#just a doodle but i poured my heart into it for them

[dancing-with-stars]

this is planet j1407b, the exoplanet with the largest number of ring systems ever discovered.

[sunnypopoki]

— 𝐌𝐔𝐙𝐙𝐋𝐄 ; P.2

(𝘠𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘧𝘪𝘢 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳)

𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗢𝗣𝗦𝗜𝗦: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘴, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬.

ᴛᴡ: ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜰᴏᴜʟ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ, ᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴀꜰᴀʙ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴇᴛᴄ.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʜᴀꜱ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɪɴ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄɪᴢᴇ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇꜱ, ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴏ ꜱᴏ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏᴘᴏᴋɪ ᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, Qᴜᴏᴛᴇᴠ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ.

Р.1 / Р.3

The bed was cold whenever you woke up. Your fingers slid across the crisp sheets, feeling for Kieran's warmth even though you already knew he wasn't there. A headache pounded against your temples. Your cheeks were stiff with dried tears. The air was cold and you already wanted to roll back over and go back to sleep, hating the chill in the room.

You didn't feel as distraught as last night. Maybe it was the solid eight hours of sleep, but your brain was fuzzy and lacking. A groan tore through your lips as you stumbled out of bed and wiped at your eyes.

The floorboards were cold and you wondered if Kieran accidentally turned off the heat. You shivered and ran your hands down your arms.

The house was still. Even the dust in the air seemed to move in slow motion, barely drifting through the rays of sunlight that poured through the open windows. You shuffled down the hallway and glanced at the living room. Undisturbed, neat, stale. You almost forgot that you sat there with Kieran last night before he got his phone call. A nasty taste formed under your tongue, lips pursing into a thin line.

If only there was a switch you were able to turn off in your brain. It was the morning and you were already regretting waking up to get breakfast. You rubbed at your eyes and paused at the kitchen doorway and the cold tiled flooring bit at your bare feet.

The clock ticked, telling you it was 4:00 PM. You woke up late again.

A single message was laid on the counter on a pink posted note. You picked it up and noticed Kieran's handwriting that was scribbled down in a rush. Next to it was a small doodle of him holding a heart. It read;

Good morning my кошечка! I'm writing this before leaving for work, but I made you some breakfast and put it in the fridge. Strawberry pancakes and the syrup, if you want any, are in the pantry on the top shelf. I will be back around 5 this evening, remember to eat lunch. I will eat dinner with you tonight. I love you.

You were grateful for any food that he made you. Hell, you were grateful that he even thought of you in the first place to make you food whenever he didn't have to... But you'd rather have his presence instead of some warmed-up pancakes. You crumpled up the posted note and tossed it away. You were hungry but you didn't want to eat, you didn't have the energy or motivation to chew and swallow, much less sit down at the table.

Leaning against the counter, you ran your hands down your face. There were so many things you didn't want to do. You didn't want to brush your teeth, take a shower, or put on a fresh pair of clothes. You didn't want to sleep and you didn't want to be awake either.

The only thing you could think of was Kieran, yet you couldn't shake him off.

The pancakes were left untouched. It was just another meal in the fridge that was waiting to go bad. You couldn't promise that you were going to eat them later whenever you didn't even want to look at them. Kieran would ask later, 'What's wrong? you didn't eat the pancakes I left for you' and you would have to say another lie. It was just your stomach, or you didn't see the note until after you ate something else, or you weren't in the mood for pancakes.

It took everything in your power just to force yourself to go to the bathroom. Even then, he stayed on your mind as you splashed your face with cold water. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you frowned at the dark circles and reluctantly brushed your teeth. A pimple was right above your right brow. God, you didn't want to catch glimpses of yourself either, much less stare into the mirror.

What can I do to make the rest of this day productive?

You hadn't a clue. This only left you waltzing around the house, dabbling in some things, but getting up again whenever you got bored. You couldn't keep still no matter what you tried to do. By six, your mood was bitter, annoyed at your lack of interest in anything and annoyed at why you were feeling so depressed.

Stopping in the middle of the hallway, your eyes snapped to the closed door on the right. That was Kieren's at-home office. He rarely ever used it and it was mostly used as a place for him to store things from his rented out big office or important documents. You were aware that all your birth certificates and SSN cards were locked up in a safe in there. But what else? The last time you went in there was like two months ago, but he usually went in there weekly, even if it was just to grab something.

What if he is hiding something?

Reaching out to the handle, you hesitated. However, that lasted only a short time because curiosity got the best of you. You turned the handle and peeked inside.

His home office was small and cramped, which was why he rented out a room in a small building in the city to have his own office for editing and focusing on work. The walls were lined with books and files, and a small desk was cluttered with papers of all kinds. He needed to clean it out. However, you felt grateful that he hadn't already.

A small look around wouldn't hurt anyone, right? Guilt was already threatening to turn you around and march you back to your room, to put yourself in time-out, but you needed to know if something was going on with him. Your hands fiddled with the handle of the door before you stepped into the room and closed it behind you. A small peak. That's all you wanted. It wasn't like you were going to turn the room upside down to look for things against him.

The inside wasn't dusty and you noticed recent documents on his desk. It was good that he didn't desert the small room entirely for his bigger office. You shuffled to sit on the chair and drummed your fingers against the wood.

Where to start?

You didn't know what you were looking for. Something to give you peace of mind that didn't include talking to Kieran about it. If he was cheating, he wasn't going to outright tell you about it. You weren't sure where he'd hide things if he didn't want them to be found. He had his phone on him and that wasn't something you felt comfortable snooping in, but his laptop had everything about his work.

You hesitantly pulled his laptop closer and opened it. A small peak. It wouldn't do anything. It wasn't like you were going to shame if you found anything raunchy. Sure... it was something he probably should talk to you about, but you didn't blame him, since you weren't exactly someone who was giving him fun nights even if the two of you were married.

Maybe he has gotten bored of me because I haven't had sex with him yet, you thought. It's not that I don't find him attractive it's just...

The idea of intimacy like that scared you. All the possibilities of what could go wrong, what would hurt, and what would be uncomfortable.

Kieran always said he understood and that it didn't bother him that the tow is you weren't intimate in bed. But maybe that was a lie. Maybe he found pleasure in stuff on the internet or some woman he kept seeing. You'd be fine living a life with him even if it meant no intimate pleasures at all, but maybe he didn't think the same way you did. He probably had a lot of pent-up stress and desires, so was it your fault for not doing it with him? Right?

Was he going to leave you for someone else because of that?

Your hands were shaking as the screen turned on. His password was his old childhood cat's name: Sonya. At least he didn't bother to change the password into something you didn't know, that was a good sign, right? You swallowed the lump in your throat and tapped at the keyboard. Ding. You were in.

There were a lot of random things on his desktop. You noticed the editor and graphic design apps, such as Microsoft and Blender, and a few games that you haven't played before in your life.  You tapped at the desk absentmindedly and debated with yourself, wondering if you should just go and watch TV, but an app caught your eye.

M?

You noticed the icon at the bottom of the screen with the letter M. It wasn't a familiar-looking app, nothing you've downloaded onto your laptop before, and it was suspicious. The design wasn't good at all. You chewed on your bottom lip and dragged the cursor over to open it. This app would be the only thing you'd look at. Not his search history or anything—no. You'd have to give him some privacy.

That didn't change the fact that it was hard giving him privacy—not whenever his privacy was the whole reason you were suspicious of him in the first place.

The one thing you wanted to know was where he was going with his business trips. As an editor, you knew that he could have a business trip. Sometimes he met up with clients, however, lately, it's been very frequent. You were jealous of it. If it was someone he was meeting, even for work, why were they more important than his wife? he didn't need to go to work that often, right?

The app opened up and you blinked at the messages that were waiting there. All empty chats with numbers as names, except one. It was named 'Sam' and you noticed a couple of messages within the chat. Maybe a client? Or was it someone he was cheating on you with? Your mouth ran dry.

Okay, maybe you shouldn't be looking at his stuff. Just because you were suspicious, shouldn't you wait until you see him in the act of cheating instead of snooping? This wasn't right. It was a shady app, but maybe this was a client that he wasn't supposed to tell you about. As an editor, he wasn't allowed to share the works he was helping writers with, which went against his agreement.

"I shouldn't be looking at this..."

Yes, you shouldn't, but you needed to know. Why was he always leaving late at night and going on long business trips? Why was he always late whenever the two of you went on dates? Why was he always getting calls? Why did he never stay long enough to sleep in your shared bed? It didn't even feel like his bed anymore...

"Just one peek and that's it," you whispered, "please, don't let me find anything."

You opened the chat and gnawed on your bottom lip. There were only a couple of messages, all of them sporadic at what time they were sent. You paused, freezing when your eyes were glued to a specific set of messages.

Sam -- 3:25 AM

Come see me.

Kieran -- 3:27 AM

Make it quick.

Your hands froze above the keyboard. If you had to be honest, you weren't sure what you were looking at. That was about two weeks ago. What was he doing two weeks ago? Your brain wracked to remember what he did that week and how many times he left the house, but it was a blur. Every week was the same in the long run. You glanced down at the most recent message. It was from Sam.

Sam -- 10:00 AM

Where the hell are you at? Respond to this when you see it. You told me you'd see me today.

Your muscles collapsed. Falling back into the seat, you stared at the screen dumbly, lungs gathering in as much air as they could before you stopped breathing entirely. Everything was cold; your bones, muscles, and blood.

Sam was a unisex name. For all you knew, this was the woman he could be cheating on you with. The messages were distrustful enough. The one from two weeks ago was at three in the morning and this Sam person was asking to meet him? He agreed, so even if you didn't remember that week perfectly, it wouldn't have surprised you to know he went somewhere at three in the morning. Just last night, he left at an odd time and has yet to come back.

Is he with her now?

The thought was crushing. You could imagine it at the forefront of your mind; you saw him panting, grinding his hips into some woman you didn't know, moaning her name like some sort of mantra. His hands would be all over her body and her palms would graze down his inked skin, tracing the very same lines that you have. He would hold her hands, he would kiss her lips, and move his hips like a starved beast.

Tears rolled down your cheeks.

No.

No, no, no.

None of this was real. You were just jumping to conclusions again, you didn't know that this person was a woman, and even if it was—him going to meet her at 3 in the morning wasn't cheating, right? That didn't guarantee that he was having sex with her, dating her, kissing her.

Your nails carved crescents into your palms.

You were angry. You didn't quite get it, but all the hurt you felt manifested like a hot steel rod through your heart. Short breaths escaped your lips and a choking sob followed. You didn't want to cry, you were tired of crying, but that didn't stop your heart from collapsing and burning all over again. So you punched, you punched at your knees and thighs until you knew bruises would form later, and you didn't stop.

"Damn it!" you wheezed, fist slamming down on his desk so hard that a pile of papers slipped to the floor. "Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!"

He didn't.

He wouldn't.

The chair tipped back whenever you got up. You were dizzy and you blamed it on how fast you were breathing, aggressively wiping at your tears until your eyes turned red and raw. The office door slammed shut behind you as you fumbled to throw on some new clothes and shoes, tossing on a hat to hide your hair. You needed out of the house. Anywhere, yes anywhere! You'd go anywhere that was better than this place.

He wouldn't have done it, right? No, he wouldn't have! You didn't know anything for certain. Yes, you just had to stop jumping to conclusions. In fact, it would be better if you just stopped thinking entirely. Shut your brain off and stop questioning your husband's loyalty, because no way he would cheat on you—

But what if he is? you thought, Sam could be better than me in everything. She could be prettier, smarter, sexier. What if she gives him what he wants with sex? What if he is happy and satisfied with her?

Wouldn't that make you selfish for wanting to keep hanging onto him?

You kicked the pot outside. It shattered when it fell off the porch and you cursed, stomping past it, and going down the street. Your eyes were puffy and red, cheeks blotchy from your stupid waterworks, and you looked messy. You didn't care. You couldn't gather the energy to care. So you walked down to the store that was a couple blocks away at the bottom of the hill, gripping your wallet tightly.

You needed a long walk to calm you down. So you did just that—you walked to the store as slowly as possible, sucking in the cold air, wishing all your foul emotions would melt away like that sloshy snow on the side of the road.

It didn't take long to reach the store. Unluckily for you, you didn't notice the slightly dimming sky. It always got dark early in winter.

The store was welcoming. There was no one inside except two workers who were minding their own business. They flashed you a smile before you scurried to the back of the store, grabbing a pack of your favorite chips and a soda from one of the fridges. You exhaled and glanced at the tempting chocolates near the front. You didn't need them, plus you had a feeling you'd eat them all in one go and make yourself sick, so you refrained from buying them.

Sighing, you walked up to the front and placed your items on the counter. An older lady walked up to the register, the pretty red ribbons styling in her hair catching your eye. They matched the red eyeshadow around her eyes and the red mascara she was wearing.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" the cashier raised a worried eyebrow when she noticed your appearance, glanced around, and then lowered her voice, "Do you need me to call someone for you? Are you in trouble?"

You managed a weak smile. "I'm good, just a rough day."

It took everything in your power to not spill your guts to this lady. Oh, how you wanted to tell someone about what you were going through, what you were thinking, but who would you tell? All your friends were in happy relationships, they wouldn't understand, and couldn't speak to the one man you usually told everything to because it was about him.

The cashier smiled softly, saying, "Oh, I apologize. I heard there have been a lot of kidnappings around here recently, so I wanted to make sure there was no bad person in the store with you. Women need to look out for other women!"

Your chest warmed up at her smile. "Yes, we do. Thank you. I love how your charms and makeup match, it's very pretty."

The cashier bashfully waved her hand and laughed. "Aww thank you! You look like you have a kind heart, so I things get better for you, sweetie. Hopefully, these snacks will make you feel better."

She handed you the bag and you nodded, muttering a 'thank you' and a simple 'I hope you have a good evening' before you turned on your heel and bolted for the exit.

The doors slid open and that warm feeling in your chest faded, pausing to stop and stare at the sky. It got dark quickly. It wasn't fully dark, the sun was just over the horizon, painting orange and pink streaks into the clouds. A bird flew down and perched on a lamppost.

If only you were a bird. They were able to fly anywhere they wanted to go, they didn't have a care in the world, and they didn't have to struggle with whatever mess you were struggling with. You didn't know how you should label what you were going through. You didn't know if your spouse was a cheater, you didn't know if you deserved to be cheated on, and you didn't know why you were dragging it with you.

Just like that, the nice interaction you had was in the back of your mind, and you felt like shit again.

Why can't I just be the type of wife who trusts him?

You always compared yourself to the images of wives you saw on TV and the internet. Smiling, happy, and who had great communication with their spouses—yet here you were, afraid to ask your husband just because you didn't want to face the fact that it might be real. To face the fact you could potentially lose him. You were angry at him too, you didn't want to hear excuses, and you didn't want to look at him.

Yeah, maybe you did deserve to get cheated on, but you were still pissed at him for discarding you if he did. For tossing you out like you were nothing as if he forgot all the years the two of you have been together.

If he cared, you were starting to no longer feel it. That gnawing thought that each time he kissed you, he imagined it was another girl. His touches felt distant at times and you wondered what else he had on his mind to make him so ghostly.

You glanced down at the chips and soda in your bag. So much for trying to eat the pancakes he made later. You didn't have the desire to eat anything he made, you'd end up crying again if you did. Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you glanced down, moving the heavy bag around as you struggled to get your phone out.

Speak of the devil, and he shall arrive.

Kieran ❤︎  -- 9:48 PM

Where are you?

Your lip twitched into a frown. From what you saw earlier, you didn't want to talk to him at all. Your mind was still reeling with what message you saw on his laptop, wondering just who Sam was, and why everything was so suspicious. Your face was stiff from the bitter cold and all the dried-up tears you sobbed earlier.

It wasn't fair. He was asking where you were but each time you asked him, he either was vague or said some sort of response that didn't make sense! Your teeth gritted together and you felt tears welling back up. Angry. You were absolutely livid at him. You were livid at yourself. Hell, you wanted to scream at something but you didn't know who deserved to be screamed at.

Was it you because you weren't a good enough wife for him to stay around? Or was it him for not staying around in the first place?

You managed to type back. Even so, no matter how angry you were, or how sad, you always found yourself responding the longer you stared at his name on the top of the screen.

You — 9:49 PM

Store. Walking home now.

