, she finds a tiny little gemstone, set on a thin golden chain --

"oh..." she breathes, tugging out up to let the gem dangle from between her fingers.

"it -- it's an alexandrite stone," you say, your voice a bit reedy, but you push on as vi continues to stare, "it's uhm -- one of the rarest gemstones in nature, but the cool thing is it changes colors depending on what kind of light it's under --" you reach up to grasp her wrist, her lungs seizing at the contact as you tug her into the incandescent light of the kitchen. "see? it was light blue a second ago, right? and now it's --"

"violet," vi says, her voice soft and disbelieving.

you quickly let go of her wrist, pursing your lips and wrapping your arms around yourself, looking anywhere but at her face.

"yeah -- i just --" your shoulders shrug up as she stares at you, her sky-light eyes wide, "it... it reminded me of... you."

college roommate!vi who, ever since the "necklace incident" (as the rest of the rugby team likes to call it), hasn't really been the same. she's put on the necklace and not taken it off for even a second since the day you gave it to her, but now she doesn't really know how to act around you -- bc did you actually like her? i mean, the necklace is... a pretty big thing to just give someone, but what if you were just giving it to her as a friend? as a roommate? she agonizes over it to the point that the rest of the team are so, so sick of hearing about it, they lovingly tell her to just fuck her and get it over with already. but vi insists that she can't -- it's different with you.

college roommate!vi who's stunned speechless when she gets home to find you staring at your computer, your expression blank. and at first, she thinks something's horribly wrong, but then you're slamming into her, squealing about how you've done it -- your thesis defense went well, that you're a doctor now -- and she's picking you up, spinning you around, buoyed up by the effervescence of your happiness, pressing a kiss to your cheek --

"oh my god, congrats princess! i knew it! i always knew you could do it!"

"thanks -- god, i just -- i've wanted it for so long i... i don't know what to do with myself now that i've got it, y'know?" you say, still suspended in vi's arms, your feet lifted off the ground. it takes a moment before you both seem to realize the position you're in, and vi clears her throat as she lets you down, you looking away, pressing your palms to your cheeks to cool the heat gathering there.

after a brief pause though, vi chuckles, reaching out to slip a finger beneath your chin, tilting your face up towards her's.

"c'mon, put on one of those pretty dresses of yours. we're going out."

"out?"

"yeah. to celebrate."

you blink as vi pulls her hand away.

"but it's like... 4:30 on a tuesday."

vi cocks an eyebrow, a smirk twitching at her lips, "yes, and? c'mon cupcake --" her eyes catch yours and instead of looking away, she holds it this time, something flickering behind their powder-blue depths that makes your skin prickle with heat, "i'll show you a good time."

college roommate!vi who takes you to one of her favorite clubs, tugging you through the crowd, the jostling bodies, holding your hand in her's, trying really hard not to think too much about it (or the fucking insane little black and pink miniskirt you put on), telling herself that it's just to make sure she doesn't lose you in the crowd, grinning when someone knocks you into her chest, and she finds her arm wrapped around your waist, fingers scrunching the material of your skirt, your palms splayed on her chest.

she buys the both of you a round of shots, watching with a hitched breath as your tongue flickers out to lick the salt daubed on your wrist, the way your eyes squeeze shut when you take the shot and your lips wrap around the lime slice, tries to ignore the twist in her gut like a turning blade, the way her whole body flushes with heat, the dull ache caught between her legs when you wipe your lips, your eyes bright and a little blown out, your cheeks flushed with color as you giggle and lace your hands with hers again --

"come on! i wanna dance!"

college roommate!vi who is just drunk enough to let herself dance with you, to let herself lean in to the way you're twisting your body, fingers in your hair, your eyes closed, an indulgent smile on your lips, who let's herself imagine (just for a second), pulling you in to kiss you, how soft your lips might feel on hers, how silken your skin might be beneath her hands, who tries not to groan when you lean in closer, link your arms behind her neck, press your whole body against her's, who grips your hips just a little too tight, grinds you against her, sees the way you gasp, your eyelids fluttering as you eyes glaze out --

college roommate!vi who can't help how she groans at the sight, tugs you in by the back of your neck to mash her lips to yours, crushing you to her as she kisses you (finally, finally) and you let yourself he kissed -- your fingers tangle in her choppy pink hair, and she swears you make this sweet, mind-bending whimpering noise in the back of your throat that drives her up the wall and right over it --

but when she pulls back, she sees the look on your face -- shocked and little confused, but you're drunk, and she doesn't wanna do this with you -- at least, not like this.

college roommate!vi who pulls away, only to have you follow her all the way out the club, into this small dark alley, her shaking her head, feeling a strange, saltwater prickle at the back of her throat as she says --

"shit -- sorry. i didn't mean to -- i just -- you were just so -- and i -- fuck, i didn't --"

"vi -- vi -- no, violet, listen to me --"

it's her full name on your lips that makes her pause, makes her turn to find you walking towards her. your lipstick is smeared, your hair a waterfall mess around your shoulders as you corner her against the rough brick of the club's exterior. faintly, she can still feel the pulse of music reverberating from inside the club, but out here, the air is damp and cold and quiet.

"i -- i'm sorry i kissed you," she says, her voice cracking over the syllables. she bites her lips as you frown up at her, your eyes searching her's before you let out a soft sigh and a scoff.

"well. i'm sorry you feel that way. cause..." you take half a step back, your arms curling around yourself before you glance back at her with a hard, determined light to your eyes as you press back into her space, your cheeks bright with color.

"i was really kinda hoping you'd do it again."

vi's breath punches out of her chest; it takes a few seconds of sputtering before she gathers herself enough to speak.

"wait -- what? you..."

you crinkle your nose, rolling your eyes, "i -- i thought i was making it obvious -- i mean, with the whole necklace thing -- it doesn't take a genius to figure how i feel about --"

you squeak as she pins you against the opposite wall, her lips seeking yours out, her fingers rucking up the material of your top, making you hiccup as they tease under the wire-rim of your bra.

college roommate!vi who can barely control herself when you sink your fingers into her hair, tugging lightly as you gasp out a breath, her lips tracking fire along the side of your neck, intent on making you whimper again, just the way she likes, grazing her teeth along your collarbone even as you jerk at her hair --

"vi -- fuck -- vi, not here --" you swallow around the burgeoning desire, and when you glance down to find her looking up at you, her eyes so dark they're almost black, you fight back a groan, cup your palms around her cheeks and pull her up for a long kiss.

"let's --" you suck in a breath even as vi whines at the loss your lips, "let's go home --"

"holy fuck," vi swears, somehow managing to pull herself back just far enough to taste the misty night air. she stares at you, your chest heaving, a daisy-chain of hickeys blossoming along the long expanse of your neck, your makeup good and smeared, your hair a mess, your eyes bright and so full of love as they flicker over her face.

vi smiles, helpless to the loud, uncertain drumming of her heart as she says, "y-yeah -- let's get you home, princess."

college roommate!vi who barely waits for the elevator door to close in your building before she's got you shoved up against the wall, hoisting you up, her fingers seeking out the softness of your skin, tugging up your shirt, her other hand dipping into the waistband of your skirt, her mouth open and hungry as she kisses your neck, bites down at the junction of your shoulder just to hear you moan.

college roommate!vi who's way too good at undoing your bra with one hand the second you get back to your apartment (if you were more coherent, you might've thought it hot), the door slamming closed, the pair of you toppling onto the room, breathy laughs and panting whines as she hoists you into her arms and carries you to your bedroom, laying you down so gently, kissing up your stomach till you're whimpering, your own hands pulling your top off your body, leaving you in an undone-bra and a miniskirt, your cheeks flushed. you push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as vi peaks up at you from between your legs, shooting you a wink before she's tugging down your skirt and panties all in one, an eyebrow ticking up at the lil lacey thing you had on beneath the skirt all along.

"all this for me, pretty?"

you press your lips, eyes cutting away as she looks between the bra dangling off your shoulders and the panties caught round your ankles. her lashes flutter.

"oh, a matching set," she cocks her head, running her palms up your thighs, pinning them open again as you try to press them closed, feeling suddenly much too seen (bc you'd be straight up lying if you hadn't put it on in the vague hope that the night might evolve into something like this).

she clicks her tongue, shaking her head with a cocky, shit-eating grin that makes your heart skitter in your chest. her drops a light kiss to your inner thigh, savoring in the way you whine again.

"nope, keep 'em open princess."

college roommate!vi who takes her time with you, bc rly she's been waiting way too long for this, has imagined it one too many times, but nothing can compare to the way your hips jerk up against her mouth, the way your fingers tighten in her hair every time she licks up the seam of your cunt, the way your breath catches on her name over and over again, like you can't quite get the word out even though it's just a single syllable. she groans against you, too lost in the taste of you to care about what a mess she must look like, with her tongue fucking into your desperate hole, her nose nudging your clit, her fingers digging crescent moon marks into your hipbones.

she's sure that if this were an old-fashioned cartoon, there'd be big, balloon hearts popping out of her eyes. she can't get enough of you like this -- moaning her name, your legs on either side of her face, your skin littered with the remnants of her. she has the eye-rolling thought of you the next morning, of how all these marks will still be there to remind you of her every single time you see one of them.

college roommate!vi who doesn't expect you to flip over after she's literally eaten you out seven ways to sunday, to tug her in for a soft kiss (though she really does like pressing your own taste back into your mouth with her tongue), before your fingers are inching down the length of her body to tease at her hips, trailing circles down the lines of her abs, toying with the thin line of hair that leads into her black boxer briefs.

"what are you --"

you shoot her a look that has her mouth going dry.

"what? didn't think i can give as good as i get?"

college roommate!vi who's literally going to lose her mind with the way you're fingers (at first sight so thin and delicate, but gods are they stronger than they look) are pressing into her, curling up with the kind of precision usually only associated with doctors, and then a voice in the back of her head reminds her -- oh, right, you are a doctor now. but logical thought dies after that, bc you've somehow worked your way between her legs and are looking up at her with those big dark eyes of yours, smiling sunshine bright before you drop a kitten-lick against her clit and she's twitching, keening as she cums all over your fingers.

"jesus fuckin' christ, doll -- is that what you're learning in those engineering classes?"

she's breathless, cheeks flushed, and honestly just a little embarrassed at how quickly she came, but she has to bite back another groan as she watches you lick your fingers clean, grinning sweetly up at her as if you didn't just get her off in record time.

"no, but i did do my dissertation on human-based robotics, which included a lot of late nights memorizing anatomical models so..."

vi pulls you in for a kiss, laughing against your lips.

"you're amazing, y'know that?"

college roommate!vi who can't really believe how much she's lucked out, sharing an apartment with her girlfriend, who literally cannot shut up about you, but the rugby team all agree that they'd rather have this than the months of endless pining. who brags about her genius gf to anyone who'll listen, and looks for you in the stands of all her practice matches when you can make it, who kisses you in front of everyone even when you make a show of trying to wiggle away bc she's sweaty (you don't really care).

who loves telling the story of how you guys met bc she still can't quite believe it herself, and the story always starts with --

"well, actually -- we started off as roommates."

[hello-sweetheart]

Neat Freak

Steve’s parents don’t make him keep the house spotless. He really is just that clean and when Nancy tries to tell people there like “lol, sure” but she knows.

He’s a neat freak.

When she would stay over she would change into her pjs and make a small bundle of her day clothes on his desk chair, and steve would just. Fold them. Before getting in bed with her.

Doesn’t take long after for the others to realize it.

Robin thought it was just a guy thing, caring that much about their car. Scolding her for kicking her socked feet up on the dash, and leaving crumbs of toast when she had breakfast to go.

But then she visits his house the first time and Robin has never been good at using a coaster, too scatter brained to pay attention where she sets her drink down each time.

Steve, though? Without missing a beat he will move her glass to the coaster. Every time. Doesn’t even break his strike or pauses his conversation it’s just muscle memory by now.

The kids have had their will broken and no longer put up a fight.

Without being told to anymore, they toe off their shoes and hang their coat by the doorway. They don’t even do that in their own home. How Steve was able to get those wild animals house broken? No body knows.

His mom didn’t actually choose his room decor. It looks a bit barren but Steve likes it that way. It looks clean, easier to do so, too. Everything has its place tucked away from sight so it’s not an eye sore.

Even his plaid wallpaper and curtains he chose for himself. He spent all day finding the curtains that matched the closest and he was really proud of himself when found some.

“Steve, buddy, this looks mental.”

“But look,” (closest the curtains to show that even the pattern lines up seemlessly) “you almost can’t even see the difference between the wall and fabric. It’s like magic! It’s cool!” >:(

He’s very meticulous about his appearance. Dustin is absolutely flabbergasted when he sees his full hair routine for himself. Everything must be done a certain way in a certain order every time. It’s routine.

“Three puffs of the Farah Fawcett! THREE!”

“I DID THREE.”

“YEAH, BUT YOU DID THEM WRONG.”

When they discontinue it, Steve has a mini breakdown. He doesn’t like that his very specific and set routine has been broken. He’s convinced he’ll never find a hair spray to replace it. Everybody stocks up on cans of it to try and lower his anxiety.

He just loves cleaning, okay?

Ironing his kakis and polos until there are no wrinkles is so satisfying. Glass without finger smudges is so nice. His closet being organized by color is so efficient. When he’s worried, anxious, or angry he likes to keep his hands busy and it just calms him down going ham on a water stain in the bathroom.

When he hangs out at Eddie’s, he mindlessly starts picking things up here and there. It’s like heaven for him. He sees a mess and just wants to go to town. Eddie doesn’t mind as long as he knows where everything is in the end. He’ll admit that having his music organized alphabetically is pretty convenient.

It’s also a little funny to watch Steve iron his ripped jeans and battle jacket with an iron he brought from home.

“You’re a freak, Harrington.” Eddie has a shit eating grin. Steve flips him off.

“Fuck off.”

[yandere-kokeshi]

We need to know how separate TF-141 would be as house-husbands!!! Please!!!

— Yandere headcanons of TF-141 as house-husbands

Warnings: Yandere behavior, older! characters, male gender roles, NSFW, slight delusional behaviors.

A/N: Anon, you are SO, so smart. I love you /a.

Captain “Price” John:

The type of house-husband nobody expected for him to be– not even himself. John had partially agreed to it, and now he’s a stay-at-home dad for your cats. When he wedded you, he never thought of it this way; and now, he had promised to always care for you, did he not?

Price is well over-tired, pretty hairy and massive; beard scratchy and face all squishy; he’s a chubby man. But that doesn’t stop him at all.

John loves waking you up in the mornings. Before even shaking you awake, he loves to admire you. Watching your different breathing patterns, some dribbles of drool, and the obvious bed marks staining your face makes him smirk. But of course, it ends too short when he realizes you need to get up.

John is so, oh gentle, when waking you up. Scarred hands rubbing at your hips as he rubs his beard into your shoulder, prepping kisses and telling you to get a move on. However, if you ignore him, he’s more than happy to leave some permanent marks, yes?

