#// and i think once he's comfortable knows he's loved and drops the pretension he definitely has a silly streak

[thanatologie]

anyway, one last sunday thought while i try to beat my brain into submission before bed:

yes, yes, sex with emmrich can be intense, yes, he's into the whole basically cataloguing someone entire thing, yes, it's all filthy poetry and all of that stuff, whatever.

but it can be fun - in a different way - too, once he's entered the nesting phase, just saying.

[truedevotions]

perhaps it should've been sibella instead of her on this path for leniency, a venerable littérateur, homer's forgotten daughter, a pious woman that could embellish any fable or narrative; isobel had seen her scribble away in her diaries and voraciously devour exceedingly rare and large books a countless number of times. it's only sensible to assume that she'd be capable of speaking from the heart on behalf of aunt elizabeth. presumably still, the role could've been edmund's too. thirteen years of camaraderie that stems from the early days of boyhood must equate to more and be of greater value in comparison to whatever she may offer.

“thank you, your grace.” she could be the voice of a haloed cherub in his ear, extol and praise him before the world, shower him with platitudes and reverence that he's bound to hear from every noble that doesn't truly mean it, deceive him with well-crafted and elaborate lies, but she opts for the truth.

“my loyalty,” isobel echoes, playing with the words as if they're iridescent freshwater pearls within her mouth whilst walking arm in arm with him, the very amalgamation of purple and blue making it seem as if they're one. “well you cannot ask for something that is already yours. as for friendship, i've always thought that the most cherished ones must be earned and built, but i'd say that night in the rain gave you a head start. for aiding me, of course.”

a skilled orator not by nature, but proclivity and practice, a master of pace, structure, and phrasing, she had acquired such adroitness as a fledgling by anne boleyn's side, going for perspicaciousness over needlework. “a wise king must know his subjects. he, after all, holds their fates in his hands. that's why i must tell you the story of elizabeth talbot, for she's not just a name on a parchment of paper, and though her treacherous choices mustn't be excused, i believe they weren't necessarily done out of malice. see, aunt elizabeth lost her husband years ago and was left childless, without someone to call her own. it's why she loved sibella dearly, the youngest girl, whom she doted upon, while i was away and serving at your lady mother's court.” she couldn't speak of the way they had sojourned in foreign cities, basked under the roman sun or sailed the azure mediterranean sea. no, that wasn't her story to tell. hers are rare memories, of fleeting cheek kisses, lovely letters detailing her voyages, and expensive gifts she had sent almost religiously often, from venetian silk to extravagant jewels.

unable to hold a distinct opinion of her own and yet unwilling to condemn and castigate the woman even before the king, she opens her mouth once more. “we weren't by definition close, but i knew her well enough to see the profound sadness in her eyes. to be alone is a cruel fate. one could easily say that loneliness begets loneliness. i think that's how she ended up trusting the wrong people. she allowed herself to fall for their ruse, all under the guise of finding comfort.” it's daunting, too, to realize how alone she must've been.

“my king,” raptly, she turns to look at him, forsaking the act of weighing every word as the silken veil of pretense and guise drops ceremoniously.

“william,” his name on her tongue like holy prayer, a midnight hymn, immortal echo, like she whispered it a thousand times before, in a dream, another life.

“think of my sister, someone who's too gentle to know of true callousness of the court.”

“think of my brother, the dutiful man you've known for so long, the same man who has once already faced the brutality of loss.”

“and think of me, a woman most devout to your cause.”

Her words drip with forethought that Wills turns a blind eye to, reconciled with the notion that to be in a King’s presence would always warrant some measure of excogitation: in some it sputtered and brayed like an old mule, repulsively blatant – in others, it slipped throughout conversation with the sleekness of an oiled snake, hissing noiselessly. But it was only a matter of time, thought Wills, before the Percys’ tongues – one, if not all – invoked that condemned woman’s name, already consigned to soak the block and straw strewn across the scaffold with her blood (though he would have placed coin on it being Ned – gallant, sensible Percy). Twisted in his gut was a perverse sort of satisfaction that it was his sister, Isobel, who’d sacrificed herself: her attempts to entreat his clemency buttered with humility and flattery, for to set oneself against a Tudor, as the Percy family well knew, was a dangerous thing.

The King’s jaw opens, then clamps shut. Although he often dispensed with the formality of punctuality, the Privy Council was scheduled to convene within the hour – and with the morrow of Elizabeth Talbot’s execution drawing ominously near, there would be raucous calls for bloodshed from each faction at court, an expectation for the King to resolve the ancient feuds embittering his assemblies. Besides, the engineers behind Talbot’s downfall would expect some kind of reward; scraps of rich meat and haunted manors and former abbeys thrown to them like dogs, omnivorous hounds at his disposal, gnashing at each other's throats. ‘I don’t have much time,’ Wills announces, thrusting out a fig-purple sleeve for Isobel to clutch. ‘Walk with me, Mistress Percy, and I’ll hear your plea – try to make it brief, yes?’

As they begin their stroll toward the King’s chambers – an orchestra of Wills’ heavy footfalls, the clanging of a sheathed sword, and the swish of Isobel’s velvet skirts sounding their journey – he tilts his cuprous head in the direction of Isobel’s pearl-edged hood. ‘I cannot promise satisfaction, but I vow to listen, Mademoiselle Percy, to whatever it is you bring me. May I only ask for the honour of your friendship, your loyalty, in turn?’

[dalmascan-requiem]

Dalmascan Requiem: Gemna

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Gale is rather troubled by the bartender. Why does she keep staring at him with a glint in her eye?

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Read on AO3 or keep reading after the jump

content warnings: mention of alcohol

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This is a short and light-hearted introduction to Gemna! I love her. Gemna ends up being a mother-like figure for the two Viera, which is lovely because they never really had that in their lives. And they definitely need the help sometimes.

Fun fact, Gemna is actually older than them. While Gale and Laurent are about 70 at the point of this fic, Bangaa live twice as long as Hyur, and Gemna is probably around 160 or so.

What is with this damn bartender? Gale takes a sideways glance at the Bangaa at the counter. She has taken an interest in him all day, and it's throwing him off. Gale works hard to blend in and look like he simply belongs–-you can't get people to talk if you look suspicious. 

Gale found out quickly that in Rabanastre, people see what they want to see, and if they see someone friendly, someone open, they're quick to spill secrets. Those secrets, from the right people, can earn you a nice bit of money.

But people don't like their secrets sold. So Gale's learned how to... control how people perceive him so he wouldn't get caught. Not that he couldn't defend himself, but an information broker doesn't want to make a scene.

So, why is this elderly Bangaa woman staring him down as if he's a drunkard about to get into a fight? Did she know him? He's never entered this bar before. Did he talk to her in the past? Is he using the same look too often? No, it's nothing like that–-

"I knew you'd come walking through those doors one day."

Gale breaks from his thoughts with a start and looks in the direction of the voice. Sure enough, the Bangaa was at his table, and she was pulling the chair out across from him, getting ready to sit down. She sure is making herself comfortable. I suppose I can't get out of this now…

He runs a hand through his black hair, hoping his frustration doesn't show as he begins to speak with a thick Dalmascan accent. "My apologies, but have we met be–-"

Gale is cut off by the Bangaa's sudden, boisterous laugh. "Oh, that accent is adorable, dear. You sound like you've lived here your whole life!" She chuckles for a bit longer as Gale stared at her, utterly confused by what was happening. "But you haven't, have you, Eir?"

What? Gale drops all pretense of friendliness when he hears the bartender say his forest name. "Who are you?" he asks coldly as he glares at the Bangaa, which she returns with a smile.

"Name's Gemna." The Bangaa holds out her hand for a handshake, but Gale simply continues glaring. "Goodness, they don't teach anything about manners in the jungle, do they?" Gemna lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh. "Just like your friend, I tell you. You're both easy on the eyes, but your personalities are colder than-–"

Friend? Gale stopped listening to the elderly bartender's rambling when she mentioned a friend. What friend? A friend from the jungle? She can't possibly mean–-

"Hey! You're not listening!" Gemna snaps her fingers in Gale's face, breaking his concentration once again. "How have you not been stabbed if you keep daydreaming like that?"

Never in his life has Gale been so utterly infuriated and exasperated by another person. He has no idea what to make of this elderly Bangaa, but he was beginning to think it was nothing good. I think it's time to leave. 

Gale gets up to leave the bar, only for Gemna to grab his wrist with far more strength than he expected. "Come now, let's talk upstairs," Gemna says as she practically drags the Viera behind the counter and towards the stairs in the back. "We can have some tea!"

~

This is absurd. Gale glares down at the tea and cookies before him, arms crossed. Gemma had been chattering about everything and nothing since he dragged him upstairs, setting up for a tea date as if they were old friends. 

But obviously, they were not, and at this point Gale just wished the Bangaa would tell him what she wanted with him, or just stab him or something to put him out of his misery.

"Goodness, dear, stop pouting," Gemna says as she sits down at the table and takes a sip of the tea.

"I am not pout–" Gale cuts himself off with a low growl as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Ugh, she's treating me like a child! What is with this woman!? "Could you tell me what you want already?"

"After you drink your tea. Go on, before it gets cold." Gale simply crosses his arms again, and the Bangaa rolls her eyes. "Come now–-what was the name you were giving people? Gale?–-Come now Gale, if I wanted to poison you I would have slipped something in your second drink. Something you couldn't taste and would make it look like you drank too much. Why would I waste good tea on something like that?" 

Gale knew that something was off about this elderly Bangaa, and the way she casually talked about poisoning a person proved she was more than just an unusually strong, overbearing bartender. 

She wasn't wrong, though, it would have been easier to poison him while he was drinking ale. And it was clear the Rava wasn't going to get away from this situation without humoring Gemna.

Defeated, Gale lets out a heavy sigh and takes a sip of the tea. "Good, isn't it?" Gemna says with a light chuckle in her voice. He loathed to admit it was quite good–-certainly better than most blends you'd find at the stalls in the city.

"...Yes, it is," Gale finally responds before setting the cup down. "How did you know my name from before I left the jungle? I haven't told anyone that name." The only one in Rabanastre who'd know it is…

"Oh is that what you're so upset about?" The Bangaa waves Gale off between bites of a cookie. "Laurent told me. Who else would even know it?"

It took everything in Gale's power to keep his expression neutral, although his mind was racing. She knows Laurent? If he's talked about me, then does she know about what happened? What should I…

"Where'd all the questions go dear? Now the cat's got your tongue?" Gemna shrugs, then continues talking. "I met your friend shortly after he got here, I assume. He ran into a bit of trouble with one of the groups here, and I offered to help him out. Now don't get me wrong–-he was just as grumpy and moody as you were at first, but he eventually opened up a bit. And he certainly had a lot to say about you."

The Bangaa smiles widely. "Now that I think about it, there was a Gale that had been causing the poor boy problems every once and a while. Someone that no one could ever seem to get a solid lead on. I'm guessing that was you, dear?"

Well, there's no use hiding anything now. "Yes, it was," Gale stated plainly. "While I'm glad he's been keeping safe–-or that you're keeping him safe, I suppose–-I've been trying to talk to him since I've gotten here."

"And you couldn't just go running around telling everyone who you were or else you'd end up dead in an alley."

"...Well, yes." She really has me pegged. Gale sighs, but then a thought comes to his mind. "Wait, how did you know who I was?" The Viera runs his hand through his dark hair again. "I don't look like how Laurent remembers me."

"Oh, dear, when you're my age you just know," Gemna winks, then sighs when Gale doesn't seem amused. "Here, let me show you." The Bangaa gets up from the table and begins rummaging around a cabinet in the kitchen. Eventually, she pulls out a mirror and walks over to where Gale is sitting, getting uncomfortably close to him.

