#smth warm and soothing down your throat at least

[an-unraveling-unknown]

I am so normal about the hozier ep. /lying /lying /spinner of yarns /liar /lying liar from liarsville /you're not slick IDIOT /lying /li

[mymegumi]

STRAWBERRIES AND CIGARETTES

pairing: tsukishima kei x gn!reader

genre: angst

warnings: smoking, probably toxic relationships, stoner!tsukki, and swearing

word count: 1.1k words

note: might keep the new layout, might keep fucking around w it. i just wanted to try smth new hehe. also sorry my pieces are all over the place recently, i consider them breaks from my longer works

 Smoking wasn’t a habit that you really considered anything other than off-putting. Specifically when it involved cigarettes, because they significantly lowered one’s life expectancy and just weren’t all that aromatically attractive—you found men that smoked were not as attractive as literally anyone else.

Now, did you smoke occasionally when the week was just too rough and you wanted something to soothe the ache of loneliness that seemed to chase after you? Yeah, but at least it wasn’t a cigarette, of course.

So, when Tsukishima Kei walked up to you outside the bar as you were waiting for a ride, asking if you had a lighter on hand with a cigarette between his lips, you blamed the alcohol you’d just drank for pulling the lighter out of your pocket to light him up.

“Got a light?” The cigarette squished between his lips bobbed with every word he spoke, and your eye seemed to be drawn to the way his mouth formed each word.

You made a noise of affirmation, your throat had suddenly gone dry as you fished around your pocket for the lighter you’d just used at a friend’s house. Flickering it a few times, you held it out to him and watched him dip low to catch the end of it in the flame.

The fire cast a warm glow across his features, and you just watched the way the shadows licked and kissed across his cheekbones, the pale features of his face more accentuated since the bar’s lights added as a backlight. The flame of your half-empty red lighter reflected in his glasses, hiding his eyes minutely.

He leaned back with his cigarette now lit, the end red with embers and flickering softly as he breathed in, holding it for a second before he turned his head away to blow the rest of the smoke out towards the street. His jawline was as sharp as his attitude, so you’d learned, and with a few clipped words, he offered you little in terms of conversation.

Yet he didn’t turn you down when you asked for his number.

Since then, you’d forced yourself into his life in the smallest ways—usually just whenever he needed someone to provide a bit of comfort when the weed hit a patch of loneliness, or even to be there when him and Yamaguchi were too out of their minds to make good decisions.

You think it’s the way his smile seemed to grow softer when he got high, off of regular cigarettes just to get the edge off or smoking weed to feel lighter than air. The harshness of his face seemed to disappear the more he inhaled and exhaled, and just watching that process was enough for you.

Or so you’d thought.

Before you knew it, you wanted to watch him fall apart under your hand, to be nothing more than a follower of your religion.  Not for any malicious reason, but only because he was so guarded.

In a sharp contrast to Yamaguchi, who seemed much more outspoken and vibrant, Tsukishima seemed to keep almost everyone he didn’t know at bay. This included you on even your best days with him, unfortunately.

There was something about him that was so magnetic, however, and you could never seem to ignore the draw to him. The curve of his smile was better than any drug anyone could offer you, so you chased the high like an addict who didn’t know when their next fix was. And you didn’t know, really. You didn’t know when the next chance you’d get with him was because of how far he kept himself from you.

“Oi,” he looks at you with a strange gleam in his eyes, “did you hear a word of what I just fucking said?”

When he smokes, it’s always apparent that he came from a smaller, country town, his accent spilling from his lips as if he’d trained himself to sound like someone from the city. You consider it a blessing to know him like this.

“‘Course I wasn’t.” You mutter it under your breath as you watch Yamaguchi roll another joint, hands nimble and agile. You wonder idly when Tsukishima stopped using cigarettes—you haven’t seen him buy a pack in a while. “Y’know I don’t like to think too much when we smoke.”

Tsukishima had gotten the end of the last blunt, and was now smoking it idly while you waited your turn. He’d invited you over for a session with him, Yamaguchi and Yachi, though the latter was somewhere in the kitchen getting bottles of water for the four of you.

“Idiot,” he throws it out at you with no ill intent, before muttering something else that you can’t quite catch.

His hand grips your jaw, turning your gaze from watching your friend licking the paper to make it stick to itself. His eyes are a bit bloodshot, but otherwise alert, and if you knew any better, you’d see a bit of jealousy around the edges of his expression. Before you can even think to decipher the look on his face, and what it possibly means for you, Tsukishima is shoving a thumb on your bottom lip and forcing your mouth open.

Like a parody of the first time you met, Tsukishima leans down towards your face.

Opening his mouth, he exhales smoke straight into your slack-jawed mouth, his eyes never leaving yours. Your breath in is less of a reaction to him doing it, and more instinct as you reach a hand out to hold onto his wrist, as if needing something to ground you to this moment.

When he’s satisfied you’d taken enough, he lets his thumb drag against the bottom of your lip with a content smile on his lips, like a cat that got the cream. Your hand is still on his wrist and you can feel his pulse drum steadily against his skin, a rhythm of his body and his person.

“Don’t go looking at me like you love me, now.” 

And maybe he means it jokingly, but there’s a part of you that stills a bit, as if he’d just unearthed some great secret you’d been keeping from him. It’s hardly anything to hide, if the way you love him is written on your sleeve like you think it is.

“Who’s gonna stop me?” You whisper back, and the sharpness of his face seems to even itself out a bit as he leans over you, arm sliding across your shoulders and providing a soothing weight.

The familiarity and intimacy of it, combined with his last words to you leave a bad taste in your mouth, like a drink not mixed quite enough. Yet there’s nothing in you that wants to push him off, instead content to curl closer into the warmth of his body as Yachi comes back into the room, bottles of water in her hand.

If smoking cigarettes was Tsukishima’s bad habit, he was yours.

[straycat-writes]

i saw that you write for ikemen vampire as well, so if it's alright with you i was wondering if you could write headcanons for mozart, vincent, comte, and arthur with a depressed/suicidal s/o who's main coping mechanism is humor? like they joke abt suicide a lot + make jokes abt feeling shitty when asked since they dont wanna worry anyone much but their jokes start getting increasingly concerning bc its smth i do a lot lol,, u dont need to do this if ur not comfortable.. thx and love your work!!

anon added: wait fuck i just remembered only three characters for headcanons so just do it for mozart, vincent, and arthur. thank u!

notes: Whaaat, come on, you cannot just do my husband dirty like that, of course I’ll do all four 😆 Before we begin, since everyone experiences stuff like this differently, our experiences might not be exactly the same, so these might not be universal. In any case, I hope you feel better 🥺💕

trigger warning(s): depression, mentions of suicide, and suicidal ideation.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

He did notice the jokes each time, but at first, he didn’t necessarily feel the need to intervene.

Once was alright, he thought you might just have a different sense of humor. Twice was morbid, but he brushed it off. But thrice was downright worrying, and he was starting to suspect something might be wrong.

He observed you make increasingly dark jokes for weeks on end, and brush off anyone who tried to ask you about them, before he decided that enough was enough.

“What is wrong with you?”

It’s a blunt question, completely tactless, but only because he’s actually quite concerned and doesn’t how else to put it. Nonetheless, it catches you off-guard.

“What do you mean?”

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t play dumb with me, (y/n). Have you been spending too much time with shitty Dazai again?”

When you don’t say anything, the scowl on his face melts into a concerned frown. He wants to help, he really does, but it’s hard for someone like him to deal with such heavy feelings, whether his own or someone else’s. After all, words have never been his preferred medium of expression.

So, he decides not to use them. Instead, he envelopes you in a long, silent hug. It’s a little stiff, but when you start crying softy on his shoulder, he gives in and pulls you even closer, gently stroking your hair.

Up until then, you had no idea that the stern, ice-cold Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart could ever feel so…familiarly warm and soft, with his arms around you.

“I’m not asking you to confess anything, (y/n). I’m not even asking you to tell me anything. I…actually have no idea how to fix any of this, but…Just…know that you don’t have to deal with this on your own.”

Vincent van Gogh

Out of everyone, it would probably take Vincent the least time to notice when something is wrong with you.

The morbid humor is one thing, but what really concerns him is how hollow your laugh has started to sound, and the glazed…empty look you get in your eyes when you think no one is looking.

He notices because he knows what to look for, because he has already seen too much of it, in himself.

“(Y/n), sweetheart, are you okay?”