You watched the bubble appear. Within seconds, before you had the chance to put your phone away and pretend you never saw his message, he replied.

Kieran ❤︎ — 9:50 PM

Stay put and don't leave the store. I'm coming to pick you up. It's not safe for you to be walking out when it is getting dark ❤

You wanted to throw your phone. You stomped your foot and shoved your phone into your pocket, glaring holes into the cement as you stood out on the sidewalk outside the story.

It wasn't terribly dark yet but it was dark enough that it wasn't safe. That was your fault, you were the idiot for giving into your compulsions and going to the store whenever you wanted to go out of the house. Yes, you should wait for Kieran, no matter how angry you were because it was the responsible thing to do.

But you didn't want to wait. The house was only two blocks away and you knew everyone in the neighborhood. It wasn't like you hadn't walked out to the store before in the dark, so what would happen this time? You had your keys and the can of soda in the bag would be a good weapon to swing at someone.

He never tells me where he's going, you cussed inwardly, so he can just suck it up and wait for me to walk home.

Yes, you were being petty.

But who wouldn't be? You just found a very suspicious message on your husband's laptop from someone named 'Sam', and now he wanted you to wait for him to come and pick you up. You were hurt. You were angry. You were confused. You didn't want to see his face but at the same time, all you wanted to do was to snap at him for him to explain everything.

It had to be your fault, right? Why else wouldn't he want to spend time with you if it wasn't your fault?

You let your emotions get the best of you, storming down the side of the street as you ventured farther and farther away from the sanctuary of the store. Street lamps flickered as you walked up the hill with your shoes clicking against the sidewalk. There was no sign of the car he was in.

The thought of sitting down on the concrete and letting your heart out was tempting. There was no one around and you were getting tired of the same bleak, lonely expanse of your home. The sidewalk looked more welcoming than the bed at home you could cry on. You stopped dead in your tracks and sighed, tears welling up. 

You didn't even realize you were sinking to your knees before you were already sitting on the sidewalk. You weren't sobbing, no wailing, but single tears that rolled quietly down.

So many people would say so many things if they saw you like this. Maybe they'd call you dramatic, maybe they were right, but everything felt so suffocating. You felt trapped. You didn't want to go home but you wanted to be home, you wanted Kieran to hold you but you also didn't want to see him. It was all so complex.

Maybe everyone would call you cowardly and pathetic. God, you already knew that. You were crying on the sidewalk instead of going up to him and asking him—but what if he said an answer you didn't want to hear? What if he admitted to cheating? What if he said he didn't love you anymore? The fear of rejection was the one reason you kept your mouth shut... the fear of losing him.

If you lost him, you didn't think you could fall in love again.

You don't think you would want to.

All you wanted was to have the love of your life back; his smiles, his hugs, him holding you to sleep. You wanted the man you saw at your wedding—when he looked at you as if you were the only person to exist. But now maybe that wasn't true. Maybe you were just a woman he didn't want to be around anymore. Maybe you were dragging him down and he was just waiting for the perfect time to tell you.

God, I'm so scared, you thought. What if I'm right? What if it isn't all in my head?

Your phone buzzed. No. You wanted to ignore him, you wanted to stay here, you wanted to cry until all that was left was a numb destroyed path.

The last time you had a good unashamed cry, you couldn't remember. It was always muffled because Kieran was around or you were in your car, but now no one was around, but now you were too tired to sob like you wanted to. Crying made you feel like a crybaby, like some bitch who couldn't keep it together, even though you had every reason to shed a couple tears.

You were angry at yourself for going behind his back to snoop through his laptop because you were too scared to have an adult conversation with him, you were angry at him for always leaving you alone and confused, and you were angry that this situation was even happening.

God, you felt so repetitive. Yeah, you were angry and sad, maybe you should just stop whining and dwelling on it. How easy everything would be if you could.

"Hey girly, you okay?"

You froze. For a split second, you thought it was Kieran, but it was two men when you looked up. Two white men, one with a buzz cut and the other had a short perm, tattoos covering their arms. Cigarettes hung from their fingertips. Maybe it was because you were used to how Kieran looked, but you didn't immediately assume they were 'bad guys' because of how they looked.

You wiped your tears away and sniffled, "Uhm, shit, yes I'm okay."

The man with the buzz cut raised an eyebrow. A shiver shot down your spine whenever he smiled. Okay, maybe he was a bad guy because something about this felt wrong.

"Why is a cute thing like you cryin' in a place like this?" he asked, then glanced at his friend, "a poor girly like this shouldn't be cryin' out on the street, don'cha agree?"

The other man nodded, "Yeah. Where are ya' going?"

Sweat trickled down your back. You stumbled up from the ground, backing away from them, gripping your bag just in case you had to swing it. You cleared your throat and did your best to sound firm, "I'm heading home, so if you'll excuse me..."

The men smiled like preying hyenas. "Oh, we can walk you home--"

"(Y/N), thank god!"

Your head snapped to the side when Kieran shouted. There he was, rushing towards you in a jog, stopping to catch his breath. Why wasn't he in the car? He looked distraught. His hair was a wild mess, sweat on his brow, panic in his eyes that fell into relief whenever he saw you. He didn't give you a chance to speak before he grabbed your shoulders, yanked you into him, and crushed you in a hug.

"Why the hell did you not answer any of my calls? You didn't text me back either, fuck, I thought something happened to you! I told you I was going to pick you up!"

You were stunned. He pulled back and cupped your face, noticing your tear-stained cheeks. He looked like he just got sucker punched in the gut.

"Why are you crying, Котик? Did something happen?"

Oh, how it looked in his eyes. He probably assumed the worst happened to you whenever you weren't at the store and all his calls and messages were ignored. You couldn't blame him for being panicked. Guilt stabbed you through the heart; you just scared him to death just because you were angry and sad over a questionable situation. It was an immature reaction based on an assumption and now he was the one dealing with the aftermath.

Suddenly, you felt like the worst piece of shit in the world.

However, anything you wanted to say was stolen from your lips whenever Kieran looked up. The two men who tried talking to you stared back with unimpressed, raised eyebrows. Kieran's eyes narrowed.

"Who are you?"

The man with the buzz cut grinned. "Oh, well we saw this girly sitting on the sidewalk so—"

"I asked who you are?" Kieran deadpanned, "that means your name."

Both the men shuffled on their feet. The man with the shaggy hair spoke, glaring, "What do you want our names for? It doesn't matter."

Kieran pursed his lips. Whatever he was thinking, you couldn't read it, and you could tell they couldn't either by the way they started to glance at each other. He sighed and his fingers fumbled with the edge of your shirt. He glanced down at you, giving you whiplash with how soft he looked at you.

"Did these men hurt you? What happened?"

"Hey! We already said--"

Kieran's voice dropped and he glanced at them, his glare cold enough to send a chill through hell, "I didn't fucking ask you, so keep your mouth shut until I tell you to open."

You didn't try to speak, you just shook your head and gripped his arm tighter. Kieran snapped his head back up to glare at them and they squirmed. He analyzed them for a bit, letting them get increasingly nervous by the second.

"Now that I look at you, you seem familiar. Elliot? Elliot Smith?"

The man with the buzz cut, Elliot, froze.

"I heard about you. I have a friend who works in the police, he told me about you. Weren't you charged with sexual harassment three months ago?" Kieran stared, his expression cold, "There have been some rumors recently that you've been trying to get into gang activity as well."

Elliot's face turned red as if all the air supply was cut off to his face. He looked like a plum when his cheeks grew from red to purple, his eyes shifting through different emotions to gauge what to say next. You blinked. He was charged with sexual harassment? How did Kieran know about something like that? When did he get a friend who was a cop?

Is the cop Sam?

Kieran wasn't a man who watched the news that often, so you doubted he was lying about where he got the information. You shuffled on your feet and his hand held you tighter. Damn it. You really threw "stranger danger" out the window just because you were pissed and wanted to spite your husband by walking home instead of waiting for him.

Elliot stumbled forward and started to stammer out his words. Kieran didn't step back, but you didn't miss the way his muscles tensed up like a wild cat about to lunge forward. He started to drum his fingers against your arm—you weren't sure if he was trying to comfort you or distract you.

"I am not in the mafia, Russian bastard!"

Kieran raised an eyebrow. He ignored the obvious attack on his ethnicity, not caring that he was called a Russian bastard. He tilted his head, "the mafia?"

"Yeah! You're accusing me of working with the mafia just because of some still rumors you heard from a cop. Those rumors aren't--"

"Ah, no," he smiled humorlessly, "I imagine they aren't interested in уличные дворняги. Plus I said gang activity, as in little boys running around with baseball bats and pockets filled with drugs."

Elliot's buddy jumped forward to save his friend's skin. His glare didn't match Kieran's, it was weak and anxious. His hand was shaking and he pointed a hand at you. You feared what bullshit he was going to come up with and you didn't get a chance to interrupt before he spouted it.

"You should give us to her, man. If you go around accusing people of crimes, you probably do shit yourself, like abusing her. I bet you're the one who made her cry. Her eyes are puffy, she looked fuckin' defeated when we saw her. So hand her over before we call the cops."

Time stopped.

Kieran sucked in a breath.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm saying that you probably abuse her or something! If you don't leave her with us, man, we will call the cops on you!"

Kieran's face shifted into something darker. Much darker. That sweet and worried expression he had for you molded into something malicious. The last time you saw a look like that was whenever some kid in your freshman year of high school insulted you. That same kid got two of his teeth knocked out that same day. Kieran never told you he did it, he acted like he didn't know, but you remembered vividly how he tried to hide the blood caked under his nails back then.

You never thought something like this would happen. Sure, they haven't harrassed you, but accusing Kieran of abuse whenever he hasn't done anything wrong made your chest bubble up. You were the one who screwed up and got all of you in this situation, not him.

"Hey, he's not—"

Kieran squeezed your shoulder. You saw the way he glanced down at you, subtly shaking his head, telling you to leave it to him. You weren't sure what he was thinking anymore or what he was doing—all you wanted was to go home. It was you who put everything in this situation because of an emotional mistake, so you should be the one to suck up your responsibility and leave the situation.

"leave her with you?"

Elliot spoke up. "The poor girly was crying and now some tattooed, large bastard like you comes up! You think the police would believe—"

"And they'll believe someone who was recently released from prison for sexual harassment?"

Elliot clamped his mouth shut. His eyes snapped to you, narrowing into daggers, and sweat built on your brow. He pointed an angry finger at you.

"Well isn't it her fucking fault for walking out whenever it's dark? She doesn't have brains if she thinks that someone looking like her would be able to go home without getting hit on! It's normal for good-looking women."

Oh, if looks could kill, you were sure that those two men would have dropped dead. Elliot paled when he noticed how Kieran was glaring at him. He was on the edge, two seconds away from grabbing that hand and seeing how many times he could bend his finger until it snapped off.

It was scary. You'd be lying if you said that you weren't scared of an expression like that, because you had a feeling that the only reason he wasn't violent was because you were there.

Just like when the two of you were younger.

"...Kieran, why—why don't we go home? Okay?" you stammered, "We don't need to waste our time here. We wanted to have dinner together, remember?"

Kieran's lip twitched and his green eyes shifted down to you. They were sharp and calculating, his arm wrapped around you like a coiled spring.

"Let's just go home," you whispered. Please.

By the look of Elliot's face, he was hoping the two of you would leave too, scurrying back closer to his friend who had been quiet throughout the entire ordeal. You didn't blame him. He looked just as grey and sickly as the cement beneath their feet.

Kieran's jaw was clenched. He stared at you as if he was debating all the options he had. You knew him, he didn't like being violent in front of you and always lied in the past about where he was. You weren't naive. You were very much aware that he was violent and you knew that he hated that you knew. To him, he just wanted you to view him as a dazzling husband.

Which he was—just dangerous too.

The two men didn't dare act cocky whenever he finally turned to leave with you. His hand grasped yours and he dragged you back down to the store, not looking back, as if he feared he might actually break their fingers off if he looked at their faces again.

You had a hard time keeping up with his long strides. His head was in the clouds so he didn't bother to slow down, gritting his teeth as he barely managed to make it to the parking lot without turning back.

Kieran sometimes had to use self-restraint when it came down to hurting others. Sometimes, you said, because it wasn't every day that he listened to it. You stumbled behind him.

"Slow down a bit! My legs—my legs aren't as long as yours!"

It was a miracle he actually heard you. Like a dog hearing a special command, he stopped dead in his tracks and you almost rammed your nose into his back. You inhaled sharply and let the burning of your legs rest a bit. He was basically jogging! You barely had enough courage to meet his eye whenever you noticed the familiar sensation of his gaze boring into your head.

His green eyes were dark.

Oh.

He was angry at you.

The silence was loud even though there was the distant sound of cars honking, the wind between houses, and some cat in an alleyway. You didn't know what to say. You wanted to apologize to him, for making him worry and putting yourself in a dangerous situation because of an emotional decision, but nothing would leave your lips. You opened your mouth, closed it, opened it again, closed it again. You must have looked like a gaping fish out of water.

He had every right to be angry at you. You were aware that you tended to blame yourself in situations where you weren't involved, but you knew that you messed up.

Guilt twisted your gut up into one big knot. You didn't know what to do or say to untangle it, much less make it to where Kieran wasn't staring at you in the way that he was. Angry, confused, questioning why the hell you didn't just wait for him—and you felt guilty because you knew you couldn't just tell him why.

"I..."

He wasn't speaking. Was he waiting for you to give him something to work with? Even if it was some shitty lie or bad excuse? Your hand let go of his and started to fuddle at the hem of your shirt.

"...I'm sorry, I know I—I messed up. I, uhm, I made a bad decision—"

Kieran took a deep breath. How odd that such a small action caused every word you planned to speak to collapse, cutting your apology short. You couldn't look him in the eye. Dangerous thoughts started to swirl around in your head like poison; was he disappointed in you? Was dumb mistakes like this the reason he never stayed around you? Maybe he viewed you as a child who couldn't make reasonable decisions? Were you being emotional? Maybe he wasn't mad at you and you were assuming things?

You wished you had the courage to ask him all those questions. You wished you had the bravery to listen to the answers without crying. But you didn't, so you kept your mouth shut.

Kieran shuffled on his feet and placed a hand under your chin, lifting your head.

"Look at me."

His green eyes weren't as dark as before. He wasn't happy, yeah, but he looked as if he was trying to be gentle and understanding. You swallowed the lump in your throat.

"Thank you for apologizing," he murmured sincerely and he took a deep breath,  hanging his head, "I'm also sorry that men like that decided to target you. You were probably so scared and me acting like... me probably wasn't helping, was it?"

"Well, you—you were with me so I wasn't scared. I was more just... nervous I guess. I don't know, I went off on my own because I was emotional, I'm sorry—"

His eyebrows creased and his hands cupped your face. He was so tender with how his thumbs brushed over your cheeks and he leaned in close, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. He melted at the touch of your skin, fluidly stepping forward and leaning in as close as possible. He drank in your presence, your warmth, the smell of your hair, and the rising and falling off your shoulders.

"Let's... let's talk about this at home, okay? I'm not mad, I just..." he trailed off and his eyes darkened, "I was scared something happened to you. When I couldn't find you at the store, when you weren't responding to my calls or texts, and when I saw those fucking свиньи with you—"

He cut himself off. He closed his eyes and took a couple of breaths.

"We're going home. Come on."

You yelped whenever his hands curved under your knees and he picked you up, carrying you like you were some damsel in distress. Any questions, excuses, or complaints you wanted to say dissipated when you saw that distant look on his face. Just like you've seen before, he looked ghostly, like he saw something you couldn't see. Just where was his head at?

You looked away. Anger buzzed in your bones, guilt was drowning your heart, and you too had a fuzzy feeling inside your head that made you feel distant.

I shouldn't have left the house.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

LINKS :

— 𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘳

— 𝘞𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘱𝘢𝘥

— 𝘘𝘶𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘷

[ P.3 ]

[harrysfolklore]

hi! can i request a little bitch blurb about how YN Piastri starts getting back to discover her individual identity by taking up art classes once again, how carlos supports her through it and Oscar seeing it unfold and is just happy how good Carlos has been for her 💗

THE LITTLE BITCHES + OSCAR = 🥺🥺🥺 also am randomly i revealing that they live together in grove now? absolutely

You're coming back from grabbing coffee with Oscar, who's visiting for the weekend when you notice Carlos acting suspicious, hovering near the stairs of your Grove home.