Gemna slowly reaches out towards Gale–-What, is she going to strangle me?–-only to grab a lock of hair and pull at it. "Ow!" Gale can't help but grumble when she yanks at a strand near the back of his head. "What in the seven hells-–"

"Your hair is dyed." Gemna suddenly interrupts, positioning the mirror so Gale could see what she's pulling at. A small patch of blue hair, barely perceptible among the black strands–-but undoubtedly there. "You missed a spot, I saw it when you ran your hand through your hair one time." Gemna smirks as she pulls away a bit. "Besides, you can't hide those gorgeous eyes of yours, dear."

"My… eyes?" The Rava's cheeks flush at the sudden compliment, much to his frustration. Gemna only laughs in response. "What do my eyes have to do with anything?"

"Oh, you boys, what am I going to do with you two?" The elderly bartender lets out a long, exaggerated sigh, and Gale does not get a straight answer. "Anyway, it's time for you two to meet up, methinks. In fact, it's long overdue!" Gemna claps her hands together excitedly and heads back to her spot on the other side of the table. "Let's make a plan, son."

"...Son?" Gale crosses his arms as he looks at the Bangaa. "I'm not your–"

"Oh of course you are." Gemna waves Gale's objections away. "I've always said you're my other son, and now you're home! Let's get to work."

Gale lets out a huff, exasperated, but warming up to this strange woman. If nothing else, she seemed genuine, and genuine people and conversations were a rarity for him. "Alright then, let's get to work."

[bleachhaven]

Soutaicho’s Secret Admirer (Shunsui x Reader) — Part 5/6

Author’s Note:

It should be noted that this story is almost coming to a close...I’m sad to stop writing about Shunsui but it’s time to wrap this one up. So there’s maybe 1 or 2 more parts left.

Warning: A bit of smut ahead. One can only be seduced endlessly for so long without something happening about it.

–

Read Part 1, Part 2 , Part 3  and Part 4 first!

Uncharacteristically, Shunsui was late to arrive at the office. It was almost ten in the morning when he finally strolled in. Nanao would have admonished him without a thought but the dark circles beneath his eyes revealed he had already had a terrible night. She didn’t want to make it a terrible morning as well.

Shunsui didn’t have the excuse of drunken debauchery at some late night party for his tardiness. The last party he’d been to had been Lisa-chan’s Valentine’s Day celebration and that was over two weeks ago.

It was more or less about how his loneliness and melancholy had kept him up late into the night. Something he definitely didn’t want to burden sweet Nanao-chan about.

He had found himself strolling randomly in seireitei at around three in the goddamn morning because simply staying in his bed staring at his ceiling felt impossible. He didn’t have these kind of difficult nights too often but when he did have them, they were quite terrible.

Sure, he missed Juu. But his loneliness was a bit more than that this time.

It has been over two weeks since he had received anything from his beloved Secret Admirer. Fourteen whole days of complete silence from her was quite unusual, and he felt it acutely. Where was she?

The darkest of thoughts had plagued him at night. What if she was sent on a dangerous mission? What if she had been injured? He hated to think it...but what if she was never coming back? Hadn’t he honestly lost enough? 

The thoughts spiraled as the evening progressed into the wee hours of the morning, growing darker and more melancholy.

He knew he was not the greatest catch in the Soul Society. That title fell to Byakuya, uncontested. Shunsui was older than everyone in seireitei - a thousand years too old, he’d say. He was nobility too but he wasn’t one to truly fit into that mould, which deterred most noblewomen from considering him. 

He wasn’t what one would call conventionally handsome either. He knew he wasn’t ugly...but he wasn’t exactly...whole. Not anymore. Maybe once he would have held some appeal and he had many lovers who thought him handsome enough to have a tumble with him... but the eyepatch never failed to remind him that he was never going to be good looking, by anyone’s standards, with a goddamn hole in his face.

Most days, none of this would honestly bother him. But last night it did.

His beloved Secret Admirer probably came to the conclusion that he wasn’t worth all the trouble after all. Surely, there had to be a reason why he had never been able to have a long term relationship. He blamed it on his job but...was that all it was? Maybe he was just not meant to have a happily ever after with someone.

As romantic as he was, he didn’t really believe in the concept of happily ever after. He knew relationships were work. It was a commitment between two people who cared about each other to work on staying together through whatever. With time, he had put any thoughts of a relationship on the back burner. With his duty to the Gotei 13, and his responsibilities as well as the added burden of maintaining his reputation as the Soutaicho...it was a practical choice. 

But his Secret Admirer had made him want. Had made him yearn for a happily ever after for himself in a way he never had before.

He wanted to be loved and cherished as much as he wanted to love and cherish that one special person in his life. But did he really deserve it?

He knew it was her silence that had his latent insecurities rising to the surface keeping him up at night.

So as sleep deprived as he was, he came to the office with a plan. He couldn’t bear her silence anymore so he was not going to. With everything that had come up in the office, he hadn’t been able to finish up the letter he had started to write to her. At that time, it had felt futile considering there was no way to send it to her. 

But he had a brilliant idea. He would have it published in the next installment of the Seireitei Communication including just enough information so that she would know it’s him while withholding enough details to still keep it anonymous. He could trust Hisagi-kun to be discreet.

He had a plan, and it could actually work!

If only he could actually find that bit of lavender paper he had left on his desk.

“Nanao-chan, did you remove anything from my desk by any chance?” he asked, opening up drawers and bending down to check under the desk.

Nanao looked up from the training schedule she was working on. “Nothing more than the usual paperwork. Why what have you lost now?” she asked with an overexaggerated sigh.

“My, my, Nanao-chan. You make it sound like I lose things on a daily basis.”

“The only thing lost on a daily basis around here is my sanity,” she said, rolling her eyes. Still she relented. A distressed Taicho always meant a distressed Nanao. “Fine. Describe it to me and I will tell you if I saw it anywhere.”

“It was nothing official. Just a bit of lavender paper I had been writing on…” he trailed off seeing the look on her face. “What? Did you see it?”

“You lost the letter you were writing to you Secret Admirer?” she asked.

“Nanao-chan! How did you…?”

“You forget, Taicho,” she said quite matter of factly. “There’s nothing that goes on here I don’t know about. But I haven’t seen it. Maybe it got mixed up in some paperwork and got sent to another division. I don’t think anyone would recognize your flowery handwriting which you reserve for your personal correspondence anyway. So nothing to worry about.”

Shunsui simply stared at her. He has known his little fuktaicho for too long to not notice that something was off. All this time, he thought she was just laughing at his expense because he was mooning over someone he didn’t even know. But now...that look...the way she said it without even having to think about it...it all felt fishy somehow. Nanao-chan was up to something.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” she huffed, correcting the papers on her desk that didn’t need correcting. A nervous habit that always gave her away. “If you don’t have any serious work, I have a pile of forms…”

“You know perfectly well who it is, don’t you, Nanao-chan?” he interrupted her attempts to distract him.

“I don’t know what you’re…”

“Please, Nanao-chan. It’s perfectly obvious you know exactly what I am talking about. Just...tell me…” he said.

He was so serious and intent. Nanao had only ever seen him like that in the heat of the worst kind of battle. She dropped her pretenses as well.

“She and I have both left enough breadcrumbs for you as it is. So if you’re so desperate to know who she is, why don’t you do the work to actually find out?” she asked him. “Clearly the girl cares about you but is terrified to approach you. Who wouldn’t be considering who you are and the position you hold. She is a nice girl, Taicho. But as things stand, she wouldn’t be the one to approach you so maybe you should find out for yourself who she is and do the approaching.”

So Nanao did indeed know who his Secret Admirer was. He understood her reasons why she couldn’t tell him. It wasn’t really her secret to divulge. Shunsui had to respect that despite his desperation.

“Is my sweet Nanao-chan giving her taicho dating advice?” he teased instead.

“Yes, I am,” she declared with a raised brow. “For even I can see how far you’ve fallen that you need advice from me to get yourself a date!”

Shunsui gasped, buying into the friendly teasing. “Nanao-chan is so mean to her taicho!”

Finally, they both got back to work, but Shunsui’s mind was still thinking about what Nanao had said. Apparently breadcrumbs were laid out and he hadn’t even noticed! He clearly had to pay more attention.

He tried to outline the facts in his mind. 

The letters were always lemon scented. It could be a shampoo or some kind of scented cream...but it smelled fresh, almost as if unintentional. Something to further ponder upon. 

The gifts were always elaborate but simple and he hadn’t been able to trace it through any vendor. The chocolates were handmade so his little Secret Admirer was probably very good with cooking and baking. 

The handwriting was very distinctive as well. Especially the way she looped all her Ls and Bs with a distinctive flowy curve. 

So far, the facts didn’t fit well into place to identify her as anyone he knew...but somehow, it felt like it was just barely within reach now. As if it’s only missing one final puzzle piece for the whole thing to come together.

__

That night, sleep evaded him once more. He couldn’t deny it. He missed her! He couldn’t help but wishing that she was right next to him, romancing him with more than just her words. He wished he could cherish her in all the ways he desperately yearned to.

 He took the letters he kept at hand in the drawer of his bedside table. He found that he liked to read them sometimes, and no matter how many times he read her words, they still managed to make him feel things. The shape of her words, the texture of the paper...it comforted him.

However, the sensual seductive ones were his downfall.

With all the time he has been alive, and all the experience he’s had, one would think he would be able to resist the temptation. But he often couldn’t.

Reading those letters, describing how she wanted to make love under the moonlight or how she yearned to taste him...it had him imagining soft feminine hands touching him. His hand would unconsciously reach into his hakama of its own volition and grasp his manhood, wondering what it would feel like to be touched by someone who ardently wanted to please him.

It wouldn’t take him too long at all. He would cum, gasping into the empty bedroom, wishing he had a name he could moan. Wishing she was here for him to hold.

Sated, he’d finally fall asleep. Yet though his body was satisfied, his mind wasn’t. He couldn’t help but feel alone on this big empty bed.

__

That coveted final piece of the puzzle arrived as, of all things, more paperwork. He was mindlessly flipping through some reports after lunch the next day when it popped out at him like well-lit beacon.

It wasn’t anything special. Just a request for more funds to be allocated for a better training ground for the 13th division. Except it was filled out by his beloved Secret Admirer. The handwriting screamed her identity at him, looping Ls and Bs and all.

“_____-san,” he whispered to himself, wondering how he could have missed it.

Suddenly, everything was perfectly crystal clear. 

Everyone knew that while Kuchiki Rukia settled in enough to pick her own fuktaicho, the 3rd seat of the 13th was acting in that role in an unofficial capacity, putting her in-charge of all the paperwork coming and going from that division. A reason why she was always showing up at the 1st...giving her ample opportunities to learn his habits well enough to leave behind those delightful missives without ever getting caught.

The lemon scent was from all the lemonade he knew she made for her division and for some special occasions in the seireitei. It was her specialty, a way of creating comfort and homeliness for her subordinates. He had tasted her chocolates twice - once at the Valentine’s Day party itself and then when she gifted them to him specifically. Both facts which had been pointed out by Nanao-chan while _____-san stood right next to him. No wonder she had flushed red then. It hadn’t been out of embarrassment but possibly from thinking she might get caught. The little minx.

He couldn’t help but remember every encounter he had with her in the recent past. Her cute blushes...the way she gasped out “Soutaicho!” Come to think of it, every time he saw her, he felt like she almost called him Shunsui out of habit only to change it to his official title at the last minute. He even recalled the twinkle in her eyes every time she looked up at him.