“Hm? Yes, of course, Vincent. Why do you ask?”

“…Why do you think?”

There is a certain look in his eyes, so wistfully sad, as if mourning something he hasn’t even lost yet, and you just know that he knows. There is no use lying to him. In hindsight, you think, you should have known you could hide it from anyone except him.

When a lone tear slips down your cheek, he gently wipes it away and holds your face with both hands, looking into your eyes. To your surprise, and immense pain, his own are glistening with tears too.

“Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

“…Because it’s my problem and I didn’t want to drag you down with me.”

You realize it doesn’t make much sense now when you say it out loud, but you knew he was all too familiar with this complete and utter despair, this emptiness you felt inside of yourself, and you never wanted him to feel it again, even if it was by proxy.

But now, he stands in front of you, hands on either side of your face, and he places a chaste, gentle kiss on your forehead. He doesn’t say anything, but you realize what he means. I’m here. I understand. You’re not alone.

(note: for those who don’t know, Vincent van Gogh committed suicide at the age of thirty-seven.)

Le Comte de Saint-Germain

He is used to the residents of his mansion having…strange sense of humor and habits, honestly.

Even so, when you make a jest about killing yourself for the fifth time in a row, he can’t help but be worried. There are only two explanations, you either just have a very, very dark idea of humor, in which case there was nothing much he could do except gentle advisory, or there was indeed something very wrong.

He keeps hoping it’s not the latter, but days pass and your jokes keep getting more and more morbid, and any attempts to talk to you about the issue are only met with smooth elusiveness.

“I’m only kidding, Comte. Of course, I’m not going to throw myself off the roof. Probably.”

“…I think we need to talk, ma cherie.”

That sentence in itself is enough to scare anyone half to death, and when you have so much to hide, even more so.

The talk is long and tedious, with quite a lot of repressed emotions involved. On your part, first there is the defensive anger. Of course, there isn’t anything wrong, how dare he imply otherwise? Then there is the desperate denial, because ‘ignore the problem until it goes away’, right? Except, this problem isn’t going away on its own, and you both know that.

Finally, there is the reluctant acceptance, and a lot of crying. Throughout this, he is as calm and collected on the outside as he always is, even when you grip the front of his coat and cry in his embrace. You’re barely holding yourself together, so he needs to be your support.

But on the inside, there is a storm raging. You were supposed to be his responsibility. He was the one who brought you here, and he was just watching you wither away like this in front of his eyes? What kind of a person did that make him? Just how much of a failure is he?

“I’m so sorry for not noticing sooner, ma cherie. I have failed you.”

“Wh-what?”

“I was supposed to protect you from everything, including yourself. Evidently, I have failed at that, and my heart aches at the thought of you suffering all on your own. But I intend to rectify my fault a thousand times over.”

You stare up at him with wide eyes, and without a warning, more tears spill.

Arthur Conan Doyle

Peculiar taste of humor is kind of Arthur’s brand. He enjoys his shamelessly perverted jokes, so he assumed you enjoy your dark ones.

Even so, he does get a little worried when he notices how your first instinct to almost anything is self-deprecation and jokes about killing yourself at the slightest provocation, and how you laugh a little too loud and too much when asked about any of it.

The more he notices, the more concerned he gets, and the more confused about just what to do about it.

At first, he tries to deflect your morbid jokes with some of his own, just to see how you would react. But the moment he talks of killing himself, you go pale, asking him to stop with such distress in your voice that he ends up feeling guilty.

But even after that, it doesn’t stop you from doing it yourself.

“Welp, guess I’ll just go drown in a river somewhere.”

“Ahahaha, but consider this, how about you…don’t?”

He’s always so playful, and even fickle that it almost slips your mind that he is a writer, after all, and a very observant one at that. He is intelligent and notices every little thing, even if he doesn’t show it. That includes the fact that your laugh has been sounding more and more empty lately, your smile seeming more and more like fake plastic.

So, when he confronts you about it, it takes you by surprise.

“Whatever do you mean, Arthur? I’m fine.”

“Right…Stop lying to me, (y/n).”

You frown. You should have known how hard it would be to hide anything from Arthur for too long. How long did you really think you could keep up this façade? The realization comes like a slap to the face, and it’s almost like your metaphorical mask drops. You start crying.

He is distressed at the sudden turn of events, but tries his best to console you. As he hugs you to his chest, gently rubbing soothing circles on your back, he wonders if he could have done something to help you sooner.

“Listen, sweetheart. I don’t claim to know what you’re going through, but I do know that you need help. I know I cannot just fix whatever…this is, but I can promise that I’m going to be here with you, through everything”

You laugh bitterly, “It gets ugly.”

“I don’t care.” He shakes his head, “I’m going to be here with you, whether you want me to be or not, and I promise to hold you together as you scream your throat raw trying to hold yourself together, promise to…stand by you as you save yourself. You do not have to do this alone.”

He kisses you softly, only for a moment, soft and true on the lips.

“Show me every dark and hideous, every bitter thing about your soul…and then, let me love you anyway.”

[chocosvt]

⚬ pairing: seungcheol x reader. ⚬ word count: 4865. ⚬ warnings: drinking / smoking. ⚬ genre: mostly angst, fluff, some suggestive/borderline nsfw scenes. a casual life!au? (meaning he isn’t an idol) 

✧✎ synopsis: seungcheol knows you’re no longer together, that he should’t be thinking about you as often as he does, and yet, you keep appearing. his heart doesn’t know how many times it can afford to split.  

✧✎ a/n: i really wanted to write smth as i work toward finishing that other massive fic. so HERE. bc i miss seungcheol ;-; and idk i just like angst lol. 

i.

Seungcheol doesn’t know if it’s right for him to be looking at you like this. It doesn’t necessarily feel wrong, but there’s a distinct craving in his gaze that spots him with doubt. You’re not together any more. The chapter where your lives were once romantically intertwined was coldly shut months ago, leaving little room for reconciliation or even the most surface-level of acquaintances. Yet, Seungcheol is struck with a sudden pining as his eyes inspect you from top to bottom across the room, finding it pure luck you were both at the same new year’s party.

There’s a doorway from the living room that leads into the kitchen. Seungcheol is sitting on the sofa with a jade-tinted bottle in his hand, though the amount of alcohol he’s consumed since first arriving has greatly subsided. He’s too distracted by you to even raise the bottle to his lips, nor does he adequately listen when Joshua attempts a conversation. You’re talking to some people he doesn’t recognize, your eyes rather milky and a shiny can in your hand. He stares at the side of your neck and thinks it would be nice if he were giving you a hickey right now.

“Hey.” Joshua bumps Seungcheol’s shoulder and the boy finally turns his head.

He sees Wonwoo and Hansol as well, who give Seungcheol a warm glance. He notes that Hansol is carrying his signature black lunchbox.

Joshua then leans toward Seungcheol’s ear in order to whisper over the music: “We’re going outside to smoke, you coming or not?”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “Pass,” he says, “I don’t really feel like it.”

He pays attention to the beer in his hand, titling his head back as he gulps down a significant amount of the tangy, bubbly flavour. It doesn’t taste that good, and the bottle’s not even cold at this point, but Seungcheol figures he should just finish it anyways. Joshua sees you in the kitchen, leaning generously against the sink while you attempt to smile at the strangers who converse with you. It was worth a try to get Seungcheol off the couch and away from lamenting at your lost relationship, but he’s unimaginably stubborn when he wants to be.

“Okay,” Joshua replies, patting his shoulder, “don’t get too hung up or anything.”

Seungcheol watches the small crowd weave their way through the congregation to reach the patio door, the last he glimpses of Joshua being his bright blue hat before he slips into the chilly night. Quickly, Seungcheol polishes off the remaining alcohol inside the jade bottle, heavily swallowing the deep burn that melts down his throat while deserting the glass on the arm of the couch. He senses a distant thrumming in his cranium, knows he’ll regret every sip by morning, but for now he cares so very little.

As he leans back in his seat, Seungcheol comes to focus on the body that’s suddenly standing right in front of him. It’s weird, who would do that? However, the breath instantly whisks from the boys’ lungs when he realizes that it’s not just some intoxicated, fucked up stranger who isn’t even cognisant of what room they’re in. It’s you. You’re standing in front of him, to which Seungcheol poorly hides the stupor that colours his face. Before he can stumble out a single word, you’re straddling his lap and settling your hands against his firm shoulders.