"What did you break?" you ask.

"Nothing!" He looks offended. "Why do you always assume-"

"Because she's my sister," Oscar chimes in from behind you. "And she's usually right."

"The betrayal," Carlos clutches his chest dramatically. "My own brother-in-law."

"Not your brother-in-law yet," you remind him.

"Yet?" Both men say simultaneously, Oscar gagging while Carlos grins.

"Shut up. Both of you." But you can't help smiling. "Now what are you being weird about?"

Carlos takes your hand. "I have something to show you."

"If this is another simulator setup..."

"Just... come with me?"

There's something in his voice that makes you stop teasing. Oscar catches it too, because he drops onto the couch with a knowing smile.

"I'll wait here. Try not to be gross."

"No promises," Carlos winks, leading you upstairs towards the spare room you hadn't decided what to do with yet.

"Close your eyes."

"Carlos..."

"Please?"

You do, if only because he sounds nervous in a way you rarely hear. You feel him guide you forward, hear a door open.

"Okay. Look."

You open your eyes and forget how to breathe.

The room has been transformed. An easel stands by the window, catching the perfect natural light. There's a craft table, organized with supplies you haven't touched in years. Shelves lined with paints, brushes, papers. A comfortable chair in the corner with a reading lamp.

But it's the walls that make your heart stop. He's hung up your old artwork - pieces you'd forgotten about, sketches from years ago when you still made time for it, before Oscar's career took off and you poured everything into being there for your little brother.

"How did you..."

"Oscar helped," Carlos says softly. "He had some of your old pieces. Your mum found more. I've been collecting them for months."

You touch one sketch - a racing helmet design you'd done for Oscar years ago. "I forgot about these."

"You never forgot. You just... put it aside. For everyone else."

There's a lump in your throat. "Carlos..."

"I see how you doodle during race weekends. How you still sketch in the margins of everything. I thought... maybe it's time you had a space just for you."

You turn to him, vision blurry. "I don't know what to say."

"That's a first," he teases gently, but his eyes are soft. "You've spent so long taking care of everyone else. Being Oscar's rock. Being my... well, personal tormentor-"

"Little bitch."

"There she is." He wraps his arms around you from behind. "I just thought you deserved something that's just yours. Something that isn't about racing or family or me."

You lean back against him, taking in the room. Your room. "When did you do all this?"

"Been working on it while you were with Oscar. Lando helped paint. Though he did try to convince me to make everything papaya orange."

A laugh bubbles through your tears. "Of course he did."

"Do you like it?"

You turn in his arms. "Like it? Carlos, this is... I can't believe you did this."

"So no more calling me little bitch?"

"Oh no, that's eternal." But you kiss him softly. "Thank you. For remembering this part of me."

"I remember all of you. Even the parts you forgot about."

You look around the room again - your room, your space, your forgotten passion carefully brought back to life by the man you once couldn't stand.

"I love you," you whisper.

"Enough to stop with the chihuahua jokes?"

"Let's not get crazy."

He laughs, kissing your temple. "Want me to leave you to explore?"

"Stay? Just for a bit?"

"Of course."

You settle into the chair, pulling him down with you, just taking it all in. This piece of yourself you'd packed away, now unpacked with such care by someone who loves all your pieces.

"Hey Carlos?"

"Mm?"

"My first new piece is going to be a portrait of a stressed chihuahua."

"I'm leaving."

"No you're not."

"No," he kisses your head. "I'm not."

When you finally come back downstairs, eyes still a bit red but smiling, you find Oscar sprawled on the couch playing FIFA.

"So?" he asks without looking up. "Did he do good?"

"You knew about this?"

"Who do you think helped him find all your old stuff?" Now he does look up, grinning. "Remember that helmet design you did for me? The one with the koalas?"

"I can't believe you kept that."

"Course I did. You used to make the coolest stuff before you got all caught up in..." he waves his hand vaguely, "you know, making sure I was okay all the time."

"Oscar..."

"No, don't get emotional on me. I'm just saying..." he glances at Carlos, who's leaning against the doorframe watching you both. "It's good to see you getting back to it. To see someone taking care of you for a change."

"Even if it's this little bitch?" you joke, trying to lighten the moment.

"Even then." Oscar's smile turns mischievous. "Though I still think you could've done better. Like, literally anyone else..."

Carlos throws a cushion at him. "I let you win at FIFA for this?"

"Let me? Mate, I destroyed you!"

"You wish, kangaroo boy."

You watch them bicker, these two most important men in your life, and feel something settle in your chest. Oscar catches your eye mid-argument and mouths 'he's good for you' with a soft smile.

You nod, because he is. More than you deserve.

"Oi!" Oscar's voice breaks through your thoughts. "Stop making gross lovey eyes at each other and someone play with me. I need to prove I'm the superior FIFA player in this household."

"You don't even live here!"

[fortunxa]

Jinx’s take on birthdays

H E A D C A N O N S

「 ✦ Jinx x birthday girl!reader (ft. Isha!) ✦ 」

author’s note: this is my birthday gift to myself, so happy 21st to me! a day late, but the energy is here 🍰 it’s a hefty “birthdays by Jinx” guide, trust. everybody’s included

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

── .✦ in general

⭑.ᐟ Jinx is unpredictable and spontaneous, but she’d put a lot of effort into making you feel special. It wouldn’t necessarily be traditional, but it would scream Jinx’s personal touch. Expect creative, maybe even over-the-top plans.

⭑.ᐟ She’d probably start scheming weeks in advance. She would try to keep it a secret but might accidentally drop hints—giggling to herself or testing out her surprise explosives in the middle of the night.

⭑.ᐟ On the day of, she’d be buzzing with energy, maybe even more excited than you. She’d be jumping around, barely able to contain herself, and constantly checking to make sure everything’s “just right”.

⭑.ᐟ Chaotic wake-up call. Jinx wouldn’t just wake you up—she’d startle you awake. Maybe it’s a mini firework going off, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” screamed at the top of her lungs, or her jumping onto the bed while tossing confetti in the air. She’d think it’s hilarious.

⭑.ᐟ She would wake up early to attempt to make breakfast in bed, and it’d be a mess. The pancakes might come out misshapen, the eggs might be slightly burnt, and the kitchen might look like a warzone, but she’d serve the meal with the biggest, proudest grin, sticking sparklers in it.

– “Chef Jinx, at your service! Presentation’s… optional.”

⭑.ᐟ She would tease you all day with “hints” about what’s coming—big dramatic gestures, mysterious grins, and exaggerated secrecy.

⭑.ᐟ Alternatively, she’d pretend to forget about the birthday at first, just to make the reveal more dramatic.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx might attempt to bake a cake—or something resembling one. It’d probably have lopsided layers, mismatched decorations, and way too much frosting, but she’d remind you it was baked with love. Surprisingly, it ends up tasting quite good, all things considered. She insists on lighting so many candles that it becomes a literal bonfire.

– “Make a BIG wish!”

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would pour her heart out into making a gift. Maybe it’s a painted gadget, a weapon engraved with your initials, or a music box that hums your favorite tune. / She would try her hand at crafting something wearable—a necklace made from colorful wires and gears or a bracelet with tiny charms representing your relationship. / She might secretly collect mementos from your time together—photos, doodles, or little objects from your dates. She’d throw them into a scrapbook and complete it with her graffiti-style art.

⭑.ᐟ Isha would work on a small handmade gift for you as well—a simple drawing or a decorated trinket like a painted stone or a flower crown. She’d try to give it to you directly but hesitate, clinging to Jinx’s sleeve.

– “What are you waiting for, kid? Go give it to her!” And Isha would finally step forward, holding out the gift with both hands and a bashful smile.

⭑.ᐟ The birthday card would be a mix of chaotic doodles and messy handwriting. Jinx might overthink the message, so she’d stick with keeping it short and sweet.

“I suck at words, but you make me feel lucky. Thanks for sticking around, you weirdo. ꨄ︎ Love you. — Jinx :Þ”

⭑.ᐟ She would secretly paint an enormous mural on a wall in Zaun or Piltover, featuring your likeness surrounded by bold, neon colors and chaotic designs. It’d say something cheeky like, “the best girlfriend in Zaun (and Piltover—fight me)”.

⭑.ᐟ If someone tries to upstage her efforts—whether with gifts or plans—she would get hilariously pouty and competitive.

– “Oh, that’s cute, but did they make you a flamethrower? Didn’t think so.”

⭑.ᐟ If anyone else tries to monopolize your attention for too long (even for innocent birthday wishes), she might get possessive and interrupt, playing it off as a joke.

– “Okay, okay, enough. She’s MY birthday girl.”

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would be extra overprotective on your special day, constantly holding your hand or slinging an arm around your shoulders. She’s not only protecting you but your “birthday vibes” as well (her words). She scowls if anyone so much as looks at you funny.

– “You want a birthday beatdown, huh?”

⭑.ᐟ She would absolutely wear a birthday hat all day, and she’d insist you wear one too.

⭑.ᐟ She would write a chaotic, nonsensical birthday song and perform it with full dramatic flair, banging on random objects to create a “beat.”

– “This song’s copyrighted—only for you, babe!”

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would stick to you like glue, constantly poking you, dragging you to see surprises, and showering you with compliments.

– “Wow, your face is so birthday today. Like, insanely cute. Unfair, really.”

– “You’re so perfect, it’s disgusting.”

⭑.ᐟ She might hijack a Piltover broadcast or Zaun’s speakers to publicly shout out your birthday.

⭑.ᐟ She would watch your reactions to everything she planned, grinning like a proud kid.

– “Do you like it? Tell me you like it! C’mon—smile for me!”

⭑.ᐟ She keeps shouting, “IT���S HER BIRTHDAY!” every time someone enters the room, even if it’s someone who already knows.

⭑.ᐟ No matter how chaotic the day is, Jinx would genuinely want you to feel loved and appreciated. She’d get quiet for a moment at the end of the day, letting her vulnerability show.

– “I don’t always get things right, but… you’re my favorite person. So, yeah. Happy birthday, babe.”

⭑.ᐟ As long as there’s leftover cake, she’ll keep celebrating.

– “What do you mean your birthday is over? How am I eating a birthday cake slice, then?”

── .✦ Jinx planning a surprise birthday party

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would throw a chaotic but fun party with a theme that makes sense only to her. Think: “sharks with birthday hats”.

⭑.ᐟ Or, she’d mix everything you like to make a big, nonsensical theme. Think: your favorite animals/colors/anything relating to your interests in one big concoction. (thanks bunny!!<3)

⭑.ᐟ She would talk a mile a minute about her ideas, constantly glancing at Isha to see if she’s keeping up. Isha, sitting cross-legged on the floor, would enthusiastically point to certain parts of Jinx’s sketches or mimic explosions with her hands to signal she loves the idea of fireworks.

⭑.ᐟ Isha would be Jinx’s undercover operative, spying on your preferences.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would drag Isha into a crafting frenzy. They’d make mismatched decorations like paper chains and confetti cannons. Isha would quietly fold a bunch of origami animals to scatter around as subtle decorations, which Jinx would “improve” by adding googly eyes to practically all of them. Can’t forget the banner that says “YOU’RE THE BOMB” (because of course).

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would initially want to handle everything herself, believing that only she could make the party perfect. She’d get flustered when things went wrong but stubbornly refuse to admit she needed assistance.

⭑.ᐟ If things got overwhelming, she might swallow her pride and reluctantly ask for help in last-minute desperation, though it’d come out dramatically.

– “Okay, fine! I need backup.”

⭑.ᐟ To keep the party secret, she would assign ridiculous code names to everything.

the party = “Operation Boom Bash”

the cake = “Project Frosty Delight”

you = “Target Hot Stuff”

⭑.ᐟ She would treat it like a mission briefing, but she’d be annoyingly cryptic with her instructions.

– “Okay, so I need, like, three gallons of paint, a live shark—just for a minute!—and maybe some cupcakes.”

– “How is the live shark a must-have for a birthday party, but cupcakes are a ‘maybe’?”

– “No questions!”

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would be offended if anyone tried to suggest a different idea. She was your girlfriend, after all, and she only wanted the best for you. But she quickly realizes that her demands are nearly impossible to meet, so she tones them down to avoid making the party a disaster. Accepting the help is her way of showing she’s trying to be a better person for you. She wants to show she can do something right.

– “I just want her to be happy, you know? I need this to be right.”

⭑.ᐟ DIY invitations. Jinx would hand-make wild, artistic invitations for the party, even if it’s just for you. They’d be chaotic masterpieces—probably involving glitter and graffiti-like design, with Isha sneaking a doodle of you, Jinx, and herself on the back. Jinx would only invite people she knows you like, even if it means threatening them to RSVP with notes like, “Show up or get kaboomed. <3 Jinx.”

⭑.ᐟ The day of the celebration, she might hand out “party favors” for any friends who join—small, colorful explosives or confetti grenades.

– “Take one! They’re mostly harmless!”

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would constantly check in with you because she’d be genuinely worried about messing things up despite her confidence.

– “You havin’ fun? You like it? How ‘bout now?”

– “You’re smiling, so I guess that means I didn’t screw this up, right?”

⭑.ᐟ She’d pull Isha aside occasionally to ask her to “spy” on guests to make sure no one was causing trouble.

– “Okay, short stack, go check on the snack table and make sure no one’s hogging the chips.”

⭑.ᐟ Isha would quietly insist on getting a slice of cake to give you herself, practically shoving it into your hands with a big smile.

⭑.ᐟ During a toast for you, Isha would quietly raise her glass (even if it’s just juice) and look at you with a shy smile, gesturing a little “cheers” with her cup.

⭑.ᐟ Isha would be in charge of keeping guests entertained while Jinx set up bigger surprises. She would direct people with expressive gestures, and they would end up following her lead because she’s so animated and endearing. She’d shoo them away to the dance floor or hand out drinks with glow-stick stirrers.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would constantly circle back to you to check if you need anything.

– “You still good, babe? Need more cake? A drink? Someone thrown out?”

⭑.ᐟ Isha would trail after you for a bit, helping out in small ways, like passing you a drink or brushing confetti off your shoulder, subtly showing her affection.

⭑.ᐟ If anyone tried to make the party about themselves or annoyed you, Jinx would intervene immediately.

– “Go eat some cake and zip it.”

⭑.ᐟ Isha would stick close to you during parts of the party, mirroring Jinx’s protective instincts. If someone approached who looked suspicious (in her eyes), she would cross her arms, glare, and shake her head like a little bodyguard. Jinx calls it “the Isha test”.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would rope Isha into playful pranks, like sneaking up behind guests and tossing glitter at them.

⭑.ᐟ She would start spontaneous dance-offs, grabbing you and spinning you around just to hear you laugh.

– “Dance with me, birthday girl! Don’t make me embarrass myself alone!”

⭑.ᐟ She would be darting around and hyping up the crowd, while Isha acted as her silent shadow, handing out sparklers or checking up on the games.

– “Ladies and gentlemen, step right up! And by step up, I mean do what the kid tells you—she’s in charge of this one!”

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would stick to traditional party games and activities but add her own twist to them each time, no matter how trivial.

“bomb pong” ➪ her version of beer pong, where she’d paint the ping pong balls to look like mini bombs.

“truth or chaos” ➪ self-explanatory. She would make sure you only got fun or flattering dares, even being flirty and teasing with them.

– “Oh no, you chose chaos? That means you have to kiss the coolest person at this party.” And you both know it’s her.

trivia game ➪ Jinx would want to show off how much she knows about you. The catch? Half the trivia questions would also be about herself just to test you, too.

– “Okay, bonus round—what’s my favorite thing to blow up?!”

Glow-in-the-dark darts and lit up board just because she could. If you point out the dangerous side of the game—especially with little Isha running around—she’d groan loudly but relent, setting up a glow-in-the-dark ring toss instead.

She’d hang a homemade piñata filled with tiny trinkets and candy. Everyone would take turns blindfolded, with Jinx calling out unhelpful directions like: “Swing left! No, your other left!”. She’d make sure you got the first and last swing.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would be cheering you on during every activity and heckling the opponents, while Isha would root for you by miming cheers and clapping her hands. If you won a round, Isha would leap into the air and give you a medal she crafted beforehand.