He couldn’t believe it. He finally knew who his Secret Admirer was and she’d been right before his eyes, had he only known where to look. He couldn’t help smiling, thinking about all the ways he would get back at her for running him around in circles. He would torture her so, so deliciously…

“You have that dopey smile on your face. Should I be worried?” Nanao asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Hmm…? Of course not, Nanao-chan,” he said, not really reassuring her at all. “I am heading out. Be back soon!” 

“Taicho!” she called out but he was already gone.

__

...to be continued.

__

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[the-insomniac-emporium]

Crimson Ties (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 4

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: None for this chap Genre: Hurt + comfort Summary: Sure, your soulmate may be a vampire (of sorts), but there's nothing that love can't conquer, right?... Maybe it's time you learn a little more about the odd circumstances of your soulmate's existence- and the fear that lies beneath the surface. Notes: If the last chapter was "hurt" followed by comfort, this is "comfort" followed by hurt, also known as the part where the story's central conflict comes into play. Features an appearance from Daniela, who reminds us that Cassandra's not the only one with a sharp tongue around here. Previous Chapters: 1: Stem the Flow, 2: Tangled Strands, 3: Rumbling Thunder

4: That Which Burns

“Of all the stars, the fairest,” Bela murmurs in your ear, keeping her arms wrapped loosely around your waist, before giving you a gentle kiss on the cheek. If you hadn’t already been blushing, you certainly would have now done so. You’re leaning into her touch, face flushed as can be, loving every moment of this. For a while now you’ve been curled up with her, while she reads excerpts from her favorite works. Although both of you would have preferred to do this outside, enjoying the view of the stars, you figured it would be best not to push your health too much. After all, you had lost a huge percentage of your blood. Well, temporarily, but it was still better to be safe than sorry.

“That’s probably my favorite line from Sappho,” you chimed, fondly remembering some of your schooling. “Though the one about being remembered always stands out to me. I’m not sure I remember it correctly, and I’m sure it’s been translated a few different ways over the years… but I think it’s ‘someone, I tell you, will remember us in another time’. Might have gotten that backwards, actually.” Giving an awkward little smile, you sheepishly rub the back of your head with one hand. “Either way it feels so romantic. To think of a love so strong that it echoes throughout time, fondly remembered for generations… it warms the heart.”

“Mhmm, most definitely, my dear. Many aren’t as lucky, however,” Bela laments, an odd expression crawling onto her face. There’s the slightest waver to her lower lip as she speaks. Concerned, you turn in place to get a better look, gently reaching out to caress her cheek. Is there something I’m missing? You think, wondering what you should say. “I’m alright, I promise. Merely distracted by a fleeting thought. Let’s read another, yes?” Before you can protest, she’s already turned to another page, starting to read as if she already knew which one was next (which would not, at all, surprise you).

Love shook my heart, Like the wind on the mountain, Troubling the oak-trees

“Oh, if only I could speak Aeolic Greek, so that I could serenade you with tender prose, all the days of your life… just as it was originally written. Wouldn’t that be lovely?” Bela offers, once again smiling wide, as if nothing in the world was wrong, at least not when you were by her side. Though you are not keen to ignore her earlier stroke of misery, you are equally reluctant to put a damper on her current upswing. Now what were you to do? Little comes to mind, other than the simplicity of human warmth, and so you lean once more into her embrace, head held aloft on the strength of her shoulder.

“Here, as I am now, is more than lovely enough. Your voice is soothing in any language, sweet as sugar, relaxing as can be,” you reassure her in your softest tone. Heart fluttering, she finds herself easing back into the comfort of the moment, forgetting all about her earlier woes. “Shall we read another?” Nodding, Bela again turns the page and begins to read:

He’s equal with the gods, that man Who sits across from you, Face to face, close enough to sip Your voice’s sweetness

And what excites my mind, Your laughter, glittering. So, When I see you, for a moment, My voice goes,

My tongue freezes. Fire, Delicate fire, in the flesh. Blind, stunned, the sound Of thunder, in my ears.

Shivering with sweat, cold Tremors over the skin, I turn the colour of dead grass, And I’m an inch from dying.

“Does that make me equal to the gods, then?” You ask, as soon as the last line is given its moment to shine. A small hum comes from your soulmate, who seems equal parts intrigued and confused. “I look in your eyes and my lungs light on fire, my heart ricochets around my chest, and I hear the chorus of angels singing your holy praises. The fact that I can manage to speak at all is confounding. Maybe the muses have seen fit to lend me their artistry, so that I might make conversation worthy of your existence, my dear.” With that said, you find yourself being squeezed gently, Bela placing another kiss against the top of your head. Now, it seems she is the one without the ability to speak. “The divine witnessing the divine, yes?... Let me read the next one, and we’ll see if my voice could ever compare to your own.”

It’s innocent enough, your choice. A turn of the page, just another poem, selected for nothing more than respect for chronology. Yet something drains from the space around you as you begin to read, so subtly slow that you hardly notice.

Girls, you be ardent for the fragrant-blossomed Muses’ lovely gifts, for the clear melodious lyre: But now old age has seized my tender body, Now my hair is white, and no longer dark

How were you to realize that the great shadow of fear loomed over your soulmate, when she had refused to name it mere minutes ago? How were you to know to halt your reciting, when the aching of her heart rendered her throat dry, and she could not bring herself to call out to you? Words poured like poisoned wine from your lips… your soulmate having no choice but to drink up every last drop.

My heart’s heavy, my legs won’t support me, That once were fleet as fawns, in the dance I grieve often for my state; what can I do? Being human, there’s no way not to grow old

A shaky breath from age-old lungs, exhaled into tense air, forced out past a trembling jaw. Say something, Bela tells herself, any poem but this. For a split second you pause, and she wonders if her thoughts have found new light in your own mind. But you break the momentary silence without much care, simply having been unsure of your pending pronunciation of an old name, perfectly unaware of your partner’s panic.

Rosy-armed Dawn, they say, love-smitten Once carried Tithonus off to the world’s end: Handsome and young he was then, yet at last Grey age caught that spouse of an immortal wife

At last her ordeal was over. The final words hang heavy in the air, weighing down her shoulders, but they are done. Her fears had been dragged out from the pit in her stomach, now waving about like dirty laundry. There was only one way for her to avoid this happening another time: Tell you the truth. By now her silence had earned your attention, with you turning in her lap again, concerned gaze meeting her hollow one. Gently, she gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“I… am not one to balk at the nature of things, however painful the truth. Yet I hesitate now, with the very person I am bound to with crimson ties… How cowardly of me,” Bela all but snarls, anger clearly not directed at you. It’s clear in the way that she holds herself that she has more to say. There’s not much you can do other than wait, though you do tuck an arm around her waist, beginning to rub soft circles against her back. “Allow me to drop the pretenses. You are not immortal, but I am. We’ve only been together for a day and a half, and already I’m worrying about your lifespan. It’s safe to say that this particular poem was an unfriendly reminder of our situation.”

Oh. How exactly were you supposed to respond to that?... Your girlfriend- your soulmate- was immortal. Hmph, as if her essentially being a vampire hadn’t already been enough to freak you out. Now this? Well, maybe it wasn’t too much farther of a stretch from the last revelation, even if you were still recovering from that one. Even then, something told you that this was equally hard for Bela- both to say, and to simply feel. As if she needed more stress surrounding her partnership with you…

“Of all the ways for us to mimic legends… I don’t even know what to say, my dear. I… I suppose that I can only reassure you that we will make the most of every moment we have. However much time we are destined to get, we’ll make sure it is filled with bliss,” you reply, slowly, making it up as you go. An ache builds in the center of your chest as you talk, an internal yearning for greater confidence. Although words were your “weapon” of choice, you were not always a master in your use of them, too human to be infallible. “Maybe we should set aside the poetry for now, shift our focus to something, ah, less meaningful?”

“That would be for the best,” Bela agrees, already shifting like she was going to stand up, before you even had a chance to get off of her lap. Something strange had fallen over her expression, an invisible veil, putting an uncomfortable distance between the two of you. Inside your chest, a thundering heart threatens to go still. Had you done something wrong? Did you commit some unspoken sin? Together the two of you rise, in sync yet more separate than before, a thousand questions and anxieties rendering both of you silent...

—————————

Across the room from you, a pair of bright eyes watch your every movement, peering out from over an open book. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought that the “ruse” was intentionally poor. But for all the five hours you had known her, Daniela Dimitrescu had done nothing other than prove herself odd, clumsy, and quite possibly… overconfident. Admittedly, that still made her undeniably more pleasant than Cassandra. If you had to be stuck alongside someone other than your soulmate, well, ‘twas best that it was this strange redheaded gremlin. Even if she had expressed an unfortunate interest in eating you.

Gods, what is wrong with this family? You think, frowning a tad, unable to stop yourself from making eye contact with Daniela. Instantly she’s looking away, pretending to be engrossed within her book. The very same book that had remained open to the same page for half an hour now. I do hope Bela is having more fun right now, with whatever “business” called her away so unexpectedly. She hadn’t seemed happy to have to leave your side, earlier tension notwithstanding. Coming here to the library had been her suggestion, though you doubted she knew that Daniela was there, or at least hadn’t anticipated her sister’s unnerving behavior. Already the redhead was looking back at you, even less subtly than before.

Sighing, you decided that you could only put up with so much of this tomfoolery.

“Are you in need of something? Or is there something on my face?” You ask, setting your own book aside as you do. There’s a few moments of silence, as Daniela glances around the room, as if you might actually be speaking to someone else. When no scapegoats teleport to her rescue, she very awkwardly clears her throat, then moves to sit at your table. Though you are loath to admit it, your heart starts beating faster as she approaches. Not out of attraction, hell no, rather fear. Perhaps getting her attention hadn’t been the wisest choice after all…

“I just think it’s funny,” Daniela chimes, trailing off just long enough to run a finger down the length of your arm, “that Bela abandoned you so quickly. You’re so… fragile. Cassandra told me about the fun little introduction you had to our family- the blood loss, being chained up, the fear you felt when you got caught in our territory.” Suddenly she’s devolving into a fit of giggles, hand resting not-so-gently on your wrist. When you try to pull away, her nails dig in, and her gaze snaps back to your own. “But you don’t remember that part, do you? If you did… oh, we’d have to lock you up, like the little pet you are, to keep you from running away. I’m sure Bela wouldn’t mind seeing you in chains.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You snap, uncharacteristically furious. While it was true that you couldn’t recall exactly how you made it into the castle’s dungeons, you refuse to accept Daniela’s implications about your soulmate, or her assessment of your dedication. A brief second passes where you think she’s about to lunge towards you. Instead, she withdraws her hand, moving it to prop up her chin instead. Then, her lips slowly drag upwards into a wicked grin, wide eyes filled with dangerous amusement.

“So you’re more than a wannabe Shakespeare, after all? A bit more teeth, a touch more vulgarity, maybe a twinge of bloodlust, and you might actually fit in around here. Not enough to get our family’s ‘gift’- our secret to a long, happy life- but enough that Bela won’t grow bored of your sappy poems,” she teases with another string of laughter. Before you can question her about this ‘gift’, she’s all but jumping to her feet, stretching out her arms as she does. “I can’t wait to update Cassandra about you. We’ll be betting on how entertaining you’ll end up being. Try to keep from bailing on my dear sister too soon, alright?”

Just like that she’s disappearing into a swarm of flies, leaving you more confused (and angry) than ever. Taking a deep breath, you try to focus on what you need to do next: Find Bela. Talk to her. Get some goddamn answers.

[tartagliaxx]

Kaeya + lily of the valley?

Thank you so much!