Evidently, Seungcheol doesn’t know what the hell is happening. Neither of you are in a sober headspace. Furthermore, he hasn’t touched you (let alone been this close to you) in almost three months. Out of habituality, he grabs the familiar warmth of your waist, the simple contact with your skin igniting an emotion that was once wholly repressed. Staring into your eyes, he sees how foggy they are. He knows his can’t look much different.

“W-What are you doing?” Seungcheol stutters, his cheeks hot and sunset pink.

At first, you don’t speak, only crack a small smile while wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing your faces in close proximity until you’re practically breathing the same air.

You blink at him heavily. “Kiss me.” You whisper against his mouth.

Seungcheol doesn’t believe he’s capable of ever denying you.

The next few hours seem to seamlessly blend together. Seungcheol remembers the intense make-out that ensued on the couch and the little regard he carried for the environment around him. Once he tastes the sharp liquor from your lips, he completely submits to that catastrophic buzz you give him. Feeling your weight push down against his lap, how your fingertips slip through his soft, onyx hair, the way it feels morally wrong to welcome your tongue into his mouth, but so physically right that Seungcheol can only pull your hips closer.

He remembers the warm, open-mouthed kisses he nipped to your sensitive neck, murmuring in a slurred, gritty tone: “let me take you upstairs, baby.”

Joshua might throw the remainder of Hansol’s stale bong water over his head if he discovered what you and Seungcheol did. Somehow, there’s an empty bedroom available at the end of the dim corridor. After falling onto the sheets, you hastily pull the white top over your head and fling it toward a dusky corner, reaching for Seungcheol as he climbs over top your body. While pressing more heated kisses against your throat, already bruising and marked with indents from his teeth, Seungcheol’s hand rubs a sweet friction between your thighs, right over your jeans.

He hears you release a small cry of his name, your nails dragging down his back.

Nothing has ever made his heart shake more.

ii.

Seungcheol is confused as to what time is it. There’s no alarm clock on the bedside table, and his phone is buried within the pocket of his navy green jacket slumped at the end of the bed. He can’t hear much from the level beneath him. Looking toward the blinds, he can only gauge slits of the night sky. All of a sudden, there’s a sickly coughing noise from behind the shut bathroom door, to which he views a small sliver of yellow light underneath. Seungcheol notes the empty space beside him. He hears another cough, followed by a pained and irritated groan.

Damn – you have to be hungover.

Stumbling drearily out from the bed, Seungcheol brushes away the black strands of hair that flop before his eyes. He almost topples over trying to get his boxers back on. The pounding in his head isn’t unbearable, and he figures he’ll be fine after getting some water in his system and dozing off to a few painkillers. Seungcheol taps his knuckles against the bathroom door.

“Hey,” he calls out, his voice still thick with sleep, “how bad is it?”

There’s a moment of silence. Seungcheol assumes it must feel bizarre to have your ex consoling you through a hangover, especially considering the history of last night.

“I don’t know…” comes your weak response, “I think I’m dying.”

Seungcheol leans his head against the wood and laughs. “You’re not dying, honey. Can I come in?”

The door swings open, and Seungcheol sees you half-dressed in your white t-shirt and underwear, a watery film in your eyes and a look of pure exhaustion draining your countenance. Then, you’re immediately collapsing back to the cold tiling, leaning your head against the side of the bathtub while the toilet sits across from you. This doesn’t feel like an unfamiliar scene. Seungcheol used to always nurture you through your intoxication, and at least this time you possess enough strength to stand without your legs trembling.

“You want me to get you anything?” Seungcheol asks. “Water? A wet cloth? Some pills?”

He doesn’t know where he’ll get the pills. It’s probably three in the morning, but he figures the convenience store in town might still be open.

You swallow tightly and wrap your arms around your knees, the fluorescent lights gleaming against your balmy, flushed skin. It seems as though you won’t look him in the eyes. Seungcheol understands. This isn’t supposed to be happening. Neither of you should be in this bedroom.

A poignant sigh escapes your chest. “What’s wrong with me?” You ask, the water glimmering bright in your eyes. “Why did we do this?”

Seungcheol stiffens. When he catches a glimpse of his body in the mirror, he can read the hazy extent of your night together. The bruises are tinted like cherry and violets, smudged against his chest, his collarbone and neck. Even now, as he really concentrates, Seungcheol can feel the cool air sting dully against his back, which he can only hypothesize is decorated in long, deep scratches that will possibly burn like hell in the shower. His body hasn’t looked like this in months. There’s a clandestine part of him that wishes the marks will never lose their vibrancy.

He doesn’t know how to soothe your conflict.

Instead, Seungcheol takes a seat on the edge of the bathtub and stares down at you tenderly.

“I don’t know,” he replies, “we don’t always make the right decisions.”

You tilt your head back and meet his eyes. Seungcheol’s chest flutters.

For a moment, you look like you want to say something; however, an immediate grimace wrinkles your face and a tight hand is curling around your stomach. You scoot close to the toilet, holding onto its rim while a heavy cough burns acrid against your throat and suddenly, you’re upchucking the potent, venomous liquor from last night. Seungcheol collects your hair in his hand, pulling it back from your face. Once the surges calm for a few minutes, you’re too energy-depleted to do much apart from hang over the toilet, Seungcheol rubbing your back.

It’s three in the morning, but he feels like he would do anything for you.

iii.

Seungcheol opens his wallet and forks out the bills necessary to cover his lunch. He slides out from the booth first, accompanied by Seokmin and Jeonghan who suggested they go out to eat after their basketball game. Seungcheol trails behind them on his phone as they walk down a slim corridor toward the front of the restaurant. He’s texting Joshua about what their fridge looks like, and if it’s necessary to ask Jeonghan about making a stop at the supermarket. The afternoon light is dull as they enter the front house, and Seungcheol sees it’s raining outside.

“Wait—,” Jeonghan stops them before they can leave. “Let me try the gumball machine. Does anyone have ten cents?”

“The gumball machine?” Seokmin laughs. “Are you a child?”

“Shut up.” Jeonghan tuts in response. “I want a pink one. Now do you have ten cents or not?”

“Sheesh, give me a second, I’m checking.”

Seungcheol has developed the skill of tuning out their innocuous banter. He looks through the windows and into the downpour, which ripples unforgivingly against the glass and slicks the pavement. For their sake, he’s glad Jeonghan was able to find a parking spot across the street. As the boy gets down on his knee and crams the small coin into the slot, cranking the handle, something manages to catch in Seungcheol’s peripheral vision. His heart skips a beat. You’re looking out the window while nibbling worrisomely upon your bottom lip.

“Are you freaking kidding? Orange? That’s the worst.”

“Why does it matter?” Seokmin quips. “They all taste the same.”

Jeonghan huffs petulantly. “But I wanted pink! Do you have another ten cents?”

Seungcheol hasn’t seen you since your wicked hangover at the New Year’s party. Though it’s a moment of the past, he remembers the situation so vividly, even more so how restless he felt afterward. He was unable to remove you from his mind, and he thought about you so often that he felt the ache with his whole chest. You haven’t noticed him yet. Seungcheol wants to approach you, though he’s not sure how kindly you’ll react or if you’ll brush him off.

“Awe, yes! Pink!”

Jeonghan stands triumphantly from the gumball machine. He holds the pink candy between his fingers and gets ready to pop it straight in his mouth, and yet, the slippery thing flings from his grasp at the last second. The gumball hits the floor, rolling outside into the rain just as someone runs indoors with their umbrella. Seokmin starts cackling, and Jeonghan just looks like he wants to go home. But Seungcheol can’t leave right now. He decides he has to talk to you.

“Meet you guys in the car,” he says, “I have to do something first.”

Seungcheol taps you on the shoulder. You jump slightly, and he feels bad about scaring you, but he’s relieved to see that your expression is cordial rather than aggravated. It blatantly feels strange. You don’t resemble a stranger, yet you’re not extremely clear to him either.

“Seungcheol? Did you eat here?”

The boy nods. “Yeah, I came here after basketball with some friends”

“O-Oh,” you stutter, looking off to the side, “I’m just waiting.”

You then gesture out the window, toward the grey, heavy rain. Seungcheol spots Seokmin and Jeonghan walking across the street, sporting their jackets pulled over their heads, looking somewhat like imbeciles who he has a soft spot for. At one point you were close with both of them, but now Seungcheol doesn’t even know if you still keep in touch. When you broke up, your worlds started floating apart, and that included contact with each other’s friends.