He always makes your breakfast and lunch the night before, chopping the meat, fruits, and vegetables into the correct order so he can easily sleep in with you till you leave. So, when your alarm goes off, he detaches himself from you, getting up with only his red boxers– turning on the oven to preheat the food yet again and leaving them on the table for you to enjoy when you get out of the shower.

And with that, he takes your health seriously, mentally and physically, which means most foods in the house are pretty healthy. All types of fruits, veggies, protein, and fiber nourishment is given with each meal, and he expects you to eat it all. 

When shopping, he takes everything seriously. He hates getting off track, only sticking to what’s on the list, and cashiers who take too long on talking– especially if they openly flirt with him. Can’t you see I'm taken? He snarks out, showing off his wedding ring before fast walking out towards his car with his hands full.

Chores are chores. They need to be done. Dishes are easy, laundry, and vacuuming are a piece of cake. But cleaning the bathroom? Oh, that’s a bit difficult. Especially with the hidden camera he’s put out of your sight, and at times, he gets distracted; watching the many films, seeing you all naked and wet, makes Price feel... a sudden urge. How are you just so gorgeous, hm?

John is the definition of a “Pro Loyalty Card”. For all those stores he visits, he has cards for each and every single one of them, including the convenience store. They always come in handy.

Routines are his specialty; he knows everything about your schedule, to the time you leave for work, to when you call him at your lunch break, come home and collapse in his lap, all the way to sleeping in the bed naked. He’s memorized it all. 

After the long antagonizing and stressful week, John always sits you down for a long bath. He massages your shoulders, using a special lotion to rub on you after the bath. But, that’s not the only gift he's giving. Before gently and lovingly pushing you to the bed, he slowly fucks the stress and irritation of you; teeth makes ensuring you stay loyal to your man.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Simon is quick and sleek with shopping, getting and seeking foods that have high nutrition because you only deserve the best. Most foods he picks out are healthy, getting many baskets of fruits to ensure you enjoy your lunches. But when passing by the sugar aisle, he can’t help but choose a few sweets for you. 

A type of house-husband you’d never expect. He’s brooding, shoulders kept tight, wearing a black mask and hoodie as he sulks in the grocery aisles, holding the colored basket. You’d think he’s stealing with a gun hidden in his back pocket. However, when in reality, he’s taking his house duties extremely seriously as he eyes for the cereal aisle.

He wakes up way early, even before you start to stir awake, even before the sun rises and goals himself to get a good workout in. Even though he’s not the same lieutenant as he was years ago– he’s not lazy, and still picks up his pace whilst jogging down the street and doing push-ups in the open garage. 

At times, he wishes you could join him, and it would be fun, would it not? Having you down below, as his chest presses against yours and your flushed face being the main goal for him to continue? Or maybe, him guiding you through pull-ups, and you need his help? Oh, that’s how to make him very desperate for you in the early mornings. 

Speaking of early mornings, when you rise with his gentle shaking, whispers of “good mornin’”, and his rough stubble rubbing your neck, you realize just how lucky you are. Especially with how Riley joins in, when he notices his second favorite human is up and awake. 

Though, if you decide to ignore these two, covering your face and mumbling away, Simon will crawl over you, prep your face with sloppy kisses, and murmur hot and dirty words. His hand instinctively crawling down, snapping the band of your underwear, nails barely scratching at your skin whilst promising to get you all hot and messy, before forcing you out of bed. 

When you leave out of that door, regardless of the morning, he ensures the house is spotless before you come home. He doesn’t listen to any music, only the occasional barks from Riley as he sprays the leather couches, doing the dishes the “old-fashioned way”, and folding laundry like it’s a race. 

Most are scared of him– except for that one lady down the road. Her eyes follow Simon as if he’s a god, but he scoffs at that when she twirls her hair. You’re the real deity, he openly thinks. Of course, he shows off his pretty wedding ring, the one you got him; and somehow, Simon wishes you’d just make out with him in public, show her that he’s off limits and that he’s yours. 

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:

The type of househusband who immediately recognized that you needed to be cared for, and went forth with that promise between the marriage. You work so hard to make money for the both of you. And he’s devoted to doing whatever he can to be helpful too. 

Kyle is a clean freak, which means the house is nearly spotless when you come home. Every scratch at the couch has him grunting and hands vigorously trying to rub it off. Shoes inside the house are immediately put up, and he hates rainy days; looking at you with glaring pupils as you step inside with soaked coverings. But, he loves you. 

The chores in the house are easily done before the afternoon, dishes cleaned with shiny marks and the floors vacuumed. Dusting and sweeping the house with headphones on, face flushed whilst… listening to among things he’d never want you to find out. 

Laundry is always last in line, as he tends to “borrow” a good deal of dirty underwear of yours, smelling them intensely. Don’t worry though, he returns them at some point. 

Kyle is the definition of “wifey material food”. Every breakfast consists of incredible fried eggs, mixed with bacon and fluffy pancakes; lunch and dinner being different every day, which is nice. He usually sticks with foods you’re comfortable with, never going out of your zone, and tries his hardest to make different sizes of hearts out of the food. 

Though, you never seem to notice the secret ingredient, the divine particular part where the two of you are bonded stronger. Such shame, he utters. Sometimes he wishes you’d come home early– catch him desperately adding it within the dish with utter lewd excitement. 

Having you come home is the best time of the day. Waiting by the door, wearing the cactus green apron you got him years ago, with a giant smile and dinner laid out, waiting for you. By the end of dinner, you’re full; both of love, and much suffocation of affection. 

All the other housewives in the area love him. They often invite him for yoga, or work-out sessions. But, he usually uses the excuse that you need him. You do, don't you?

Every Friday, he wears and shows off certain gifts he feels that you’ll love. You work so hard for the both of you, so he should show his appreciation, should he not? Wearing all types of risqué clothing, leaving desperate messages, and having lingerie hidden underneath his black vest, coloring his skin and outlining his scars, stretch marks, and moles. Sooner or later, it leads to a heavy cuddle-sex session that he knows you’ll love. 

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish:

The type of househusband who uses his pretty eyes and sculpted body, to get his way. Everything from seeing you at your working office and past your lunch break, to getting free food samples, all the way to a book full of coupons and all types of gifts for half the percentage. 

He’s amazing at picking food at the grocery outlet, picking up the correct portions of proper protein, vegetables, and iron. And sometimes, sneaking a few donuts, pops, and tubs of ice cream he knows you love. 

Johnny always wakes you up, the alarm rarely shaking you as your beloved husband knows your schedule by heart. He ensures your breakfast and lunch are ready by 7am, smirking at the added secret ingredients that he only knows. 

He’s more lenient with waking you up. Knowing how you like to sleep, beauty sleep he corrects, Johnny tries to let you snooze in as far as you can, before gently stirring you up as the sun rises in the opened window. 

His arms snake around your waist, cuddling up behind you whilst pulling you into his warm chest, as he nibbles on your ear and tells you to start getting up; breakfast is served on the table with awaited love. Though, if his sweet honey voice doesn’t work at this time, maybe some extremely sloppy oral will help, no? 

Johnny ensures that everybody knows you’re lovingly taken. Those hickeys and bruises on your arms, and neck show just how loveable he is. He boasts about you all the time, to his then-team, cashiers and ladies on the streets. It’s only expected you do the same, yes? 

Housewives and other househusbands either love him, or envy him. He’s pretty– too alluring to just be at home and caring for duties. Most women, and men constantly flaunt at his grown-out mohawk, often slicked back into a small bun and a few scars, especially one on his head, that prominent his face. 

He’s still in shape, working out in the early mornings and doing yoga with the other moms; who he regularly drinks coffee with. They love how sweet and handsome the man is, especially towards his spouse. 

Anyone would be lucky to have him, and many would trade a lifetime for him. But, he’s not going anywhere, not without you or your yummy neck anytime soon. 

—

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[aquaticmercy]

Of Black Ink and White Lilies

Summary : Bucky wants to get a tattoo, so he asks you for advice.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her) (written with tattooed!reader in mind.)

Warnings/tags : fluff. Tattoos. Angst if you really squint.

Requested by : myself!

Word count : 1.6k

Note : Not many of you on here know this, but I’m quite heavily tattooed! I have a sleeve and the top half of my chest is filled. My legs are quite full, too. My irl boyfriend also has tattoos, but he has significantly less than me, so he often asks me for advice on what to get next. This fic is inspired by him because he gives me Bucky vibes lol. Enjoy!

Requests are open!

○ buy me a ko-fi ○

Bucky Barnes had been through so much in his lifetime. Since witnessing the horrors of World War II, the brutality of mind control, and eventually finding his freedom in the 21st century, he was bound to have changed, grown, and healed more times than he would ever care to admit. For a while, he was convinced that he overstayed his welcome. Until he met you. 

When he met you, he felt more alive than he ever did. You gave him something he had not found in the modern world: meaning.

Which is why— for the past few weeks at least— he’d been glancing at your tattoos with more interest, more intent, than he usually did. He loved your tattoos, he always had. 

It was fascinating how you viewed your skin as a canvas of colors and lines. Every drop of ink that lived into your skin seemed to tell a part of your life, and he admired how you wore them proudly, loudly on display for the world to see. From the intricate patterns that wound up your beautiful body, to the shapes that danced along skin, every piece was personal, intimate, and a wonderful confirmation of the life you had lived.

And Bucky is now realising that he also wanted part of him immortalised in ink. 

One problem: he didn’t know where to start. Until very recently, he never considered getting a tattoo. Hell, back when he was young, tattoos were something most people didn’t have, and he was sure Steve would probably give him a raised eyebrow if he got it in the 40s. It was a taboo— only sailors and bikers, the ultra-macho type had them. 

It was something he had to unlearn while adapting to modern life. You definitely sped up the process for him. Seeing ink on such a lovely human being — who he thought was extremely easy on the eyes — made him think twice about his old-fashioned views on ink. 

Every time he glanced at you, sprawled out on the couch reading your latest favourite novel or cooking pancakes for breakfast in one of his oversized shirts with all your body art on display, he felt the urge—heard the little voice in his head that said maybe it was time he etched something permanent onto his own skin.

That evening, you did what you always do on a lazy day— you were both curled up on the couch, tangled in each others’ presence. You were just admiring your boyfriend’s features when you noticed his gaze lingering a little longer than usual, particularly focused on the ink winding up body. You were used to him admiring your tattoos. He often traced his fingers absentmindedly over them, but this felt a bit different.

"You're staring again, Barnes," you teased as you nudged him gently. He blinked, your words pulling from his deep thoughts. He gave you an almost shy smile.

"Sorry, doll," he said, his fingers tracing a line of ink. "M’ just thinking."

"About?" You asked, tilting your head inquisitively. 

He hesitated for a moment longer than he had meant to. When he finally spoke, his voice came out a little softer than usual. "Bout’ getting a tattoo,” he answered.

You raised your eyebrows, unable to hide your pleasant surprise. Bucky had never mentioned wanting a tattoo before. You couldn’t help but smile as you leaned closer. "Really?”

"Really,” He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. His metal hand rested on your knee, rubbing your skin. “I mean… I think so. I’m not sure what to get."

You had to admit, the thought of him even thinking of getting one made your heartbeat a little quick. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it. Until now you weren’t sure that day would ever come. 

“Get something that means a lot to you,” your voice adorably squeaky with excitement. “Something personal."

“There’s a lot that means something to me,” Bucky considered it, “but I don’t know what would be right. You have all these beautiful pieces, and they seem to fit you perfectly. I don’t know what would do that for me.”

"It will fit if it feels right to you.” You placed your hand over his and squeezed gently, “I’m sure if you think about it, something’ll stand out."

Bucky was quiet for a moment, like he was deep in thought. You didn’t press him; this was something he had to decide for himself, and any form of pressure wouldn’t help. After all, you wanted it to mean as much to him as yours meant to you.

"You think I should go for something small to start?" His voice was thoughtful as bright blue eyes lifted up to meet yours.

"That’s up to you.” You said, putting your hand on his, “But that might be a good idea. You can always get bigger ones later."

"One step at a time, doll." Bucky found himself chuckling at the thought of getting more than one tattoo. 

You smiled. "Whatever you choose, I know it’ll be perfect." You leaned in to press a gentle kiss on his cheek. 

—

A week passed since that conversation, and Bucky hadn’t said a word about the tattoo. You figured he either wasn’t ready yet or maybe still hadn’t made up his mind. 

It wasn’t until one evening, on a particularly rainy day, that the topic even came up again.

You came home that day, finding him waiting patiently in the living room. He had a small, shy smile on his handsome face.

"Hey, sweetheart," you greeted, placing your bag onto an armchair.

Bucky stood there almost awkwardly, his hands in his pockets. He was shifting his weight slightly like a high schooler that was about to ask his high school crush to prom. 

He was brimming with anticipation, or nerves? 

“I did something," he said, his voice a little smaller than usual. He was so cute when he was nervous.

"And what might that be?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Not answering, he instead reached down and lifted the hem of his t-shirt. He revealed a newly inked tattoo on his left side, just above his ribs. Your breath hitched as you saw in the delicate black and gray flowers that now decorated his battle-hardened skin.

Lilies.

The same flowers he had brought you on your very first date. 

Your heart fluttered as wildly as a baby bluebird taking flight for the first time. Your mind flooded back with memories of that day. It had been a wonderful date, simple and extravagant at all. He took you to dinner and a quiet walk along the waterfront, where you ended up talking for hours.

That day, Bucky had shown up with a bouquet of white lilies, their sweet smell filling the air as you had greeted him, and it filled your apartment for the entire week, making you think of him every time you’re home. The scent had made you think of Bucky so much that he had given you a lily-scented perfume for your first anniversary— and you knew it wasn’t cheap to get.

On that first date, the flowers were such a small gesture, but one that had stayed with you all this time. 

"Bucky…" you breathed out a sigh. Your hand reached out instinctively to touch the tattoo, but you stopped yourself, knowing it was still fresh. 

He read your emotions like an open book as his lips tugged into a small smile. "I remembered how much you liked them. How happy you looked when I brought them to you that night.” He put a hand on your waist. “I wanted something that reminded me of you. Of us."

Your eyes misted over, swelling with joy as you studied the delicate design. 

The art was perfect— elegant, simple, yet brimming with memories. You could see the care that had gone into choosing the design. The thought he had behind it. 

Bucky wasn’t the type to do things lightly and this tattoo was a perfect example of that.

“I can’t believe you chose this." You said, voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s smile softened, gazing at you with an admiration you recognized. He gently pulled you into his arms, careful not to press his side against you. "You told me to get something that mattered the most to me.”

You couldn’t help the tears that slipped from your eyes, caressing his cheek gently. You were overwhelmed by how sweet a man that had so much wrong done to him can be. "I love it. I love you."

"I love you too," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

You pulled back slightly, wiping your eyes. "How was it?"

Bucky chuckled, “Kinda stings, but worth it."

It seemed silly to you, that a man who was so used to pain even thought of the ache of getting a tattoo, but then you realized this is possibly the first time he was willingly inflicting pain on himself, and it was to commemorate your relationship.