“ KAEYA + LILY OF THE VALLEY ”

━━ ☆ PAIRING: kaeya/reader

━━ ☆ GENRE: fluff

━━ ☆ SUMMARY: lily of the valley | return to happiness

━━ ☆ WARNINGS: established relationship

the image he saw in the mirror was unfamiliar — a man whose eyes were free of the usual hurricanes of chaos, whose skin was clear of the hurt and betrayal, forming grotesque streaks that acted as an endless reminder of his sins.

it was a bizarre sight. kaeya could count the number of times he was out of his stuffy uniform and in something far more regal. a suit as crisp as the newly pressed papers laid forgotten in his office dyed in a shade of rhino blue, a color that complimented his night star eyes beautifully. even he had to admit that he looked fine.

"any longer and you just might swallow yourself whole."

chuckling, kaeya met aether's unimpressed gaze in the mirror, lips immediately pulled into a mysterious grin, something second nature to him mayhaps even a subconscious defensive gesture.

"and to whom do i owe the pleasure of this lovely visit?"

"to him. try not to kill each other, will you?"

averting his gaze, he spots the one man he last expected to visit him, sticking like out a sore thumb against the pristine white wallpaper of the room.

"my, my... have you come to send your best regards, master diluc?"

the man in question scoffed, choosing to ignore the captain in favor of giving aether a pointed stare,  "this was not part of our discussion."

"it isn't but don't you think this is better?"

"oh yes," kaeya cackled, shrugging off his suit jacket and loosening his tie to assume a more casual persona. "this is so much better."

"you're delusional."

aether rolled his eyes at diluc's seething glare that kaeya half-heartedly mocked, "you both are. now, i need to go and help master jean outside so would you please," a deep sigh. "please be civil?"

"i don't know what you're talking about. we're always civil, aren't we?"

a grunt from the redhead.

"whatever. just— just be careful with the carpet."

and with that, aether was gone, leaving two men who dropped all the pretenses they tried to uphold just a second before. a tension that you could cut with a butter knife, an ironic situation to find himself in.

kaeya sighed after a few moments of just staring at each other. rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt to his forearms, he tilted his head towards the chilled bottle of wine just by the couch, "wine?"

"no, thank you."

he shrugged as he poured himself a glass, plopping back into the couch with a soft 'umph' before tossing one leg over the other, a picture-perfect definition of confidence and charisma despite most of it being faux.

"...you look happy." diluc muttered after a few moments of hesitation, moving to situate himself on the chair directly across his 'brother.'

"do i?"

the red liquid swam around the glass with a grace unrestrained as kaeya flicked it with a few snaps of his wrists. a habit, a proof of his contemplation. the man in the mirror was unfamiliar and maybe it was because he was happy and happiness was not a look kaeya had seen on him for many, long years.

"are you?" diluc leaned back, fiddling with the watch on his wrist that kaeya recognized to be a part of his late father's collection, "nothing is ever as it looks with you."

an amused huff, "touché."

a beat and another. a silence that couldn't be called comfortable but at the very least, it didn't make either of them retch in disgust.

kaeya slung his free arm across the couch, head tilted up as he absentmindedly hummed a soft tune, looking, searching for an answer that was honest for a change. he supposed that diluc deserved that for coming all the way to meet him.

"i think so," he finally muttered, tone too solemn for the character he was used to playing, "i think i am. it's been so long since i felt like this that i don't even know anymore."

"in any case..." diluc clenched and unclenched his teeth, once again hesitating, before staring right into kaeya. "it's a good look."

an unexpected reply. kaeya coughed, trying to mask the sudden awkwardness he felt. he was used to numbing bites and near-death experiences, not this. not this sudden softness that caught him off-guard. not the slight sliver of what he was like before everything fell to ruins.

"oh dear, is master diluc getting soft with me?" a remark that was meant to push diluc's buttons so he'll return to what he's used to — what he's comfortable with.

and it worked, somewhat, as diluc rolled his eyes, tossing a bag at kaeya's face as he stood up to leave. "congratulations."

"hey diluc," what was he doing? kaeya ran a hand through his hair, his call — which stopped the man just as he was about to slip out the door — coming out before he could even process it. "should i pull my hair back?"

it was an absurd situation for anyone watching. in fact, even kaeya grimaced at the sound of his god-awful question. on the other hand, the subtle quirk of diluc's lips right before he left was just as obvious.

"do it."

the church bells danced with each pleasant breeze from the north; shrubs and trees rustling — singing as an accompaniment. from the end of the aisle, he could hear each hushed chatter over the sweet strains of organ music. any other person would feel irate at the unnecessary bustle but not kaeya. to kaeya, the white noise helped muffle the voices in his head that repeatedly hammered the anxious thoughts he had. in a way, it was all lovely. color-stained glass windows painting the interior of the cathedral and the white flowers you chose with a variety of colors he could only see in a dream.

so deep into his thoughts, he didn't realize that the last bridesmaid has made her march. only when the music stopped and the faces turned back did kaeya look up and thank god he did because the sight that greeted him was nothing short of glorious. clad in white rhinestones and golden embroideries, he was certain that 'happiness' has never looked as perfect as it did that moment.

he took your hand as soon as you took the last step towards him and immediately, all he could recognize was you and the sweet, uplifting scent of the blooming flowers by your hands. the same flowers you picked particularly for him.

"families and friends, i would like to thank you for coming to witness the blessed matrimony between two halves that, against all odds, found each other again. for a moment, let us offer our thanks to barbatos and his will that all those who love should be free to do so."

a sharp poke and he turned around to see you giving him a warning stare. he supposed he really wasn't trying to hide his complete disinterest over the proceedings, only caring about the kiss and the happy ever after.

"focus!" you hissed at him, earning yourself a glare from the pastor much to kaeya's entertainment. how completely and utterly endearing.

a happy ever after... on any other day, he would have laughed at the sheer optimism of it all but not today. today, he allowed himself to believe — to hope that he would come to know and see the man in the mirror more often with you by his side.

━━ ☆ NOTES: thanks for joining and i hope you liked it! i don’t know who needs to see this but this is the suit i imagined kaeya was in. view the rest of the event shorts here! 💐

[illneverrecover]

the sweetest thing (M) | myg

➛pairing: Min Yoongi x reader ➛genre: florist!Yoongi, baker!Reader, florist AU, baker AU, enemies to lovers, humor, smut. ➛word count: 4799 ➛rating: M ➛warnings: not too many, this is pretty sweet & soft. Heavy petting, cursing, making out, neck kissing, biting/marking, icing used in a dirty manner, implied sex, mild dirty talk, bad puns, witty banter. ➛summary: Min Yoongi was sure you moved in next door to his floral shop just to ruin him and his business. But when he needs your help, he realizes that it’s much sweeter working together then apart. ➛notes: Hehehe. My sweet little angel bb Paril requested some florist shop Yoongi E2L with baker reader, and I just had to oblige. I love writing Yoongi, he truly just is perfect for me to channel sass and sarcasm and a bit of sweetness. Thank you for commissioning me @serensama​ (and the kind bank of @quinnkook​), I hope you enjoy this and that it’s what you were looking for! I love you tons and I’m proud to be your soulmate. 🖤 ➛song: People - AGUST D for the sweet fluff  & Poison - GOT7  for the dirty dirty.

“She’s doing this on purpose.”

“No she isn’t, hyung. That doesn’t make sense.” Namjoon picks up a rose, twirling it in inspection. “Does she even know you exist?”

Yoongi scoffs then, eyes darting from the arrangement in front of him to glare at Namjoon. “Of course she knows I exist. Our shops share a wall.”

Instead of replying, Namjoon rolls his eyes before refocusing, carefully watching the stem as his hand slides the knife down it to remove any thorns. Yoongi accepts his silence as defeat, puffing his chest. “So, like I was saying - she’s doing this on purpose, and she’s going to bleed me dry.”

The door swings open then, Hoseok and Jungkook both moving to the workstations with arms full of supplies, the latter’s eyes wide as he picks up on the conversation.

“Wait! Are you talking about Y/N noona?”

“Yes, and how she’s killing business-”

“Isn’t she just the coolest?!” Jungkook interrupts, beaming over at Yoongi. “Have you seen the designs for her flower cookies? And how she’s selling twelve of them in a pack and calling them ‘coo-quets’? Get it? Like instead of-”

“Bouquets, yes Jungkook, I get the pun.” Yoongi mutters dryly, setting the finished arrangement in it’s vase and sliding it to the side. Hoseok is laughing, so hard in fact that he misses Yoongi picking up a roll of tape until it beams him in the head.

“Hey! What was that for!” rubbing his crown, he glares at the florist before reluctantly picking up the tape, fixing the customer label to the side of the vase before moving it over to the fridge. “Don’t be violent with me just because you have the hots for the pretty baker next door.”

Yoongi sputters, hand slapping the top of the table. “I do not have the hots for-”

“Yeah yeah, we know, you definitely aren’t into Y/N, at all,” Namjoon deadpans, reaching into the box for his next rose to dethorn. “You don’t find her attractive, you didn’t stalk her and pretend to be a customer just so you could see inside her business, absolutely nothing to see here.”

“Your sarcasm is noted and also not appreciated,” Yoongi sniffs, before turning away from the taller man all together. “All I’m saying is, ever since she moved into that building, she’s caused issues. And now this is how she decides to promote for the Spring Blossom festival? It feels like an attack.”

“But hyung, it’s called the ‘Spring Blossom Festival’, I think leaning towards flowers would be kind of an obvious choice, right?” Jungkook prompts, head tilting in naive innocence. 

Yoongi sighs heavily, head dropping to his chest, and wonders not for the first time why he thought hiring his friends to work with him was a good idea. 

Maybe Jungkook had a point; maybe they all did. But that wasn’t enough to convince Yoongi that your motives were all sincere in nature. He was telling the truth when he said that ever since you had moved in next door, things had gone haywire for his small, locally loved floral shop. 

He had only been in the space for about a year, but the street it was on had picked up in popularity with a new pub and restaurant concept on the corner, and a local farmers market moving in on the weekends. Quickly, his little business grew, people coming to him when seeking unique arrangements that were both beautiful and affordable. As demand increased, so did the need to hire more hands, and his friends had been enthusiastic to join his payroll. 

For the most part, things had been smooth sailing.Training the others had been relatively easy, and what shortcomings they had, he was able to find a new strength they each brought to the business. He was comfortable, thriving, going to bed with a full belly and fat wallet, and it’s all he could ask for.

Until you.

Yoongi didn’t even see you until after you had already bought and renovated the building next door, the sign for your bakery going up and accenting the coral pink of the painted brick perfectly. He had thought it was cute; how bright and cheery your shop looked, how you were always dressed in flattering sundresses and heels, despite spending your days in a kitchen baking. He walked past your place daily to get to his own, and had found himself curious about what you were like, how good your food was, how successful you’d be.

He figured the aesthetic alone would bring in some customers, if not the increased foot traffic the farmers market brought in, and he wasn’t wrong. Your soft opening had gone well, a small line forming outside the building to Yoongi’s amusement. Word of mouth worked like a charm in your neighborhood, and a steady flow of regulars would greet him on his trek into work each morning at sunrise as they awaited their breakfast pastry and hot cup of coffee.

While this was great for you, it wasn’t so good for him. Your customers would always line up in the direction where they would block his window, meaning people walking by couldn’t get a glimpse at the creations he had displayed in the windows. Not to mention the littering - flurries of light brown napkins with your logo stamped in the middle usually lining the street in front of the shops, seemingly taunting him.

And then, the festival came. The Spring Blossom Festival, to be exact. 