“Right,” Seungcheol snaps his fingers, “you’re still doing the tutoring thing at the library, huh?”

A timid smile pulls on your lips. “I’m tutoring someone today, but it’s so rainy out. I don’t think it’s gonna pass very soon.”

Seungcheol finds that he doesn’t even process what comes out from his mouth. There’s a sudden rush of giddiness in his veins, and he feels like his nervous, sophomore-self that once crushed on you before your relationship even started. At the same time, it’s an offer he used to make without thought when you were dating, and it warps into a conflicting, emotional mess.

“Do you want my windbreaker?” He asks, plucking at the black and white fabric. “It’s waterproof and stuff.”

Your mouth hangs open for a little bit.

“Uhm… I just—I don’t know, you don’t have to—,”

“It doesn’t matter, seriously.” Seungcheol replies, staring into your wide eyes with a soft expression. “Just give it back whenever we see each other again, okay?”

You lick your lips, swallowing tautly before nodding your head. Seungcheol removes his jacket and helps you slip into the material. It’s a little bit big on you, and the hood droops down far over your face, but, god, seeing you in his clothes engenders Seungcheol’s heart to beat so unbelievably fast. He experiences a concoction of different emotions, different memories. He remembers how it felt seeing you wear his t-shirt after the first time you slept together, how he felt when you’d set up a long distance skype call and you’d be dressed in his old hoodie.

Everything comes rushing back. He doesn’t want to walk away from you, but he knows it’s wrong to linger. You don’t belong to each other anymore.

But at least he’ll get to see you again.

iv.

Seungcheol bounces the basketball a few times against the lacquered floor, feeling the leather texture brush beneath his palm. Then, he takes a deep shot, watching the ball suction perfectly into the hoop just before it echoes against the ground. He was the sole person occupying the gym after a late-night practice. Seokmin was with him about ten minutes ago, but he ended up packing his things and heading off to shower stalls, wishing Seungcheol a goodnight. Even though Seungcheol said he would be leaving shortly, he didn’t know why he was still here.

He picked the ball up and tossed it again, hearing the satisfying swish of the net.

The gym doors suddenly squeak, loud and metallic, to which Seungcheol takes out an earbud assuming that maybe Seokmin forgot something. However, the face that smiles at him doesn’t belong to Seokmin at all, and Seungcheol feels his heart soar. You’re holding the windbreaker that the boy let you borrow during the downpour last week, and he hears a relieved sigh.

“I figured I might catch you here.”

Seungcheol smiles and sets his earbud back in. It astonishes him that you can recall the days he has basketball practice, though Seungcheol supposes it makes great sense considering you used to attend all his warm-ups and games. He grows oddly fond seeing you from the court again.

“Just put in next to that black bag on the bench.”

“I never got to thank you for letting me use it,” you explain while returning the windbreaker to the rest of his belongings, “it was really pouring out, but I was definitely less wet than if I had nothing. I wasn’t too sure if you would still be here. Of course, I knew when I saw Seokmin.”

“It must’ve been weird for him to see you coming back here.” He replies. You would never come to the court unless Seungcheol was there.

“He said hi to me,” you admit, scratching your arm, “he looked kinda nervous though.”

Seungcheol can’t help but note that you seem a little saddened by the interaction. The break-up between you two was all but civilized and pretty. There was shouting, tears, bitter and cold words shanked through the thick air with infinitesimal regard for the other’s feelings. Seungcheol remembers you pushing a picture frame of you two together off the shelf, how the glass cracked, different shards scattering far across the floor. He remembers storming into his bedroom and throwing all your clothes into one heaping pile, demanding that you leave, swearing that he hopes to never see you again. Now, everything feels so pointless and stupid.

The falling out crumbled an entire web of ties between you. Seungcheol understands why Seokmin would be nervous to see you, but he hates to know how it’s upset you.

“Hey,” Seungcheol calls out, attempting to lift the depressive mood, “Wanna shoot?” He bounces the basketball.

You immediately tense. “Uh – no. I haven’t touched a basketball since we were dati—I mean, well – you know. I haven’t played at all.”

Seungcheol smiles, rolling his eyes. “Just come here.” He beckons. “I’ll remind you.”

“I-I don’t know, my friend is in the car. I shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

“It’ll take two minutes.” He reasons. “I promise.”

The boy is delighted to see you comply, even if you are hesitant and approach him with bleeding apprehensiveness. While he shows you how to hold the ball as well as the correct motion to make with your wrist, there’s a smile blooming from one corner of your mouth to the other. Sometimes the past feels exactly like it should: the past. At this moment, a warmth ignites between you two, a spark that feels passionate and ever-lasting. Once he gives a few examples, the ball is suddenly in your hands, and he watches brightly as you sink a basket.

Seungcheol collects the ball, smirking. “You wanna play?” He then asks, checking the ball straight into your chest.

“No,” you respond, sending it back harder, “you know I just said I have someone waiting.”

“It hasn’t been two minutes yet.”

“There’s probably thirty seconds left. We have no time.”

“Fine,” Seungcheol shakes his head, “be a loser.” He doesn’t wait for you, and flicks the ball through the hoop.

It hits the glossy wood, bounces a couple times, and proceeds to roll slowly across the ground. You look at Seungcheol, and Seungcheol looks at you. There’s a small moment of silence.

Until you’re both racing across the floor with arms extended, practically throwing yourselves toward the basketball. It just ghosts under your fingertips, and somehow you manage to secure it against your chest, though you’re unable to even rise from the floor as Seungcheol straddles your waist and attempts to whack the ball out of your grip. The chime of your laughter echoes loudly through the entire gymnasium. You’re too slippery and end up weaseling away, scrambling haphazardly to your feet and using your last breath to sail the ball toward the net.

Seungcheol is too late. He reaches for you, but the ball has already gone through.

As the boy wraps his arms around your waist and hugs your back against his firm, hard chest, you cry out triumphantly, pumping your fists in the air. To anyone who observed from the outside, you wouldn’t exactly paint the image of a broken relationship. You were laughing, celebrating, making harmless mockery pertaining to the other with stupid grins on your faces.

“You’re such a cheater.” Seungcheol says.

Wriggling to face him in the comfort of his grasp, you slide your arms around Seungcheol’s neck and scrunch your nose.

“How did I cheat? That was fair!”

Seungcheol grabs your hips tight, pulling you in close against his body until he can almost count the individual sparkles in your eyes and smell the sweetness of your hair.

“Uh? You said you weren’t gonna play.”

“I wasn’t!” You giggle. “Until you called me a l—,”

The metal doors squeak again. At the speed of light, you and Seungcheol detach from each other, the playful mood disintegrating as the girl who’d been waiting in the car comes looking for you. Seungcheol sees the light drain from your eyes. He watches your shoulders slump, and the deep lump you forcefully swallow upon being interrupted. Seungcheol is utterly disappointed too. His heart doesn’t quite beat the same when you bid him the tiniest, quietest goodbye before running over to your friend, apologizing to her for the unexpected wait. The doors rattle once more, and then the gym is completely empty. It stings worse than anything.

Seungcheol doesn’t understand why he can’t just have you back.

v.

It’s sometime after ten-thirty when Seungcheol finally leaves Hansol and Wonwoo’s house. It’s not a long walk back to his miniscule apartment complex crammed in the middle of town, and he loves to soaks in the calm beauty belonging to the clear, star-speckled sky. He only went over to smoke after a tiresome day at his job, but he ended up staying much longer after Wonwoo revealed his game console. They took turns playing Portal and Grand Theft Auto. It was fun, a perfect way to unwind, and now Seungcheol is ready to wash up and go to bed.

He’s wearing his earphones while walking through town, listening to old songs that remind him of you, a playlist actually, one he started making before you were even together. No matter what happens – Seungcheol is always thinking about you these days. He misses you in a way that aches deeply, like his heart has been split in two by a sharp and jagged stone. In fact, while standing at an intersection, waiting for the light to glow in a walking man symbol, Seungcheol almost mistakes someone sitting at the bus bench across the street for you.

A moment passes, and he squints through the meagre lighting. Wait—that is you.

Your gaze keeps flitting nervously from the lurid phone in your hand to the dimly lit area that surrounds you. Your knee is quickly bouncing, and Seungcheol can sense at a distance how nervous you’re feeling. He doesn’t know why you’re sitting alone in the dark, but he can’t just leave you there. Instead of walking his usual route back to the apartment complex, Seungcheol approaches you, calls out your name softly as to not make you afraid. At first you respond to him with a moonfaced expression, but then you recognize his face and your heart quiets.