You stifled a sob at the realisation. "Careful babe,” You shook your head. “Next thing you know you’ll be getting full sleeves."

He raised an eyebrow, a playful sparkle in his eyes. "You wish."

You pressed your lips to his, your heart full of fluttering content.

Bucky smiled against your lips. He may have been the Winter Soldier once, but now, he was simply Bucky— a man in love, with lilies inked into his skin to prove it.

“And maybe,” Bucky whispered quietly, already considering his next tattoo. “If you’re lucky.”

-end

[we-are-maladaptive]

little dreamer ♡

contents: fluffy stuff, a little bit a children mentioned characters: katsuki bakugou, izuku midoriya, shouto todoroki, denki kaminari, eijirou kirishima (separate) authors note: hello (╥﹏╥) very sorry for being inactive recently!! my mother's ex boyfriend is in jail for attempted homocide and ive been helping her get it together since then ( not even kidding ) so therefore here is a hello present from me as an apology ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Husband Katsuki, who sits with you on the porch swing in the late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the yard. The scent of jasmine fills the air, mingling with the sound of distant laughter from children playing nearby. He wraps a cozy blanket around your shoulders, pulling you close as the evening chill begins to set in. You sip on hot cocoa, marshmallows melting into sweet swirls, and talk about the little moments that made your day special. His arm around you feels like the safest place in the world, and as the first stars begin to appear in the twilight sky, he softly hums a tune that makes you feel like you’re the only two people in the universe.

Husband Izuku, who wakes you gently on lazy Sunday mornings with the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of birds singing outside your window. He brings you breakfast in bed, a tray laden with your favorite pastries, fruits, and a delicate vase holding a single rose. As you share bites of buttery croissant and sip on coffee, you talk about dreams you had the night before and make plans for the day ahead. His fingers trace patterns on your arm as he listens, his eyes full of a love that makes you feel cherished and safe. Later, you both linger in bed, wrapped in the warmth of the morning sun and each other’s embrace, content to let the world outside fade away.

Husband Shouto, who takes you on evening walks along the beach, where the sky blazes with the colors of the setting sun, painting the waves with hues of orange and pink. As you stroll hand in hand, you collect smooth pebbles and seashells, giggling like children whenever you find a particularly beautiful one. You sit together on the sand, watching as the stars begin to twinkle into existence, and he wraps a blanket around your shoulders to keep you warm. His voice is soft and tender as he whispers stories of your future, of a house by the sea and children who run along the shore, their laughter mingling with the sound of the waves. You lean into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart and the promise of a lifetime of such evenings together.

Husband Denki, who plans a cozy movie night at home, the living room transformed into a haven of comfort with soft pillows and warm blankets scattered everywhere. He dims the lights and lights a few scented candles, their flickering flames casting a soft glow. You snuggle together on the couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn and exchanging quiet laughter over inside jokes. As the movie plays, he holds you close, his fingers gently stroking your hair. The outside world fades away, leaving just the two of you in this perfect moment. When the credits roll, you find yourselves talking late into the night, about anything and everything, his voice a soothing melody that lulls you into a peaceful sleep, your head resting on his shoulder.

Husband Eijirou, who dances with you in the living room, the only light coming from the flickering flames in the fireplace, casting a golden glow over everything. The soft strains of a love song fill the room, and he holds you close, your feet moving in a slow, gentle rhythm. His hand rests on the small of your back, and you feel the warmth of his touch seep through your clothes. As the song ends, he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze filled with a tenderness that makes your heart ache with love. He presses a kiss to your forehead, murmuring words of devotion, and you know in that moment that this is where you belong—dancing in his arms, forever and always.

[dira333]

Part of a Family - Shouto Todoroki x Reader

Don't look at me, I'm in my Baby Era - tagging @shoulmate

You’re not surprised to find a warm weight settled against your ribcage when you wake up, the golden morning light drawing patterns into white hair.

“Hey love,” you drag a hand through the mess. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Your son grumbles something under his breath, his hold tightening.

One look at the other side of your bed - empty and perfectly made - tells you everything you need to know.

“Did Papa wake you when he left?” You don’t miss the sniffle, no matter how well it’s hidden.

“So you found him gone when you came in this morning,” you guess, rubbing a comforting circle over his back. “Did you know he always checks in on you before he leaves?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Shouji whines, “Didn’t see him..”

“Neither was I. We can’t always be awake when he has to leave. Sometimes I think it’s better we’re asleep. You know we often make him late.”

You let your fingertips dance over the soft skin at his sides, smile when he fights the giggles trying to spill out of him.

“How about we make breakfast, huh? We can make Papa a Bento Box too. You wanna bring him his Lunch?”

Shouji considers it for a second before nodding. But he’s not that eager to get out of bed yet, climbing into your lap the moment you sit up.

You sigh, but you let him, curl your arms around his small body as he sinks into your embrace.

-

Shouji’s small for his age, and almost an exact replica of his father. Only the sides are reversed, leaving his hair white on the left side instead of his right. 

It’s no wonder that Shouto’s family is obsessed with him, no doubt trying to right some wrongs of the past.

“Momma?” Shouji asks, snuggled into you. “Can I get freckles?”

“Freckles?” You blink. “Why?”

“Can I?”

“I don’t know. Your Papa doesn’t have any. But we can draw some on if you want some for today.”

“You can draw them on?” He asks, astonished by this possibility. “Can I look like Uncle Deku?”

You laugh, swaying him left to right. “Sure. But I draw a line at green hair.”

He giggles as you pepper his head with kisses, blow raspberries against his cheeks.

“That tickles!”

-

“Look!” Shouji points at the banner across the street. “Uncle Tsuki!”

You nod, taking in the giant version of Hero Dynamight. “What do you think of his suit?”

“‘s ugly,” Shouji comments, sucking on his thumb. You’re trying to make him stop it, but so far to no avail. “Too much orange.”

“Hm? What colors do you like?”

“Blue, like Papa’s suit.” He thinks for a moment. “Purple’s nice too.”

“Yeah?” You brush a hand through his hair, mix up the white and red. “You like Purple? Do you know someone who wears purple?”

“Uncle Toshi,” he counts on his fingers. “Uncle…” You can tell he’s searching for the name. “Noru?”

“You mean Minoru? Yeah, he wears purple too… Now, do you wanna take my hand as we cross the street?”

He grabs it, his small fingers curling around yours. “Can we get ice cream, Momma?” 

So he has noticed the little ice cream cart sitting at the corner. 

“Maybe on our way back. We’re eating Lunch with Papa first.”

You watch as he bites his lip, considering it.

“But I want ice cream now.”

“I know Honey. Up…” You let him hop up onto the sidewalk. “But if we get ice cream now, we’re going to be late for Lunch. Papa’s waiting for us. And what will he say if we come in eating ice cream?”

“None for me?” Shouji asks, his eyes big and round.

“Yep. None for me. But we can ask him if we can come out and get ice cream together. Is that an idea?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Papa can make the ice cream stay cold longer.”

“That he can do.”

-

“Look, I don’t have-” Shouto stops midsentence as he spots you in the doorway, the frustration on his face washing away. “I’ll call you back in an hour. Thank you.”

You doubt the person on the other end could get any word in before he ends the call, getting up from his chair.

“What are you guys doing here?” He asks. His smile is warm, and as always, a little tentative. It’s been years but he still doubs sometimes that this is all real.

“We made Lunch!” Shouji declares, pointing at the bag over your shoulder. “I cut the sausage!”

“You did? Amazing!” With one swift motion Shouto has picked him up, hoisting him up so that he’s sitting comfortably in his arms. “Hey there, Shouji. Couldn’t get my Good Morning Kiss today.”

“I was asleep!” Shouji points out, leaning in to press his lips against his Father’s cheeks. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too. Think I can give Momma a Good Morning Kiss too?”

“Yeah,” Shouji nods and waits until his Father has leaned in to kiss you to burst out with the news.

“I’m Uncle Deku now.”

“You are?” Shouto leans back a little to squint at him. “How?”

“I got freckles!” Shouji points at the little dots covering his nose and cheeks. “Momma made me Uncle Deku!”

“Are you as strong as him too?!”

“Yes!” And you watch, chuckling to yourself, as little Shouji proudly flexes his small bicep.

It’s a show, watching them interact. 

Most of the times it’s hard to tell who loves who more. Shouto his son or Shouji his father.

“Oh,” Shouji blinks up at his Dad. “Can we get ice cream?”

“Absolutely!”

You clear your throat and Shouto blinks an apologetic smile in your direction. “But Lunch first.”

-

Shouji’s sitting on the ground in front of you, explaining to a flock of disinterested doves that he’s got a lot of Uncles and Aunts and all of them are Heroes.

“There’s Uncle Tsuki, he makes boom. Uncle Jirou makes himself hard, like… like a door! Unkle Denki fights with Ele-Ele- with Ticity. Uncle Tenya is funny, because he’s really fast. But he’s very strict, he never lets me eat ice cream before Lunch! Aunty Chako makes me float! All the way up until I touch the ceiling! And Aunty Tsuyu pulls me back with her tongue, it’s sticky and wet and it tickles…”

“Can we have another one?” Shouto asks, right in the middle of that, his hand curled around yours, his thigh pressed against yours. If you could sit any closer - without sitting on his lap - you probably would. 

“Another one?” You ask, pretending not to understand. Shouji’s too lost in his monologue to listen.

“Another kid? He’s getting bigger by the minute. Soon we’ll have to Quirk-Train him. Then he’s off to school. I can even take a day off per week if you need it.”

“Stop,” you ask, your voice soft. You reach out to cradle his face in your hands, watch him lean into the touch with that vulernable look in his eyes.

Shouto’s learned to ask for things, but that doesn’t mean he excepts to get them just like that.

“I’m already pregnant.”

You watch as it dawns on him, little by little and then all at once.

His lips are on yours before you know it, half-cold and half-hot, meeting right in the middle. His kisses are burning though, elated and anxious, almost forgetting where you are.

“Papa?” Shouji asks in the middle of that, pulling you apart with his confused voice. “Momma?”

“Everything’s okay,” you explain, pulling him up onto your lap. “Papa’s a little excited, that’>s all.”

“About what?”

“About you being a big brother.”

“A big brother?” He considers that for a moment. “What’s that?”

“Like Uncle Natsuo,” Shouto explains, his voice thick with emotion. “Or Touya. They’re my big brothers.”

“Oh,” Shouji blinks. “Okay.”

And Shouto laughs, carefree and open, pulling Shouji onto his lap instead.

“More than okay,” he promises. “It will be great.”

- - -

“Momma?” Shouji asks, leaning into you. “Why is her face so weird.”

“She didn’t have much space in there,” you explain, pointing at your belly with your free hand as you cradle the little girl in your other arm. “So she was a little squished in. It will smooth out soon.”

“Oh, okay.” He leans in further, one curious finger booping the tiny nose.

“Hi Shouko,” Shouji whispers. “I’m your big brother.”

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

Should I make this part of the Baby Series? Where you can ask for more updates?

Part two is up Baby Series

[cherryredcheol]

"dove"

tldr: all the way minghao uses your nickname a/n: i really like this one

murmurs: in the early hours of the morning

“dove,” he pushed your hair back off your forehead as he tried to wake you gently. the combination of an early morning arrival at the airport and a long line at security had left you both tired when you reached the private lounge. settling into plush armchairs across from one another, neither of you said anything, happy to just relax before boarding. he didn’t notice you’d dozed off until he looked up.

“you should eat something before we board.” you’d been together long enough now that he knew you’d be very grumpy later if you didn’t eat breakfast. he also knew this flight wasn’t long enough for a meal to be served so if you didn’t eat now you wouldn’t until you were back home and by then you’d be starving and he didn’t want that. 

“come on, dove, let me see those eyes,” he felt bad for waking you when you clearly needed the rest, but he knew you’d thank him once you had food in your belly. the four hours it took to get from hong kong back to seoul could be spent behind the darkness of your eyelids but right now he was determined to get you breakfast. “they have your favorite…”

scoffs: when he can’t tell if you’re kidding

“dove.” he’s shocked. when you asked him so sweetly this morning if you could pick his outfit for the day, he didn’t think twice before telling you yes. he trusted your sense of style and knew that you knew what he liked to wear. he had total faith in you, excited to spend the day in clothes you picked specifically for him. he had an interview this afternoon and it thrilled him that he would be filmed wearing your outfit and no one would even know but you two. 

“you’ve got to be kidding me.” looking in the mirror he’s horrified. met with the sight of clashing colors, patterns, and textures, he knows he can’t go out like this. he’s not sure where it all went wrong. you have such good taste, it was one of the many things he loved about you, but came up with this? pulling his eyes away from the clothes, he met your gaze in the reflection and saw your smirk. 

he turned to you, incredulous over your prank but relieved that you hadn’t been sincere in your choices. he was worried he was going to have to hurt your feelings by changing. “i have to leave soon and you’ve wasted time on this silly trick. go pick me out a real outfit, dove.” he pointed to the closet and watched your smile widen at his teasing words as you crossed the room to pick something sincerely this time. “make me look nice!”

probes: because he thinks you’ve had too much screen time

“dove?” he knows you asked to be left alone but that doesn’t feel right when you’re so clearly stressed. he’d been at your apartment for 30 minutes and you had not looked up from your laptop the entire time. he’s pretty sure you haven’t looked up from it all day and he’s worried you might be starting to fuse to your desk chair. he came over for movie night, excited because it was his choice this week, but at this point, he’d just be glad to see your eyes. 

“have you eaten today?” he was going to be persistent about this. you needed a break and he was not going to stop until you took one for the rest of the night, with him. he knew you had a lot on your plate and there was a lot that needed to get done but running yourself into the ground wasn’t going to accomplish anything. he was standing behind you, hands rubbing gently on your shoulders, offering support but also letting you know he wasn’t going to be leaving you alone anytime soon. 

“save your work and let’s order take-out.” his tone is a little strict but he wants you to take him seriously and listen. clearly understanding this, he watches your cursor travel across the screen to the save icon and feels satisfied when you push the computer closed. he smiles when you turn in the chair and stand to greet him properly, happy that you were not becoming one with your chair. he wraps you up in his arms and presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “you’re going to love my movie pick tonight.”

marvels: as you walk through the door

“dove,” he’s rendered near speechless at the sight of you walking out from the bathroom. dressed in your comfy pajamas, he can’t tear his eyes away. scrubbed clean and glowy from your products, he swears you shine brighter than any star he's ever seen. suddenly the mattress he’s stretched out on feels a little too cold without you. 

“you look so beautiful,” he compliments you with so much sincerity, hoping to convey how much he means it, hoping you can feel it. you were his sense of calm in the craziness of his life. strong, steady, and always here for him, he aspired to be the same for you. seeing you so soft, lit from the back by the vanity light, he was so sure you were it for him. 