It was clever, he’d admit that much. The word play of ‘cookie’ and ‘bouquet’, the different color options of the edible flowers painstakingly drawn onto perfectly baked sugar cookies. You had really put thought and effort into the design, and he wasn’t surprised that it seemed to be a hit, dominating the first several days of the festival.

But that didn’t mean he liked it.

He watched helplessly as his sales dipped, as customers that would’ve wanted the real thing instead switched it up for prettily decorated consumable flowers, all cooing and preening over the treats in their matching boxes.

Yoongi had to retaliate. What else was there for him to do?

After watching you hang neon pink flyers up around the street, he had made some as well, deciding he’d place them conveniently directly over your own. Matching the paper to yours had been Namjoon's suggestion, and Yoongi had thought it was genius. That seemed to bring in a few more customers, but the lull still remained, his till and bank account making it painfully apparent.

It had been Jungkook's idea to photo bomb some of your promotional pictures when he spotted you posing in front of the shop, pristine desserts in hand and a floral dress on to match. Yoongi had shook his head but ultimately agreed, handing him one of his best designed bouquets and nudging him towards your bakery. Trying to make it look natural, he strolled back and forth in the background, making sure the flowers in his hand were always towards the camera, that he looked as if he was enjoying the festival as a patron. After about the fifth pass through, the boxy lipped young man taking your pictures had scowled, shouting after him to get out of the way. You had laughed, invited Jungkook to talk with you, even posted one of the pictures with him in it on your Instagram like it hadn’t phased you at all.

Now, here he was with only two more days left of the festival - a time that he should be making double - and with nothing more to show for it. Pre-made and custom bouquets lined the shop windows, hoping to entice anyone passing by, but most remained untouched and without a home to go to.

He was desperate.

"Why don't you just go talk to her?" Hoseok interjects, an eyebrow raised. "Maybe you can explain what's happening, see if she'd be willing to help out or team up or something."

Scoffing loudly, Yoongi kicks at the ground. "Team up? You think I want to team up with her? This is a serious business I run here, you know."

Hoseok gives Namjoon a passing glance over the blonde's head, not that he notices, too stuck inside his thoughts. It's Jungkook's loud voice that breaks the silence once more.

"Y/N noona is really nice, you know. And her cookies are so yummy, I bet she would love to help us!"

"You've tried her cookies, Jungkook?!" Yoongi’s voice raises, incredulous. "This is a sudden yet inevitable betrayal, you know. It really be your own friends."

"Seriously, Yoongi. You think she's cute anyway. Might as well go over under the pretense of business and at least see if you can score her number." Namjoon deadpanned, dropping his knife and making sure to show him every ounce of pleading desperation on his face.

Yoongi ponders for a beat or two, pretending to mull it over all the while recognizing that it couldn't hurt anything to go chat with his new neighbor, introduce himself. Who knows, maybe there was a deal to be made?

You thought he was so cute, the grumpy little florist next door.

His mouth was perpetually in a pout, bottom lip upturned enough that it made him look like he was always inspecting, always exasperated. His eyes were sharp, but not in a judgmental way - more like in the way where you knew nothing went past his scrutinizing gaze, and they were offset by the soft white blonde of his hair, in the refined silver hoops that lined his ears. 

Your neighbor Yoongi was a walking contradiction, and you couldn’t help but to be charmed by him.

You had heard rumors about him, heard people's worries of you moving into the building next to his very popular floral shop, but you didn't pay them any mind. You had yet to meet someone that you couldn't make a friend, and if he was impervious to your charms, he definitely wouldn't be able to deny your best coworker, Taehyung, and his infectious personality.

But despite your attempts, you always seemed to miss him, unable to properly introduce yourself when he bustled by during the morning rush, or when you were cleaning up shop. It didn't stop you from observing, from watching the way he eyed your building, the way he'd upturn his lip at the line forming outside the door at daybreak.

He seemed so easily ruffled, so annoyed but in this endearing way, and you couldn't help but want to get to know him, to see if you could get him to open up.

Especially once he started his attempts at sabotage.

They had been subtle at first - the flyer trick something you wouldn't have noticed if it hadn't been for Jin, who made sure to check and replace any torn advertisements at the end of each day. The designs had looked so similar that you didn't even double take until the elder had pointed out the word change, how the name of Yoongi's business adorned the top of the page. Jin's eyes were ablaze, but you had just laughed, instructing him to leave the ones he found alone.

But it made you more curious, further intrigued by your flower selling neighbor who took such lengths to garner business, and you couldn't help but want to see what he did next.

It had been Taehyung that grumbled about some tall dark haired boy ruining all your promotional shots, though he had smirked the whole time he showed you the images you ended up with. You recognized that he was a worker at the florist next door almost immediately, the immaculate arrangement he carried carefully in his hands striking your intuition further.

Finally, Taehyung had shouted at him, and you called the boy over to introduce himself despite his red cheeks and ducking gaze. You learned his name was Jungkook and that he was indeed a coworker and friend of Yoongi’s, and that he was just trying to help, though he wouldn't go into much more detail after that. You had chatted with him briefly, offering him a cookie for his troubles, and promised him that you weren’t mad about his attempts at photobombing.

And you were telling the truth - you really couldn't be annoyed at these attempts to thwart your advertising, instead laughing at each new picture, making sure you picked one where the bouquet was clearly visible behind you as you held an open box of 'coo-quets'.

It isn't hatred, you don't think, that drives your neighbor to do this, but you aren't quite sure where to go from here. He still hadn't introduced himself, and with how busy things were during the festival, you hadn't found the time to do the same either, working long hours to keep afloat with your orders and walk-ins. You wanted to ask him why he was so annoyed with you, what he had against your little bakery, but you told yourself there would be time for that later when the heat died down.

Not to mention, Taehyung had been chomping at the bit for an excuse to go introduce himself.

"Y/N," he whined, dragging the last syllable of your name out into an obnoxious tune. "I just want to go make friends! Why won't you let me?"

"Because someone needs to run the register for these customers, Tae. Jin and I are elbow deep in cookie dough, and Jimin can't run both sides of the counter himself."

The tall man sulks, bottom lip jutting out as his caramel hair flops into his face. "You have a point, I guess. But once the festival is done, I'm going to go introduce myself and invite them over for coffee."

You smile at him then, eyeing him from the corner of your vision as your hands continue to delicately trace colored icing on the cookies in front of you. "That sounds like a deal, Tae."

"Oh! Me too though!" Jimin shouts, turning from the counter to glance into the kitchen of your shop. Normally you'd have the doors to the kitchen closed, but with the day about to start, it made it easier to prop them open while you ran back and forth between the two stations. "I want to go say hi too. They look like really cool guys!"

I'd have to agree, you thought to yourself, picturing the sharp eyed man in your mind, but you stay silent.

To say you were startled when you heard a knock at the back door would be an understatement, even more so when you saw who it was - Yoongi, the pouting florist, blonde hair flopped into his face. He was wearing a fluffy white sweater, a dark green apron tied around his neck and waist, and his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, like he had been prepping for hours - much like you.

With a single look, you shooed the other men out of the kitchen to the front, opening the door to your guest.

"Well hey! You must be Yoongi, I'm-"

"Y/N."

"Oh, I didn't know you knew who I was!" you smile warmly, gesturing for him to step into the kitchen.

"Well, I had seen you move in, of course. Plus, Jungkook hasn't shut up since he met you," he mutters, shaking his hair out of his face as he took several steps inside. "He's like a stray cat, you know. Once you feed him, he's your friend for life."

That made you laugh, a hand rising to cover your mouth, and you couldn’t help the smirk that follows. "Well, he was too cute not to feed. Is that why you're here? Are you another stray who would like to be fed?"

Yoongi’s cheeks flush then, a dusty red that you think would look perfect in the petals of a rose, and you promise yourself to try to recreate it in frosting later.

“Ha, that’s funny,” he clears his throat, hand coming to rub at the back of his neck. “Actually, I was coming to talk to you to see if we could make an arrangement, you know - as one business owner to another.”

“Is that so?” you raise a brow, hands resting at your hips. “And what kind of deal would that be?”

You're surprised at how honest Yoongi is when he explains his situation, lays his hardships bare before you right there in the stuffy heat of your kitchen. He does manage to at least look a little embarrassed when he admits what he did in order to ramp up business, and you can’t stop your heart from softening as he finishes his request, wringing his hands as he looks at you expectantly. 

“So, what you’re saying is - you want to work together, make something that the festival goers will love but will help both of our shops - is that right?”

He stands tall then, shoulders rolling back as his gaze pierces through your own. “That’s right. Think of it as a ‘I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine’ type of deal.”

“Is this another cat analogy?”

Yoongi groans, and you giggle at the roll of his eyes. 

“I already regret this.”

Stepping closer, you peer up at the florist, watching the way his eyes widen at your proximity. “No, you don’t. And technically I think I’m doing all the scratching here, but that’s okay. I think we could make a good team, Min Yoongi.”

The event is crowded, more so than Yoongi could have ever imagined.

The tables he and you had placed in front of both buildings were stuffed with goods, the heads of your coworkers ducking back inside each entrance to refill them when they got low. Customers were milling about; some taking in the offerings, others lining up in wait to purchase, and the sheer number of people had Yoongi grinning widely.

It was your idea, of course - to offer up a half dozen flowers with a half dozen of cookies, the perfect set. That isn’t to say Yoongi didn’t help; the concept of decorating the tables and dressing formally to stand out being his own, as well as offering to match the flowers and cookies to each other. The red roses and pair set cookies were flying off the shelves fast, but so were the purple calla lilies and pink tulips, which made him smile. 

You had been more enthusiastic with the plan, gladly altering the designs of your ‘coo-quets’ to match, and it was clearly a smash hit. Yoongi thought back to how easily it had been to talk to you, to be honest, to spill his guts - how quickly you were willing to help, how natural it had been to form a plan, to laugh with you, and he felt his heart squeeze painfully in his chest.

Yoongi was thrilled with the sales and popularity, of course, but found himself distracted despite the success. He was happy to see his employees grinning and getting along with your own, glad to see the till fill knowing that he’d be able to pay everyone on time, but more than anything, he was ecstatic to see you smile, to see you shine in the sunset pink summer dress that was brushing the tops of your knees.

He himself had donned some light grey dress pants with a white button down, the sleeves carefully rolled to expose his forearms, jacket long forgotten in the heat of the outdoors. You had beamed at him when he first arrived, nodding approvingly at his attire, and he couldn’t help the pride that swelled in his heart at your approval.

And now as the day wore on, every time his elbow knocked into yours, your bodies stepping and swaying as you worked, Yoongi felt a heat build; a sizzling lick of electricity that was sparking between the two of you that he couldn’t ignore.

“You know,” he leans in, mouth inches from your ear as you grin widely at a customer. “I think we do make a pretty good team, Y/N.”

He relishes in the way your skin warms, in the way he watches your cheeks blush so prettily at his words, and feels hopefulness tighten his chest. 

“We do, Min Yoongi, especially now that you aren’t actively trying to ruin me.” You grit between frozen teeth, your smile unwavering until the patron is out of hearing range. 

“Hey, I didn’t try to ruin anything-”

“Okay, how about ‘mildly inconvenience’ then?”

Chuckling, he raises an arm to rub at the back of his neck, and you follow the lines in his arm as he does so, watching the rippling of muscles beneath the cuff of his rolled up sleeve with interest. 

“I guess that’s fair.”

It was amazing how well things turned out, how fast the day had blown by. Jin had slaved away in the kitchen making sure that there were enough baked goods for everyone, Jimin and Taehyung teaming up with Jungkook and Hoseok from the florist shop to run items back and forth and greet customers. 