⭑.ᐟ Like the mini-Jinx she is, she would periodically check on you, giving you a thumbs-up or tapping your shoulder to make sure you’re having fun.

⭑.ᐟ If you seemed overwhelmed, Isha would grab Jinx’s arm and point to you, miming a timeout gesture. She would sit quietly nearby, offering her company without being intrusive.

⭑.ᐟ After the chaos of the party, Jinx would unwind next to you on the couch, resting her head on your shoulder while little Isha napped, curled up in your side, making you both grin.

– “Looks like you’ve got another fan, huh?”

── .✦ birthday girl!reader who wants a low-key celebration

⭑.ᐟ If you didn’t want a big party or over-the-top surprises for your birthday, it would definitely take Jinx a moment to recalibrate.

⭑.ᐟ She might struggle to understand why you don’t want a big celebration. She’d look genuinely puzzled, her mind racing to adjust her usual plans.

⭑.ᐟ Once she accepts that you prefer a low-key celebration, she would throw herself into making a quiet day special. It might take some effort for her to tone down her usual chaotic energy, but she’d do it because it’s what you want for your special day.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would constantly ask questions to figure out what you consider “too much.”

– “Okay, so like, if I draw a heart on the wall in paint, is that over-the-top? No? Cool. What if I set the heart ablaze? …Too far? Got it.”

– “Would it be too much if I put your name in lights? Or not enough?”

⭑.ᐟ She’d be extra gentle and overly concerned at times, to the point of being funny. She’d fidget nervously, constantly checking in. She’s worried about getting it too wrong.

– “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I mean it’s cool, it’s chill, but like… you’re sure?”

⭑.ᐟ Super simplified decorations. After easing her anxieties, Jinx would decorate with a single balloon or one small banner just because she thinks it’s hilarious. She’d point at it dramatically, bragging about how she’s “reinventing minimalism”.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would leave funny little notes in random spots to quietly show you she’s thinking about you.

inside your favorite book: “Reading? On your birthday? Wow, nerd alert. (Just kidding, keep being the smartest, cutest, book-loving babe ever.)”

by the light switch: “Every time you turn this light on, think about how you light up my life. Too cheesy? Deal with it, it’s your birthday!”

on a snack bag: “Munch away, birthday girl! Each bite makes you 10x more adorable. SCIENCE FACT.”

on the bathroom door: “Birthday bathroom breaks are scientifically proven to be 20% better than regular ones. FACT. Don’t ask how I know.”

The scientist behind the studies? None other than Jinx herself.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would give you small gifts throughout the day instead of all at once. She’d say it’s a “drip-feed of love” to “keep the birthday vibes alive”.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would plan something like an art date. She would take you to a hidden spot where you could graffiti together. She’d bring spray paints and help you come up with a tag that matches her monkey one.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx might quietly admire you during the day, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with her feelings for you.

– “Y’know, I like this. Just us. You’re kinda… everything.”

⭑.ᐟ If you wanted to stay in, she wouldn’t mind just spending the day relaxing together in her hideout. She’d insist on building a “birthday pillow fort” and filling it with snacks, blankets, and fairy lights, creating a cozy little haven.

– “Just you, me, and some snacks. It’s a date. A birthday date!”

⭑.ᐟ Well, it was a date until Isha felt left out and peeked her head out from the entrance, which made you promptly pull her into the pillow fort.

⭑.ᐟ Jinx would focus on spending uninterrupted time with you—talking, laughing, and just enjoying the day together. She’d cherish the calm moments, even if it’s not her usual speed. She might actually enjoy the slower pace, realizing it gives her more time to focus on you.

– “This is nice. I don’t gotta share you with anyone else today. Well, except short stack over here.”

⭑.ᐟ Since you don’t want anything big, Jinx would ditch the giant cake and instead stick a candle in a cupcake, donut, or even a sandwich.

⭑.ᐟ If you’re worried about Jinx not having fun with a quiet birthday, she would quickly shut that down.

– “What, me? Bored? Nah, babe. I’d sit in total silence if it meant hanging out with you.”

⭑.ᐟ By the end of the day, Jinx would be extra soft and sentimental, realizing she doesn’t need a big party to make you happy.

– “I don’t care what we do, as long as it’s with you.”

── .✦ birthday girl!reader who hates birthdays

⭑.ᐟ Initially, Jinx would be thrown off guard—she would be baffled. Expect a lot of teasing questions and remarks to test your boundaries or to try to make you laugh, diffusing the tension of the day.

– “What did birthdays ever do to you? Did a balloon pop in your face as a kid? Was there a cake betrayal I need to know about?”

– “If you hate birthdays, does that mean I don’t get to wear a party hat? Because I look really good in a party hat.”

– “What do you call someone who hates birthdays? You! Wait, no, seriously—is there a word for that? Birth-a-phobic? Cake-averse? Anti-balloonian?”

– “What do you want to do on your birthday? Oh wait—you probably want to boycott it. My bad.”

– “Can I still blow up balloons? Asking for a very sneaky clown.”

– “So, if we can’t celebrate your birthday, can I just celebrate mine again?”

– “What’s worse: hating birthdays or admitting it to someone like me? I mean, now I have to mess with you.”

⭑.ᐟ If you opened up about why you hated birthdays, she would actually listen and try to understand. She would struggle at first but ultimately stick to your wishes. She will try to come up with other ideas to make you feel cared about regardless.

⭑.ᐟ She would leave a card that says: “This is NOT a birthday card. It’s just me reminding you that you’re the coolest person ever. Luv, Jinx.”

⭑.ᐟ Subtle “not birthday” gestures. Jinx would sneak in small, low-key things to make you smile without drawing attention to the day. She would spend the entire day being extra affectionate without outright acknowledging your birthday.

Random hugs.

Leaving little flowers on the table without saying a word.

Bringing you your favorite drinks or snacks, then casually walking away like it’s no big deal.

Leaving a tiny, heartfelt note that says, “I love you every day, not just today.”

⭑.ᐟ However, it would be hard for her not to be suspicious at times. She would quietly slip a thoughtful little gift into your bag with a note that says, “Not a birthday present. Just because.”

⭑.ᐟ Accidental overstepping happens. Jinx might slip up and do something mildly celebratory out of habit, like throwing confetti or humming the birthday tune. If you got upset, she would immediately backtrack.

– “Wait, wait, wait—don’t be mad! It’s not a birthday thing! It’s just… a ‘you’ thing!”

⭑.ᐟ While you cuddle in bed at the end of the day, Jinx can’t help herself from wishing you a happy birthday but in a safe way.

– “You hate birthdays, but I love you. So, thanks for being born. Even if you hate me saying it.”

[daycourtofficial]

A Valentine for You

Summary: Nyx learns about making valentines at school and convinces you to make one that accidentally ends up in Azriel’s hands

Author’s note: doesn’t this sound adorable any plot with Nyx is sure to be the cutest thing ever also this might just be the fluffiest thing I’ve ever written happy valentine’s day babes hope you all enjoyed my valentine’s fics 💕

Warnings: none, sentient house ships you with Azriel

Nyx came bounding down the stairs, yelling your name as he came in, his wings flapping as fast as his legs. He wasn’t quite large enough to support his weight, but he could get a little extra spring in his step as he ran.

He ran straight into your arms, launching himself into your torso. You laugh at the boy, his backpack comically large on his small frame.

“How was school, Nyxie?” You ask, carrying him into the kitchen. He wraps his arms around your neck as you start to grab the plate of cookies you had hidden earlier. The two of you start munching on cookies, and he gets the entire front of his shirt covered in cookie crumbs. You wipe them off, trying to clean him a bit.

“We learned about Valentine’s day.”

“And what did you learn about it?” You ask, pinching his cheeks.

He swats at your hands, “I don’t know it’s about love and stuff, but I made these cards for everyone.”

He wiggles out of your grasp, putting his bag in the ground to rummage through it. He pulls out a stack of cards, each one colorfully doodled and covered in varieties of glitter, bead, and macaroni noodle the world has never seen.

He shows you each card, going through the message he wrote for each person. You caught a glimpse of one that he snatched away and said, “no peeking! That’s for you!”

“And this one is for Uncle Cassian - I wrote ‘be better’ because he always tells me that.”

You stifle a laugh at the ominousness of receiving a valentine from a child that just tells you to be better, but he continues.

“And this is my one for - wait, where’s my card for uncle Az?”

He frantically searches through the pile, and then moves towards his bag to rifle through it again in hopes of finding it.

Tears start lining his eyes, concern that his favorite uncle will feel unloved on Valentine’s Day for not receiving a card from him.

“Hey, Nyx, how about we make one now, yeah?”

Nyx sniffles, but his wings perk back up, “yeah. Will you make one for him too? It’ll be extra special if he gets one from you!”

You stall, “I haven’t written one in a long time, Nyx. What do I do?”

“My teacher said you can put your feelings in it and your wish will come true! That’s why I asked auntie Nesta to fight with the Valkyries.”

Nyx has no idea of your minor crush on his uncle, how every look of his is burned into your soul. You also can’t deny his little request, so you decide to make one and just destroy it later in the evening. Your crush on him was getting embarassing, and you knew it wouldn’t lead anywhere.

You find yourself writing an incredibly heartfelt valentine, pouring all of your feelings onto the page. You even write Az’s name on the cover of the heart shaped paper. You’re ready to burn it in the fire and make a new one that just says “happy valentine’s day”, when Nyx spills his juice all over the table and on himself.

He starts gettjng upset, a little boy who hates being dirty, every inch his father in that regard, and you rush to pick him up and whisk him away to bathe him.

Unbeknownst to you, while you’re bathing Nyx (and he cries anyway about being wet), Azriel walks into the townhouse, finding the heart shaped paper on the table. Seeing that it’s addressed to him, he assumed it was from his nephew. He had been making valentines for everyone at school, and Azriel was curious if he would make one for his uncle. He knew the little boy was saving it for the holiday, but he couldn’t resist looking inside to see what the card says.

The card in front of him is leagues better than anything Nyx could make, not just in quality but in the content inside.

Hi Az,

Nyx explained to me how they make valentine’s cards in school and how you’re supposed to declare your love, so here I am, a girl in a valentine, wishing desperately you felt the same way about me. Maybe I should give up on this hope you’ll share my devotions.

But hey, I need to get it out, so here it is. I am hopelessly in love with you, will you be my valentine?

He scrutinizes the signature on the bottom, certain that one of his brothers forged it in an attempt for him to confront his feelings.

His heart is soaring at your words at the end, but it quickly fills with dread as he rereads and rereads your words.

“Maybe I should give up on my devotions”?

He can’t let you get over him, not when he’s been trying so hard for the past few months to just tell you how he feels, each time the words unable to come out. The past month every time the two of you had been alone, the words would creep onto his tongue, begging to be let out, but he would shove them down, deep where no one could hear them.

He tucks the card into his jacket, trudging up the stairs to begin plotting his response.

The bath with Nyx pushed the valentine from your mind, but the thought of the card invaded all of Azriel’s thoughts as he paced through his room that night, trying to plan out his next move.

-

Most of the holiday goes by uneventfully. You enjoy walking the street of Velaris, seeing the hustle and bustle of males and females alike trying to find a gift for their beau.

The streets are filled with flowers, money exchanging hands. Most customers leave with at least one bundle of flowers, one female leaving with as many bundles as she can carry.

Your mind races with thoughts of Azriel, wondering if he was doing anything this holiday. In recent years you can’t think of him having any plans, in fact the past three or four he had spent the holiday with you.

You wander home to the House of Wind, moving through the house to drop your market finds off in your bedroom. You come to your room, finding an envelope underneath a rose on your vanity. You walk over, smelling the rose and it smells both flowery and like cedar. The scents linger on the card as well, as you pull it out from the envelope.

You’re expecting a card from Nyx, because he refused to show you your card yesterday, but instead you find your name delicately written on the front of the card in Azriel’s tiny, near script.

You sit in a chair, opening the card to find the entire page full of words.

Dearest,

It’s the holiday of love. New love, old love, rekindled love. I have been trying for weeks on end to get the words out, but I find no excuses holding them back today.

I yearn for you. I yearn for our stolen moments in crowded rooms, I yearn for your gaze meeting mine, a conversation without words, just the colors of our eyes mixing.

My favorite day of the week is Sunday, because I pretend like I haven’t spent the whole week in anticipation of being next to you on the couch in the library. We spend the afternoon reading, discussing our books aloud. Eventually you settle more and more into your seat, your legs stretching across my lap.

I will pretend it is casual for me to place my hand on your calf, as if I am not calculating every movement so as not to scare you. My favorite Sundays are when you fall asleep while reading, because I know you feel safe enough with me to put all your faith into me that I will keep you safe while you slumber.

I know the worst parts of myself, the parts that so many would find difficult to put up with. And yet you have shown nothing but kindness to those parts.

My heart is yours, and if that means only getting glimpses of a life with you, I will cherish them for all time.

Eternally yours,

Azriel

You are awestruck at the words in front of you. You read the card several times, soaking in the cadence of his words, hearing the words in his deep voice.

Mor and Feyre had been trying for months to get you to say something, and a flicker of annoyance passes through you thinking about how vindicated they’d feel at this card.

You jump up, thinking why the hell am I sitting here when a male just confessed his undying love for me? He yearns for me, and you him. You fling open the door, only to find that someone, you assume Azriel, scattered a line of rose petals from your room down the hall.

You follow it, leading you in a trail directly to the library where you and Azriel have spent so many nights staying up, neither of you wanting to leave the other’s company.

You open the doors to find the room covered in flowers. Daisies on roses on lilies, their colors creating no matching scheme. Reds, blues, whites, purples fill your eyes until they land on hazel.

“Hi,” you tell him, all the bravado from the note he left leaving you as you stand in front of him.

“Hi,” he whispers, stepping towards you. Nerves coat that one word, and he clears his throat, willing his voice strong and steady. “Did you get my card?”

You smile, eyes lighting up, “um yes, yes I did. It was lovely, thank you.”

Your mind can’t think of anything else to say. He professed his love for you and all you can do is thank him? Your feet move forward on their own, but your mouth opens again.

“I never knew you were so talented with words.”

The two of you are drawing closer to each other, magnets coming together.

“You got to read my three hundredth draft, so I hope it was worth the read. I’ve never had to resort to such words before, never thought anyone deserved them.”

You breathe in, his scent invading your system. His words a clanging in your mind. “I-um, are these for me?”

You gesture to all the flowers filling the room, unable to linger on his words of devotion, and he chuckles, “yes, they are.”

You make eye contact once again, “they are beautiful, thank you.”

This is uncharted territory, unknown lands. You don’t know what to say, what he wants to hear.

“They reminded me of you.”

Your eyes peer into his, sincerity looking back at you in a midst of hazel and gold. You think of his words in the letter, his sign off eternally yours, and ask the question you’ve been wondering since you began reading the letter the first time.

“Did you mean it?”

You wring your hands in front of you, looking down in fear of seeing rejection in his eyes. You don’t notice him step closer until he’s taking your hands, holding them gently in his own.

“Every word. I have more words, but I thought those got my point across well enough. I was inspired, actually.”

One of his hands removes itself from yours, but his other hand quickly moves to hold both of your hands. He pulls a familiar red card from his jacket, and your cheeks turn the same shade as the card in mortification.

You start opening and closing your mouth like a fish, shock and confusion making words impossible.

“How did you- where did you-what-“ is all that’s able to come out before he’s chuckling and cutting you off.

“I found it on the table yesterday.”

You gasp, “I had to bathe Nyx and I forgot all about it!”

He places the card back into his jacket pocket, his eyes not leaving yours as he moves.

“Did you mean it?”

It’s his turn to be insecure, to be nervous. Vulnerability was not something the shadowsinger did lightly, and he knew your answer could destroy him.

“Every word. I have more, if you want them.”

Echoing his own words back to him, he smiles.

“I’ll take every word you give me as gospel,” he tells you, inching closer to you.

“Kiss me.”

He cups your face, your hands pressing against his chest. His lips gently brush your own, tentative, gentle. You put your hand on the back of his neck, deepening the kiss. He responds immediately, moving his hands around your back to pull you into him.

You’re panting, your lungs wanting air but the rest of your body wanting him. The room is loud with the sounds of your lips connecting and reconnecting, breathy moans escaping from both of you.