“come join me,” he pouts at you, already anticipating the comforting weight of you in his arms, too impatient to wait any longer. his pout morphs into a smile watching you scurry to the bed, flopping onto the empty side he’s saved just for you. he’ll save a side of the bed for you for the rest of his life if you’d let him. “come here, dove. give me a good night kiss.” 

teases: while trying to encourage a new career move

“dove” he sing-songs from the other side of the space, trying to grab your attention. it was late, or early depending on interpretation, and only the two of you were left in the practice room. he was fooling around with different steps and filming some challenges. you were more than content to sit and watch, never much of a dancer. 

“come dance with me,” he holds a hand out to you, palm open and facing up in an invitation. you eye him wearily, his smile a touch too manic to not be interpreted as mischievous. you heave yourself off the floor, crossing the room to him, accepting his outstretched hand. the music playing isn’t something you recognize but it’s soft and sweet and sets the mood perfectly as he draws you close to his chest, swaying gently back and forth. 

“you could be a decent dancer with a little practice. probably not as good as me though,” he whispers this, trying to preserve the serene, romantic mood that had been set. but your giggles shatter the illusion, breaking the quiet and dragging him into his own fit of laughter. the moment was ruined, but he supposed laughing with you was just as romantic as a slow dance. 

[grandisknight]

zayne: a doctor's companion

summary: A certain healthcare companion finds its way into Linkon City, and a particular doctor is about to discover what it means to say ba-la-la-la-lah.

tags: established relationship, baymax (big hero 6), fluff, canon-complaint, one-shot, medical terms, phone call, gender neutral reader mentioned, mostly zayne's POV, first meetings

word count: 1.8k | (ao3)

notes: inspired by this tweet! also i just love baymax a lot and i think him and zayne would be a cute duo thank you ; including the stanford article i read for the surgery mentioned here! (not necessary for understanding though) (also if i get any med stuff wrong apologies i did my best! i was a girl in stem but not Stem yk)

+ update: the cutest zayne baymax art just dropped everyone say thank you mimi (zaynefied) (i cried)

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

Zayne was sure he had slept well the night before. Had his full eight hours, breakfast accomplished and a handful of kisses from his partner before heading out in his pristine, white coat. The drive to work was the same scenery of Linkon City rushing past, soon parked in his designated lot and tracing a familiar path towards Akso Hospital’s entrance.

So, even with such a practiced routine, how did he end up here? 

“I will scan you now. Please remain in place, Dr. Zayne.”

Zayne raises a hand in an effort to dissuade his unforeseen guest. “That won't be necessary.” But his rejection, in turn, was rejected itself—his brows narrowed at the losing notion.

“But it is. I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion.” The robot calmly states, reflecting a similar monotone diction to the doctor. “I was alerted to the need of medical attention,” he continues, plush footsteps along the hardwood floor squeaking as he approaches the seated doctor. "When you said 'Oof.' So, I am here."

That singular oof traced back to the faint murmur under Zayne's breath just minutes ago when pushing through the growing crowd of peering eyes at Baymax's unprecedented presence. An unusual sight for everyday work life, the mysterious yet kind robot drew in the attention of incoming patients and passersby who happened to catch a glimpse. Zayne’s opportune timing and arrival to work hurriedly whisked away the looming inflatable as crowds huddled in growing excitement, geeking and gossiping alike. Most of his efforts thus far were put into escorting the curiously soft giant through the pristine halls and past the doorway of his office without garnering further unwarranted attention.

And currently, Zayne found himself subjected to a consultation by said robot.

“On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?” Baymax inquires. A chart of faces ranging in emotion and color flash over his chest in display. At the highest end stood a red expression painted in anguish, and to the lowest was a green facade of serenity.

Quickly, Zayne plainly states his number to mirror his current state. “Zero.”

Baymax stares him down with the abyss of his rather blank eyes wordlessly after receiving the response. In mere seconds, a pixelated, monotone hum with a hint of warmth made its way to Zayne’s ears. “Scan complete. You have sustained no recent injuries. However, your cortisol and neurotransmitter levels indicate that you are experiencing stress.”

No, really? Zayne’s brows and posture straightened then, removing his glasses and setting them aside. He echoes the conclusion, pushing down the unspoken remark with a bite of his tongue. “Stress? Is that so?”

Baymax nods, holding up a singular finger as he continues to reveal his findings. “This can be attributed to, for example, overconsumption of sugary foods or work overload. Have you had any of these two things recently?”

Zayne’s lips purse in thought, remembering the new maple syrup you had doused his pancakes in over an hour ago. ‘I picked this up during an overseas mission and thought you might like it,’ you explained to him, drawing an intricately sticky pattern of hearts atop his breakfast. It was still just syrup—not so much a difference in flavor to a regular one you could find at the nearby supermarket—but he was grateful for the gift nonetheless as he indulged in the sweet treat with you.

“Sugar, yes. Nothing wrong with it when done in moderation.”

Sure, he had a sweet tooth. But had been doing well to maintain a healthy intake of sugary pieces, lest he wanted another round of your ‘scoldings’ and an appointment to the neighboring orthodontist again.

With a slight sigh, he clasps his hands together over the expanse of his desk and continues. As for workload? He was almost always caught up in it, whether it were hands-on procedures or consultations. Today was no exception to the rule.

“And I do have work, if that’s what you’re referring to.”

“I see. May I make a suggestion?” Baymax asks.

Zayne gives him a curt signal of acknowledgement. “You may.”

“I can assist you with said workload. I am equipped with several modules and sensors that will be of use.”

Zayne contemplates for a moment, curious to the veracity of such a claim. Well, when one forms a hypothesis, the best way to test out the theory was through a designed experiment; and he was ready to do just that. “Alright. Give me just a moment.”

With a couple of speedy taps, Zayne pulls up a recent patient file and gestures for Baymax to approach. As the airy robot bounces into place beside him, Zayne points towards a diagram, a series of numbers and waves indicating observational data. “Here. Based on what you see, can you tell me what surgery this patient underwent?”

Baymax follows the trail of red lines, analyzing quickly in succession. “Their ECG fluctuations are affected by the noraderaline administrations over time. This line,” Baymax points to a blue parallel. “Indicates the oxygen levels throughout the surgery duration.” Calmly, he turns to blink at Zayne. “Diagnosis? The patient underwent a coronary artery bypass grafting procedure.”

Zayne nodded. Each detail was right on par, much to his surprise. “I’m impressed. Your creator must have put a lot of great effort into you.”

“He did. He was wonderful.” Baymax gives a thumbs up in return. “Am I to take it that I have passed your test?”

So he knew, even without having to say anything. “You have,” Zayne confirms with a small smile.

“Here.” Baymax raises his fingers and curls them into a fist, waiting for Zayne to meet him halfway. Slowly, Zayne does just that, meeting the soft plush before it was pulled away and sealed with a robotic tune.

“Ba-la-la-la-lah.”

“Bah… What now?”

“We have completed our first task together. This warrants a celebratory fist bump.” Baymax returns his enclosed fist towards the confused doctor once more. “You must also say it while our fists connect.”

Not finding it in himself to disagree, Zayne repeats the actions from before and adds on with an unsure, “Ba-la-lah.” Slightly strange, though it held a tinge of endearment that reminded him of a certain someone; he suddenly didn’t mind it as much then, shaking his head to himself.

It satisfied Baymax all the same, hand wiggling away before a sound disrupts the next file to be displayed. Zayne’s phone rings then, a custom set of notes indicating there was only one special caller. Your name flashed on his screen, buzzing in patience as his gaze flicked between that and Baymax.

“Do you mind if I take this?”

Baymax blinks. “I do not mind.”

“Thank you.”

With a swipe, Zayne presses his phone to the cup of his ear, voice softening to answer your call. “Good morning. Are you heading out now?”

“Morning! How did you know?” 

Zayne could make out the rustling of keys with the pattern of your footsteps, a light yet amused scoff from him trickling into the receiver. Even if it weren’t for the traces of noise, you usually left around this time and always texted him a new emoji without missing a day. So, of course he knew. You followed up almost immediately with another answer to support your stance. 

“New mission just came in, and it happens to be near Akso. Guess we’ll be seeing each other again pretty soon.”

“Oh?” His brow quirks at the idea. “What requires you to be in the area, exactly?” Zayne’s hazel hues instinctively settle on the black pools of Baymax’s blink, already knowing the answer that you proceeded to relay.

“There was a… Wanderer sighted?” Even over the phone, your voice relayed doubt amidst a warm crackling sound. “Well it’s not exactly one…allegedly. But rather something big, round and white? Tara said it looked like a walking marshmallow,” you chuckled. Well, it’s not like you were wrong, Zayne confirms with another glance.

“Either way, it’s caused an uproar and the Association is sending me to check it out. I’m assuming you already know what it is?”

“I do.” Baymax tilts his head, pointing a finger to himself in quiet curiosity. Zayne raises his own to his mouth, indicating for a secret to be kept as he muses into the call. “And no, not a Wanderer. Stop by my office when you get here and you’ll see.”

“I’ll be there in 15 if traffic is kind to me,” you chirped in reply. He could make out the humming of your motorcycle come to life, indicating the start of your journey. “See you then! Love you.”

“Alright. Love you too. Be safe.”

As the call came to an end, Zayne shifted his gaze to the even shiftier companion before him. Though Baymax couldn’t necessarily smile, the doctor could feel it radiating off of its plush form as he lifted a familiar finger.

“Your pulse and heart rate have quickened greatly. The rate went from 87 beats per minute to 102 in about ten seconds.” Baymax pauses, and a screen with infographics begins to luminate across his chest once more. “Symptoms may include, but are not limited to, your pituitary glands—“

“I’m aware of how hearts work.” Zayne gestures around to their environment, the glimmer of his name tag reflecting the morning sun filtering through the tall windows. “And… everything else.”

He was a cardiac surgeon, first and foremost. His efforts and contributions have earned him plenty of accolades in the field, a testament to his brilliance and especially at a younger age in comparison to his medical peers. But second to none was he also your partner—naturally, his heart would’ve soared regardless. He was aware of the source to his increased palpitations.

“You are also smiling,” Baymax comments. “Does this person make you happy?”

Zayne freezes then, unbeknownst of how the edges of his lips were curled into a gentle grin. His mouth almost straightens, fingertips brushing over them in thought. He lets out a resounding hum in confirmation, looking away bashfully for a brief moment. “Very much so.”

“That is good. Having someone who makes you ‘happy’ will improve your quality of life.” As if sending him his seal of approval, Baymax gives an affirmative fist of encouragement. No sooner did a wrapped lollipop appear between said fist, and he held it towards Zayne in offering. “Here, have a lollipop.”

“Thank you.” Zayne takes the candy in acceptance, wrapper crinkling in removal before a taste of winterberry spreads across his tongue. “Shall we go through another file until a certain someone comes barging in?”

He could already imagine how your grand entrance would play out, and this time, knowingly smiles to himself at the thought.

With an enthusiastic nod, Baymax takes a nearby chair and places it beside Zayne’s own. Deflating slightly to fit the mold, he puffs up once more in preparation.

“I am ready. Let’s work together, Dr. Zayne.”

[rokon24]

18+, vi-shaped brainrot, mdni

consider college roommate!vi who is the star of the rugby team and just such a fucking jock about it, spends hours at the gym, has pre and post workout drinks and never closes her door when she's blasting rock music, leaves pink hair dye on the bathroom counter, stains the tub when she gets drunk and tries to redo her roots, calls you everything but your name -- sweetcheeks, dollface, cupcake, princess -- isn't shy about her hookups, doesn't even bother to apologize the mornings after another pretty cheerleader scampers out of her room, shrugs and winks when you come out of the bathroom with a tiny thong dangling off your finger that's clearly not either of yours.

college roommate!vi who does kickboxing on the weekends and teaches a kid's course at the local gym. the first time you go there to drop something of her's off as a favor, you can't help but stare at the way she laughs and chases the kids around, so gentle with her movements, so careful, guiding their punches, correcting their forms. and the kids love her -- it's so easy to see, the stars in their eyes, the color high in their cheeks, the way the girls cluster around her legs and the boys are constantly vying for her approval, how she tries her best to divide up her attention equally between all of them.

college roommate!vi who goes real quiet the first time you laugh in her presence, a real laugh, not one of those ha-ha ones you snipe at her when she's trying to get a rise out of you, or teasing you about spending all your time in the library, but one that shakes your shoulders and makes your whole face light up. who has to blink when you cock your head and ask if she's okay bc she was so busy staring at you, wondering about the weird thumping in her chest, the tightness in her throat.

college roommate!vi who's there for you when you're stressed about your dissertation, and she knew you were smart, but listening to you rant about it at 3am in the morning, she's starting to realize that... you're kind of a genius. to be so young and already doing a doctorate in mechanical engineering, and the things you're trying to do -- they could conceivably change the world one day. who freezes when you let your head drop onto her shoulder with a heavy sigh, telling her that you don't know what to do.

"you'll figure it out, cupcake. with a brain like yours? you always do."

college roommate!vi who realizes way too late that she's kinda got it bad for you, bc since when did she start getting used to the sight of you wearing one of her gym shirts in the mornings, making scrambled eggs, rolling your eyes when she yawns her way into the tiny kitchen, leaning an arm against the fridge as she looks you over before asking what's for breakfast. who's gotten so used to falling asleep to the soft clatter of your computer keys that when you leave to visit your family for a weekend, she tosses and turns and can't figure out why it's impossible for her to get to sleep, wanders into sliver of space you guys have crammed a couch and tv into to call a living room, slumping down there to stare at the ceiling, only to feel her fingers graze against something on the ground, who tugs out the thing from under the couch only to find herself staring at one of your bunched up socks with the goofy cartoon cats pattern, and she remembers (suddenly) finding you tearing your room apart the week before trying to look for it because it's your favorite pair of socks.

she finds herself chuckling, letting the sock fall again, but the tightness in her throat doesn't recede, and invisible fingers clench in her gut as she lets her eyes fall shut.

"well... fuck."

college roommate!vi who doesn't know how to act when you get back from your weekend away, when you throw yourself into her arms, your skin still smelling of the crisp fall air and something warm, and spicy -- it reminds her of the holiday market you dragged her to last year, the cinnamon and spiced apples, the hot, mulled wine, the way it burned all the way down when she took the first sip, the way it worked the most darling flush into your cheeks above your pink knit scarf.

"i've got a present for you!" you say, when you finally extricate yourself from her gasp, your arms still around her shoulders, her hands still settled around your waist.

"y-yeah? you didn't have to do that, sweetcheeks --"

"yeah, but i saw this in a store window and -- well i just... it reminded me of you," you say, pulling back to dig something out of your travel bag, and it takes everything in vi not to tug you back into her chest. so instead, she settles for knitting her arms across her front and coughing to hide the fact that her throat's just tightened over itself at your words. you? seeing something and thinking of her? gods, she was so far gone.

"here," you say, pulling a small black box out and offering it to her on the palm of your hand.

vi stares, before reaching out to take it, her eyes flickering up towards your face, only to catch you chewing on your bottom lip in a way that makes her mind frizzle out at the edges. she refocuses her attention on the box -- opening it, she finds a tiny little gemstone, set on a thin golden chain --

"oh..." she breathes, tugging out up to let the gem dangle from between her fingers.