But it was Yoongi who had stolen the air from your lungs and any sense you had left rattling in your head. 

You could see now why his business had flourished before you arrived, why the customers continued to return to him when they needed their next arrangement. He was such a good and intent listener, his eyes sharp and focused on whomever was speaking to him. Even in the case of the event, where the flowers were pre-arranged, he still listened, shook and held the hand of each buyer as they spoke, fawning over his flowers. 

It was evident he was passionate about his business, which made the fact that he had been willing to do whatever it took - including partnering up with you - even more admirable.

 The sun was going down by the time things seemed to slow, your hands aching from the intricate icing work and feet throbbing from running around in heels. It seemed that everyone had satisfied smiles of hard work etched on their faces, and pleasant adoration inflated your gut at the sight, especially when you landed on Yoongi. 

The edges of his mouth had finally relaxed, his eyes creasing into half moons more and more as he laughed, stress leaving his body. It was a beautiful sight, if you could admit such a thing.

When the final customer waved goodbye, heading down to the main street for the firework finale of the festival, you left the giddy boys out front to begin cleaning, bones aching at the prospect of all the dishes that needed to be done, but not wanting to drag out the pain any longer than necessary.

“Need some help?” Yoongi was posed in the doorway, arm pressing against the jam, one leg crossed over the other, as if it was normal for him to be effortlessly handsome in sweaty bakery kitchens.

“That would be great,” you smirk, tilting your head. “I wash, you dry?”

And so that’s how you find yourself alone with Yoongi, sweat dotting his hairline as he gives you side glances and small talk over drying mixing bowls. You talk about everything and nothing, conversation flowing freely, and you feel drunk on his proximity, on the way he talks with his hands, the way his voice pitches when he laughs. His white button down is transparent in the spots where water had hit, and even the hint of a peak of his skin made you feel a bit dizzy. 

“Thank you for helping me with all of this, by the way. It would have taken hours to do by myself.”

“It’s no big deal. Plus, I’m sure one of those guys out there would’ve came back if you batted your lashes,” he leers, nodding to indicate the young men of both businesses that were currently playing around out front. “Especially Jungkook. He’s been all ‘Y/N noona this, Y/N noona that’ ever since he met you.”

Handing him a dish, you look up at him through your lashes, blinking coquettishly. “Well, can you blame him? I mean, just look at me. All this and I can cook? I’m the full package.”

You were joking; a teasing lilt to your voice as you refocused on the task at hand, but you could feel the intensity of his stare heating you thoroughly, forcing you to meet his eyes once more. 

“You really are,” he murmurs, voice low but clear, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You’re funny and talented and so smart that it’s kind of intimidating,” he looks back at the pot in his hand, drying it thoroughly before setting it aside. “But you’re also kind hearted, and willing to listen and help those in need, even when you barely know them.”

He turns then, stepping closer until his breath is fanning across your cheek, his arms caging you to the sink as you turn to face him fully. 

“Not to mention, you’re more beautiful than any flower I’ve ever seen.”

Dropping your head to stifle the giggles, you hear him wince loudly.

“That was pretty cheesy, huh?”

Nodding, you meet his eyes once more. “It was, but I have a few baking puns that will make you cringe.”

“Hit me with one.” 

Raising on your toes, you lean into him, tentatively placing a palm on his chest. “Is that a baguette in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

His shoulders start shaking before he lets out a loud laugh, smile widening to show his teeth in a way that made your heart flip. Catching his breath, he sighs, leaning to rest his forehead against yours.

“Hmm, I don’t know. Wanna find out?”

Kissing Min Yoongi was a whirlwind, a focused intensity pressed in a powerful dance of his mouth on yours. Your lips answered in kind effortlessly, needing no prompting to follow his lead, to pull his bottom lip between your teeth. Electricity sparks at the base of your skull with each touch of his pout, each lick of his tongue into your mouth, and you feel your knees threaten to give out as he cradles your jaw in his hand, holding you in place.

You aren’t sure when your hands had tangled in his hair, or when he had lifted you to straddle his waist, but you found yourself moving, his body twisting to place you on the cool metal surface of your work space. Hissing as the chill bit into your bare legs, you seek the warmth of his mouth harder, legs wrapping around his form to tug him closer to you, to grind your center against him. 

He’s hard, impossibly hard, and he’s whispering all the things he wants to do to you in the shell of your ear, promising all the things he’ll make you feel with his tongue, his cock. You pull him back to your mouth, kissing him deeper, gasping when he dips his finger in the open icing container on the table, dragging it from the edge of your lips down to your chest.

He trails down your throat, sucking and nipping a marked path to your collarbone, licking the frosting off as he goes -  as if it was the sweetest thing - until he reaches your breasts, cupping them. As you pant out groans of his name, you can’t help but think you’re glad that it’s Yoongi who’s hiking your dress up around your waist, that he is the first man to help you defile your quaint bakery’s kitchen, filling it with moans.

It isn’t until you stumble out just shy of an hour later hand in hand with Yoongi, smelling of sex with mussed hair and lips swollen, that you remember your coworkers - and that little window that shows the spacious floor plan of said kitchen. 

Taehyung is shaking his head, tsking quietly with his arm draped around Jungkook. “Shame on you, Y/N. Poor Kookie here was just trying to bring the tables inside to be helpful, and instead he got traumatized.”

Namjoon scoffs then, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t realize ‘getting a boner’ was now considered trauma.”

“Hey!” Jungkook yells, eyes darting between you and Yoongi. “You said you wouldn’t tell!”

Cheeks flushing, you stifle a giggle once more, looking over to the blonde man whose fingers were still intertwined tightly with your own. Instead of embarrassment, or concern, you just feel a giddy flush of joy as you lean into him.

Yoongi sighs, exasperated, free palm rising to rub at the back of his neck. “Remind me again why I don’t fire them?”

“Because you love them. And, they work for cheap.”

Chuckling, he turns towards you, leaning in to press his forehead against yours. “I always knew I liked you.”

[c-is-for-circinate]

do you have a favorite god to get boons from in hades? (mines is dionysus, he always manages to give me good boons like the bestie he is)

Dionysus is a super chill bro and I support you :)  He is a ton of fun to run into, and status effects are always clutch.  Some of his higher-level boons are awesome, too.  (Looking at you, Dionysus/Zeus duo boon that can just wipe out whole swathes of the field with a Festive Fog lightning storm.)  Also, he recently proposed we prank Orpheus together, and I died laughing.  (My friend​, who is not playing the game but is hearing me ramble about it A LOT on discord, looked up Zagreus on Wikipedia where I dare not yet tread for fear of spoilers several days ago, and they mentioned the whole “sometimes mythical Zagreus is conflated with Dionysus!  Have you met Dionysus yet?  Are you SURE you’re not also Dionysus?” a few times before that happened.  I am so proud of my booze bro for making that happen.)

Honorable mention also goes to Aphrodite, who comes with some really great status effects (I think she might have my favorite Aid, and that Aphrodite/Zeus duo boon that charges it up super fast makes it incredibly useful, just a constant spam of charm spells) and really fun interactions.  She was never my favorite Olympian as a kid (yes, of course I was a Greek myth kid, what do you take me for), but I appreciate how much she is exactly what she appears to be in this game, you know?  She’s a little shallow but she’s not ashamed of herself for it.  She’s free with affection and happy to share.  We all know she’s the kind of lady who loves watching some drama go down, and she is not above starting some shit, but she’s not actually making any pretenses about that and I appreciate that on her.  I legit believe she’s trying to help me get out of Hades because she thinks it’s just awful that anybody who counts as a real person should be stuck down there in that dark awful place (mortals don’t count as real people but, y’know, it’s the Greek gods, that’s sort of a given).  And, ok, maybe I have a little extra affection for any version of Aphrodite who’s not just “ooh, she’s a slutty mean shallow girl who likes to manipulate everybody to stroke her own ego, we’re so ~edgy~ for thinking she’s awful”.  They did a good job making an Aphrodite I can support, and I am glad for that.

Poseidon probably has the boons with my favorite effects (tidal dash is great and I love it), and Zeus, Athena, and Ares all have specific boons that I really enjoy in certain circumstances.  Favorite character, though, hands down, is ABSOLUTELY Artemis.

Some of this is definitely pre-existing bias--I was always somewhere between Artemis and Athena for favorite deity back during my time as a Greek myth kid, although I like her way more than Athena here.  Most of it is just that the way she’s written is so great.  She’s awkward!  She leaves me awkward voicemails because she doesn’t know what to say!  She’s not super comfortable around all of her loud, competitive, extroverted relatives with all their enormous personalities and equally enormous egos.  She is so obviously the sort of person who doesn’t entirely know what to do with herself when she doesn’t have a job to do, and, really, the world just makes so much more sense when she’s out in the woods on a hunt by herself taking things seriously and getting her work done.  She is explicitly hanging out with her family right now for the express purpose of working together to save me, and you can hear in her voice how it’s making her a little tense having them around all the time but she’s doing it anyway because this is important.  Her duo boon dialogue with Zeus!  Dad acting all indulgent about his odd daughter who won’t do the sensible thing and take a husband or at least a lover, for Olympus’s sake, and Artemis who is like, ‘really, you really don’t get why I would rather be out in the woods than committing myself to dealing with the sort of guys we have around our family’.  (The mention of preferring to be alone or with her nymph friends has big ace/lesbian crossover energy, and as a vaguely-aceish vaguely-lesbianish queer lady I am all about it.)  And yet she still invites us to come hunt with her once we get out of the Underworld up to Olympus.  Her safe alone space, away from her overwhelming family, and she’s willing to welcome Zagreus into it after she helps him get away from his family. 

The tricky thing about Artemis is that nearly all of her boons are crit-related, which officially makes them the boon set I am usually least interested in.  Part of this is absolutely math fallacies because math brain works very very hard at my actual job and does not want to come out and play during video game time, so it rebels against actually sitting down and calculating what percentage crit rate might do more good with my particular playstyle with various weapons than simply a flat damage increase from another boon.  Part of it’s the fact that I can see the impact of other boons, but not the increased critrate (because everything is always going much too fast to notice a single individual crit when it happens).  Part of it’s just how I tend to react to buffs and builds: law of large numbers aside, a flat bonus/effect applied to every single hit is always going to be more consistent and reliable than the crapshoot of a crit chance, and coming from a turn-based combat background, consistent and reliable is still a (possibly undeserving) priority to my game-strategy brain.

On the other hand, Artemis also has one of my favorite boons in the entire game in Support Fire--you know, the boon that fires off a bonus target-seeking arrow every single time you hit an enemy with your weapon in any way, or cast, even if you don’t hit anything.  It’s pretty good with sword/shield/spear.  It’s great with the fists, where you’re going to be multi-hitting anyway, and absolutely essential with the railgun if you’re me and can barely use the railgun.  Exit Wounds, where enemies take damage when they drop the cast, is also really great.  Both of those are boons with prereqs, so I’ll often hope for an Artemis boon early in the game (usually her cast boon or that boon that gives you a low crit chance on all damage, because that one doesn’t preclude putting other specific strike/flourish/dash boons on) to try and set myself up to get them later.  It tends to work pretty well, plus then I get to hang out with Artemis more, and that is always a winner.

(Yep, I sure did write a six-paragraph response to a two-line ask.  For everyone who’s followed me in the past couple of weeks--you MUST be aware by now that this is how I do.  You MUST have figured out what you signed up for.  I am not sorry.  (I’m a little sorry.))

[nbrook29]

45 for Sobbe 💜💜

Hi! 

based on dialogue prompts

45. Don’t tempt me

"Wakey wakey."

"G'way."