“Everything okay?” Seungcheol asks, taking out his earphones.

You gulp thickly and reflect a jittery smile. “Um, kinda. My boss made me stay late for closing. I tried texting my friend to pick me up, but she’s not responding.” A frozen breeze rifles through the air and you shiver. “I-I just, I don’t want to walk home alone.”

Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate to extend his hand.

“C’mon, I’ll take you.”

A grateful smile warms your face. Standing up from the cold bench, you grab Seungcheol’s hand and interlock fingers. Your address is still fresh in his mind, to which he easily navigates the streets with you beside him. At one point, a loud dog starts barking from a few blocks over and you nearly jump out from your own skin, though Seungcheol just slides his arm around your waist, gently pulling you further into his solace. He feels you instantly relax against him. An indescribable light fills his chest. To be able to make you feel safe, like he used to, it’s aweing.

“This is it, right?” Seungcheol asks upon approaching the house porch. He knows it’s right, but he waits for you to confirm it.

“You’re right.” You tell him in a tiny voice.

His hand grazes the small of your back as you walk up the steps together, stopping before the door and its weathered, white paint. A bitterness stings against Seungcheol’s throat, a truly horrible bitterness. He doesn’t want to say goodbye – he wants to stay. He wants to take you inside and wait on your bed as you get ready for the night. He wants to experience that beautiful fluttering in his stomach when you crawl into his arms and shut off the light, his hand stroking your spine as you fall asleep, your soft, slow breaths fanning against his neck.

Why does it have to hurt like this? Seungcheol hates that he’s so in love with you, but he’d never want it any other way. Even if he has to endure this pain, it’s better than never getting to know you, touch you or love you. He swallows the hot salt and gets ready to bid his goodbye.

“Sleep well, okay? Maybe I’ll see you agai—,”

Suddenly, you’re hugging Seungcheol. Your arms wrap securely around his waist and you bury your face in his neck. He takes a slight step backward, caught off guard by the blitz of affection. He hears you suck in a trembling breath, and then he feels wet, cold droplets slide against his skin. Instantly, he holds you, one hand dearly cradling the back of your head while the other passes up and down your back. You shake in his arms and he doesn’t know why. Seungcheol just hugs you tighter. If he has to, he’ll hold you for the entire night.

“S-Seungcheol,” you release his name in a sob, lifting your head from his neck. His heart beats wildly as he looks directly into your teary eyes. “I’m s-sorry.” You cry to him. “I-I’m so sorry…”

“What?” He cups your face, collecting a few thick tears with his thumb. “For what, honey?”

“E-Everything,” you hiccup, grabbing his waist tighter, “for the st-stupid fights, the p-picture, all those h-horrible things I yelled at you – I hate my-myself because of it.”

Seungcheol shakes his head and brings your face in closer to his, brown eyes glistering. “I don’t care about that. I don’t. I said horrible things too, sweetheart. I yelled at you, I told you to leave, I made you so upset, and I know exactly how you feel.” He rubs his thumb tenderly below your damp eye, and you ease into his touch. “But that was a different time. No matter what, I’m still in love with you. What happened months ago doesn’t change that. I promise.”

You sniffle back the new pearls that nearly stain your face.

“Really? Y-You still love me?”

Seungcheol leans in. He presses his forehead against yours, his fingers delicately framing your wet, warm cheek. And then he’s kissing you softly, pouring every ounce of his heart into the contact. Your hand curls around the back of his neck. You respond passionately, keeping him as near as possible, nipping gently at his bottom lip while stealing each other’s breath. Seungcheol peers directly into your gaze. It’s glassy from the tears, but also sincere and welcoming.

“I never stopped.” He says earnestly.

He feels your fingertips thread through the black silk of his hair. You kiss him again, and his grip finds the familiarity of your hips, leading you backward until you press against the door.

“I love you too.” You admit to him between every peck.

In the rising heat, you whisper against the boy’s pretty mouth, “I want you back,” to which the words engender Seungcheol’s heart to positively melt. Seungcheol knows you already have him. It doesn’t take long before you’re unlocking the door with the key beneath an ancient flowerpot. You hop into his arms, and Seungcheol catches you like it’s nothing, sitting you on top of the corridor dresser while his kisses wander further down your neck. Every whimper he hears turns him fonder. You admit again that you love him and he smiles against your skin.

Seungcheol will always need you. He hopes he always has you.

[ghostheadcanons]

Papas + Copia: Sick S/O

Papas and the cardinal with a sick s/o? You know the whole "no no I'm fine I'm not sick don't worry" then immediately sneezes or smth that proves you are, in fact, sick. At one end, I hate being babied and making people worry but on the other... Sometimes it's nice having someone take care of you when sick.

You got it, Anon!

Papa Nihil:

Notices you’re not feeling well pretty quickly. He’s quick to ask if you’re okay. And when you sneeze in the middle of telling him you’re just fine, you see him get a big frown.

You get the rest of the day off! It’s bedrest for you, cara mia.

He’s lost a few lovers to sickness, so he’s a little paranoid when it comes to you being ill. Don’t expect him to leave your bedside the entire time you’re not feeling well.

If you need anything, he’ll have it fetched for you. He’ll even make soup for you–which is a very rare treat that his children remember from when they were sick. It’s delicious, soothing on your sore throat, and warms your belly.

Just humor him. He’ll be a lot more worried if he’s not near you in your time of need.

Papa I:

Incredibly concerned for you.”Lamb, are you feeling alright?”

If you won’t stop working even when it’s obvious that you’re sick, he’ll point out that you could get the other siblings of sin ill if you’re around them. And you don’t want that, do you?

So you’re guilted into resting in your room.

He wouldn’t stay at your side unless you asked him to, but he would check in on you frequently. Bringing you books and other things you can do in bed, along with his own herbal remedies that he’s brewed for the occasion.

The remedies would work wonders for you. You’d be back on your feet in no time.

Papa II:

The least subtle. Tells you bluntly that you’re unwell and that you need your rest. If you try to tell him no, he’ll physically pick you up and carry you off for bedrest.

“You’re not well, caro. You will either stay in bed or I will tie you to it.” A pause. “…and not in the fun way.”

He’d assign one of his ghouls to personally look after you. Should you need him, simply ask the ghoul, and the ghoul will fetch him. It’s not that he doesn’t love you, it’s that he has a lot of work and won’t put it off unless you specifically ask him to.

…he will check on you while you’re asleep, though. Watching carefully over you for a little while, brushing a bit of hair out of your eyes every now and then. Sometimes he’ll place a hand on your forehead to take your temperature.

You had better get well soon, caro. …or else he might start to worry.

Papa III:

If he finds you working when you’re not feeling good, he’ll be Displeased, tapping his foot with his hands on his hips. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that working when you’re this sick will only make it worse?”

Will pester you and bug you until you finally relent and agree to rest. Don’t make him call the ghouls to drag you off to bed!

He’d reschedule everything on his to-do list to personally look after you. He can’t cook or give you medicine, but he has people he can call to bring those things.

What he can do is brighten your day!

He’ll tell you stories, watch movies/Vine compilations with you, even get into bed to cuddle with you!

…which leads to him getting sick himself…

Now you two are stuck in bed together.

“Now you’re sick too.” You huff, leaning against him. “You dummy.”

“People do crazy things for love, tesoro,” he murmurs, blowing his nose with a sound like a trumpet. He proceeds to throw the wadded kleenax at you.

The pair of you pester one another and end up laughing, even when it trails off into coughs and wheezes. The ghoul nurse assigned to your room sighs.

At least you’re together.

Cardinal Copia:

(I go by @papa-emeritus-dclxvi​‘s headcanon that Copia is a plague survivor!)

A loved one? Sick??

He’s having plague flashbacks. What kind of sickness is it? Is it serious?? How long has this been going on??? Tell him everything!!!

He tries looking up your symptoms on the internet and almost has a heart attack when he sees the more severe diagnoses.

“Topolino, we must go to the hospital! It says you are dying!!”

“Copia, please calm down…”

You’re eventually able to talk the Cardinal down to bedrest and having a doctor come in to take a look at you.

When they give the diagnosis of just a common cold, he almost faints with relief. But he still asks things like ‘are you sure?? perhaps you could check again?’

Has your medications ready for you, and keeps track of the hours you’re supposed to take them. In the meantime, he brings his books and parchment with him into your room so he can still work and be near you at the same time.