"it -- it's an alexandrite stone," you say, your voice a bit reedy, but you push on as vi continues to stare, "it's uhm -- one of the rarest gemstones in nature, but the cool thing is it changes colors depending on what kind of light it's under --" you reach up to grasp her wrist, her lungs seizing at the contact as you tug her into the incandescent light of the kitchen. "see? it was light blue a second ago, right? and now it's --"

"violet," vi says, her voice soft and disbelieving.

you quickly let go of her wrist, pursing your lips and wrapping your arms around yourself, looking anywhere but at her face.

"yeah -- i just --" your shoulders shrug up as she stares at you, her sky-light eyes wide, "it... it reminded me of... you."

college roommate!vi who, ever since the "necklace incident" (as the rest of the rugby team likes to call it), hasn't really been the same. she's put on the necklace and not taken it off for even a second since the day you gave it to her, but now she doesn't really know how to act around you -- bc did you actually like her? i mean, the necklace is... a pretty big thing to just give someone, but what if you were just giving it to her as a friend? as a roommate? she agonizes over it to the point that the rest of the team are so, so sick of hearing about it, they lovingly tell her to just fuck her and get it over with already. but vi insists that she can't -- it's different with you.

college roommate!vi who's stunned speechless when she gets home to find you staring at your computer, your expression blank. and at first, she thinks something's horribly wrong, but then you're slamming into her, squealing about how you've done it -- your thesis defense went well, that you're a doctor now -- and she's picking you up, spinning you around, buoyed up by the effervescence of your happiness, pressing a kiss to your cheek --

"oh my god, congrats princess! i knew it! i always knew you could do it!"

"thanks -- god, i just -- i've wanted it for so long i... i don't know what to do with myself now that i've got it, y'know?" you say, still suspended in vi's arms, your feet lifted off the ground. it takes a moment before you both seem to realize the position you're in, and vi clears her throat as she lets you down, you looking away, pressing your palms to your cheeks to cool the heat gathering there.

after a brief pause though, vi chuckles, reaching out to slip a finger beneath your chin, tilting your face up towards her's.

"c'mon, put on one of those pretty dresses of yours. we're going out."

"out?"

"yeah. to celebrate."

you blink as vi pulls her hand away.

"but it's like... 4:30 on a tuesday."

vi cocks an eyebrow, a smirk twitching at her lips, "yes, and? c'mon cupcake --" her eyes catch yours and instead of looking away, she holds it this time, something flickering behind their powder-blue depths that makes your skin prickle with heat, "i'll show you a good time."

college roommate!vi who takes you to one of her favorite clubs, tugging you through the crowd, the jostling bodies, holding your hand in her's, trying really hard not to think too much about it (or the fucking insane little black and pink miniskirt you put on), telling herself that it's just to make sure she doesn't lose you in the crowd, grinning when someone knocks you into her chest, and she finds her arm wrapped around your waist, fingers scrunching the material of your skirt, your palms splayed on her chest.

she buys the both of you a round of shots, watching with a hitched breath as your tongue flickers out to lick the salt daubed on your wrist, the way your eyes squeeze shut when you take the shot and your lips wrap around the lime slice, tries to ignore the twist in her gut like a turning blade, the way her whole body flushes with heat, the dull ache caught between her legs when you wipe your lips, your eyes bright and a little blown out, your cheeks flushed with color as you giggle and lace your hands with hers again --

"come on! i wanna dance!"

college roommate!vi who is just drunk enough to let herself dance with you, to let herself lean in to the way you're twisting your body, fingers in your hair, your eyes closed, an indulgent smile on your lips, who let's herself imagine (just for a second), pulling you in to kiss you, how soft your lips might feel on hers, how silken your skin might be beneath her hands, who tries not to groan when you lean in closer, link your arms behind her neck, press your whole body against her's, who grips your hips just a little too tight, grinds you against her, sees the way you gasp, your eyelids fluttering as you eyes glaze out --

college roommate!vi who can't help how she groans at the sight, tugs you in by the back of your neck to mash her lips to yours, crushing you to her as she kisses you (finally, finally) and you let yourself he kissed -- your fingers tangle in her choppy pink hair, and she swears you make this sweet, mind-bending whimpering noise in the back of your throat that drives her up the wall and right over it --

but when she pulls back, she sees the look on your face -- shocked and little confused, but you're drunk, and she doesn't wanna do this with you -- at least, not like this.

college roommate!vi who pulls away, only to have you follow her all the way out the club, into this small dark alley, her shaking her head, feeling a strange, saltwater prickle at the back of her throat as she says --

"shit -- sorry. i didn't mean to -- i just -- you were just so -- and i -- fuck, i didn't --"

"vi -- vi -- no, violet, listen to me --"

it's her full name on your lips that makes her pause, makes her turn to find you walking towards her. your lipstick is smeared, your hair a waterfall mess around your shoulders as you corner her against the rough brick of the club's exterior. faintly, she can still feel the pulse of music reverberating from inside the club, but out here, the air is damp and cold and quiet.

"i -- i'm sorry i kissed you," she says, her voice cracking over the syllables. she bites her lips as you frown up at her, your eyes searching her's before you let out a soft sigh and a scoff.

"well. i'm sorry you feel that way. cause..." you take half a step back, your arms curling around yourself before you glance back at her with a hard, determined light to your eyes as you press back into her space, your cheeks bright with color.

"i was really kinda hoping you'd do it again."

vi's breath punches out of her chest; it takes a few seconds of sputtering before she gathers herself enough to speak.

"wait -- what? you..."

you crinkle your nose, rolling your eyes, "i -- i thought i was making it obvious -- i mean, with the whole necklace thing -- it doesn't take a genius to figure how i feel about --"

you squeak as she pins you against the opposite wall, her lips seeking yours out, her fingers rucking up the material of your top, making you hiccup as they tease under the wire-rim of your bra.

college roommate!vi who can barely control herself when you sink your fingers into her hair, tugging lightly as you gasp out a breath, her lips tracking fire along the side of your neck, intent on making you whimper again, just the way she likes, grazing her teeth along your collarbone even as you jerk at her hair --

"vi -- fuck -- vi, not here --" you swallow around the burgeoning desire, and when you glance down to find her looking up at you, her eyes so dark they're almost black, you fight back a groan, cup your palms around her cheeks and pull her up for a long kiss.

"let's --" you suck in a breath even as vi whines at the loss your lips, "let's go home --"

"holy fuck," vi swears, somehow managing to pull herself back just far enough to taste the misty night air. she stares at you, your chest heaving, a daisy-chain of hickeys blossoming along the long expanse of your neck, your makeup good and smeared, your hair a mess, your eyes bright and so full of love as they flicker over her face.

vi smiles, helpless to the loud, uncertain drumming of her heart as she says, "y-yeah -- let's get you home, princess."

college roommate!vi who barely waits for the elevator door to close in your building before she's got you shoved up against the wall, hoisting you up, her fingers seeking out the softness of your skin, tugging up your shirt, her other hand dipping into the waistband of your skirt, her mouth open and hungry as she kisses your neck, bites down at the junction of your shoulder just to hear you moan.

college roommate!vi who's way too good at undoing your bra with one hand the second you get back to your apartment (if you were more coherent, you might've thought it hot), the door slamming closed, the pair of you toppling onto the room, breathy laughs and panting whines as she hoists you into her arms and carries you to your bedroom, laying you down so gently, kissing up your stomach till you're whimpering, your own hands pulling your top off your body, leaving you in an undone-bra and a miniskirt, your cheeks flushed. you push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as vi peaks up at you from between your legs, shooting you a wink before she's tugging down your skirt and panties all in one, an eyebrow ticking up at the lil lacey thing you had on beneath the skirt all along.

"all this for me, pretty?"

you press your lips, eyes cutting away as she looks between the bra dangling off your shoulders and the panties caught round your ankles. her lashes flutter.

"oh, a matching set," she cocks her head, running her palms up your thighs, pinning them open again as you try to press them closed, feeling suddenly much too seen (bc you'd be straight up lying if you hadn't put it on in the vague hope that the night might evolve into something like this).

she clicks her tongue, shaking her head with a cocky, shit-eating grin that makes your heart skitter in your chest. her drops a light kiss to your inner thigh, savoring in the way you whine again.

"nope, keep 'em open princess."

college roommate!vi who takes her time with you, bc rly she's been waiting way too long for this, has imagined it one too many times, but nothing can compare to the way your hips jerk up against her mouth, the way your fingers tighten in her hair every time she licks up the seam of your cunt, the way your breath catches on her name over and over again, like you can't quite get the word out even though it's just a single syllable. she groans against you, too lost in the taste of you to care about what a mess she must look like, with her tongue fucking into your desperate hole, her nose nudging your clit, her fingers digging crescent moon marks into your hipbones.

she's sure that if this were an old-fashioned cartoon, there'd be big, balloon hearts popping out of her eyes. she can't get enough of you like this -- moaning her name, your legs on either side of her face, your skin littered with the remnants of her. she has the eye-rolling thought of you the next morning, of how all these marks will still be there to remind you of her every single time you see one of them.

college roommate!vi who doesn't expect you to flip over after she's literally eaten you out seven ways to sunday, to tug her in for a soft kiss (though she really does like pressing your own taste back into your mouth with her tongue), before your fingers are inching down the length of her body to tease at her hips, trailing circles down the lines of her abs, toying with the thin line of hair that leads into her black boxer briefs.

"what are you --"

you shoot her a look that has her mouth going dry.

"what? didn't think i can give as good as i get?"

college roommate!vi who's literally going to lose her mind with the way you're fingers (at first sight so thin and delicate, but gods are they stronger than they look) are pressing into her, curling up with the kind of precision usually only associated with doctors, and then a voice in the back of her head reminds her -- oh, right, you are a doctor now. but logical thought dies after that, bc you've somehow worked your way between her legs and are looking up at her with those big dark eyes of yours, smiling sunshine bright before you drop a kitten-lick against her clit and she's twitching, keening as she cums all over your fingers.

"jesus fuckin' christ, doll -- is that what you're learning in those engineering classes?"

she's breathless, cheeks flushed, and honestly just a little embarrassed at how quickly she came, but she has to bite back another groan as she watches you lick your fingers clean, grinning sweetly up at her as if you didn't just get her off in record time.

"no, but i did do my dissertation on human-based robotics, which included a lot of late nights memorizing anatomical models so..."

vi pulls you in for a kiss, laughing against your lips.

"you're amazing, y'know that?"

college roommate!vi who can't really believe how much she's lucked out, sharing an apartment with her girlfriend, who literally cannot shut up about you, but the rugby team all agree that they'd rather have this than the months of endless pining. who brags about her genius gf to anyone who'll listen, and looks for you in the stands of all her practice matches when you can make it, who kisses you in front of everyone even when you make a show of trying to wiggle away bc she's sweaty (you don't really care).

who loves telling the story of how you guys met bc she still can't quite believe it herself, and the story always starts with --

"well, actually -- we started off as roommates."

Learn More

[aleskie-hischier]

can you please write a tooth rotting fluff with our beautiful husband nico 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

SPECIAL DAY | Nico Hischier x Reader SUMMARY: You and Nico get high (from helium!!)

Word Count: 1.4k Warnings: none, pure fluff

Ever since you and Nico started dating, his birthday had always fallen on a day that was decidedly not ideal for celebrating. The past few years had either been tainted by a pandemic, where you were stuck inside with no decorations or fanfare, or interrupted by game days and away trips. You’d fallen into a familiar pattern by now, making do with celebrating the next free day, long after the moment had passed.

It was always tough being apart from him, but it was even harder on his birthday. All you wanted was to spend the day celebrating him, making him feel as special as he made you feel every single day. But, alas, hockey always seemed to get in the way. You’d made peace with it, greeting him first thing in the morning before he left for the rink. No time for a big breakfast or birthday surprises, just a quick hug, the coffee you always made for him, and a good luck kiss. He never complained, always seeming content with that small routine.

This year, though, was different. No game. No road trips. It was a free day, and you had the entire day to spoil him.

You’d gone to bed early the night before, excited for the day ahead. When you woke up, Nico was still fast asleep beside you, looking tired from the game the night before, his arm draped over your waist. You spend a few moments watching him, memorizing the slow rise and fall of his chest, the soft mess of his hair, the small scars on his face from years of playing on the ice. You love this man, your heart swells with love and affection for him. Only him.

Slowly, carefully, you pry yourself from his hold, holding your breath as he stirred slightly, grumbling softly in his sleep. His arm reached out for you, missing the warmth of your body. The sight makes you quietly chuckle to yourself.

Tiptoeing out of the bedroom, you gathered the supplies you’d hidden the day before. Streamers, balloons, and a stack of colorful stationery waited for you in the living room. You started with the balloons, painstakingly blowing up each one until shades of red filled the room. You tied strings to them, letting them float around the apartment, making sure every corner looked festive. Then you hung streamers from the ceiling, decorating every blank space with colorful streaks.

Next came the letter. Sitting at the kitchen table, you poured your heart onto the page, filling them with everything you loved about him—his kindness, his humor, the way he looked at you like you were the most important thing in the world. You wrote about the little things, like how he always remembered to bring you a jacket when you went out, how he always had a stash of your favorite chocolates hidden away for bad days, how he never let you go to bed without reminding you of how much you mean to him. The letter was three pages long by the time you were finished, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t mind.

It was almost 7am when you finished decorating, but your work wasn’t done yet. You whipped up a breakfast spread that was definitely not part of Nico's health plan—pancakes, eggs, potatoes, bacon, and freshly squeezed orange juice. But it was his birthday. He deserved this.

The apartment was ready, the table set. All Nico had to do was wake up.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★｡☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★｡☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★｡☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ 

Nico wakes up to an empty space beside him, already missing your warmth. It’s not ideal, but he hears the sound of your soft humming drifting in from the other room, accompanied by the unmistakable smell of breakfast—something special, judging by the scent—and a smile tugs at his lips. He knows how much you love his birthday, and while he’s used to waking up to a quick hug, coffee, and kiss before rushing off to play, this morning feels different. He can tell you’ve planned something more.

The small gestures you’ve always made, like being the first to greet him with a sleepy “happy birthday” as soon as his eyes opened, were more than enough for him. He never needed big, grand celebrations. Just you. Always you. But today, the thought of you waking up early, going out of your way to make this day perfect for him, fills him with a warmth he can’t quite describe. He’s struck by the simple fact that he has someone who loves him so much they’d pour their heart into making his birthday special.

Still, nothing could have prepared him for what he actually sees when he steps out of the bedroom.

The living room is a sea of red balloons, bobbing gently in the air, their strings dangling like little party invitations. Streamers stretch across the ceiling, transforming the apartment into a mini celebration space. And then there’s you. His heart skips a beat when he spots you, still in sleep shorts and one of his old Devil’s shirts, frowning slightly as you fuss over how the plates are arranged on the table. The breakfast spread looks mouth watering but it’s you, in all your adorable concentration, that really takes his breath away.