You have no idea how long you’re swept up in kissing him until your brain begins working again, and a question comes to mind. You pull away from him, a groan leaving him as you do so. You only make it a few inches from his lips when you find the words.

“How did you get all of these in here without my noticing? Also what if I had come in here before my room?”

The whole time you were talking, his gaze is focused on your mouth, and he even moves forward slightly, as if the urge to kiss you was overwhelming him. Once you finish speaking he kisses your lips again before answering. “You almost caught me in the city, but I hid behind a massive bundle of sunflowers. And I may or may not have asked the house to lock the doors for you.”

To reiterate his point the house locked and unlocked the doors behind you.

“How’d you do the rose petals?”

“What rose petals?” He asks, the question breaking his eye contact with your mouth

“There were rose petals lining the hallway, telling me to come here.”

“I thought you knew to come here because of the letter.”

Confusion lines both of your faces until the house dumps a giant pile of rose petals onto the two of you.

You both laugh at the message the house was sending, and you laugh even further as Azriel begins kissing you and the house makes a big deal of locking the doors again.

You both laugh as you kiss him again, and he picks you up, laying you down on the bed of rose petals before lying on top of you.

“Who knew the house was such a romantic?”

[starsinthesky5]

What are some cute lowkey little things Joe does for her to show his love?

a/n: and here is more of joe burrow being the biggest simp on the planet

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

taillight “i love you”

every single time he leaves and she’s watching from the window, he brakes three times at the end of the driveway. it’s become their thing—three soft flashes of the brake lights: i love you

even if he’s in a rush. even if they had a silly disagreement that morning. even if it’s pouring rain or freezing cold. he never forgets

sometimes she doesn’t even tell him she’s watching—but he does it anyway. just in case

sticky note surprises

he leaves them everywhere. on her laptop, bathroom mirror, inside the kitchen cabinets, tucked into her makeup bag, slipped between pages of her notebooks

the messages range from sweet (“you’re my favorite part of every day”) to silly (“u looked so hot last night i couldn’t see straight”) to downright flirty (“stop being so sexy. it’s distracting”)

her favorite? the one he left on her song notebook that just said “kill it today, you have the voice of an angel my love,” before she went to the studio

always calls to say goodnight if he’s away

no matter the time zone, no matter how tired he is—she always gets that call

it’s often soft and sleepy, with his voice low and raspy, “wish i was there holdin’ you. bed’s cold without you,”

sometimes he falls asleep mid-call with the phone still clutched in his hand, and she just listens to him breathe until she drifts off too

picks wildflowers for her (my nerdy little flower lover i KNOW you would do this)

not from a shop. from the side of the road. near the practice field. on a trail.

he’ll come in with a handful of crooked, colorful tangled wildflowers and just say, “they looked like you,”

and she’ll put them in a jar by the window like they’re the most expensive bouquet in the world

doodles her name

in the margins of playbooks. in notebooks. on napkins

sometimes it’s just her initials, sometimes it’s mrs. burrow in messy scribbles, sometimes it’s a little heart with her name inside

she finds them tucked into his pockets, his desk, his gym bag. tiny love notes he doesn’t even mean for her to find

he keeps one of her hair ties on his wrist

not just because she’s always losing them, but because it reminds him of her

she notices it every time, and every time he shrugs and says, “looks better on me anyway,”

he plays her demos in the car when she forgets about them

even if it’s just a rough cut or a voice memo, he’ll queue them up on a drive and nod along like it’s the best thing he’s ever heard

he doesn’t say much—just grips the wheel tighter and glances at her with that quiet admiration that says you don’t even know how talented you are

he keeps a playlist just for her

full of songs that remind him of her—some she’s never even heard

if she’s in the studio or driving home late, he’ll send her a link: track 7 made me think of that night in destin. and she listens. she always listens.

he brags about her casually

when someone compliments the food? “she made that from scratch. told you she’s magic,”

if someone mentions her work? “she’s been working her ass off lately. i’m proud as hell to see her at the top of her game,”

he’s not loud about it either to the point where it looks forced or cocky, he just glows with pride and adoration for his woman

game time shout-out

since she sits up in her own private suite (see here for the blurb on that), he makes sure to send her a sign of appreciation in his own subtle way

after he runs out, he does his cute little archer pose. but here's the thing, he only does it when she's at the game. if she can't be there? no archer pose

but when she is there, he does the pose...straight up to her suite

and what's even cuter, she playfully stumbles backward with her hands on her heart, as if she's just been shot by cupids arrow

which...she has been :)

[ghosts-and-glory]

Just curious!

In your AU, does Narinder have to openly come out as trans, or is it just generally understood even early on that he was trans?

If he does have a coming out, who do you think he told first? What were his siblings initial reactions?

How old do you think Narinder would have been when he realized?

When did the lamb learn? Was it common knowledge by then? Did they effectively look up at their God and go "ayo, nice battle scars, sick as fuck, anyway" and move on?

Also are we gonna see more little Narinder, and what got him all fucked up?

I am so invested in your story, but this aspect in specific I am latched onto like a tick. You cannot get rid of me. I am THIRSTY for knowledge.

Additionally, if in some hypothetical, little child Narinder met a young Lamb, do you think they would have been friends?

Totally not based on the time my brother came out to me and because I have the emotional bandwidth of a sea cucumber was just like “okay, cool.”

I’d say he’s around 12-14. In my heart Nari was one of those trans kids who the second he had the slightest understanding of gender was like “something ain’t right here chief.”

Fighting for my life trying to find a way to colour doodles in a way that doesn’t take ten years or look like shit.

More ramblings under the cut.

My Lamb is also non-binary so it’s not much of a deal to them. Dying on my casual trans rep hill. I don’t care if it’s not period accurate, I simply choose not to recognize transphobia.

Narinder gets slowly poisoned through his life. For the other Bishops, chaos, famine, disease and war will all eventually end in death, and dead men can’t worship. As a god of death he is to preach the glory and beauty of dying but, ironically, can’t die himself. He feels at odds with his family and trapped by life and this mentality slowly warps his view of the world and destroys him over hundreds of years.

Simply put he allows toxicity to pour and warp over toxicity. He lets it twist and compound his mind and it happens so slowly no one notices.

For the Lamb and Narinder theoretically meeting as children I honestly haven’t through much on how I’d characterize The Lamb as a child. My heart wants to say yes they would get along. My source is I made it the fuck up.

[puttersmile]

HeartnSol community!

Heart & Sol Month Days 7 & 19

Prompts are "Hobbies" and "Rainy Day".

Rain poured outside, tapping against the windows of Dogday's home. Everyone was supposed to meet at Craftycorn's for art lessons but those plans were canceled. Instead everyone took shelter from the downpour. Inside, Bobby was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Dogday, both surrounded by a mess of art supplies and snacks.

"I forget how Crafty did it the last time. Do you remember?" Dogday asked.

"Oh I don't know. I think it was less of a squiggle line and more of a slant line?"

“This was your idea,” Dogday muttered, carefully dipping a brush into a cup of paint. “And you have the audacity to judge my skills?”

Bobby, who had half a cookie in her mouth and blue paint smeared on her cheek, cackled. “Hey, I never said I was good at painting either! We’re just killing time.”

Dogday squinted at the piece of paper in front of him. It was supposed to be a drawing of Bobby. Instead, it looked like… some kind of unholy mix between a bear and a potato.

Bobby leaned over, peeking at his work.

“Geeze, Dogday. Is that supposed to be me?”

Dogday deadpanned. “No, it’s an abstract interpretation of your soul.”

Bobby snorted. “Well, your soul looks like a moldy loaf of bread.”

She held up her own work: a drawing of Dogday… except...he was...well...bread.

"Wow really? Do you think I'd taste good covered in peanut butter?"

Bobby faltered. "N-no?"

"Aw..."

They stared at each other for a moment—then burst into laughter.

Outside, the rain continued to fall, but inside, the two of them sat together, smearing paint onto each other’s faces and doodling ridiculous caricatures, making the most of a rainy afternoon.

End.

Breadday and Pottoby. Monstrous creations.

[cupidseok]

hiii, do you think you could write about how riize would confess to their partner? the members are soo different from each other so i really wonder how it’d be for each member!

how riize would confess

AUTHOR'S NOTE happy early valentines to everyone seeing this <3 posting this early as i'll be away for cny,, happy cny to those celebrating too !

🩰 — SHOTARO invites you to his dance practice

shotaro who was over the moon when you told him that you thought he looked the coolest when he was dancing. so he decided to ask you to come watch him practice for his upcoming performance. he has never invited someone over to watch him dance before. dance was something he held so close to his heart.

he wants to impress you so badly :( but because he was nervous, he didn’t do well. you questioned him when you noticed how shotaro looked so tense and stiff. you knew shotaro was an amazing dancer, so you were concerned that he wasn’t feeling well.

“i’m nervous because someone i like is watching me.”

🗒️ — you find a post-it note on your desk from EUNSEOK

ever since you and eunseok have been assigned as seatmates, he has never stopped doodling little doraemons on the corners of your notebooks and worksheets. even when you slapped his hands away and asked him to stop ( because you actually wanted to pay attention ! why was he disturbing you >:( ) he would only softly laugh at you before proceeding to doodle on post-it notes and then passing them to you at the end of class.

one day, his doraemon looked a little different !! it had a little speech bubble that said, “i like you.” your heart almost stopped when you read it, but you knew eunseok liked to play little pranks on you, so you just ignored him.

“why are you not replying to my doraemon ? do you not like me ?”

proof that eunseok is picasso reincarnated :

📓 — SUNGCHAN has made a scrapbook for you

“for you,” sungchan mutters as he shoves a scrapbook in your hands. it definitely wasn’t the prettiest scrapbook you’ve seen; the pages were unevenly cut ( was that a coffee stain ? ), the photos were haphazardly glued and the stickers were plastered without any regard to a colour scheme.

hugging the scrapbook to your chest, you knew he probably spent weeks or even months on this, pouring his heart out on each and every page. jung sungchan was built for sports, not arts and crafts. you could tell by the remnants of glue stuck on his fingertips and specks of glitter under his left eye. but you, you were built for arts and crafts. and it touched you that he was willing to step into your world.

“if the time and effort i spent on the scrapbook isn’t enough to show my love for you, i’ll say it verbally too. i love you.”

💌 — you've received a love letter from WONBIN

heart pounding, cheeks flushed, tightly clutching his love letter, so many thoughts were rushing through wonbin’s head. was the twenty-fifth draft better ? his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to recall what he wrote on each draft. no time to think; you were here already.

you flashed him a soft smile and his cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red ( he felt like he was burning up ). “hey wonbin, why did you ask to meet m-” he swiftly pressed the now slightly crumpled love letter into your palm and quickly retreated before you could even respond. he couldn’t bear to see your reaction.

hi, this is wonbin. i like you, if it wasn’t already obvious enough. and i’m so sorry if this letter shocked you; i just needed to get it off my chest…

☀️ — SEUNGHAN brings you on a picnic

you remind seunghan of the sun. you were bright and burning like the sun at noon; your ambition was something he greatly admired. however, he wished you’d stop burning yourself away. that was his job – to keep you from shining too brightly and giving too much of yourself away. you were also soft and gentle like the sun in the morning, always willing to care for others and always so kind and forgiving to those who do not deserve it.

but when you’re seated next to him on the red and white checkered mat, he concludes that you remind him the most of the sun during the golden hour. beautiful, warm and fleeting. except he wishes to stay by your side forever.

“the sun is setting so fast.”

“it is, isn’t it.”

“i wish the sun would never set. i don’t want our time together to come to an end.”

🐵 — SOHEE gifts you a cute memento

“monchhichi !” sohee looks up from his book at the call of his nickname. ah, you were here to disturb him again. “what are you doing ?” you peeked over his shoulder. his heart almost fell out at the close proximity. did you truly have no idea of the effect you had on him ? or were you doing this on purpose ?

“i have something for you.” sohee stuffs his hand into his backpack, digging around. he pulled a monchhichi keychain and dangled it in front of your face. “monchhichi !” you let out a gasp of surprise. “did you really buy this for me ?”

“i’m going back to my hometown for a couple of weeks. i got it in case you’ll miss me.”

how monchhichi looks like just in case anyone doesn't know :

🎧 — ANTON has sent you a mp3 file

anton <3 

hi :) i made this for you. attached – mp3 file.

you sat down in front of your computer, still drying your wet hair. you had seen his message before you showered, but you felt too nervous to open it right away. heart fluttering in anticipation, you clicked on the file he sent.

folder 1 : songs i wrote for you

folder 2 : a playlist of songs that reminded me of you

folder 3 : my message to you

mouse hovering over folder 3 after you’ve listened to folders 1 and 2, you thought that anton was truly an angel sent from heaven. to love someone so deeply, to compose a song for them, to make a playlist for them.

a robotic computer voice read out, “folder 3, my message to you. now playing.”

your surroundings slowly fading as you focused on anton’s voice, “hi. you’ve probably listened to the other two folders already, right ? if you haven’t, you better listen to them first before continuing…”

© cupidseok — do not copy / repost / translate my works

[simphornies]

Artistic desire [Husk x Shy!Reader] Fluff

A/N: This was a request sent by a lovely follower. I'm not particularly good at writing shy characters but I did my best. Hopefully this suits your taste.

Word count: 3.4k (3,481)

Warnings: none unless you count mentions of mommy and daddy issues

You were a bit of a social recluse. Your parents fucked off and died somewhere in one of the seven rings when you were a teenager and since everything is basically free, besides drugs and sex, you just stayed in your parents’ manor. The only person that really checked up on you everyday was Charlie. You crossed paths when you were younger, rode through the emo phase together and now you’re both older.

Before her hotel opened up, she was eager to tell you of all the plans. Every. Single. Plan. Of course, you didn’t mind the chatter through the phone. You enjoyed something that filled up the empty halls in your home. You helped her redesign a bit but after a while, you were in a pit of…the opposite of an art block?

You spent every waking moment, painting and creating art. If you thanked your demon parents for anything, it’d be the part where their powers passed onto you naturally. Your mother was a beautiful muse, perfection in keeping everything aesthetically pleasing. Your father painted his muse at every given moment. You didn’t necessarily hate them per-say but you sure as hell didn’t love them. The moment you kept something out of place, an inch off the center, your mother scrambled to fix it.

She didn’t yell or bother with correcting you, she would just obsess with the finer details. Your father never stepped up for anything other than painting. Hell forbid you switch up his paints and he’d be locked in his room all day. Finishing piece after piece.

You didn’t take after any of their obsessive traits. Instead you embraced the messy lines, the off-centered pieces. You embraced the imperfection and impurities that came with hell itself.

And that is exactly how you ended up in Charlie’s Hazbin Hotel. She convinced you to take your artistic abilities to brighten the place up. With the surprising help of Alastor, you chose compromise on the color palette. The fabrics, the decor, the lights, the curtains, the rugs. It was all your choosing. And when Alastor decided to phase in a bar with Husk included, the odd placement of green itched your brain in a good way.

The bar wasn’t the only thing that got you going. A surge of inspiration waved through your entire being the moment you saw him. The moment you heard his voice you wanted to capture it in art. There wasn’t a passing day where you didn’t sit at his bar, eagerly waiting for his next story.

At first, he wanted absolutely nothing to do with you considering how well you got along with Alastor. But that opinion quickly faded the more you hung around him. Every time he’d tell a story, he noticed you always doodling in delight, listening to every detail. You didn’t participate in conversations much but he could tell you were listening to the whole thing. Your legitimate interest in his stories warmed his heart a little bit more than he’d ever admit. He soon realized that you two were probably the most sane demons in the entirety of the hotel.

“The usual?” He asks. You nod and continue to fill your sketchbook with drawings, the act visible to him by the way your eyes shine. He poured three glasses for you both. One glass of whiskey for him, a glass of champagne for you, and one of your old paint cups with water. He handed you your drink in a champagne glass and your cup next to your sketchbook. Last time he handed that to you, you accidentally drank the paint water.

You quietly thank him as you gleefully kick your feet in the empty space under you. The chairs hoisted you up enough for you to not touch the floor when you sat, something he found admirable. He hummed as he cleans a couple of glasses left over from when Angel was drinking.

Oh how he wished to take a peek at your drawings. He would never try to ask, he learned from one of your small conversations together that you said it’s like a diary. And he’d be damned if he pried into that. The only time he’ll ever get any information from people is when they’re absolutely fucked up wasted. He watched as your face was unbelievably close to the book, the sound of your pencil against the paper was soothing to him. Oddly enough, it was never complete without it.