This man has seen so many of his loved ones die of illness.

And he swears to himself that you will not be one of them.

[scribs-dibs]

wearing their clothes

feat. lisa, ei, itto

Warnings/Notes: spoilers for inazuma//refs to raiden and itto's backstory//reader has never worn a kimono before(and scribs has never written abt one so please correct me if i got smth wrong!!)

i think that's it but please let me know if i missed something!

itto:

☆itto barely has clothes ×_× it's why his tits are out 24/7

☆he does however have that collared coat he always wears! and oh would you look at that...it needed to be washed

☆out of the goodness of your heart, you decide to clean it and then leave it out to dry

☆when you're done though, the oni is no where to be found

☆it...sure would be a shame to leave it out on the clothing rack all on its own...right?

☆you decide to put it on for funsies -w-

"hey babe! have you seen my-" for the first time since he woke up this morning, itto is silent. his mouth hangs open, pupils shrunk in shock as he stares at you.

you're wearing his clothing...and it looks like you're drowning in it.

it's no surprise that itto is big. he practically towers over everyone. of course, his clothing has to match, so he never really considered someone so much smaller than him wearing his stuff.

he's red. very red. a true crimson oni. he doesn't know what to say, broken syllables creaking out of his lips.

"you- ah- i- th-"

"itto...are you okay?"

"i can't believe you're wearing my stuff..." he says, breathlessly.

your heart sinks at that, and an apology is on the tip of your tongue as you move to take the garment off.

"i'm sor-"

"no!" he says, almost panicked, "what're you doing?!"

he runs to you quickly, adjusting the jacket properly and grinning now that he's had a good look at you.

"jeez, sorry. you just- you look so tiny! you look cute. you always look cute, obviously, but in my stuff you- it's like everyone can see you're mine y'know? and i got so exicted i just kept-"

you pull him down into a kiss, effectively shutting him up. you feel him stiffen against you, clearly shocked. but soon, his big, strong arms are caging you in, and he's kissing back with vigor.

☆lisa has a TON of clothes, particularly loungewear!

lisa:

☆most of them are purple, and all of them are incredibly comfortable

☆you're feeling particularly lonely today, so you decide to go through some of the clothes you've never seen on her

☆a lavender turtleneck catches your attention

☆the fabric is smooth and so soft it feels like it's made of clouds. it's just like lisa to choose such soothing clothing

☆you turn around, examining yourself in just about every angle in the mirror

☆imagine your surprise when you see lisa herself in the reflection

"oh, darling!" she coos at you, in that sweet, sweet tone that makes you feel weak in the knees.

"li-lisa!" you squeal, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. excuses tumble out of your throat before you can stop them. they surge out with such force you practically choke on them as they mix and overlap.

"this is- it was cold and- well, i just missed you- it just-"

she giggles at you, making you all the more embarrassed.

"shhh, no need to be so nervous," her silk covered finger is placed over your mouth, instantly quieting you down. "you look adorable, my love."

you squirm in place, head down, not daring to look at her eyes. they're a beautiful green, but oh so hypnotizing- just like the rest of her. direct eye-contact will have you under her spell for certain. unfortunately for you, her hand grips your chin and suddenly- you're staring directly at her, meeting her unwavering gaze.

"there's so many other clothes i never seem to wear now..." she starts, warm smile morphing into something more taunting,

"most of which would look even more precious on you. let's have a little fashion show, hm?"

you're enamored with her. of course you don't say no.

ei:

☆completely unfamiliar with the concept </3

☆at least i think she'd be...she's unfamiliar with most fiction and her life was mostly fighting wars and shutting herself in her own realm

☆but i don't think she'd be mad about you stealing her clothes!

☆i think she'd like it a lot actually...just wouldn't know what to do

☆maybe she'd help you with wearing the clothes properly if you aren't familiar with inazuma attire!

she made it look so easy.

the fabric of the shogun's kimono is stunning, but so alarmingly complex. it slides down or even off of your body in places, and the obi- the sort of sash that's supposed to be fitted around the fabric, is so hard to tie on your own. perhaps messing with ei's clothes was a bad idea, you think, gazing worryingly at the spiderweb of wrinkles you've caused.

you're about to move, about to hide the evidence when-

"what is it you're doing?"

you jolt at the sound of ei's voice. you dare to turn and peek at her. she isn't mad- in fact she looks more concerned about...whatever it is you are doing.

"oh. uhm..." your eyes scan the room, as if the words you need will display themselves on the walls or on the floor. you decide to just be honest, if only to spare ei more confusion. "...trying on your clothes?"

your answer sounds like more of a question.

her brows furrow. "is there something wrong with yours?" she asks. her head is tilted to the side. immediately, you shake your head no. she'd probably order dozens of outfits for you if you said otherwise, and you still haven't even tried on all of the last batch of clothing she gifted you.

she circles you, taking in your form covered in her shambles of fabric.

"were you...attacked?"

you can help the laugh that spills out of your mouth.

"pfft- no i just...sometimes couples wear each other's clothes when they miss each other," you gesture to yourself, just in case she hadn't seen your failed attempt closely enough, "yours are just...a bit difficult for me."

ei's change of expression is instant. her brows raise, and eyes that were clouded are now shining with clarity, "i see...well then,"

her hands are on you- her touch electrifying. you shudder.

"let me show you how to wear them properly, angel."

══════◄••❀••►══════

hello again!! welcome to my second ever post 'w' i hope you enjoyed reading! i'm planning on making a second part with different characters cus this was fun to write!

as always, reblogs and comments are appreciated!!

[bangtan-spells]

Taehyung Scenario: When Times Get Hard.

Request: Can you please do a scenario where V is married and as we know he likes children& he wants to have one but after many tries he and his wife found out that she cant have children and she refuse to adopt one!i want smth angst but romantic,maybe v buy a lil pup after some time?Thank you girls,kisses!💕

Genre: Angst / Fluff.

Your hands were trembling and your stomach had felt better, you were arriving home and you knew your husband was already there, maybe hoping for some good news, some light for the questions you had been having, why after so many years and tries without any kind of protection you had not been able to get pregnant. The first months your doctor had said that you were just stressed about the pregnancy process, that you just wanted it too much and that you should relax and let it happen naturally, so Taehyung and you had done just that and waited, but it had been a total of two years and there was no baby in your sights.

You were worried, and you knew Taehyung was too, both of you wanted a family and with the passing time you felt like that wasn’t going to happen and it was heartbreaking. You clutched your purse, your tests were buried somewhere inside. You had gone to an obstetrician expert in fertility to know what was going on, Taehyung had gotten everything faster than you because his exams were easy, and everything was alright, he was happy and hopeful ever since he knew it and you bit your lip, taking a deep breath and closing the front door behind you.

-Babe? - your husband’s voice reached you, he was clearly waiting for you. Taehyung appeared at the receiver and went for a hug, you wished he didn’t notice your trembling just yet.

-Hi Tae - your voice was raspy and you freed yourself from his arms, making your way towards the living room while he followed you closely behind.

-I ordered Thai food for dinner, thought you might want some - he was eyeing you curiously, you nodded, taking a sit on the couch to not go around the place nervously. -What’s going on? -

Taehyung was by your side in an instant, sitting next to you and passing his arm behind your back. You didn’t want to look him in the eyes, you didn’t have the strength so you focused on your coffee table instead. You knew you had to tell him right now, this was as good of a moment as any other and you doubted you or him would ever be fully prepared, so it was better to end with this.

-I had a talk with the doctor, he’s got my results - you gulped, clasping your hands together in a sheer attempt of grounding yourself, one of Taehyung’s hands held your forearm softly.

-And? - Your eyes moved to him for a brief moment and then you looked away, feeling the lump inside your throat growing to the extent of asphyxiating you.

-I can’t…- Your voice broke and you choked with the first tears that shook your body violently, bringing your hands up to cover your face while you broke down right there.

Taehyung tried to soothe you but you were crying so heartbreakingly between his arms, out of nowhere. -You cant what babe? is alright…- he ran his palm up and down your back but it did nothing to calm you down.

-I can’t have them, the doctor confirmed it today… I…. I can’t have babies….- you shuddered again, doubling over yourself with sorrow and Taehyung felt the reason of your despair.