For a moment, he just stands there, watching you. It’s like something out of a dream, like a picture of the life he’d always dreamed about.

Silently, he pads over to you and wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you into a warm hug. His chin rests on your shoulder, his breath soft against your neck. “You weren’t there when I woke up,” he mumbles, his voice still heavy with sleep but laced with contentment.

You laugh, leaning back into his embrace, your hands coming to rest over his. “Wanted to give you a nice birthday.”

Nico chuckles, squeezing you tighter before pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re incredible.” He pulls back slightly, turning you in his arms so he can look into your eyes. “I don’t need anything crazy, but this…” He pauses, taking in the balloons, the streamers, the breakfast spread, and you standing there in his shirt. “This is perfect.”

You smile, turning to face him fully, your hands gently cupping his face. His mid-season beard feels soft and familiar against your palm. “You spend so much time taking care of others,” you say quietly, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “You deserve a special day, honey. And I wanted to give you just that.”

He leans in, capturing your lips in a deep, tender kiss. It says nothing but you know it means everything. Thank you. You’re wonderful. I love you.

Breakfast is filled with laughter, with Nico grinning like a kid as he digs into the spread you’ve made for him, clearly enjoying every bite. You see how much it means to him, see the way he keeps glancing at the decorations like he still can’t quite believe it. But as the plates empty and the morning settles into a comfortable quiet, you notice his gaze flicker over to the balloons.

“Wanna see something?” You ask, your lips curving into a mischievous smile.

Nico raises an eyebrow, his grin widening as he watches you. “What are you thinking?”

Without a word, you stand, grabbing a balloon and carefully untying the knot at the bottom. You bring it to your lips, inhaling the helium, and turn to face him, voice high and squeaky as you say, “Happy birthday, Honey!”

Nico bursts into laughter, bending over as the sound of your helium-tinged voice fills the room.

“I love you soooooo much!” you add, exaggerating each word, making him laugh even harder.

He gets up from his seat, still chuckling, and takes the balloon from your hand. With a playful smirk, he takes a hit of some helium before announcing in a comically high-pitched voice, “It’s my birthday!”

The sound of his voice—so squeaky and ridiculous—sends you into a fit of laughter, doubling over as you clutch your stomach. The two of you spend the next several minutes giggling like kids, working through a few more balloons, throwing out random phrases between breaths of helium.

“You’re old now!” you tease.

“You’re old too!” Nico shoots back, grinning.

“I love you!” you squeak, the helium making it sound even funnier.

By the time you’ve worked through four balloons, your cheeks hurt from smiling and your stomach aches from all the laughter. It’s something so silly, a bit childish even, but it’s the kind of lighthearted fun you only appreciate with someone you love. Someone who makes the little moments feel special.

Tomorrow, you’ll be packing up the decorations, putting everything away until next year. But right now, in this moment, it’s just the two of you sitting on the floor, voices still high-pitched and silly, completely wrapped up in each other and the joy of the day.

[minkdelovely]

love and power

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

chapter one

“don’t call me by my name.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: descriptions of reader’s demon form, Alastor uses the chain and withholding your breakfast as punishment, Alastor takes pleasure in your fear, power dynamics, reader worries over being punished, lecherous demons in an alley, non-consensual grab and lick of the face, graphic violence, murder, blood, teeth as a weapon, slow burn eventual: smut

word count: 2.5k

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine ; chapter ten: part one ; chapter ten: part two

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“Why didn’t you bring me a boy to play with?” Niffty pouted, her little foot stomping the carpet. 

She hadn’t been pleased when Alastor broke the news that he had acquired a new maid to help her out around the hotel, and glared at you past his legs. He laughed, seeming to enjoy her tantrum. You still weren’t sure how to feel about this Demon who had taken over your contract. While he had been pleasant enough at the Emporium after Rosie signed you over, he hadn’t spoken a word to you while leading you through the streets of Hell to bring you here. 

“I’m afraid you’ve answered your own question, Niffty dear. Had I brought you a toy, I’m not so sure you’d sustain your productivity. Which is precisely why I brought help.” He turned to look back at you for the first time then, your chest tightening from the eye contact. Alastor maintained contact as he continued, “Sylvie will maintain my quarters for now so as not to take away from your duties, but once the hotel gets busier I expect you to play nice and share. Besides, she’ll need training before we just let her loose around the hotel! We have a reputation to uphold, after all.”

He smirked at you and broke his gaze, pivoting to make his way up the stairs. Before the others could get a chance to come talk to you, an invisible tug was at your neck and you hurried to catch up with Alastor.

“I’ll show Sylvie to her room so she can settle in,” Alastor said loud enough for everyone, still facing forward as he continued up the staircase.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

That had been a week ago.

Everyone else had been fairly welcoming, Charlie being the kindest. She and her girlfriend Vaggie had made the most effort getting to know you, which made sense being they were in charge of the hotel. Though he wasn’t rude, Husker only spoke to you in short quips. You tried not to dwell on the pity in his eyes any time you crossed by the bar in the lobby.

Angel Dust had been nice too, the few times you had managed to see him and always at the bar, joking amicably that you could almost pass as twins despite quite obvious differences. He was a decent amount taller and slimmer than you for starters. Hell seemed to have turned him into a spider of sorts, and if you had to take a guess, you had spawned here as some kind of milky-colored reptile. No scales, but there was a faint pearlescent pattern of something close to that covering your neck, back, and extremities. 

It was still jarring to see your reflection in the mirror. There were parts you still recognized, though even those features had felt Hell’s touch. To your relief, your face still looked more or less the same. Nearly Human passing, until your newly-added nictitating membrane blinked right-to-left. Though your red pupils and pink sclera were also a dead giveaway (haha, get it?). Something you weren’t sure you’d ever adjust to, but hey, you earned it right?

You had just finished getting into the black collared dress Alastor demanded you wore for work when a dark shadow pooled under your feet. Complete darkness and seconds later, you were standing in the parlor of Alastor’s suite. 

“[Y/N],” Alastor’s low, static voice lingered on it, red eyes boring into you. Something he had gleaned very quickly in the week was how unsettled you got when he used your real name, and enjoyed the opportunities to use it. “I find tardiness to be an irksome trait. Do not make it a habit. Am I understood?”

You fought a grimace, loathing his condescension. The Radio Demon’s smile threatened to tear as he watched you struggle to maintain composure. You hadn’t succeeded completely, but you were making some progress.

“Well?” he goaded.

“Yes, sir,” you managed to say evenly, hands fidgeting behind your back.

You knew better now than to play into his tricks. He was trying to get you to react, a sport he took great pleasure in succeeding at. So when he wasn’t ordering you around, he was complaining about the look on your face. Sullen, petulant, ghastly, he had used all kinds of names. And when you had gotten cheeky with him about it on your second day after hours of scrubbing the area rug in his room that he had dirtied on purpose…

The slight ache in the back of your neck served as a reminder of that. Sadistically, the chain was the only true cold you’ve felt since spawning in Hell and it seemed to burn more than acid rain. It wasn’t hard to remember the weight of it, the sweaty feeling of it on your skin. Alastor had enjoyed it all immensely. 

Denying him his fun in pissing you off probably wasn’t good in the long term, but you had to toe the line in order to find the limit. You wanted to learn as much as you could about the creature who owned you. Eternity was never-ending, but learning how to cope was all you could try to do. Being moved to this hotel had turned out to be a true blessing all things considered, so if navigating Alastor’s moods and demands was the price, you would have to pay it.

“Good!” The expression on Alastor’s face quickly relaxed into a more pleasant one. “Now hurry up and run into town to fetch my dry cleaning, and bring me something from that new butcher shop. I’ll leave it to you to decide, I so love surprises! Skipping breakfast will serve as your warning for being tardy. See you in an hour, dear.”

With that, he disappeared before you in a quick melt of shadow.

He was so. Fucking. Annoying. But you wouldn’t risk throwing a tantrum. For all you knew, he was still somewhere in the room, and honestly, you didn’t have time to waste. The walk from here to Cannibal Town was about twenty minutes and Alastor had summoned you before you had been able to put on your shoes, a five-minute setback at least. He had also made no mention of how you were expected to pay for any of this… 

Time to perform a fucking miracle, you thought to yourself, and made your way for the door.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor watched as you took a deep breath and smoothed your pale pink hair before leaving his room. The small click of the door locking echoed in the silence. He re-materialized near the large window that faced the city, grinning when he finally saw you walking off the premises at a hurried pace. You were so close to coming loose, so close to breaking that unbecoming pout. How he loathed it. He would rid you of the self-pity you wallowed in, even if it drove you to madness. A chuckle escaped him at the thought.

When you spoke back to him last week it had been such a thrill. Alastor closed his eyes, reliving the memory. He had allowed himself a moment to enjoy your insolence before inverting it to fear. Now that was a face he could get used to. The cold sweat on your skin, your red-pink eyes wide with shock. The sound of your hands and knees hitting the floor was music to his ears! Though he would never forget the gasp that caught in your throat from the shock.

He didn’t even need to raise his voice when he told you never to speak to him that way again, a direction you had perhaps taken too much to heart. Then again, you didn’t come across as a fighter. No, you were much too apathetic for that, at least for now.

And you had smelled so lovely in your fear. The usual floral sweetness of your scent had turned warm and nutty. For a moment he was certain he had picked up a hint of bitterness before you had mouthed off, but it disappeared so quickly once you were frightened that he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that he wanted to smell it again.

With some luck, that would be quite soon; a little over an hour now if all goes according to plan. The Radio Demon had never expected you to return within the given timeframe.

Setting you up to fail wasn’t fair, but it was certainly fun.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Donner’s Butchery had been absolutely packed, but you managed to purchase the last available pound of liver. Their selection had been so low that you were more concerned with walking out of there without anything at all. Whether or not Alastor would enjoy it was a matter reserved for your return, though you hoped he would since you had to open a tab to get it. 

Thankfully, the dry cleaning had been settled upfront so you were actually starting to feel a little optimistic about making it back in time. In fact, you were now determined to be back in time out of spite. Imagining the veiled irritation on Alastor’s face when you arrived within the hour kept you distracted from the hunger pain in your stomach, and your pace subconsciously picked up. The high was short-lived though once your mind wandered to what other tasks Alastor would surely have lined up once you handed him his clothes and liver.

And what if he hated liver? You were in such a hurry that you didn’t even know what kind it was if he asked about it, which he probably would if only to watch you squirm trying to answer. The hotel wasn’t too far off now and you stepped into an alley to search the bag for a receipt, hoping that the butcher had been thorough enough to write it down. You found the receipt taped to the butcher paper, the words DEER LIVER scribbled with thick, black marker. 

“Thank god,” you sighed quietly, relieved to have peace of mind and placed it back in the bag. You were just about to step back onto the sidewalk when you heard laughter behind you.

“God ain’t here, sweetheart. Haven’t you noticed?”

You turned to see two demons, already standing much closer to you than you’d like. In your desperation to check the bag, you hadn’t heard them approaching. Something that should have embarrassed you, given the sour smell wafting off their clothes, but there wasn’t time for that. You took a quick glance at the clocktower.

Five minutes.

Of course it was… Even if you ran, you’d probably only get to the gate at best and knowing Alastor, that wouldn’t count.

“You got somewhere to be? Hand over the bag and maybe we’ll let you go,” the taller one continued, his plump sidekick snickering, both moving to cage you in.

God damn it… You were so close. So fucking close. Not only that, but were you were hungry and exhausted. All you had done this week was try your best to manage Alastor’s impossible expectations for what? An easier eternity? The creeps standing near you were right, God wasn’t here. This is Hell. Suffering eternal. 

The sanctuary you thought you’d found at the hotel was anything but. Its promise of redemption was the dangling carrot, always just out of reach. A sick joke, just like everything else here. Not that you had ever planned to be redeemed, you knew why you were here, but living in the hotel had lulled you into a false sense of security. Hell wasn’t clean and filled with mild-mannered sinners.

“Look at that, she’s fucking crying!” the plump demon laughed, bringing you back to the moment. “You’ve always liked ‘em scared, Donny.”

The tall one, apparently called Donny, shot his arm out to block you from leaving, a lecherous grin spreading across his face. “Is he right, baby? You scared?”

You could feel your heart in your throat. Scared? You were pissed. And when Donny grabbed your face and boldly licked a tear off your cheek, you snapped.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The Radio Demon had been hard at work tuning Vaggie out for the last few minutes. He was aimlessly wandering the lobby when she cornered him, seeming to have finally found her opportunity to interrogate him over acquiring your soul. It would have been easy enough to tell the disgraced Angel that it was the least he could do considering the help Rosie had provided them, but upsetting Vaggie was simply too much fun.

She was droning on about how she and Charlie would be taking over the onboarding of any more new employees when Alastor felt a chain rattle, ear flicking in response. Some fool was messing with his property. He reached out mentally to follow the chain and soon caught the scent of almond. He grimaced. Of course it was yours.

“As much as I cherish our conversations, I’ll need to cut this short Vaggie. I’m afraid duty calls,” Alastor said smugly, grinning at the rage on her face from being so casually brushed off before slipping into shadow.

When Alastor materialized in an alley he was met with piercing screams, and it took him a moment to register what he was seeing. You were on the ground straddling the waist of some poor soul, your face covered in blood as you tore out your victim’s neck with your teeth. The creature in question no longer seemed to have much left of the lower half of his face, the remnants of it no doubt lying somewhere in the gore. His death rattle was nothing more than a gurgle and spurt of blood, but it seemed you were too lost in your rampage to notice he was now motionless beneath you.

Alastor didn’t bother with the pudgy creature that had no doubt been your victim’s friend. Well, perhaps not a very good friend, seeing as the coward ran away once he regained his footing. Besides, it wouldn’t be difficult to track the cretin down if Alastor changed his mind about it later.

For now, his focus was on you and what a glorious sight it was. He wished for a moment that your dress had been a different color, just to see how much blood and scraps of flesh had soaked into it. Judging from the mess on your face, it had to be quite a lot.

The sounds coming from you were savage, nearly carnal, and you were relentless in your attack despite the damage already done. When would you stop, he wondered. When there was nothing but bone? The aspect thrilled him to the core and he sniffed deeply, taking in the scent of blood and almond. There it was — that delicious, bitter, nutty warmth. He had been right. Letting out a satisfied, pleasured sigh, he waited patiently for you to finish. After a minute or so you succeeded in decapitating the fool, and Alastor made his approach as you struggled to catch your breath. 

Gingerly tapping you once with his foot, you startled with a growl and snapped your teeth. Alastor let out a low chuckle, taking in the wild look of your face, eyes glowing pink.

“I believe he’s had enough for now, dear. You made good work of him, I’m quite impressed,” he said, giving you a proud smile. “Now let’s get you home before you cause a scene.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

[girlsdads]

#ok it’s giving girl dad wearing his daughter’s handmade necklace special for him into work 🥺🥺😩😩

couldn’t stop thinking about this tag of mine, wrote a little smth about it 🥰

The stomping footfalls racing down the hall behind him could only be those of a toddler. Daniel turns and squats just in time for his tiny blonde projectile of a child to come barreling into his chest. The force sends Daniel falling back onto his butt with a surprised oof, his daughter giggling delightedly in his lap.