He burrows deeper into the sheets so that intrusive light from the huge window on the other side of the room doesn’t reach his bloodshot eyes. The duvet feels so heavenly on his tired body; it’s so toasty warm and cozy that Robbe sends a silent thank you to Sander’s mom for splurging on this comforter that he’s sure has some kind of magical properties.

“Are we being a whiny baby?”

“Fuck’ff.”

A laughter booms behind his back and in normal circumstances it’s Robbe’s favorite sound, but right now its frequency makes Robbe’s head pound horribly and he wants to crawl out of his skin. He goes to put the cover over his head but the odor of alcohol pouring out of his pores hits him so strong his stomach turns unpleasantly so he just groans pathetically, pushing his face into the pillow to shut off the outside world.

He feels a featherlight kiss on his shoulder and it tickles a little but it also fills his stomach with the best kind of fuzzy feelings so the corners of his lips lift a little, helping with the pouting.

There’s a warm puff of air against his neck and then the bed starts shaking a little with giggling.

“Wow, you smell like a brewery floor.”

Robbe wants to elbow the asshole lying next to him but it would require way too much effort for the state he’s currently in so he just lifts his hand and flips him off which makes him laugh harder.

“Were you always such a sweet talker?” The words are a bit slurred but Sander gets the message anyway because right after that there is another bunch of kisses placed along the exposed part of his upper body.

“For you, always.” He finally reaches his nape, dragging his lips along his hairline and leaving open mouthed kisses to the juncture of his neck, goosebumps erupting all over Robbe’s bare arms.

Sander’s lips feel like a balm against his skin, so nice and soft that his splitting headache eases out a bit as he relaxes under his touch. It’s lulling him to sleep, and he’s drifting between a dream and reality, eyelids becoming heavier and heavier, body on its way to doze off when Sander pulls back making him let out a whine at the loss of contact.

“Come baaack.” He reaches blindly to draw him back but his fingers are only met with air and he pouts. The sudden movement makes his stomach roll and he gulps trying to assess whether he needs to find a toilet asap or if he can maybe stay in bed to die peacefully from alcohol poisoning.

Ugh, he’s never drinking again.

“Baby, we need to get some water into you, come on, up and at ‘em.”

Sander must’ve developed a wish to be puked on over night because he rolls him on his back like Robbe’s insides aren’t trying to get out.

He glares at him but it doesn’t seem to be very intimidating if Sander’s laughing face is anything to go by.

“What.”

“Nothing.”

Robbe rolls his eyes. “Oh my god what is it?”

“You look like an angry chicken with that crazy hair you have going on.” 

He brushes his fingers through Robbe’s strands in an attempt to tame it a little, snorting under his breath when Robbe continues to shoot daggers at him.

“Keep those insults up and you’re gonna have to get reacquainted with your right hand for a month,” Robbe threatens half-heartedly, voice croaking from the lack of use and his drunken rendition of “Dancing Queen” with Aaron last night (and, oh god, he hopes Sander doesn’t remember that small detail because if he does, he’s going to tease him mercilessly til the day they die).

Sander knows him better than to take his threat for anything but an empty promise so he just leans in, his nose nudging Robbe’s as he whispers sweetly, batting his eyelashes.

“I never said you were an ugly angry chicken though. You’re still the cutest.” He pecks his nose and Robbe’s a sucker for him and his stupid compliments so it’s enough to make him melt. He bites his lip and smiles bashfully under Sander’s loving gaze, giving in to the urge to press their lips together in a good morning kiss.

So he throws his arms around his neck to pull him closer and kisses a line down his jaw to his throat first, reveling in the feeling of stubble under his lips, its roughness always reminding Robbe that he’s kissing a man, heat pooling in his stomach so easily with the morning, with Sander hovering over him and letting out appreciative sighs at his caresses. 

He’s beginning to think they might take things further and he’s already looking forward to the release of tension in his still aching head that’s definitely going to come with a bliss of orgasm. But when he finally locks their lips together, Sander retreats after merely 5 seconds with a scrunched up face, apology mixed with mirth in his eyes.

“Baby, I love you, but your breath is lethal.” He places a placating kiss on his forehead instead and then puts some distance between them as if to emphasize his point.

Robbe blinks up at him, staring jaw-dropped and trying to make sense of Sander’s words and when it finally hits him he pushes at his face with a wail.

“Ugh, I hate you so much.”

He turns his back on him again and Sander bursts into laughter at his dramatics. 

“Come on, let’s get you into the shower and once you’re minty fresh again you can have all the kisses you want,” he croons, trying to get Robbe to move out of bed on his own.

“Stop sucking up, you’re officially on my black list today,” is Robbe’s only response, his pout back and firmly in place at this shameless display of cheekiness from his boyfriend. “I’m not moving so either I’m staying here or you’re gonna have to carry me to the bathroom yourself, jerk,” he mumbles, scoffing and shrugging at Sander’s fingers scratching at his back just the way he likes in an attempt to appease him. Robbe tries as hard as he can not to let him know that it works.

“Oh don’t tempt me cause I will.”

He decides to ignore him and go back to sleep, hopefully waking up a bit more alive. After a bit of snuffling and squirming against the mattress, he finds a comfortable position and is on the verge of falling back asleep. But then, without a warning, he’s being swooped up from the bed and thrown over Sander’s shoulder as he marches them over to his adjacent bathroom. Once Robbe gets over the shock, he starts smacking his boxer-clad butt in revenge, wanting to be put back down but his feet only touch the ground when Sander reaches his destination, and the smirk on his face makes Robbe roll his eyes.

“You’re proud of yourself?”

“Very much, yes.”

He hands him a bottle of water and a toothbrush and turns the faucet on to start a bath before starting on the brushing himself. He’s looking at Robbe in the mirror expectantly and Robbe considers for a second to be childish about it. 

He’s really thirsty though, he realizes, so he opens the bottle and chugs it all at once ignoring Sander’s triumphant face. Then, he reluctantly joins him at the sink, snatching the offered toothbrush out of his fingers and getting rid of the admittedly dreadful taste in his mouth.

The bathroom is getting steamy from the hot water that’s still pouring into the tub so once Sander is done with his morning routine, he turns it off, pulls his underwear off and swiftly sinks into the water. He rests his head against the rim of the tub and starts making grabby motions at Robbe who is now stubbornly propped against the sink, watching him with a bemused expression.

“Come on, you’re gonna feel much better afterwards,” Sander promises, pushing up a little to make space for him. 

It’s probably very true but Robbe can’t just let him off the hook that easy so he crosses his arms, cocks his eyebrow and purses his lips expectantly.

Sander pushes his tongue in his cheek at that, smiling a little at the indignance on Robbe’s face. Then, he lifts his hands in surrender.

“I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“For being unacceptably rude to my precious boyfriend.”

Robbe can see that Sander is barely keeping it together, biting his lips to keep the laughter that threatens to sneak out inside but he feels satisfied with the answer anyway.

“That’s right,” he says loftily, putting on a serious face for a second but then letting go of all pretense, shaking his boxer briefs off and gingerly getting into the tub himself, hissing at the almost boiling-hot water. 

Sander pulls him to his chest without waiting for him to get properly in, wrapping his arms around him and kissing the corner of his mouth, eagerly licking into his mouth in no time.

“I still think you have some apologizing left to do by the way,” Robbe informs him once they separate and he’s made himself comfortable in Sander’s arms. “I’m expecting a greasy breakfast after this. And then maybe a back massage.” He sighs dreamily. “Oh yes, a massage sounds amazing right now.”

Sander snorts from where he’s mouthing at his neck. “Anything else princess?”

He jabs him in the ribs at that but then he settles down again amidst Sander’s exaggerated cries of pain. “I’ll think about it.”

[fragileizywriting]

bad day blues

pairing: Luka / Marinette (Viperion / Multimouse) word count: 10,418 chapter: 1/1 rating: E summary: “How is it that I can sling myself across rooftops for years, day and night, but I can’t even walk in a straight line once I’m out of my suit and end up spraining an ankle?” “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mousey. That’s not good for you.” “I wish I wasn’t such a klutz.” “You’re not.” Luka kisses the top of her head as a punctuation to his words. “You just had a bad day, that’s all.” “One of the worsts in a while,” Marinette nods into his shirt. “Luka? Could you make it better for me?” He laughs. “And you call me the insatiable one, little mouse.” Her eyes sparkle. “Who was the one that jumped me when I was going to go shower after my pool trip with my friends? One look at me in a towel and suddenly my boyfriend’s hands are all on me— sounds pretty insatiable, if you ask me.” AO3 | Start Here To Read The Whole 'Out of The Closet' Series! | Previous Fic in Series | Next Fic in Series

Here's some more Lukanette! Don't worry, there's plenty more incoming, too. This series is so wonderful to write, I'm having so much fun!!! Especially since Luka is my favorite character 🥺

Enjoy <3

She’s having a bad day.

Like, a really bad day.

There is that whole cake ordering business that her parents live off of, that she helps out with. She’s rolled so much fondant out that her arms hurt, and they’re barely attached to her body when she’s rushing out of the door to get to her class when the second bad part of the day happens.

She spills coffee all over herself.

Well, it isn’t her coffee. Her dad’s been getting into the habit of walking around the bakery and the pantry with his mug she got for him for his birthday, a delicate piece of ceramic that is absolutely dwarfed by her father’s large hands. She’d knocked into him while scarfing down some breakfast of her own, where she’d tried to get bits and pieces of it into her mouth while rolling out fondant for that particular eight-tiered cake that is surely going to be the death of her that she still has to pipe and decorate when she gets back from class.

Her blouse is stained, and it’s warm. It doesn’t seep far into her shirt, because her dad presses his apron right on the stain to soak up as much moisture as possible, but she yelps anyway out of sheer instinct.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine! I’m so sorry for making you spill your coffee, baba. Are you okay?” She waves him off with a little smile. These things happen, it’s okay. Besides, smelling like coffee isn’t the end of the world. It isn’t the smell of a particularly expensive perfume, but she can hardly say no to smelling like coffee when she’s lived at a bakery for the entirety of her life.

“I ran into you, sweetheart, not the other way around,” Her dad shakes his head. “Go change your shirt while I get you some packed food to take with you to school for you and Mullo.”

“Thank you! I’ll be right back.” She kisses him on the cheek, making sure to stay clear away from his mug. She rushes up the stairs, trying her best not to accidentally tear her skirt, but isn’t as delicate to her blouse as she could be. The side rips open. She squeaks while getting it off. “Oh, no! I just bought this!”

“Oh! Is everything okay?” Mullo peeks out from the little cubby Marinette’s made into her own little room.

“Yeah— I’m okay! These things happen, don’t worry. I’m just going to change my shirt into something better and then we can head out, okay?” She snaps open a drawer, tossing her soiled top into the laundry bin near her desk. She’s not opposed to wearing other shirts with this particular skirt, but… she really likes wearing that peter pan collar. This is fine. A normal button-up will go fine with the skirt, even though now she looks a lot more formal than she wants to be.

It’s a good thing her bra is nude-colored. She’s already in a rush as it is.

She hasn’t learned a single thing since school was at a walking distance, clearly, because she’s rushing to get to the metro, running back down the stairs, tugging her backpack over her shoulder with Mullo zipping into the pocket of her skirt, and kissing her dad goodbye and thanking him for the food— all the while trying her best to go over the list of things she needed to do before heading off to class.

Feed Mullo, though the little mouse can definitely go scavenging for blueberries whenever she wants. And yet… Mullo starts to whisper that she’s hungry the moment Marinette makes it down the stairs of the metro and goes pawing for her metrocard. She’s grateful that she’s placed a small container of fresh blueberries inside her backpack, with even a portion of small chocolate chips in the screw-top compartment of the container, just for the little mouse— and the small kwami is giggling and back to being happy before Marinette can even blink.

