keep it laced tight

But the thing is, we're not talking about affection here. We're talking about the small things—simple things that most wouldn't pay thought to.

Simple things that make Qifrey lose his track of thought and blush.

For starters, you listening to him go on about the history of things always makes him flustered.

Qifrey knows plenty about the history of things, and he often tries to share that history with others—like the girls, for example. He attempts to talk to them about the history of places like Kalhn or the history of certain seals, but most of the time, the girls either run off or get distracted.

He would stop talking until you gently tap his shoulder, and when he looks at you and hears you ask if he could continue, he's tensing up. He'll continue on with the history, but there will be a few times where he stutters or completely forgets what he was saying.

Another thing is when you look at him. Yes—your gaze is enough to make this man lose his track of thought.

He could be talking to Olruggio or one of the girls, and as soon as he meets your gaze, his words are trailing while his attention slowly leaves the conversation.

Olruggio has snapped in his face more times than he can count because Qifrey loses his focus whenever you look at him.

Finally, but certainly not the last of the long list of things that make Qifrey flustered, is your touch.

No, it's not whenever you hold his hand or hug him. He gets flustered whenever your hand grazes his, or whenever you gently place your hand on his arm as you lean over to grab something. He gets flustered whenever you hold onto him so you can grab or do something without losing balance.

You’re sitting there with the brush in your hand, staring at nothing.

You drag it through your hair once. It catches. You sigh and stop, shoulders slumping like the effort alone was too much.

He watches you for a second before stepping closer. “Here,” he says softly, taking the brush from your fingers. You don’t even protest.

He moves behind you, close enough that you can feel him there, and starts brushing your hair for you. Slow, deliberate strokes. He’s careful where it tangles, easing through instead of pulling, pausing whenever you shift like you might tip over.

Your head dips forward without you realizing. He steadies you with his other hand, thumb resting lightly at the back of your neck.

“Still tired,” he murmurs, more observation than comment.

You hum, eyes closing. The quiet rhythm of the brushing makes it harder to stay awake, each pass smoothing more than just your hair. He takes his time, like there’s nowhere else he needs to be yet.

When he finishes, he runs the brush through one last time, neat and gentle. His hand lingers for a second, resting against your head, grounding.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “You’re good.”

You don’t move right away.

Neither does he.

Isagi Yoichi. Reo Mikage. Kunigami Rensuke. Hiori Yo. Akaashi Keiji. Osamu Miya. Kita Shinsuke. Yuji Itadori. Nanami Kento. Uryu Ishida. Aoyagi Toya. Zhongli. — or whoever you see best fit!

Guillermo Del Toro on AI "art"

· · ────── ꒰ Ishida Uryu ꒱ ────── · ·

· · ☆ ☆ contents . . . fluff ⸝⸝ marriage ⸝⸝ sweet ⸝⸝ romance ⸝⸝ wholesome ⸝⸝ husband ⸝⸝ slice of life ☆

ֶָ֢ ꮽ ݁ Headcanons with Doctor Uryu ㅤꨄ︎

ֶָ֢ ꮽ ݁ and as your husband x femreader pt2.

· · ────── ꒰ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ꒱ ────── · ·

ྀི༷♡ ˚ִִ𓈒꒱ 𝅄 ˚ ׅ doctoruryu!! who craves your presence so badly after long, draining days, seeking your presence out without even thinking about it. You are the quiet warmth to his otherwise restless world–the warm, radiating sun to his solitude moon. You are the only person who could truly soothe the lingering tension in his mind and the ache in his bones. The moment he steps through the door, there’s an almost gravitational pull towards you–towards your warmth, your comfort, your familiarity. And he gives in to it every time. He settles against you so easily, like second nature, resting his head in the crook of your neck as if it's the only place that’s ever made sense to him. His palms find your hips, steady and grounding, gently pulling you closer as he models himself against you…like you were always meant to fit together this way. It’s quieter here. Safer. Close enough to feel your heartbeat, to hear your soft breaths, to catch every hushed word you murmur to him as your fingers glide through his hair–sweet, reassuring things meant only for him. And Uryu responds in the only way he knows how, pressing those soft, lingering kisses against your skin, slow and deliberate, just enough to remind himself that no matter how exhausting the world becomes…he has this. He has this stolen moment…with you.