“Hey, Y/N? Could you do me a big big big favor? Pretty please?” Charlie speaks up, breaking the silence between you two. He sighs and starts to stock up his shelves knowing that you were probably going to get hoisted away now. He feels the weird shift in his chest that made him realize he was actually in love with you this whole time.

“Yes, Charlie?” You looked up at her as you put your pencil down. “What can I do to help?” Your voice was smooth jazz to his ears. He wanted to hear you speak more. And he hated when other demons talked to him. But your voice. He’d fight in a war with the exorcists to hear you speak to him more. He secretly wished you said his name instead.

She gives you a guilty grin, “So, I was trying to make a sign for Sir Pentious and well…”

“It looks a little bit like vomit!” Nifty chimed in, unashamed.

Charlie laughed nervously, “I may have chosen the wrong green…Would you mind, helping me out?”

You smile, “Of course.” You get up, following Charlie and Vaggie to the opposite side of the lobby to give aid in their color struggles.

Nifty continued her cleaning and while she did, she realized that you had left your sketchbook wide open. Of course, as it is in Nifty’s nature, she snatches the book off of the bar’s countertop, just out of Husk’s view and takes a look at the page it was open to. She gasps and runs over to Angel and Alastor, eager to show her finds.

“My my. What a wonderful find you’ve got there, Nifty.” Alastor grins. He was not much of a lover but he sure as hell enjoyed seeing his little pet get flustered. And perhaps he’s been more tolerant lately so he figured he can have a bit of happiness in this hotel.

“Oh. My. Fuck.” Angel stares at the sketches you have of Husk. The two pages were filled with him and just him. Him cleaning the glasses, him fixing his hate, him with his wings out. Some were obvious direct sketches from his day-to-day life but the others were all from your mind. There was one of him in a fancy suit. One with his hair slicked back the way he briefly mentioned it during his stories of being an overlord. Angel stares at the page a bit longer before looking over at Alastor who shared his mischievous grin.

While you were painting the sign with Vaggie, Charlie is pulled to the side by Alastor. “Charlie, my dear. You would say that you are a lover girl at heart, would you not?” He asks.

“Uhm. Yes. Yes I am, Alastor.” She answers with confusion in her voice, “Why?”

“Why, Nifty had some groundbreaking finds just a moment ago that I believe I should be sharing with you.” He smiles widely as Angel hands her the open sketchbook.

“Somebody,” he whispers, “Got a little thing for Whiskers~”

Charlie takes one long look at the page and was about to start squealing in delight until Alastor puts a finger up to her lips. “Ah ah, my dear. Now’s not the time for that. Wouldn’t it be best that you talk about this with her in private.” He suggested.

“You’re right! Ohhhh my gosh! This is amazing!” She grins, “I’ve known her in all my years here in hell and I have not seen her take a liking to anybody. I’ll definitely talk about it with her!”

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

The sign for Sir Pentious was up in congratulations for his arrival and his development. Everyone was cheering him on by the bar. You scout around for your sketchbook, swearing you left it by Husk. He wouldn’t be the type of guy to take personal things like that.

Just as you were about to ask him where it was, Charlie quickly drags you into a spare room, filled with excitement. Excitement that drove you a bit nervous.

“Charlie? Is there anything you need me to do here?” You ask, scanning the empty room around you.

She simply could not contain her excitement. “It’s come to my attention that you, my lovely lovely friend, may have a teeny tiny crush on someone.”

Oh fuck.

“Haaaa. What?” You ask, trying to contain your composure. “I don’t like anybody. That’s funny. Hah hahhh…” You nervously laughed.

Just then, Charlie hands you your sketchbook. “Nifty found it and well…you left it open to your most recent sketches…of Husk!” She squeals.

Your face turns a bright red as you swiped the sketchbook out of her hands. “Charlie! Oh fuck, please don’t tell me you told him.” You were every shade of red possible in hell out of sheer embarrassment.

“Of course not! I wouldn’t take that adorable opportunity away from you and him!” She hugs her shorter friend, “So. Tell me all about it! When did it start? When did you know?” She gasps in excitement as she thought of more questions to bombard you with, “Why? How did you find out? What do you like most about him?”

“W-well I…” You stutter, hugging your sketchbook close, “I’m not sure when but I just know that, these last couple of weeks he’s been…um…you know. Kind of inspiration? My…muse. If you will.”

Charlie loved your answers and continued to ask more questions. “So when are you going to tell him?” She gasps, “Oh my gosh—You guys should totally go on a date!”

“A DATE?” You choke, “Fucking hell—Charlie. I cannot bring myself to do that. You’re the only person I can talk to without stuttering too much and you want me to go on a date with the very demon I like?”

The answer was yes and before you know it, you and Husk are getting pushed out of the hotel with a pile of cash in both of your guys’ hands, courtesy of Charlie. She somehow got you both into matching outfits. A dress with hearts on the collar with a white and red pearly necklace to match. Husk was somehow, probably by Alastor, shoved into his overlord suit and tie.

“You motherfuckers better not fuck up my bar! I worked all day to keep shit organized!” He yelled at the closed door, “I’m talking about you, Angel Dust!” He scoffed and fixed his sleeves.

You couldn’t bear to look dead at him. You safely got peeks from your peripheral. On one of your attempts, the two of you made eye contact for a brief second. You immediately looked away, muttering an apology under your breath.

“Are you gonna stand there staring at nothing or are we going?” He elbowed you gently.

“Oh! U-Uh. I’m not quite sure…where we have to go.” You admitted.

He rolls his eyes, “Thrown into battle blind, huh?” He chuckled before moving in front of you, “Take my hand. Can’t have other demons fucking with our artist.”

You look at him, memorizing the way his grin sat on his face. A light blush forms across your cheeks as you take his hand. He walks with you down the city and into the nearest fancy club in your area.

“Ah. I think this is gonna be a little…”

“You scared?” He grins, “You’ll be fine. You’re with me. I’ll fuck shit up if I need to.” He flashed you his playing cards, edges as sharp as can be.

You sigh and nod, walking in with him. He sat you down at a quieter side, as quiet as a famous club can be. You both share a bottle of whiskey, your sudden interest shocking him.

“You know, that art thing you do is mesmerizing.” Why did he have to bring that up now? You internally groaned. “It’s like magic whenever you put whatever’s in that brain on paper.” He stirs his drink with a claw, looking at you. You swear you see a bit of sparkle in his usual dull eyes.

“Th-thanks, Husk.” You stutter. The way his name came out of you warmed him up more than his drink. He wanted you to say it again so badly. "I’ve seen you do magic too y’know.” As much as he paid attention to your work, so did you. You have endless sketches of him playing with cards, fucking around with Angel’s hand with a smooth move so quick one could barely catch it without attentive eyes.

“Ohhh,” He leans in a bit, a teasing grin plastered on his face, “So you watch me that close, huh?”

You choke on your drink, spitting a bit out, “Wh-what! No.”

He chuckles a bit, leaning back, “Cut the act, Y/N.” He closed his eyes, putting his glass up to his lips, “Alastor told me already. And Nifty. And Angel. And Charlie, you know she can’t keep a secret well.”

You were a mess. They told him and they didn’t tell you that they told him? You’re definitely messing with their rooms later. But how much did they tell him? You can’t pinpoint it. “I-” You coughed, trying to clear up your throat from your near death experience via literal drowning in alcohol. “I can’t help that you’re just…nice to draw.”

You turn away, a bit ashamed and definitely flustered. He was quiet, watching you intently as he sipped on his drink. “I like drawing anything I like.”

Now it was his turn to choke a bit but you didn’t catch it. He wiped his mouth, “So you like me then, right?”

You turn to face him not expecting his face to be so close to yours. A little shift and you two would fall into a kiss. You weren’t able to read his face well. He had a blank expression. You stare at him, face red.

“It’s okay, fucker. You know how it is,” He elbows you, laughing a bit before grabbing your hand to drag you out of the club. “I’m the bartender that knows everything about everybody.”

He rarely used his wings, unwilling to accept his demon form. But tonight, he stretched his wings out. “What’re you-”

“Do you trust me, Y/N?” He looks at you over his shoulder, holding your hand a little tighter. You nod in response.

Without a second thought, he pulled you close to him, hugging you to his chest. You blinked and you were off the ground, soaring through the air. He held you close, careful to not let you fall.

“I want you to see something. Something I doubt anyone’s ever shown you.” He keeps his head up, unaware of how starstruck you’re looking at him. You were also too scared to look anywhere else.

He flies as high as he can, stopping at a certain point before holding you in his arms in a bridal style way. “Look around, Y/N. Take it all in.” He speaks softly. You look around and from where you guys are, you can see the entire Pentagram City. Your eyes are filled with a breathtaking view of the city you grew up in. He smiles at the sight of your interest, “As much as I fucking hate this place. It’s not bad when you can’t hear the chaos going on down there from up here.”

“It’s beautiful. I…I have to paint this.” You state, wishing you had your book with you. You rest your head on his chest. After a while you feel him fly towards a high point at the edge of the city, landing on a mountain. He doesn’t let you down as soon he lands though, he didn’t want to ruin your adoring looks at the view.

Your face is lit up with admiration, you feel at peace. It was quiet but a soothing kind of quiet. Your ears caught onto a different sound while you rested on his chest. Is he purring?

You look up at him, “Thanks for the ride, Husk.” Smiling warmly, you cupped his face in your hand. You swear you felt him lean into it. He puts you down gently before putting his hand over yours, returning your warm smile. “Can I ask you a question?”

He purrs softly, the vibrations reverberating on your hand. He nods. “Is it okay I…pet you a bit. You’re just so fluffy.” He went from looking at you with his eyes half shut to wide open, in disbelief. “I-It’s for my art! My drawings.” You laugh nervously, “You know…reference…” It was half a lie, which he is aware of, you actually do want to capture his soft looking fur in your drawings but wanted to know exactly how dense or fluffy it is.

He laughs, closing his eyes as he sat on the ground with you following after him, “You’re lucky I like you, Y/N. Go for it.”

He hated when people treated him like a cat but for you, he’d make an exception. He’d make multiple exceptions for you. You begin to stroke the top of his head, making sure you remember how it feels in your palms in case you never get the chance to do this again. His purring grew louder as he leaned into your touch.

You began to pet his cheeks, getting a closer look at his face, taking in every detail. From his heart shaped nose, to the way his eyebrows fluffed out of his face. He slowly opened his eyes, peeking at you. You were too mesmerized by how unbearably handsome he is to see him inching closer.

He grabs your hand on his cheek, “I could kiss you right now.” He could what? Before you got a chance to react he pulled you into him, his lips crashing on yours. You yelp before giving in and melting into him. The kiss didn’t last too long but it felt like hours.

You stared at him as longingly as you did dumbfounded. “Look, babe, I notice everything about you. Everything you do.” He holds your head in his hands. “I see the way you light up when Charlie brings you paintings. How you paint with that focused look. You’re one of, if not, the only demon with sense in that hotel and respect my boundaries. You’ve never pushed my buttons once. And I truly, truly appreciate it.”

You lean into his hold, holding his face in return, “I understand you a lot more than you think, Husk. I know it’s silly but I find comfort in you. I love the way your voice sounds. I love watching your magic tricks. I love the way you effortlessly make a drink without even looking. And I love the way you fight. You fill me with so much artistic desire and you get me out of the toughest art blocks out there.”

“And you help me stay calm when everybody gets on my nerves. I’ll take a fight on for you any day, babe.” He rests his forehead on yours, “Who would’ve thought my cold little heart could be warmed up in hell of all places, huh?”

He shifts and rests his head on your lap as you continue to pet him, humming softly as you did.

"And who would've thought I'd be able to get the grumpy bartender to purr in my lap?"

You two enjoyed the rest of your night together. He actually stole a bottle for you two and you both drank the night away.

.

.

.

“You think Y/N’s ruffling his feathers? If you know what I mean.” Angel laughs followed by a quick slap on the back by Vaggie. “Ow! It was just a joke. God, tits.”

“Oh I believe Husk is having a wonderful night.” Alastor grins, aware of what the soul he owns has done, “And might I say, he is quite the charmer. Truly a hidden gem. Under all that gruff he is but a little kitten.” He hummed, teleporting away into his tower.

Charlie was so excited and had set up a congratulations sign on the wall for when you two return. She was happy her dear friend finally found comfort in somebody.

[dakusan]

A Love-Lit Birthday ✨

hwang hyunjin x reader | fluff, domestic, soft romance

🎂 synopsis: Hyunjin’s birthday is quiet, warm, and filled with love—flour-covered kisses, soft confessions, and a moment that feels like forever.

💌 a/n: happy birthday, jinnie!! 🥹 this is pure softness because he deserves all the love. hope you enjoy!!

🎶 Now Playing: "Sweet" — Cigarettes After Sex

The scent of vanilla and warm butter fills the small apartment, the soft hum of a playlist drifting through the air as you stand side by side in the kitchen. The dim glow of fairy lights strung along the cabinets casts a golden hue over everything, making the moment feel even more magical. Hyunjin's sleeves are pushed up, revealing his delicate wrists as he carefully pours cake batter into a pan, his tongue peeking out in concentration.

You can’t help but smile, watching the way his brows furrow slightly, completely immersed in the task. He’s always been meticulous, whether it’s sketching, dancing, or—apparently—baking.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” you tease, leaning your elbow on the counter.

He glances at you, feigning offense. “Of course, I am! This is my birthday cake—handcrafted, homemade, filled with love. I can’t mess it up.”

You chuckle, reaching out to swipe a bit of flour off his cheek with your thumb. “Filled with love, huh?”

He leans into your touch, eyes crinkling. “And a little bit of chaos. Mostly from you.”

You gasp in mock betrayal, crossing your arms. “Excuse me? Who’s the one who almost spilled the vanilla extract everywhere?”

He raises an eyebrow. “But did I? No. Because I’m a professional.”

Before you can counter his argument, he dips his fingers into the flour and smudges a streak onto your nose. “There. Now we match.”

The playful moment turns into a chase around the kitchen, giggles bouncing off the walls as you attempt to retaliate. He’s quick, dodging your flour-covered hands with the reflexes of a trained dancer, until you finally manage to corner him against the counter. His chest rises and falls with laughter as he surrenders, hands raised in mock defeat.

You’re both breathless, grinning, until the laughter fades into something softer. His hands fall to rest gently on your waist, thumbs tracing slow circles against your shirt.

“You look cute like this,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, eyes filled with something unreadable.

Your heart flutters. “With flour on my face?”

“With everything,” he corrects, brushing his lips against yours in a fleeting, sweet kiss before pulling back, grinning. “Now, let’s get this in the oven before we end up covered in batter too.”

By the time the cake is cooling, the apartment has transformed into a cosy little haven. You had taken your time setting everything up while Hyunjin prepared some tea—candles flicker on the coffee table, the couch is draped with soft blankets, and a warm glow fills the room from the fairy lights you’d set up earlier. It’s intimate, comfortable, a place just for the two of you.

Hyunjin walks over, two mugs of tea in hand. He places them on the table before flopping down onto the couch, sighing in contentment. He looks at you with soft, adoring eyes, his hair falling slightly over his forehead.

“I love this,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “I love you.”

You step closer, holding out a small, wrapped package. “Before we eat cake, I have something for you.”

He raises an eyebrow but accepts the gift, carefully unwrapping it. When he lifts the cover of the sketchbook inside, his breath hitches.

The pages are filled with drawings—of him, of the two of you, of little moments only the two of you would understand. A doodle of him pouting at you for stealing his hoodie, a sketch of him with his head in your lap, a delicate portrait of him with his eyes closed in sleep, peaceful and beautiful. Some pages have handwritten notes—memories, silly jokes, whispered confessions of love that only he gets to see.

His fingers tremble slightly as he flips through each page, reverently, as if afraid to miss a single detail. When he looks up at you again, his eyes glisten. “You made this for me?”

You nod, suddenly shy. “I wanted to give you something that lasts.”

He sets the book down carefully before pulling you into his arms, holding you tight. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” His voice wavers just slightly. “Thank you.”

You bury your face in his chest, letting the warmth of his embrace wash over you. “Happy birthday, Jinnie.”