“Hey, Ellie-bug,” Daniel smiles. “Daddy’s gotta go to work, remember how we talked about it and you promised to be a big girl?” He brushes a strand of hair away from her mouth where it’s gotten stuck in a little smear of jam leftover from her breakfast. Daniel had shown Max how to make it just the way she likes—the pancake batter shaped in the silicone star mold, the silly faces drawn in jelly and jam.

Ellie’s head bobs up and down dutifully, but she makes no move to get up.

Max appears from the kitchen then, looking like a man who’s been fighting a losing battle with the second pancake. There’s a splatter of thick batter on his white t-shirt. He’s holding the spatula like it’s offended him somehow. Daniel looks at him over their daughter’s head, and loves him fiercely.

“She is of course the biggest girl,” Max says. Ellie grins proudly. “Why don’t you give Daddy your present now, then we will finish your pancakes.”

Daniel watches her grey-blue eyes light up like she’s just now remembering why she came running at him in the first place. She reaches a chubby hand into the bib pocket on her overalls, embroidered Enchanté script stretching as she roots around and produces a string of brightly-colored plastic beads. She holds it out to him expectantly.

Daniel takes the strand delicately in hand, wraps it around the backs of his fingers and rotates his wrist to get a good look. It’s a necklace, probably more of a choker given its relatively small circumference, the fat pony beads the only real indication it was made by a child. The powder pink and fuchsia beads are separated by interspersed pearlescent white orbs and clear sparkly stars. Smack in the center is a single number bead, a glittery pink three.

“Jeepers, did you make this for me? It’s beautiful!” Daniel says, and means it. He’s already been wanting to talk to his team about adding a jewelry collection to a future drop, and what better inspiration?

Ellie nods excitedly. “Papa helped me do a…,” she pauses, squints and tilts her little head, searching for the word, “…a pattern!”

“We made it the other day, while you were out with Blake,” Max chimes in. “For good luck.” He sounds almost bashful, like maybe it wasn’t their daughter’s idea in the first place. Daniel’s heart is so swollen it’s threatening to leak out through the gaps in his ribcage.

“How’d I get so lucky, huh?” Daniel muses, softly, mostly to himself. He stretches the elastic over his head, feels the smooth plastic three settle in the hollow of his throat. His pulse thrums evenly against it, grounding.

He flashes his biggest smile at his family. “How do I look?”

“Pretty, Daddy!” Ellie throws herself forward again, wrapping her arms around Daniel’s neck. It leaves him locking eyes with Max, who’s gazing down at the two of them like nothing else in the universe exists. Daniel can never quite get used to that look—still feels butterflies dancing up the back of his throat, his stomach dropped into a glorious freefall.

“Beautiful, Daniel,” Max says, reverent. “Always.”

[incorrectmarvelquotesss]

I absolutely love how you write Jason which is why I wanted to ask if you could write this (if not that’s all good), but I’m sick with the flu and was hoping u could write Jason looking after sick reader? And maybe him cooking her her comfort meal (like I’m from Europe so if he cooked a traditional European meal). Ik it’s rlly projecting but if u could write it that would be great :)

— honey and cherries —

Warnings: flu/cold/sickness, fluff

A/N: Thank you so much! I really hope this reaches your expectations! And I’m sorry it took so long.

The morning unfolded with a chill that seeped through the Gotham skyline, a lingering fog enveloping the air like a shroud of damp cotton. Shades of red and orange painted the sky as the sun rose, casting a honey-like glow that warmed the quiet apartment. The recent rain lent a crispness to the air, carrying the scent of wet grass and mud. Inside, untouched patterns of light danced across surfaces, undisturbed by the faint rustling that emerged from one of the rooms.

Jason furrowed his brow as he noticed your emergence from the bedroom, blanket wrapped around your fuzzy red pajamas. The aroma of bittersweet coffee and sugary cinnamon rolls hung in the air, though your stuffy nose likely dulled their sweetness. Despite your state, you made your way to the kitchen island where Jason waited with a mug of steaming tea.

“G’morning,” you croaked, settling into a chair with a weary sigh.

He nudged the tea toward you. “Drink up.” His voice was gentle yet insistent, a hint of concern coloring his features. Taking a sip of his coffee, he observed your tired state, noting the slight tremble in your hand and the warmth radiating from your feverish body.

Over the past week, Jason had observed the gradual onset of your illness—from sneezes to throat-clearing, followed by coughs and now a runny nose. Concern etched lines on his face as he assessed your condition, knowing you were in no state for work. His eyes followed the trickle of sweat behind your ear. 

“Do you have a fever?” He already knew the answer, feeling the heat radiating from you as he gently placed a hand on your forehead. He moved his hand to your cheek, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb as if to help with the discomfort. His lips tugged at the corners. “Stay at home.”

“I have a shift at work,” you protested weakly between coughs. You grabbed a tissue to wipe your runny nose, glaring at Jason over it. 

“You’re sick,” he countered softly, a tilt of his head implying the futility of your argument. His thumb kept stroking your cheek. “Debbie will understand.”

Your glare softened as you conceded with a sniffle, reaching for another tissue. “Fine, I’ll stay home.” The blanket rustled as you adjusted it. 

“I’ll text Debbie for you,” Jason murmured, pressing his lips against your knuckles as he took your hands in his own. “You rest, okay?”

You looked between his bright green eyes, seemingly deciding your answer from how concerned he was. You nodded in agreement, letting his tense posture drop. 

Relieved that you had agreed to stay home, Jason moved around the kitchen, tidying up the remnants of his breakfast while keeping an eye on you. The sound of dishes clanking and water running from the tap filled the air, along with a few sniffles and coughs from you. He saw you look at your phone a few times so he quickly texted Debbie before you could. He fetched a fresh glass of water and your medications, placing them gently on the counter beside you.

“Here, take these,” he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of concern. “It’ll help with the fever.”

You eyed the pills warily, but after a moment’s hesitation, you swallowed them down with a sip of tea. Jason watched you closely, noting your fatigue and the way your shoulders sagged with exhaustion.

“Do you need anything else?” he asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to make sure you were comfortable.

You shook your head weakly, sinking deeper into the chair. “Just maybe some soup later,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ll make you some,” Jason promised, moving to the stove to prepare a pot of chicken noodle soup. The rhythmic clatter of utensils and the soothing aroma of simmering broth filled the kitchen as he worked.

Minutes passed in content silence, broken only by the occasional cough from you or the stirring of the soup. Jason glanced over at you from time to time, silently thankful that you were finally resting.

Once the soup was ready, he poured a steaming bowlful and brought it over to you, placing it gently on the island. “Here you go,” he said softly, pulling out a stool beside you.

You smiled weakly, grateful for his care. “Thank you,” you whispered, wrapping your hands around the warm bowl. 

Jason sat with you as you ate, occasionally reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face or offer you another sip of tea. Despite his own weariness, he remained attentive, determined to make you as comfortable as possible. After you had finished eating, he helped you settle back onto the couch, fetching an extra blanket to tuck around you.

“Try to get some rest,” he urged gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You nodded wearily, closing your eyes as exhaustion finally caught up with you. Jason sat nearby, watching over you as you slept, his own fatigue momentarily forgotten in the quiet comfort of your shared home. It had been a few busy nights for Red hood and the other Bats. He barely remembered the last time he was home without your chatter in the background.

He smiled fondly. He already missed your mindless rambles.

A few hours passed, the afternoon sunlight casting a warm glow through the curtains. Jason kept an eye on you while he went around the apartment and dusted, knowing that your routine. He carefully cleaned the mess he had made on the counters and then mopped the kitchen after brooming. Once he finished, he sat down beside you, gently moving your legs across his lap, with a book in his hand. 

You stirred awake, blinking sleepily as you registered Jason’s presence beside you. 

He smiled. “Hey,” he greeted softly, offering you a glass of water.

“Hey,” you replied hoarsely, accepting the water gratefully. “How long was I out?”

“Just a couple of hours,” Jason answered, his voice soothing. “I grabbed some cherry-flavored medication for you. It should help with the cough.” He nodded at the table in front of you and went back to his book as you fully woke up. 

You glanced at the small cup on the coffee table, noticing the bright red liquid inside. “Thanks,” you murmured, reaching for it and taking a cautious sip. The sweet cherry taste was a relief compared to the bitter pills earlier.

Jason watched you closely, concern etched on his face. “Feeling any better?”

You nodded slightly, a faint smile playing on your lips. “A little. Thanks to you.”

He returned the smile, his gaze warm. “Good. Just rest, okay? I’ll take care of everything.”

You nodded again, settling back against the cushions with a sigh. Jason remained by your side, his presence a comforting anchor as you drifted back to sleep.

[bookmaker-untaken]

your husband stays getting on your last nerve

Hayato Suo x Reader // Wind Breaker x My Happy Marriage AU

Summary: The first tranquil image of this man was highly misleading. Suo Hayato's calm facade hides a cheeky devil that loves to tease, and unfortunately - you are the perfect (blushing) target.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Making Out, OOC!Suo, Probably (Look, I Tried), Non-Graphic Torture, Implied/Reference Abuse

Word Count: 4,106

i.

The man before you is the most beautiful you've ever seen.

He's leaning his cheek on his fist, a scroll rolled out over his lap. Cherry blossoms fly around the courtyard in a colorful tornado, some crossing the threshold and dotting the bright wood.

The wind rises to ruffle his brown hair.

"Hello," He croons. "Might you be my new wife?"

Your mouth feels dry. Everything - your fist, your jaw - is clenched tightly. "I- uh, yes."

His smile is polite, close - lipped, and his one eye is closed as well.

You can't read his face and it disquiets you.

"Lovely to meet you," He says. "I am Suo Hayato."

ii.

The first tranquil image of this man was highly misleading.

Suo Hayato's calm facade hides a cheeky devil that loves to tease, and unfortunately - you are the perfect (blushing) target.

You try to avoid them as much as you can, but it's not always enough.

Suo stares at you across the breakfast table. He's always watching, observing.

It freaks you out, warms your cheeks. "What."

He leans his chin on his palm. "You're cute."

"Huh!" You almost choke. How can he say such a thing so nonchalantly!?

The smile never leaves his face. "I just think your cute. I'm happy to have such a cute little wife,"

You are not little, or cute, but what comes out instead is, "I'm not your wife."

"Yet," He hums. "But you will be. And I, for one, am looking forward to it."

You cough. "Sure."

At least the maid, Yurie, does not share her young master's penchant for teasing. You were worried at first, not that you'd tell anybody, that she would dislike you as the maids at your house had.

To be wrong was a startling relief.

iii.

You have a few dreamless nights before the nightmares return.

In your dreams there are no monsters - only your mother and her mother, pelting you with subtle insults and ignoring your pleas.

You awaken in the middle of the night, eyes wet.

Unable to sleep, you start to make your way to the kitchen.

Across the courtyard, in an open door, sits Suo beside a kettle of tea.

His eye is closed and he seems tranquil, enjoying the cool night breeze on his face.

You retreat.

You will not allow him to see such weakness.

iv.

"I was asked to attend a banquet by my superior," Suo says. “I'd like you to come."

"Alright," You say, despite the very idea making your sick. Your mind flickers with candlelit dinners and thinly veiled insults.

“We should go shopping," Suo continues. "Your kimonos are from last season, aren't they?"

"I ... suppose," You shift awkwardly and hope he doesn't notice. Shopping, too, is an incredibly sore spot for you.

"Wonderful! It's a date!"

"D-date!" You jerk to attention. "It's not a date!"

"Why not?" Suo says, pout in his voice. "The two of us are going to do something fun together, aren't we?"

"It's just shopping! That's more like - a mission! Yes, a mission."

Suo seems to think for a second. "No, I like date better."

You scoff in disbelief.

v.

The town is bustling, full of throngs of people moving to and fro like a rushing lake, some harking their wears, some enjoying the nice weather.

You stay close to Suo, careful not to get lost.

So close, you walk into his back when he stops.

"Hayato!" The person at the counter cheers. "And who is this?"

"My wife," Suo says easily.

"H-his fiancée!" You stutter.

"Same thing," He says. "This is Tsubaki. Their family has made kimonos for the Suos for generations, though I do prefer Tsubaki's unique patterns and eye for design."

Something about being preemptively called a Suo makes you cheeks warm despite yourself.

"What a flatter, am I right?" Tsubaki grins at you. "At your service!"

You give a polite nod. "Nice to meet you."

Fabric brushes against your shoulder and you turn to a kimono - a very expensive kimono, more expensive than anything you've owned - being held up beside you. "Hmm. No."

"Do you have any sort of patterns or colors you like?" Tsubaki asks. You realize too late that the question is directed to you.

You take your eyes from Suo to stare at them blankly. "Um?" Normally, your used to being told exactly what to wear, dressed up like a little doll at the mercy of others. "Surprise me?"

"Sure!" Tsubaki disappears further into the store.

Suo stands beside you, far too close. "Your in good hands. Tsubaki has excellent taste," You can feel the heat of his breath and lean away slightly on instinct. “I'm sure they'll find something amazing.”

"Okay," You say, trying to keep any hint of nervousness out of your voice.

“Though," He says, near the tips of your warming ears. "I'm sure you'll look wonderful either way."

You arch away from him. "Sure!"

Your thankful when Tsubaki comes around the corner. "What about this one? Would you like to try it on?"

You glance to Suo. "You can do whatever you wish," He says. "We'll probably end up buying a few, anyway."

You follow Tsubaki to the fitting room.

"Would you mind ... waiting outside, please?"

Tsubaki looks slightly confused. "Are you sure? It might be hard to get into some of them alone."

"I ... please."

"Of course."

In the mirror, you seem distorted. You're vaguely aware that you've seemingly gained some wight, a consequence of them feeding you well at the Suo household - but a potential target nonetheless. Your stretch marks ripple across your skin, shining lightly in the sunlight that sneaks though the top windows of the shop.

"It looks nice on you." Suo looks up when you walk out. "Do you like it?"

You pause. Do you? You don't know. "I -"

"You hesitated."

You slump, but go back into the fitting room.

Again you emerge, bashfully asking, "How about this one?"

"How about it?" Suo asks, seemingly fishing for an answer.

"No!" calls Tsubaki from the front of the store. "Not it!"

You return with the final kimono of the stack, padding your way out of the fitting room.

Suo's eye widens a fraction and he swallows.

You instinctively sink into yourself at the intensity of his gaze.

"Now we're getting somewhere!" Tsubaki says, bouncing over and turning you around. Looking between the two of you, they say, "Hey, this kimono is the same color as your eyes, Hayato!"

You look down, meeting the slightly hooded eye of your fiancée.

Tsubaki's right.

"What do you think ... Suo?"