His hand stayed frozen midway while reaching for your back again, the rest of his body was frozen too, you weren’t looking at him and his breath got caught somewhere between his throat and his lungs, suddenly the ground beneath him wasn’t that steady anymore, his tongue was like cement inside his mouth with the harsh reality of these news. He finally moved his hand to the small of your back but it wasn’t even a second after that and you stood up, walking away from him because your future was crumbling and you didn’t know how to handle it.

You didn’t expect this possibility, you wanted to stay strong for each other but it was affecting both of you badly and none of you could ignore it. This didn’t fit the plan, you were both expecting to see little versions of yourselves running around the house at some point so now with you not being able to carry a child of your own you felt defeated. The house felt empty even if all these time it had been just the two of you but just knowing that there was going to be exactly just the two of you forever made you feel so alone.

The atmosphere around had changed and you feared your relationship with your husband was going to change too. Taehyung was sitting on his usual side of the bed,  he was wearing sweat pants and nothing else and he seemed relaxed but there was the tiniest frown on his forehead and you knew he was thinking or maybe reflecting on something. You were sitting by his side too with a book in hand that had done nothing to take your attention away from your current situation and you felt so apart from him, afraid to ask what was on his mind for the fear of it being about the adoption issue. Taehyung had come to you about the possibility of adopting a baby, or a few of them, he was so into family, yo had known it since the moment you met but you hadn’t wanted to do it and so you had dismissed that idea and you could see he was troubled with that.

-I jus don’t get it…- Taehyung said suddenly, you watched his hand balling into a fist over the sheets and you didn’t need to wonder anymore, he was thinking about the adoption. It was really late at night already, you knew both of you were tired and the only light on in the bedroom was the one of your nightstand. -I try to but I just… it’s not like we are not enough by ourselves, you know we are but I thought, perhaps, that this wasn’t a bad idea -

Taehyung moved his eyes to you, he was sad, he looked the saddest you’d ever seen him and it hurt, it hurt more than you could put into words and you wondered why was destiny so cruel with you. You placed your book aside, moved  on the mattress to surround your husband with your arms and let your head rest on his chest, sighing with Taehyung’s warmness.

-I’m sorry - you whispered and closed your eyes, you were sorry for too many things all at once so you just let him take it as he wanted and needed.

-Me too… I know- One of his hands carded through your hair gingerly and he sighed, pressing a kiss down on the top of your head, his other hand taking a hold of your waist and he accommodated both of you until you were laying down comfortable as one.

Bit by bit and after months passed, you started to go back to normal, at least to the same rhythm that you had before. Maybe it was that you only needed time to heal the wound, because this was a wound for both of you, nobody could ever say the contrary and you treated it as such.

Taehyung had kissed you deeply before going out after lunch and the memory of that kiss still made your knees feel weak, your love was still there, burning bright, alive and strong and you had decided to cherish that everyday.

Around five hours after that Taehyung called you and said to meet him at the little park three blocks away from your neighborhood, so you made your way there after putting on a long cardigan over your dress. You waited on the place he told you to and before you were about to call him again to ask where he was because you couldn’t see him anywhere, a puppy collided on your legs. You looked down at it and it was the cutest you’d ever seen, with a beautiful caramel blond fur, it was a golden retriever pup.

-Oh hi…- you crouched down to greet him and it did a few jumps, earning a laugh from you. Then Taehyung was crouching down next to you, all smiles and joy.

-It is cute, isn’t her?- he took the pup on his arms and handed it to you, you enveloped her with your arms and smiled at your husband.

-It is  - you caressed her fur with your fingertips, enjoying the sensation of it. -the owner must be looking for her -

You noticed the puppy had a yellow collar but no medal with a name or information. Taehyung laughed and his arm surrounded your waist so he could hug your side. -Or maybe she is the one looking of her owner -

You looked at your husband with curious eyes and Taehyung took the chance to steal a kiss form your lips.

-I want  to tell you something Y/N - he cleared his throat, kissed your lips a second time and fixed his brown eyes on you, they were filled with tenderness and honesty, so Taehyung. -We are already a family, you and I, you are everything to me no matter what -

Your eyes watered down with his words and you hugged the pup a little tighter against your chest. You nodded, Taehyung was everything to you as well, he’d always been and he will always be, but you needed to hear those words from him; he was your husband, your lover, your light, your family.

-Thank you…- your voice wavered a little and Taehyung nodded, you’d wanted to say something else, more than just thanks but you couldn’t, and you were sure Taehyung noticed that.

-I know these past months have been rough, but I believe that for as long as we are together, we can make it through - Taehyung kissed your temple and caressed down to your cheek with his lips. -Just that now, we will have company -

He smiled and his eyes fell on the puppy between your arms. so you understood why he said she was the one looking for her owner, her owner was you. -Is she ours now? -

Your husband nodded, caressing behind her ears. -Her name is Hope -

You couldn’t have imagined a better name for her and Taehyung’s hand met yours on Hope’s fur. Now whenever you looked at her, you could know it, you could remember it, even if it was hard and things went down, dreams could be made again as long as you were together, as long as you had hope.

[serendipitousoracle]

Mixtape n wardrobe for like... ALL the ocs?

[♡ OC ask meme ♡]

i will give you six (6) ocs.

Egeire Mahariel:

mixtape: 5 songs that describe your OC(s) or songs they themselves would like

1. “Love Love Love” - Of Monsters And Men (basically The song for Egeire/Zevran tbh. love and reluctance and duty and fear and pining, which eventually breaks down as despite it all they keep getting in deeper and deeper until Egeire finally goes fuck this and for once decides not to sacrifice everything he wants to hold onto)

2. “Rather Be” - Clean Bandit (happy fluffy love song for Eg’s sweet, loyal attachment to various love interests. he is devoted and adoring and when he is with the one he loves he would never want to be anywhere else)

3. “Wolves Without Teeth” - Of Monsters And Men (wqieujb?? devotion and consumption and non-physical wounds idk how to explain)

4. idk. something emo? and then instead insert “Not Gonna Die” - Skillet bc it’s really the message Egeire should be taking home

5. and then as throwback to something he’d like maybe smth Gorillaz or Disturbed just for “smth that would probably be on Egeire’s music playlists somewhere“

wardrobe:what’s your OC’s style like?                                  

In DA-centric universes Egeire ends up becoming fairly all-or-nothing re: clothing. at the end of the Blight, into Warden-Commanderdom, and to some extent post-Wardenhood, he is either in full armor and weaponry (with some extra flash and ideally some small piece of elfiness in the Awakening period), or when he is completely alone and not paranoid and with people he trusts in a space he feels safe in, he is wearing like comfortable loose-fitting pants and that’s about it.

In more modern AUs Egeire wears more like… practical clothes, probably? flannel and open button-ups over tank tops with sturdy pants and tough boots, whatever clothes have been Gifted to him over the years, annnnnd at-home muscly shirtlessness with loose sweatpants

Also he looks so great in lace

Under Cut: Egeria Surana, Flytter the Junior Historian, Cyrron Mirevas, Soveliss Liadon, Grey Surana

Egeria Surana

mixtape: 5 songs that describe your OC(s) or songs they themselves would like

1. “Arms” - Christina Perri (still p much the First and Most Egeria/Alistair song. being Wardens is one rough thing and then the elven mage and the bastard prince is harder still. it works out in the end, but….)

2. “Retrograde” - James Blake (ouch that isolation and your friends are gone, and your friends won’t come, so show me where you fit. i’ll wait, so show me why you’re strong– i’ll wait, we’re alone now)

3. “You May Be Right” - Billy Joel (whoops it’s The DenRia Song)

4. “Beth’s Theme” (Broadchurch OST) - Ólafur Arnalds(Ria’s canon is just so like…. sad. unintentionally sad. quietly, wordlessly sad.)

5. “Stolen Dance” - Milky Chance / “Budapest” - Georga Ezra / “Break Stuff” - Limp Bizkit (just kind of misc songs for Ria Chilling Around The House)

wardrobe:what’s your OC’s style like?

DA: a mix of aesthetic robes and practical ones, some with long flowing pieces and embroidered flowers that gradually transition to black dust, wearing her mage blood and magic specialties quite literally on her sleeve, some that are more armor than robe (bc spellsword/arcane warrior) but with elements of robes nonetheless. Dresses more lightly in private for ease of movement, with fur shawls and fine shoes and all. may be talked into some sort of short top + long skirt look by her fawning husband. in private.

Modern: light blouses and either loose-ish pants or long skirts, fond of flower motifs, plenty of like cardigans and soft jackets and things that generally perfect that sweet and trustworthy and caring outward demeanor she wields like empathy made tangible and precise. also has regular graphic tees and jeans for gardening.