He exhales, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple before swaying you gently in the quiet of your home. After a few moments, he pulls back just enough to look at you properly.

“Dance with me?” he asks softly.

You laugh. “There’s no music.”

He shrugs. “There doesn’t have to be.”

And so you do. Wrapped in each other’s arms, slow and gentle, moving to the silent rhythm of your heartbeats. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you in this quiet, love-lit moment.

“I should make a wish,” he murmurs, his voice a whisper against your hair.

You tilt your head up, pressing a kiss to his jaw before whispering, “Make a wish then.”

But as he closes his eyes, arms wrapped around you, he knows he doesn’t need to. Because everything he’s ever wanted is already here.

[bubblergoespop]

redacted headcanons wooo

some angsty, some cutesy, some whatever idk

elliott makes sunshine sleepy when they’re around him. not because of his powers but just because he makes them feel comfortable and safe. and being around him relieves them of the fear of having any nightmares again, because he won’t let it happen.

as the rest of the damn crew ages, gavin mimics the way they all age. wrinkling his skin, fading the colour from his hair, etc.

i don’t know much about plants but they can get sick right? like viral infections or something? anyway, one day, the plant that anton's love gave him was looking extremely wilted and anton sobbed practically everyday and poured his heart and soul into helping it until he was able to get it to recover again.

vincent was secretly envious of how well lovely seemed to be coping with their turning. not anymore though.

lasko's partner sleeptalks. lasko was shocked the first time they did it around him because it’s such a contrast to how quiet they are when awake.

sweetheart was in a rush to get to work one day and accidentally grabbed one of milo's shirts instead of their own. when they came home later on, milo realised they were wearing his top. ofc that awoke something in him and, since then, he’s had sweetheart put on multiple fashion shows in which they try on his clothes.

lasko's partner is the type of teacher who gives their students stickers and sweets, and they also doodle on any written exams when they mark them.

porter wasn’t alone when he was turned. he was with someone he cared about. and they cared for him. but they didn’t get turned. his maker murdered them and that’s why porter says “historically” it doesn’t turn out well for those who care for him.

the asset helps take care of anton's plant. they find actual biological life fascinating, and they can stare at a plant for as long as they like since it won’t get annoyed or uncomfortable like a human does.

gav stayed at the damn campus for longer than usual once and freelancer was left home alone with the time to over think and they ended up crying themself to sleep over their mortality and gavin’s immortality. gavin had no idea until they woke up the next morning. when they looked at him, he felt their core ache.

ever since angel tried on davey's clothes for the first time, david’s gone out of his way to hide angel’s clothes at times and/or “forget” to wash them with the rest of the laundry. and then he goes “oops guess you’ll just wear one of my shirts in the meantime…” with the stupidest smirk on his face ever

porter gets regular nightmares. from the trauma of his human life, the time with his maker and/or from the things he’s done for william. it’s the reason he says sleep won’t bring him peace, even though for most people, it would.

[duhshereadz]

Timebomb but in college:

The art studio was quiet, save for the low hum of a fan spinning overhead and the gentle scratching of pencils against sketchbooks. The late afternoon sun poured through the tall windows, casting golden rectangles across the hardwood floors and catching on the vibrant streak of blue in Jinx’s hair as she leaned over her sketchpad.

Jinx was anything but conventional. Her style was chaotic, a mess of doodles and scribbled phrases scrawled in every direction. But there was a charm to her chaos—a story hidden in the erratic lines and overlapping colors. She chewed on the end of her pencil, her leg bouncing under the table. Her combat boots tapped against the chair leg rhythmically, breaking the silence.

Across the room, Ekko sat at his own table, head bent over his work. His dreads were pulled back into a loose ponytail, a single strand hanging rebelliously in front of his face. He was meticulously shading a cityscape, every detail in the foreground and background placed with intention. His style was the polar opposite of Jinx’s, and yet they fit together in a way neither could fully explain.

He glanced up, his dark eyes catching on the figure across the room. Jinx, deep in thought, looked like she was concocting something in that chaotic brain of hers. Ekko smiled faintly and shook his head before going back to his sketch. But a few seconds later, his pencil stopped mid-stroke.

“Hey, Powder,” he called, the name slipping out naturally, teasingly.

Jinx’s head shot up, a smirk already forming on her lips. “Don’t call me that, stopwatch,” she fired back, her voice carrying easily through the quiet room.

Ekko chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “What are you working on over there? Another masterpiece?”

Jinx held up her sketchpad, turning it around dramatically. It was an explosion of colors and swirling lines—figures and objects barely distinguishable from one another. Somewhere in the chaos, he could make out the faint outline of a figure mid-leap, surrounded by jagged bursts of energy.

“Wow,” he said, leaning forward with mock-seriousness. “I think that might be your best yet. Totally screams ‘I didn’t do the homework.’”

Jinx laughed, loud and unapologetic. She dropped the sketchpad onto the table and leaned her chin in her hand, her blue eyes sparkling. “What about you, huh? Still drawing buildings like you’re auditioning for some boring architecture firm?”

Ekko spun his sketchbook around to show her. The cityscape was breathtaking, with towering buildings and intricate shadows cast by streetlights. But in the corner of the page, there was something new—a tiny figure sitting on a rooftop, her hair whipping wildly in the wind. The detail was unmistakable.

Jinx blinked. “Is that…?”

“Yup,” Ekko said, grinning.

“Me?” she asked, leaning forward as if to get a closer look. Her voice was softer now, her usual sharpness replaced by something almost shy.

“Who else would it be?” Ekko shrugged, trying to sound casual. But the slight flush on his cheeks gave him away. “You’re always on my mind anyway. Figured I’d sneak you into my city.”

Jinx stared at him, her usual snark momentarily failing her. Instead, she tilted her head and let a genuine smile tug at her lips. “You’re such a sap, stopwatch.”

“And you love it,” Ekko shot back, closing his sketchbook and standing up.

He walked over to her, pulling a chair next to hers without asking. Jinx didn’t protest; instead, she scooted over slightly to give him room. He leaned his elbows on the table and looked at her sketchbook again.

“You know, it’s messy, but it’s got heart,” he said, tapping the page lightly. “Just like you.”

Jinx rolled her eyes, but her cheeks turned pink. “If I didn’t like you so much, I’d punch you for that.”

“You can punch me anyway,” Ekko said with a laugh, nudging her shoulder.

They sat there in comfortable silence for a moment, their sketchbooks forgotten. The golden hour light bathed them in warmth, and the hum of the fan became a soothing background melody.

“Hey,” Jinx said suddenly, breaking the quiet.

“Yeah?” Ekko turned to her, curious.

“You ever think about how weird this is?” she asked, gesturing between them. “Like, you’re all… grounded and smart and stuff. And I’m—”

“Brilliant and unstoppable?” Ekko interrupted.

Jinx froze, then laughed. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re incredible,” he said, his voice softer this time.

For a second, the air between them changed. Jinx’s usual bravado faltered, and Ekko’s confident grin softened into something more earnest. He reached out, hesitating for only a moment before brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

“You’re really something, Jinx,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

For once, she didn’t have a sarcastic reply. Instead, she leaned forward, her forehead pressing lightly against his.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she murmured before closing the gap between them.

The kiss was gentle but electric, like a spark igniting something long overdue. It was messy, like Jinx’s sketches, and deliberate, like Ekko’s cityscapes. Perfectly them.

When they pulled back, Jinx was grinning, and Ekko couldn’t help but laugh.

“Guess that means you’re stuck with me now,” she said, her tone teasing but her eyes soft.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Ekko replied, resting his forehead against hers.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting the room in shades of orange and pink. Their sketchbooks lay abandoned on the table, but neither of them cared. In that moment, everything else faded away, leaving only the two of them—and the beginnings of something extraordinary.

[deceit-and-knowledge]

Ooc: to that one anon REALLY excited about this here ya go (I too am excited- I doodled them ALOT yesterday)

please note: this will be adding a new character to the cast. The character is dreamweaver cookie from cookie run: ovenbreak. dreamweaver does canonically (like in actual ovenbreak) use they/them pronouns. They do have custom lore but it boils down to "fount of knowledge is their little brother, brother became evil >:(" which is loosely based on my other au

For this idea I would like to give credits to user behind young nova cookie (can't remember their name off the top of my head 😭)

Be warned this is a little long!

f: mmph.. no....*mumbling in sleep/having a bad dream* ...*grumbles* ....

(in the dream)

?: *a big liquidy almost cloudy /foggy semi humanoid/cookie figure with disembodied claws and tendril like protrusions looked at the sage, it's body covered in many light blue eyes of various shapes and directions with black slits. It's head has a giant expressive eyeball*

don't you want to become me~? Embrace darkness, accept deceit! What can knowledge and truth truly do for you if it just hurts you? It poisons your dough and seeps into your aching heart. You're weak!

You can be easily broken and molded from your own selfish desires!

f: n-no! I'll never be like you, I-I don't want to..!

?: c'mon! We're pals! What's so wrong with a little trick here and there, the recluse will accept you regardless~ despite how much you've broken and tortured him and killed his friends, he'll accept you! Pure vanilla cookie's are nothing but pathetic doormats at our beckoning call! Like a dog on a leash or fish on a hook. A mere puppet they'll only be, wouldn't it feels good~! To control and manipulate someone into bowing to your will!

f: I don't want to be a monster and never will!

?: it's only a matter of time dear fount of knowledge~ you already are opening your eyes to the truth that deceit is better, I see that eyeball on your hair. It's always been there but was closed, do you even reckon the recluse truly cares about you? He was broken down to nothing but a truthless husk. He cares for nothing anymore, he stays alive out of spite for the us that hurt him. You're a fool for thinking someone who's heart is so empty would have a light in the dark for you..

You don't care for him either, you trust yourself not to become a monster when really fate isn't decided by you.. you can't always chose the past laid by yourself because others will always manipulate your future into their desires. That's the truth. You don't matter and will never matter, so corrupt! Join the dark side of the moon and embrace lies. If you truly care for the recluse being his friend wouldn't be on the cards.

You're greedy to fulfill your own desires to become furthest from me, I had no one to guide me and keep me on the right path, you're trying to change the past.. all because of sheer selfishness!

Selfish selfish selfish, tsk tsk tsk! Selfish! Ha!

f: I'm not selfish! I do care about the recluse..

Please.. stop it.. get out of my head.. I'm not a monster.. I don't want to hurt cookies.. please..

PLEASE! *Sage screams viscerally, emotions pouring out his mouth and eyes*

?: how about no~..

How about I show you the TRUTH *charges sage*

f: no no no! Please! Pl-!

*just as the being was about to attack sage it poofs into a purple gemstone in the shape of a star, the dark energy contained seeps out into a black mist but it can't hurt sage*

h-huh..? Where.. I'm alive?..

???: aww *chuckles* pesky nightmares! Don't be afraid they're just trying to help you be stronger!

*as the mysterious voice speaks the star is turned into glittering specks of light. It looks almost like memorising fireflies in the night sky of the realm that is sage's desolate nightmare*

???: yup! You're alive and well, sorry for coming so late! Busy night haha!

*The voice speaks again but sage cannot locate the source no matter how much he tries to adjust his eyes to abyssal plain*

f: ....huh..uh... Am I still dreaming?..

???: ah! Um yes! Hold on, sorry it's reallllyyy dark in their nightmare! Allow me too~~

*suddenly the dark plain is changed like a light switch was activated, opening the curtain to a bright sunny world meticulously crafted from seemingly sage's imagination.*

???: welcome to your own personal realm of dreams! All your happy desires and comforts lay right here! It's warm and bright here, isn't it?! It'll keep cozy whilst you recover from that meanie! Hehe! How cruel..calling you a monster. Your dream realm makes you seem quite friendly! Don't listen to him, he's just a representation of your insecurities! Nightmares are FUELED by those! A cookie's worries can easily place them in the grasp of a real mean nightmare!

if you need a dreamy friend to talk out those worries with I'm right here!

though.... I doubt you'll remember getting the feelings off your chest in the morning.. it'll make you wake up happier, I'm sure of it!

f: who are you.. and where are you?..

*from behind sage as if magic the mysterious voice's owner appears from behind him*

???: peek-a-boo! Haha!

f: ah! ...huh...!?

*they appear to be a small child-like cookie. At least they're the size and stature of one. Wearing a glittering night cap, a matching cape and what seems to be dark blue pyjamas?*

dw: my name is dreamweaver cookie! I'm your guide and guardian of the dream light gallery aka an interconnecting museum of various dreams! This is your gallery. Decorated and curated from your own imagination! You can alter it to your liking! It's like your own dreamy bedroom! Sleep on the fluffy clouds, play and frolic, whatever your heart desires!

You can even visit your friends' dreams if the light allows it!

f: I assume you're like moonlight cookie in a way?

dw: hehe! Yup! Just like her! We make sure to not get in each other's ways however.. that's rude!

hm... You look....familiar... But I can't remember meeting you here before.. what's your name?

f: my friends call me "sage" but I'm typically called the fount of knowledge..

dw: ...f..fount of knowledge?..

f: yep!

dw: ...*their once happy bubbly expression changes into a more serious yet perplexed one* odd.. I thought he....hm..

Well! *Their expression changes* I've heard that name before! You're the cookie of knowledge, the virtue of it! How impressive! No wonder you had such a terrible nightmare.. your work is amazing but stressful, I can only imagine the extent it goes..

I hope you dream well! Have fun, fount of knowledge!

f: wait..! May I ask you a question..?

dw: ...

...sure! Ask away, I'm all ears! *Floats back over to sage, concealing themselves in their cape*

f: ...why did I have that nightmare exactly..

dw: you're afraid of your "destiny" as you see it, you're insecure about your relationship with your friend, you're scared to become someone that only seeks to cause hurt but cookies can change! We aren't bound by our past or future, we can choose our own paths.. we don't need to become "monsters". If we do, we fix ourselves and find those who accept us. Even if that who is is us. Ourselves. Loneliness can be a pain and a cure all in one!

But most importantly, you regret your own words and statements to those around you, your own thoughts have unwillingly harmed someone you care about and while you don't know it, the guilt is eating at you, that monster is representation of yourself. Not "who" you fear to become.

f: ....oh..really?..

dw: I don't need to lie about the reason behind a dream! Now now, I must leave I have work to be done!..

f: ...is something wrong..?

dw: ...

No? Why do you ask, fount of knowledge!?

f: it's just you seem.. bothered by my presence..

dw: ...ah.. well it's just, your appearance reminds me of someone I once loved.. but trust me it has absolutely nothing to do with you specifically! I just, have alot on my mind. Do not worry!

f: ah.. so you won't be here when I wake up..i'll forget you..

dw: mhm! That's how dreams work!

f: ....doesn't that get lonely..?

dw: .....

....

Well.. yes. Sometimes.. but overall it's alright! I've grown used to it, there's no need to dwell on something that's only temporary..

f: wouldn't you like someone that remembers you when they wake up?..

dw: .....

Well wouldn't everyone?! Heh!

f: ....

dw: it's alright! I'm used to it! It's my duty to guide those lost in their dreams and erase their nightmares so they sleep well~! All restless cookies shan't fret! I'm here to help and I love helping them! Seeing their smiles is all I need to keep me going!

i know it seems sad to a cookie such as yourself, I've been asked this before!..

but trust me, it really doesn't bother me. I was...meant to have a friend but unforseen circumstances lead to them not being able to work alongside me.

f: ....were they ever baked?

dw: kindly I don't particularly want to get into all that drama! Dreams should be fun and happy..go have some fun! You'll be waking up in about 3 hours! That'll only feel like 10 minutes here!

f: ....

dw: .....

*sighs* ...well... I'm very sure you're not them..but a cookie of particular intelligence was meant to be like a sibling to me.. they were made using similar ingredients to me from the witches. They would govern nightmares and I govern dreams but now I do both because they're not around..

f: do you know their name..?

dw: ... currently, from their dreams. I learnt of a tale of pain and mental anguish, regret and loneliness. Their name is well.. his name currently..is shadow milk cookie.

f: I know shadow milk cookie! He calls me "nerd" alot..

dw: I'm aware, I've seen your dreams, silly! Every night you sleep, I'm always watching over you! You two aren't friends.. unfortunately....

f: ...well wouldn't you like to at least...talk to him?..

dw: ...