Suo's eyes flicker up, then down once more. For not the first time, you wish he was easier to read. "We're taking that one home Tsubaki.”

vi.

You try on a few more Kimonos before waving goodbye to Tsubaki.

The sun has risen higher and the streets seem even more crowded, if that where even possible.

Suo takes your hand.

His hand engulfs your own - unnaturally cold, fingers long.

You stop in your tracks with a sound like a record scratching.

"I don't want to lose you, dear," He says, as if it's the simplest thing in the world.

"You don't need to hold my hand, though!"

"Of course I do." He says.

The two of you continue, stopping at one of the small stalls for a snack.

It drips down your hand and your eyebrows furrow as you debate licking it up. You feel Suo's eye on you. It would be unladylike.

Suo chuckles at your hesitation. "I'll go get napkins from the stall."

You nod, taking another bite of your food.

For a moment, you feel something... calm.

"Hello there, pretty lady."

The man looms over you, casting a long shadow.

"You seem to be enjoying that treat. How’s about we go into that alleyway and I give you another?"

"I-I'm waiting for my fiancée - " You force out tightly.

He looks down. “I don’t see a ring on that finger. Maybe if I got a closer look?"

He moves to grab your hand and you yank it away, but he's faster.

"Excuse me?" It's Suo's voice - but it's different.The teasing is still there, but his voice is lower. Colder. A dark growl. "Would you kindly unhand my wife?”

"S-suo- " Falls out of your mouth, and you hate how pitiful you sound.

The man turns his head, but you can’t see beyond his large stature. “That’s your man? Why not hang with a real man instead of pretty boy over there?”

Your throat constricts.

And then the man crumples, holding his arm and screaming. Spikes of ice, swirling with snowflakes, split his arm.

"Were my instructions unclear? I told you to get your hands off of my wife."

The man turns to Suo, panting. He starts to run at him, but Suo simply sidesteps the man, flipping him onto his back.

“Are you hurt?" He walks over to you and you shrink away on instinct. His lips quirk in a thin line.

"N-no."

He holds out a hand. "Can I see?"

Reluctantly, you extend your arm. He takes it gingerly, eye darkening at the blooming bruise.

"I'm alright," You find yourself saying, more for him than for you.

He sighs. "If I had been even a moment later, you might not have been."

"But you came."

Suo doesn't respond, eye swirling with unidentifiable emotions. He releases his gentle hold on your arm. "Let's go home."

When he takes your hand again, you don't argue.

vii.

You let out a sharp exhale of pain and bring your finger to your mouth, the salty taste blooming on your tongue.

You feel stupid standing in the Suo estate kitchen in an inappropriately fancy kimono over a boiling pot of water.

You'd never cooked alone before, so you didn't exactly know why you'd thought you should try it now. You could hear the low hiss of voices in your head, and you squeezed your eyes shut before opening them determined.

You would pay him back for his kindness.

You went to retrieve another bandage, returning to continue your clunky cuts.

The result was ... very ugly.

You were not going to serve this to Suo. Knowing him, he'd probably tease you for it. The voices were getting louder.

You weren't fit to be a wife -

"Hmm? And what might you be doing?"

You jerk. "Suo! I - " Your eyes dart around. You'd lost track of time, and now he was already home before you could disregard the evidence. The familiar heat warmed your cheeks.

"Could it be?" He moves smoothly into the kitchen, eye closed and smile curling. "My darling wife has made something for me?"

"No!" You squeak, heat crawling up to your ears. "Y-your mistaken! I was just tasting something - "

"Oh? Well, I'd like a taste, too. As you can imagine, I'm properly famished after a hard day's work."

You open your mouth to refute it but can't.

"...Go sit." You grumble.

"Hmm?" He leans forward slightly, and your chest pounds.

"Go sit!" You snap.

You concentrate on plating his food and setting it in front of him, before moving back. Your blush-darkened fingers hold on to the tray for dear life.

He raises the spoon to his mouth in a delicate, measured moment, chewing slowly. You want to scream.

"Delicious!" He says, grinning, taking another bite. "You did this by yourself?"

You don't meet his eyes. "Yeah. Yurie is busy enough," I don't want to be a burden, you don’t say.

"It's kind of funny looking - " He says, smile unchanging.

" - Why you - "

"But it's really good!"

"It's no big deal," You say, avoiding his eyes.

"Oh, yeah?" He says, eyes falling to your hands. You immediately try to hide them in the sleeves of your kimono. "I'm grateful to have such a loving wife."

"Just eat." You grumble.

viii.

The night of the bequest arrives faster than you'd anticipated.

You arrive stiff, but begin to loosen up when the plum wine begins to flow and your fiancée's fellow soldiers - Haruka and Akihiko - begin to regale you with tales of your husbands great skill and fortitude.

You commiserate with Haruka about how teasing he is, and Akihiko how mysterious.

"He is rather mysterious," You agree, laughing along.

During the night you feel a hand sneak it's way around your waist, you look up at Suo with a quirked eyebrow.

He doesn't smell drunk and he doesn't move his hand.

You blush all the way down to your fingertips.

"Alright," Suo says eventually. "It's time for me to take my darling wife home."

He leaves relatively quickly, tugging you by the wrist.

"Suo?" Your brows furrow. "Is something wrong? Suo?"

He doesn't answer. This increases your worry. What had you done wrong?

"... Suo?" He turns around then, stepping forward and caging you against the wall.

"You seem to be enjoying discussing how "teasing" and "mysterious" I am with my colleagues."

There's a different quality in his voice that you can’t read again, different still from that day in the market.

He is smiling, though.

"B-but you are!" You squawk in your defense, eyes darting around and quickly realizing you have nowhere to run.

"I'd tell you if you only asked,"

"Would you really?" You look up at him with something akin to hope.

His eyes dart down, and he looks as he's contemplating something. The tip of his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. "Yes."

"So - so - " You stutter when he gets closer. "Are you ... mad with me?"

His eyes dart to meet yours once more. "Mad with you?"

"It's just that we left so suddenly, and I didn't mean to embarrass you, if I did - "

Suo's lips claim yours and you freeze. They move hotly against yours and you struggle to keep up with the slow dance he's leading. All you can think to do is hold your shaking grasp on his kimono under his army uniform as he grasps you tightly by the waist and seems to try to eat you alive.

He runs his tongue along the seam of your lips, but you don't respond.

"Open," He murmurs, without breaking the kiss.

"Huh? Why - " But he's upon you again, tongue exploring your mouth as you quake against him. He finally pulls away connected by a translucent string, scanning your face - the tears gathering in your lashes, your scrunched nose, your kiss bruised lips.

He kisses down to your jaw, then nips.

"D-did you just bite me?" You stammer.

"Oh, love," He coos. "That was hardly a bite."

He presses more kisses to your neck and then bites, hard, and it draws a sound out of the back of your throat that mortifies you.

You want to melt into the wall. Your hand flies up to try to cover your mouth, but he catches you by the wrist - pinning it against the bricks.

"Uh uh. I want to hear," He says, biting down again.

You do, indeed, reward him with another sound that chokes into a gasp when his cooling tongue soothes over the bite.

He moves away, eyes falling to your lips once more.

"Oops!" Suo pulls away, a smug quality to his smile. "Got a bit carried away there, didn't I!"

You stare at him, wide eyed, heaving and disheveled. Your cheeks are on fire.

"Sorry, love," He says innocently, rubbing circles on your hip with his thumb, as if he hadn’t just kissed you senseless.

You can't meet his eyes. You don’t know what to say first, but what comes out: "D-did you have to bite me?"

"Oh?" He asks, eye glinting. "Absolutely."

ix.

You can't wipe this kiss ... er, well, kisses - from your mind.

It's all you can think about.

You feel like a silly school girl, unable to stop your mind from wondering to his darkened eye swimming with ... desire, you suppose.

You didn't know what you'd done to deserve such a look!

You weren't even a very good wife or anything!

Hell, until he'd kissed you like that - you'd never really known he'd ... you'd just thought you where to be married on paper and nothing more.

Ug, you could still feel his lips moving on yours.

You really hated this!

When you almost chopped your hand off again helping Yurie prepare a meal, you decided that you where going to confront him about this.

You stood in front of the door to his office.

You where going to confront him!

But ... how exactly?

What would you say?

You hear a familiar chuckle on the other side of the screen. "Are you going to just keep standing there, or are you going to come in?"

You, very ungracefully, slam the door open.

Suo smiles at you.

You stomp across the mat, sitting before him.

Your hands fidget in your lap, already starting to darken with a blush. "About - about the other day."

"You mean when I kissed you outside of the banquet?"

Despite your embarrassment, your happy he doesn't beat around the bush. "Yes. Um, why."

"Why?" He echoes, brow quirked.

"Yes, why."

He tilts his head. "Because I wanted to?" He says. "Can't I kiss my future bride?"

You slam your hand down. "Not like that you can't!"

"Did you like it?"

"I - " You stammer, eyes darting around.

"It's alright if you did," He coaxes.

"It ..." You shift. "Surprised me."

"Really? But I've been flirting with you this whole time!"

You squint at him. "You've been messing with me! You say weird things all the time! I never know when you’re joking or not!”

"I've been honest with you," He says. "Very honest. In fact, so honest I deserve another kiss."

"You can't just decide -! "

"Please?" He says. "If not now, then when? If I have to wait too long again, it's going to build up like last time - and I don't think you want that."

"Look!" You hold a hand out to stop him from approaching you. "You can do it again! Just ... less. It was a bit ... too much ..."

"Hmm," He puts a finger to his chin as if thinking. "You where shaking,"

"Shut up!" You snap.

You move forward on your knees to him with the intent of shutting him up but you falter half way when you catch him looking at you in that way again. It's intense, weighty.

"I - " You swallow. You gulp, looking down at his lips - you can feel his breath.

You will yourself to move.

"Young master, breakfast!" Yurie's voice chimes.

You fall forward into his lap and start to skitter backwards, but he catches your wrist.

"Oh! Is the mistress in there with you? Breakfast!"

"Coming!" Suo sings back, pressing his lips to the inside of your wrist as he looks up at you.

You quiver, looking down at him with wide eyes.

"Let's go eat," He says lowly. "Shall we?”

x.

One minute your shopping with Yurie, and the next minute you are gone.

When you awaken, a familiar stands over you face stands over you. "Mother?"

The woman looks down at you. "Mother, what are you - "

"There was no there way."

"What-what do you mean?"

"That man - he wouldn't let us see you, even when we called the marriage off."

"What?" You ask, mind racing. "Why would you do that?"

She frowns. "I do not need to explain myself to you."

"But I - "

"What? Love him?" She laughs. "Do you think he loves you?"

You pause. Could he? You remember the kimonos, and how he held your hand so gingerly, and the the kisses he'd spared after the first one that always turned searing. Yurie had laughed at the two of you, murmuring something about young love to herself.

"He does." You say, steadfast.

Something in your eyes glints and your Mother turns away.

"Well. It matters very little."

Suddenly you remember that look in his eye that day in the marketplace - the icy chill in his voice.

"Mother," You say, and she looks at you. "For your safety, I would request you return me to Suo. I ... I don’t want him to hurt you.”

She laughs again. "Bluffing won't save you dear." Her laughing cuts off, eyes dull and exhausted. "Not even I can do that."

xii.

The room they keep you in is dark, undisturbed - until the man in a suit and fedora comes.

He hurts you, plain and simple.

Your parents had done many things, but they had never laid a hand on you. The pain is unfamiliar and hard to bear.

And after what could have been days or hours, something strange happens.

The man moves to hurt you again and it bounces off. He tries again and his attack slides off of the iridescent bubble once more.

He seems satisfied with this, sporting a toothy smile that could make milk curdle.

He goes for another blow, then seizes. Icicles sprout from his chest.

The temperature of the very room drops, freezing the tears on your cheeks.

Your savior comes into view, eye hard and merciless. Cold air streams from his lips.

"Suo ... " You rasp, lips quirking. You are too weak to smile.

He gathers you into his arms immediately, holding you against him. "I'm sorry I took so long to find you, my love. But I'm here now."

"Everything ... " Pain flickers across your face. "...Hurts..."

He's clutching you so tightly. “I know, my heart, I know."

"Hayato - " You say, and you feel him freeze against you. "Hayato, I - "

"Shut up." He grits out.

"But, I - "

"Won't die here. Keep your eyes open for me."

"But I'm so tired," You say. "And..."

"You won't leave me," He snaps. "I won't let you."

"I won't," You agree, eyes lowering. "Hayato, I - "

"Shut up!"

"I ... love you..."

xiii.

Hayato is strange after that.

Both close and extremely far.

He stays silently glued to your side, even after he's sure your family is no longer powerful enough to take you from him, again, he still insists on coming with you to every shopping trip and excursion he can - asking you to postpone if otherwise.

He doesn't say those three words back.

You try not to be hurt about it, and continue on as normal as possible. Well, as normal as your injuries allow.

In time, your Mother's words begin to eat away at you.

Maybe you were mistaken after all.

You approach Hayato in the courtyard, taking a deep breath, saying his name.

He opens his eye to look up at you.

You take another deep breath, wring your hands. "I understand ... if after what my family has done - the grave insult they have caused ... if you do not wish to marry me anymore."

He looks truly taken aback, which would be funny in any other circumstance.

The brunt of his focus is heavy. "And if you left here? What would you do then?"

"I ... don't know," You admit, looking away. "But ... I wouldn't be a burden to you any longer."

"That's what you think I see you as?" He murmurs, more to himself than you.

You shift.

"Do you know," He asks, in a strangely hoarse voice. "Do you know how I felt when I saw you lying there? Beaten? Broken?"

You stay silent.

"It took everything in my being not to kill them all."

You glance to him and he's looking at you.

There is no remorse or regret in his eye.

"You don't deserve the love of any more monsters."

Your fists curl at your side. "You - you take that back."

His eye widens slightly at your tone.

“You - you saved me."

He starts to open his mouth, but you’re faster.

"I was afraid I was going to die there, all alone, in the dark, but you came for me!" You say, unshed tears in your eyes as you yell. "And you! You don't get to talk about the man I love like that!"

Hayato stays silent.

"And you - you love me too!" You accuse. "And you don't have to say it back, right now. Or at all, if you don't feel that way - ”

"I love you." He says, breathlessly.

"Oh," You says dumbly. "Oh."

His hands find your waist, pulling you into his lap. "Why do you sound so surprised? Didn't you say you knew?"

"Well, I wasn't - wasn't completely sure." You grumble. "And - and it's different hearing you - hearing you actually say it."

"I can say it again," He mummers, rubbing circles on your hip. "Until it becomes as natural as breathing."

You cover your face with your hands, wondering if your poor heart can take such a thing.

[crevicedwelling]

when I had the quail for some reason I would line the day’s eggs up every night in the same order and take a picture of it. a lovely feature of Coturnix quail is that each hen has a particular style of egg, with roughly regular patterns, colors, and shape. it made breakfasts charmingly personal, since I’d go out and offer a bit of scrambled egg and live roaches back to the hens who’d laid it.

miss those birds