ྀི༷♡ ˚ִִ𓈒꒱ 𝅄 ˚ ׅ doctoruryu!! who works so late into the night, even at home, surrounded by scattered papers and sticky notes filled with his neat handwriting, all bathed in soft, dim lighting. It’s a familiar sight, one you’ve seen far too many times. And yet, every time you step into his study room, with a warm cup of tea, he still looks up like he didn’t expect you to–like he forgot, for just a moment, that someone could care for him this gently. So quick to forget that you have always done this. That you always will. You press a soft kiss to the crown of his head, whispering that he should go to bed soon, that he has work later, that he needs rest…and that maybe, the sheets feel just a little too empty and cold without him. He thanks you, as always, even if it’s subtle. A small nod, a softened expression, a faint smile, a quiet whisper of “you shouldn’t have.” But the truth is simple, he’s deeply grateful for this…for you. For every small act of love you offer so effortlessly. More than he could ever properly put into words.

ྀི༷♡ ˚ִִ𓈒꒱ 𝅄 ˚ ׅ doctoruryu!! who would never openly admit how much he enjoys kissing you, but his actions will always speak louder than his words ever could. It shows in the quiet moments– those soft, lingering goodnight kisses, where his lips just briefly brush against yours, only to press more firmly a second later, like he can’t quite bring himself to pull away. And then there are the mornings. The ones where he’s meant to get up, meant to leave, meant to be responsible, yet instead…he finds himself hovering over you, kissing you so feverishly, so desperately, those sloppy yet calculated kisses whenever he’s debating whether or not to skip work entirely, trying so hard to restrain himself from completely devouring you. It’s the way he shoves his tongue past those pretty, swollen lips of yours, tasting you–eating you as if you were his last ever meal. It’s the way his hand finds your jaw instinctively, steadying you, guiding you closer as if he needs to memorise the feeling, as if he needs to do absolutely anything to deepen the kiss, to swallow all of you in a single breath. Every kiss lingers a second too long. Every touch carries intent. He tells himself to stop, to stay composed, to cling onto that last remainder of rationalinity, but oh…you make it so difficult for him. Because, how is he supposed to leave…when you look like that? So ethereal under him, a pretty sinful sight.

ྀི༷♡ ˚ִִ𓈒꒱ 𝅄 ˚ ׅ doctoruryu!! who grows quietly perplexed whenever you sit there, admiring him so softly, so openly, so quietly. Like there is something about him worth lingering on. It’s the way you let your fingertips trace along his jawline, slow and absentmindedly, like you have memorised every angle. The softness in your gaze–it doesn’t quite make sense to him, it unsettles him, the way you are seeing something in him he’s never once noticed himself. You look at him as if he’s something rare, something beautiful, something worth keeping your eyes on. Like a waterfall that spills in a steady rush, silver water cascading over stone as the mists rises. Uryu never understood what exactly you found so appealing about him, and not that he ever did comprehend whenever you rambled on about all the little things you loved about him, the things that made him so beautiful. The way he adjusts his glasses when they slip, the way his hair shifts as the wind kisses him ever so gently, or in the quiet way he looks at you, ever so lovingly. It never made sense to him. But he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t stop you. Instead, he lets you, watching you with a mixture of curiosity and something deeper, something rawer–something softer. Because even if he doesn’t understand it, he treasures it. The fact that you choose him, over and over again.

ྀི༷♡ ˚ִִ𓈒꒱ 𝅄 ˚ ׅ doctoruryu!! who immediately drops everything the moment you fall even slightly ill. It doesn’t really matter to him how minor it is–be it a simple cold, a headache, or anything at all. Even if you are able to handle it on your own. Because to him? It’s serious, and you won’t even lift a finger about it. Because to Uryu, you matter. More than he will ever say out loud. Because you are his responsibility too, not just as a doctor, not just as your husband, but as someone who loves in a way that it quietly consumes and strangles him. He stays at home without hesitation, keeping a careful eye on you, making sure you rest, making sure that you are warm, and just making sure that you are okay. Every small detail matters to him when it comes to you. And maybe…just maybe, there is a small, selfish part of him that doesn’t entirely mind it. It’s just an excuse to keep you close. To squeeze a few hours with you. To stay by your side a little longer than he usually allows himself to.

🥺🧸 it was all meant to be in one blog but I wrote so much so…I split it hehehe ^.^

donut break 🍩