What's the point? He won't remember our talk when he wakes up anyway, he'll think it's only a dream and disregard it. Besides! I have duties I must attend to! Farewell f-

f: like in the waking world?.. can you access that?

dw: well yes, the dream light gallery is a realm I've created.. I can exit it anytime I please, I just choose not to because there's realistically nothing for an ancient dreamer such as myself out there. I'm technically in a forever slumber! My back will HATE me when I wake up haha! I'm probably asleep on the ground at this point after all these years..

But as for talking to him in the waking world.. why..and what would I even do, let alone say?

f: I have an idea!

In the morning

s: *sleeping*

dw: *whispering*...like this?

f: *whispering* mhm, right on the nose.

dw: *tickles smilk's nose with a feather they took from pv*

s: mmph.. nilly... what.. mh... no more .. scarfs..

f & dw: ?????

s: mm.. *claws the air because the feather is bothering him*

dw: wakey wakey~~~🎶 c'mon! I thought you were a light sleeper..

s: ...mm...mm! *Wakes up, pinning the feather, angrily glaring at the holder of the feather*

dw: ....uh... h-hello!!...

s: ....

....!?

[godricgryffinsnore]

Whispers In The Library ♡ : A Romione Fan Fiction.

pairing : Ron Weasley x Hermoine Granger

summary : On a quiet evening in the Gryffindor common room, Ron and Hermione find themselves caught in the warmth of their growing feelings. What starts as a playful moment turns into a confession that changes everything. As they navigate their newfound love, an intimate night in the Hogwarts library cements their bond, turning years of friendship into something deeper. But with the weight of the wizarding world on their shoulders, can their love withstand the trials ahead?

warnings : Mature content (explicit sexual themes), Canon divergence, Fluff, Friends-to-lovers, Hogwarts setting, 18+ Minors DNI. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

Word Count : 3k

main master list <3

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"Ron, you've got dirt on your nose," she said, her laughter bubbling up as she playfully swiped at his face with her wand.

Ron Weasley, the red-haired Gryffindor with a heart as fiery as his hair, looked at her with mock annoyance, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth. "Thanks for pointing that out, Hermione," he replied, swiping his nose with the back of his hand and smearing the dirt even more.

It was a typical afternoon in the Gryffindor common room, where the warmth of the crackling fireplace was the only thing that could challenge the warmth of their friendship. She sat across from him, her legs tucked under her as she poured over a thick book titled "The Intricacies of Charms and Their Applications". It was the kind of book that could put anyone else to sleep, but for her, it was a treasure trove of knowledge waiting to be discovered. Ron, on the other hand, had his Quidditch magazine sprawled out, studying the latest match stats as if they were ancient runes.

The common room was bustling with the low hum of chatter and the occasional roar of laughter. The soft light of the setting sun painted the room in a warm glow, casting long shadows across the floor and making the dust motes dance in the air like tiny stars. The scent of butterbeer and roasting chestnuts wafted over from the kitchen, mingling with the musty aroma of old books and parchment.

As the hours ticked by, the pile of parchment between them grew, filled with scribbled notes and the occasional doodle of a Quidditch player. They were so engrossed in their studies, or rather, their avoidance of them, that they barely noticed the time passing. The light grew dimmer, the shadows stretched longer, and the room quieter as their fellow students trickled out for dinner.

Ron looked up from his magazine, his stomach rumbling loudly. "I guess we should head to the Great Hall," he said, rolling up the parchment and tucking it into his bag.

"In a minute," she replied, her eyes glued to the book. "I just want to finish this chapter."

He leaned back in his chair, watching her with a fond smile. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame her face. The way the light hit her glasses made them sparkle like the stars he knew she was destined to reach.

It was then that he felt it, the subtle shift in the air, the sudden awareness that had been growing in the pit of his stomach. He had always known she was brilliant, beautiful, and kind, but now he couldn't ignore the way his heart raced whenever she was near. The way his palms grew damp and his throat tight when he thought about her.

"Hermione," he began, his voice low and tentative. She looked up from her book, her eyes meeting his. "There's something I've wanted to tell you for a while now."

Her expression was a mix of surprise and curiosity. "What is it?"

Ron took a deep breath, his heart pounding like the hooves of a stampeding centaur. "I think… I think I'm in love with you," he blurted out, the words sounding both strange and right at the same time.

The room seemed to hold its breath, the crackling of the fire and the distant chime of the dinner bell the only sounds breaking the silence. Her eyes searched his, looking for a sign that he was joking, but all she saw was earnestness.

"Ron," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I… I feel the same way."

The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, the weight of their confession thick and palpable. The warmth of the room seemed to intensify, and the dust motes danced faster, as if celebrating the revelation.

Without another word, he reached out and took her hand, the touch sending a jolt through both of them. It was a simple gesture, one that had happened countless times before, but now it felt different. It felt like the first step into a world they had both been too afraid to explore.

They sat there, holding hands, as the shadows grew and the stars outside began to twinkle through the windows. The realization of their feelings didn't change the fabric of the universe, but it did shift the landscape of their friendship, turning it into something more profound and complex.

"I've felt this way for a while," she admitted, her voice shaking slightly. "But I didn't know how to say it without ruining what we have."

Ron squeezed her hand gently. "We're still us, Hermione," he reassured her. "Just a bit more… complicated, I guess."

Her smile was small but genuine, and she nodded. They stood up together, the book forgotten on the floor, and made their way to the Great Hall. The corridors were mostly empty now, the portraits on the walls whispering to each other as they passed. The sound of their footsteps echoed through the hallowed halls, punctuated by the occasional squeak of a floorboard .

In the Great Hall, the house-elves were setting up the last of the dinner tables. The smell of roast chicken and steaming vegetables filled the air, making their stomachs growl in unison. They took their usual seats beside Harry and the rest of their friends, but the energy between them had changed. They talked and laughed as they always did, but there was a newfound electricity that made their skin tingle whenever their arms brushed against each other.

The meal passed in a blur of hushed whispers and secret smiles, their eyes meeting frequently across the table. Harry looked at them quizzically but said nothing, sensing that something significant had happened between his two best friends. The tension grew, a delicious coil of anticipation, as the plates were cleared and the desserts brought out.

After dinner, they lingered by the fireplace, their hands finding each other again as they watched the embers die down. It was quieter now, the castle settling into the night's embrace. The warmth of the flames licked at their faces, casting a soft glow over their features.

"Would you like to take a walk with me?" Ron asked, his voice low and hopeful.

Hermione nodded, her heart racing. They slipped out of the common room, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpets, and into the quiet corridor. The castle was almost eerie in its stillness, the portraits' eyes following them as they passed.

As they wandered through the hallowed halls, their conversation flowed easily, weaving in and out of topics both mundane and profound. It was as if a dam had broken, and the words they had held back for so long were rushing out, filling the spaces between them with a newfound intimacy.

They ended up in a secluded corner, surrounded by dusty bookshelves that stretched up to the high ceiling. The moonlight streamed in through a stained-glass window, casting a mosaic of colors on the stone floor. It was here, in the quiet sanctity of the library, that Ron leaned in and kissed her for the first time.

The kiss was soft, tentative, as if he was afraid she would vanish if he pushed too hard. But she didn't. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, her lips moving against his in a silent declaration of love and trust. The books around them whispered of ancient spells and heroic deeds, but the most potent magic of all was the connection that had formed between two people who had been destined to be together all along.

They broke apart, both breathless and grinning. "I've wanted to do that for ages," Ron murmured, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek.

Hermione's eyes searched his, finding the same love and wonder reflected back at her. "Me too," she whispered.

They stood there, in the quiet of the library, the future stretching out before them like an unexplored map. They knew there would be challenges, that the path ahead was not without its perils, but together, they felt ready to face anything.

And as the clock chimed the witching hour, they leaned in for another kiss, sealing their fate as more than just best friends. The castle remained still, a silent witness to the birth of a love that would stand the test of time and dark magic. It was the start of something beautiful, something that would change their lives forever.

Their kiss grew more urgent, more demanding, as if they were trying to absorb each other's very essence. Ron's hand found its way to her waist, pulling her closer, while hers tangled in his hair. The warmth of his touch sent a thrill down her spine, making her want to melt into him.

As they kissed, they explored each other's bodies with gentle, curious hands, discovering the contours and curves that had been hidden beneath robes for too long. His hand slid up her back, eliciting a soft gasp from her as she arched into his touch. Her own hands roamed, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt, the rapid beating of his heart.

Their breaths grew ragged, mingling together in the cool library air. The dusty books on the shelves seemed to lean in closer, whispering ancient secrets of love and passion that echoed in their ears. They didn't need to speak; their bodies communicated in a language that was centuries old.

Ron's hands found the hem of her shirt, slipping underneath to trace the soft skin of her stomach. She shivered, her own hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, eager to feel the warmth of his chest. The world outside the library faded away, leaving only the two of them and the magic that pulsed between them.

Their kisses grew deeper, more urgent, as the tension built. The quiet whispers of the books grew louder, the air thickening with the promise of something more. They stumbled backward, knocking into a bookshelf, and the tomes tumbled down around them, the sound lost in the crescendo of their passion.

On the floor, surrounded by the scent of old parchment and the glow of the moon, they discovered each other in a way they never had before. It was a dance of exploration and revelation, each touch a silent confession of feelings that had been buried for so long.

Ron's hand slid up her thigh, the fabric of her skirt whispering against her skin as he reached for the warmth between her legs. Hermione's breath hitched, her eyes fluttering closed as she bit her bottom lip. He paused, looking for permission in her eyes, and found it in the way she leaned into his touch.

Her own hands were busy unbuckling his belt, the sound of it unclasping echoing through the deserted library. He groaned into her mouth as she wrapped her hand around him, feeling his arousal, his need for her. It was a heady feeling, one that made her heart race and her pulse throb.

They kissed and touched, each caress bringing them closer to the precipice. Clothes fell away, leaving them in only their undergarments, the fabric a flimsy barrier to the heat of their bodies. Ron's hands were everywhere, leaving a trail of fire across her skin, and she returned the favor, eager to feel every inch of him.

The tension grew, a tight coil ready to snap, until it did. With a final, desperate kiss, they gave in to their desires, their bodies joining in a symphony of love and passion that seemed to shake the very foundations of Hogwarts itself.

In that moment, as they lay entwined on the cold stone floor, the world outside ceased to exist. There was only the two of them, lost in each other's arms, discovering the beauty and power of a love that had been brewing for years. It was the start of a new chapter in their story, one that would be filled with joy, pain, and the magic that only true love can bring.

Ron's touch grew bolder, his fingers tracing the line of her panties, teasing the sensitive flesh beneath. Hermione moaned into his mouth, her hips rising to meet his touch. The fabric was damp with her arousal, and the sound of it against her skin was like a siren's call, urging him on. He slid a finger under the elastic, feeling the heat of her desire, and she shivered, her legs parting wider.

Her hand found his boxers, and she gripped him firmly, feeling him pulse in her grasp. His breath hitched, his hips jerking as she began to stroke him, her movements slow and deliberate. He kissed her harder, his hand sliding up to unclasp her bra, freeing her breasts to his eager touch. The feel of her soft skin against his palm was like nothing he had ever experienced before.

They moved together, a dance as old as time itself. Each touch, each kiss, brought them closer to the edge. Their hearts pounded in unison, their breaths mingling as they gasped for air. The library had become their sanctuary, their playground, a place where they could be free to explore the depths of their love without fear of judgment or interruption.

With a final, desperate pull, Ron removed her panties, his thumb brushing over her clit as he did so. Hermione's back arched, a keening sound escaping her lips. He stared at her, his eyes dark with need, and she could see the same desperation in his own. They both knew what was coming next, and the anticipation was almost unbearable.

He positioned himself at her entrance, the tip of him nudging against her, seeking entry. Hermione's eyes went wide, a mix of fear and excitement. This was it, the moment they had both been dreaming of for so long. Ron took a deep breath, his hand trembling as it held her hip.

"Ready?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Hermione nodded, her own hand reaching down to guide him to her. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm ready."

With a gentle push, he entered her, filling her completely. They both gasped, the sensation overwhelming and perfect. It was a moment of pure connection, a joining of bodies and souls that went beyond the physical. The books around them seemed to sigh with approval as they became one, moving together in a rhythm that was as natural as breathing.

Their love was raw and unfiltered, a force that seemed to pulse through the very air around them. The moonlight bathed them in its silvery glow, casting shadows across their tangled limbs as they found their rhythm. The world outside the library faded away, leaving only the sound of their passionate cries and the beating of their hearts.

They made love slowly, savoring every moment, every sensation. It was as if they were writing their names into the very fabric of the universe, leaving a mark that could never be erased. Their movements grew more frantic, more urgent, as they climbed higher and higher. The tension built, coiling tighter and tighter, until it was all they could do to hang on.

And then it broke, the dam of their pent-up desire shattering into a million pieces. They came together, their cries echoing off the ancient stone walls, their bodies shaking with the force of their release. The library was their witness, the books their silent cheerleaders as they found their place in the grand tapestry of love.

As they lay there, panting and entwined, the reality of what had just happened settled over them. They had crossed a line, one that could never be uncrossed. But in that moment, all they could feel was joy. They had found something pure and beautiful, a love that was worth fighting for.

And fight they would, against the dark forces that threatened to tear them apart. Because now, more than ever, they had something to lose, something to hold onto. They had each other, and together, they were unstoppable.

Their future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: they were no longer just best friends. They were lovers, bound by a bond stronger than any spell, a bond that would face the darkest of challenges and emerge victorious. For in the end, love always finds a way, even in the most unexpected of places.

Ron pulled out of her slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. Hermione felt a sense of loss as he broke the intimate connection, but it was quickly replaced by a warmth that spread through her body, a warmth that had nothing to do with the magical fireplace. She reached up, her hand cupping his cheek, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw. He leaned into her touch, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm.

They lay there for a moment, their breathing evening out, their hearts still racing. The library was a cocoon of warmth and quiet, the only sounds their own breaths and the occasional flicker of the fire. It was as if the world had stopped turning, that all of time had paused just for them.

Hermione looked up at Ron, her gaze filled with wonder. He was still her best friend, but now, he was so much more. He was the boy who had seen her at her worst and still loved her, the boy who had fought beside her through battles and trials. He was the one who had made her laugh when she thought she'd forgotten how, the one who had held her hand when she was scared. And now, he was the man who had claimed her heart and her body, the one who had given her a love that was fiercer than any dragon fire.

They dressed quickly, their movements awkward and shy, but filled with a newfound sense of urgency. They knew that they had to get back to the common room before they were missed, but they couldn't help stealing glances at each other, as if trying to memorize every line and curve of the other's body. It was a secret they would keep, a secret that would only make their love burn brighter.

As they stepped out of the library, the cold air of the corridor was a stark contrast to the heat of their hidden sanctuary. They held hands, their fingers interlaced, the warmth of their skin a stark reminder of what they had shared. They walked in silence, their hearts too full of words to speak them, their minds racing with thoughts and feelings that were too big to fit into the confines of speech.

Their relationship had taken a new turn, one that was both thrilling and terrifying. But as they climbed the stairs to the Gryffindor Tower, their steps in sync, they knew that they would face whatever came their way together. For they were more than just friends now; they were each other's home, a place of love and safety in the chaos of the world.

And no matter what the future held, they would always find their way back to each other.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

[fic-writer-confessions]

I've spent 10 years posting fanfics for a few unpopular characters, pouring my free time and soul into them. Now that the media is seeing a sudden influx of people, people are starting to rec fics about these characters.

I've written 80% of the fics for these two in a variety of different situations from fluff to angst. Just once, I'd love to see my name on someone's rec list for this pair. I've genuinely worked hard and feel like my work is well-written (most pieces complete one-shots, not ongoing WIPs). This could've been my time, all my passion, regular upload schedule, and work promoting myself on Tumblr (with both writing and art) finally paying off.

And yet, I get sidestepped and the fandom gushes over the newcomers' fics. I keep posting new works and don't get anywhere near as many views as the new arrivals. It's been months and no one's rec'd one of my works for this pair (on their public rec lists, at least) despite how many I've written and how long I've been around.

I see people call new fandom members "that guy" for the doodles they post about these two. I know I shouldn't be jealous, but it's hard not to doubt myself when I've gone years without comments on these works and I've been writing this pair for so long. My heart's starting 2025 a little broken, but life goes on.

.