Flytter

mixtape: 5 songs that describe your OC(s) or songs they themselves would like

1. “Little Talks” - Of Monsters And Men (grief is what drives Flytter from home to wrap themself up entirely in their work… for better or worse, despite the best wishes of those who cared about them)

2. “Non-Stop”, “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story”, … - Hamilton the Musical (um excuse me if somebody made a musical about Egeire Mahariel/WAWsquad/The Fifth Blight Hero you fucking know Flytter would be all over that)

3. “Radioactive” - Imagine Dragons (radioactivity… lingering Blight corruption… same difference, right?)

4. “Heavy In Your Arms” - Florence + the Machine (not entirely happy with this pick but struggling to find something for just– that kind of background gnawing of the slow, slow, painful death seeping into their being, the constant pain and the losing fight to the ebb of the corruption and their inability to keep it effectively treated or soothed or just. nesdfds.)

5. “Beyond the Veil” - Lindsey Stirling (trippy instrumentals for recording things and remembering dreams? sure why not. clear Veil joke? woo!)

wardrobe:what’s your OC’s style like?

.DA: robes, again. robes with a focus on complete head-to-toe coverage and not irritating rough patches of skin or what not too much. Something comfortable enough to sleep in. Not really much variety once they lock themself away in Kinloch Hold rebuilt.

Modern: light shirts tied up and semi-professional vests and the ability to quickly create a skirt in any situation when they need to really move in a hurry

Cyrron Mirevas

mixtape: 5 songs that describe your OC(s) or songs they themselves would like

1. “Enemies” - Shinedown (i didn’t even have to think about this one everyone hates Cyrron except like…. you jay. only you. everyone else goes ‘ew’ or ‘why are his eyes sockets not full of sharp/sharp-ish utensils’ when i bring him up. only you cheer when he shows up or hand him over to tentacle monsters but)

2. “Simple Man” - Lynyrd Skynyrd (and the complete flipside– a simple kind of man, not rushing, revering the gods, settling down with a bondmate and having children… it was the life Cyrron intended to live, not exactly a soft or warm or gentle man by any means, but a simple man. Then he lost everything, and survived Vir Banal’ras, and we have present day Cyrron.)

3. “The Dalish Elves Encampment” - Dragon Age: Origins OST, or something (this is basically a placeholder to state: what do you think super traditional Dalish elf music sounds like? for Ferelden Dalish if you want to get specific maybe. Basically, whatever Traditional Dalish Music is, that is all Cyrron himself cares to listen to. That’s it. He hoards it. maybe even plays an instrument. the world will never know.)

4. i swear to god i’m not putting “Closer” on this list SO HOW ABOUT THAT BODIES SONG HUH IT’S SUPER MURDERY N STUFF

5. “Indestructible” - Disturbed (fitting, since it was on Egeire’s list, and he definitely got that from somewhere. really, Cyrron is indestructible to a point that even upsets himself until all the venom he sank into others finally comes back to flood his veins)

wardrobe:what’s your OC’s style like?

DA: Armor. Sturdy Dalish armor, long updated and cycled through with parts, blades on hand at all times, each meticulously well-kept and menacingly. The only time he’s not in armor is if he’s for some reason in disguise to get closer to someone to kill them.

Modern: ranges from business semi-casual to business ultra-formal and nowhere below that range, at least not for wearing out in the daylight. Cyrron mostly has his crisp dress shirts and pressed black slacks and all that easy “I am wealthy and important and you don’t need to know what I do for a living” class, even despite the clear vallaslin, but he also has a variety of tougher garb and more lowkey clothing for when his real line of work comes calling in the night for a slit throat or a poisoned drink.

Soveliss Liadon

mixtape: 5 songs that describe your OC or songs they themselves would like

1. “Addicted to Love” - Florence + the Machine (possibly the earliest defining song for my vague thoughts of ‘Soveliss and his feylock patron’. Soveliss insists he knows what he’s doing! He just has to keep his wits around him! … gods, though, he is so lonely.)

2. “Carousel” - Melanie Martinez (have I mentioned Sov is really super doomed? And it’s all fun and games/‘Til somebody falls in love/But you’ve already bought a ticket/And there’s no turning back now)

3. “Believer” - Imagine Dragons, & “Whispers in the Dark” - Skillet (the main brain-chewing songs for fiendlock!au Soveliss)

4. “Dust Bowl Dance” and “Broken Crown” - Mumford & Sons (hypothetical #mood for potential Angry parts of potential Soveliss character/story arc “You haven’t met me, I am the only son.”)

5. “A Martyr for My Love for You�� - The White Stripes (i’m just saying if anybody else dies before we finish this adventure Sov is gonna start getting real antsy about forming attachments to normal, mortal people)

Bonus 6. Welp. (a ghost monk floats through Soveliss’ room as Sov puts up a bard band poster up in his room in the monastery like “soooooovelllllissssss whaaaat isssss thissss” and teenage Sov is just Instantly Teenage Annoyed “MUSIC, JUST LIKE EVERYTHING ELSE, IS CHANGING, DAD” (all the monks in the monastery are Dad sov has like 2 dozen dads it’s a time))

BONUS 2 EDIT EDITION: i forgot “Rabbit Heart (Raise It Up)” - Florence + the Machine was also a Sov inspiration song whoops

wardrobe:what’s your OC’s style like?

D&D: Soveliss at the moment generally has his greyscale Acolyte of Kelemvor robes/garb, some dark leather armor, maybe some shiny beads or baubles, and his gorgeous blond hair (it is probably literally enchanted t b h), buuuut he has no real exposure to like….. choice of clothing let alone fashion. idk we’ll see if aub ever gets us somewhere cool where I can get him a truly art-worthy outfit or if he dies first i guess.

Modern: ????????????

Grey Surana

mixtape: 5 songs that describe your OC(s) or songs they themselves would like

1. “Stray Italian Greyhound” - Vienna Teng (whoops first song is a Grey/Tamaris song. but: Grey is every bit the tongue-tied hopeless romantic that Egeire is, except he somehow works himself up about it even harder bc in a way Grey can be summed up as Eg But Extra (i love this song tho))

2. “I of the Storm” - Of Monsters And Men (wh o o ps it’s another Grey/Tam song. but it is also a good sort of song for Grey’s general insecurities, still carried over if reflected differently from Egeire’s. not measuring up. not being loved. feeling trapped. are you really gonna love me when i’m gone? are you really gonna need me when i’m gone? i fear you won’t; i fear you don’t)

3. “In My Sleep” - Mystery Skulls (can’t find a good video but you can’t do this like i do/i fucking wrote this in my sleep is just. 1. it mostly inspired an au. 2. take Egeire’s mild peacock tendencies and turn them up to fucking 11 and you might start to approach Grey levels of pride and showboating. tempted to put “Magic” on this list but just. it’s so great. just go look it up.)

4. “Through Glass” - Stone Sour (something quieter. bringing back that feeling of isolation from Ria, but a bit more self-imposed– putting up walls of glass to keep a distance from everything and ending up sitting alone inside his own head, which really could account for a lot of his doubts. a negative feedback loop of sorts. but he is so used to it.)

5. “Work Song” - Hozier / “Iris” - Goo Goo Dolls / “Rather Be” - Clean Bandit (just some more love songs for the hopeless romantic bc I’m p sure I’ve spent like 8 hours on this ask and I’m dead now)

wardrobe:what’s your OC’s style like?

DA: so fashionable. whether he’s the Circle Ambassador or the Warden-Commander, Grey is dedicated to keeping up with trends and edging out ahead of them where he can. It’s a careful balance to keep, neither being so compliant as to be invisible or stepping so far out of line that he’s branded “outsider“ again, but he loves it. Grey is all about politics, wealth, luxury, prestige– whatever the Circle and the Chantry wanted to deny him, he will take, one way or another.

Modern: so fashionable. if it’s In he is at least looking into getting his hands on it, if he doesn’t already have it. as the Circle is traded out for more like…. slicksharp white collar big business laddering-climbing type ambition, so too are robes traded for suits, and so some manner of dress shirt + jacket/blazer/etc + slacks/dress pants/etc becomes his norm. Whether he’s climbing or charming or sleeping his way to the top, he enjoys surrounding himself with luxury and learning how to take advantage of it.Is still a sweetheart who looks nice in lace though.