She looks for her metrocard. It’s on the inside of her phone case, which is good, so she’s able to go through the ticket booth with no problem— thank goodness. She doesn’t need another stressor for the day— but she needs to make sure she repays the bill for her monthly pass before the next month arrives so that she isn’t late trying to pay for it the day of, and hopefully she can remember this thought for long enough to write it into her agenda so she doesn’t forget during the week.

Oh, gooseberries. Hopefully she’s not late.

She checks the time on her phone once she’s safely situated inside a subway car, only to look at the turned-off screen with a confused noise. She tries turning on her phone but blinks with so much confusion when the black screen refuses to light.

Wasn’t one of the things on her list to make sure that her phone was charged last night?

What in the world happened to her phone battery?

She tries to think about it, pinning down that the only real reason it would be out of battery would be if Mullo wanted to use it to watch videos or listen to music while Marinette was asleep.

She makes sure to unzip her bag, peering down at the little mouse kwami with inquisitive eyes, trying to understand why her only communication device isn’t charged, speaking in a hushed voice to not alert anyone in the subway car with her. “Lolo, did you watch videos last night?”

Mullo is asleep. At least she remembered to put the lid back onto the container, which is some good news. Marinette can’t feel too upset, looking at the little creature. It’s a good thing she packed her bag and made sure to grab her portable charger— it’s not often that Mullo gets in the habit of overusing Marinette’s phone— but she’s always prepared, just in case. Mullo likes texting Sass, too, though all their texts look like gibberish to her and Luka whenever they try to reread it.

She opens the front pocket zipper with the cute little mouse charm attached to the handle and freezes.

This isn’t her school backpack.

She’s not sure how it didn’t dawn on her before, but this isn’t the right backpack at all.

The only thing it has is a plastic bag with her swimsuit she’d used during the weekend— it’s not exactly dry, given that it’s been in the baggy for at least four days since she’d come back from the pool with her friends. That’s strange— she’s not one to just drop her bag off to the side and not put away her stuff— so, what gives? She chews on her nail while she thinks about what could’ve possibly distracted her from hanging up her swimsuit and letting it dry, and stopped her from putting away this particular backpack, and squeaks to herself when she remembers.

Oh. Right. That’s right.

Viperion had shown up in her room just as she was going to go take a shower— having completed patrol on his own because he wanted her to have fun with friends and go swimming— and since her boyfriend is somehow allergic to learning how to swim, he’d happily shoved her out of the house with the pretense of keeping Paris safe while she relaxes for once in her life— no wonder she’d been so distracted and completely forgot about the backpack.

He’s so insatiable, nowadays, wanting to spend so much time with her that it’s completely pointless to try to keep clothes on around him. He’d taken one good look at her while she was making her way to her bathroom tucked into her towel and had decided to wash her himself— joining her in the shower without even taking his suit off.

She knows that their hexleather is water-resistant— but she didn’t know that it’s enough to keep water from completely entering his suit.

He’d cleaned her inside and out— pressed her up against the bathroom tiles, hopeful that she would keep quiet, as Viperion slicked two fingers inside of her.

The hexagonal grooves on their suits had never been something she’d even considered until now— it was obsession at first touch, in all honesty.

Her back is filled with love bites and possessive teeth marks that make her toes curl in her shoes when she thinks about it more, or remembers it whenever she brushes up against her shoulders. Not to mention she feels a comfortable full-body ache when he finally slips away to go home— she’d spent the rest of that afternoon in bed, curled up, dreaming of the day the two of them can always wake up next to each other.

She shifts in her seat, feeling damp and uncomfortable. She misses him already.

But all of that means… her school backpack is still at home. And she’s carrying nothing except her wet swimsuit, instead of her agenda and planner and notebooks and sketchbooks and pens.

Oh, sugarcubes.

It’s fine, though. These things happen. Sometimes no matter how much she plans and prepares, the universe sometimes throws her for a loop, and that’s okay. A good planner knows how to plan for things going wrong— even if she doesn’t want it to happen in the first place.

In all honesty, this is probably not what Luka meant when he said to let things flow and don’t let things bother her, but it is kind of hard to stop her tendencies to want to plan for the worse.

Okay, so how does she fix this?

She has a lecture that starts in about twenty minutes that she can technically skip out on and go back home to grab her things, assuming she switches subways at the next stop. Since she’ll be late, she might as well change out of her clothes, too, into something much more suited for her. She doesn’t like wearing button-downs— especially since, oh, gooseberries, it looks like she’s missed out on about three buttons and gotten her neckline skewed. There’s no point in even fixing it, as long as she’s able to tuck her miraculous back underneath her shirt without someone seeing it.

What else does she need to do?

Well, she definitely needs to make sure she gets the right backpack the next time she slips through the door. Make sure to bring another container of blueberries, too— she never knows when there’ll be another Akuma, and of all things to not be worried about, this is something she’ll never stop.

Everything will be okay. No worries. The lecture wasn’t that important, she’s sure of it.

The moment she makes that same thought, the subway car slows to a crawl. The lights in the car flicker, and she looks around to the other passengers, hopeful to see anyone who has any idea of what’s going on.

Everyone looks nonchalant. They probably assume it’s an Akuma, at this point.

“We are having technical difficulties,” The subway car emits a tinny, metallic little noise from the speakers near the doors. “Please stay calm and wait while we fix it.”

Marinette groans. Okay, maybe she’ll be late for a lot more than just her first class. This is fine. Things happen. Things like this just happen— she just needs to relax about it. At least it’s not an Akuma— and it’s not like she can be blamed for the subway being stuck.

There’s just nothing to entertain her, though. No pencil, no pen, no paper to doodle and keep her occupied. No phone to listen to music or keep her busy. Just her, the plastic bag with her swimsuit in it, a sleeping kwami, her breakfast, and half a container of chocolate chips. She might as well start eating now, since there’s nothing else to do— eat and think about her boyfriend’s pretty blue eyes.

-*-

She has— well, had— a pop quiz in her missed lecture.

Worth twenty percent of her grade.

She stumbles into the classroom after everyone’s starting to clear out, looking for the professor and her continuously bored glare she gives to the class on the regular. “Uhm, excuse me— sorry, I didn’t attend class today because of the metro—”

“You can’t make it up.” Her professor says, collecting a thick stack of paper into her briefcase. The only professor she’s ever met to actually use a genuine briefcase— it makes her look more like a lawyer and less like an introduction to fashion history professor.

“Make it up?” Marinette blinks, confused. “Make up— make up what, exactly? I wasn’t in class.”

“The quiz. Twenty percent of the grade, of course, because no one in class was answering my questions today for some reason.” Because Marinette’s the one who usually answers for everyone, of course. No one stepped in, probably, because they were most likely too comfortable with her answers to actually come up with one of their own. “You missed out on the quiz. You can’t make it up.”

“Oh.” That’s fine. Things happen. Sometimes the universe just throws curveballs— her grade in this class won’t suffer. “Uhm. Is— is that all I missed?”

Her professor gives her a good look. There’s something in her dull, tired eyes, like she registers who Marinette is in the class— and what she brings to the lecture hall. “I’m going to give you the homework, even though I technically shouldn’t. You’re a good student— you’ve never been late to class— and definitely never missed an entire lecture. And today, without your questions, it was completely and totally quiet.”

“Oh.” She repeats. “Th— uhm. Thank you.”

She pulls out another stack of papers, handing her a stapled group of paper from the top. It looks ridiculously thick— as in— maliciously thick. Maybe at least thirty pages. “Here’s the homework. Make sure to finish it by next class.”

One week to finish the assignment. No problem. She can do that.

“Of course,” Marinette breathes, slightly overwhelmed, looking over the title of the assignment. She has no idea where to begin— the lecture today must’ve been all about it. Maybe she can find one of her classmates and ask about it? Although, she’s never really made a friend here before… “Thank you very much.”

“Don’t make it a habit to skip,” The professor calls out to her as she leaves through the door.

“Understood,” Marinette mutters under her breath. The strap of her kitten heels breaks when she runs her foot too close along the doorframe as she leaves behind her. She trips, falling into her second person with a coffee today, spilling all over her shirt again. This time, it’s cold— it’s an iced latte, of course, and ice cubes fall down her collar and into her shirt, and pain blistering up her ankle.

She tries to walk it off, she really does, but it ultimately just collapses back onto the floor the moment she tries to put pressure on it. Mullo comes out of hiding when she makes sure that there’s no one around, asking if Marinette’s okay— and all she can do is just smile at the little kwami, trying her best not to wince.

Today just isn’t her day, is it?

-*-

By the time an Akuma actually comes around, and tries to do damage in the city of Paris, Multimouse is running on fumes from how close she is to breaking down.

She’s weaved and dodged most of the attacks, relying on her rope to get out of the way. Her ankle doesn’t hurt as much when in the suit, of course, because the magical properties of the miraculous make it so that they focus on the fight first than anything else. She can put her weight on it, which is the good news— and that’s enough for her to walk and run and jump rope when she needs to.

Seeing Viperion is such a blessing. She hasn’t been able to text him much all day, aside from the vague ‘good morning’ text she sent when she finally managed to get her phone to turn on— she’s been too busy to respond to all of the texts he’s sent throughout the day.

Hopefully, she can talk to him after the fight is over. She needs a little bit of downtime.

But she can’t exactly focus on how thankful she is to see him when she’s in the middle of weaseling out of the Akumas grabby hands. She tucks and weaves, snaps her rope out like a whip when she needs to, and does her best to roll out of the way of the Akuma that falls into their trap using the Liberty that sends him spiraling across the city with it. Viperion is nearly on the other side of the city taking care of the sentimonster when she feels her ankle start to blister in pain again, indicating that she’s putting far too much stress on the ankle for even magic to make it stop hurting.

By the time they’ve got the Akuma purified, the sentimonster dealt with, and the victim is in safe care with the social worker from the workforce that’s been assigned to assist people who have just been Akumatized— Multimouse can barely stand up. She chooses, instead, to keep sitting down on the lip of the sidewalk between a couple of parked cars, her legs spread out in front of her, trying her best to seem like she’s just out of breath. She keeps her right boot completely straight, hopeful to not put any more strain on her ankle, but lets her left boot sag against the asphalted road, and tries her hardest not to hide her face in her hands.

Viperion makes his way back to her after he’s done talking to the social worker.

“Mousey?”

“Hi, Vai,” She speaks into her gloves. Some battles are just too difficult for her to focus on, and trying to keep herself from doing something just isn’t worth the effort anymore. “That was a tough one, huh?”

He sits down next to her, shoulder to shoulder. There’s probably not enough space for him in between the cars, since his shoulders are wide, but he makes the effort anyway. Besides, if it’s truly that bothersome, all he has to do is give a gentle push to the car next to him— the miraculous suits give them extra strength, after all— but even without the suit, he’d probably be able to push it forward. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” She leans into him. “I missed you so much.”

“You didn’t text me today like you usually do,” He murmurs into her hair. He’s a thick wall of heat right next to her, and she’s so thankful for him like usual. “Everything okay?”

“Everything is— it’s fine— I’m sorry. I forgot to charge my phone last night, and Mullo was watching videos while I slept, so my phone just went kaput.” She smiles in her hands when he makes a noise meaning that he understands exactly what she means. “I only got to text you when my phone was back on. I’m just tired, really. I’m not having a good day.”

The road is going to be populated soon with whatever foot traffic it usually has, now that the Akuma’s been taken care of. They need to probably get up to higher ground before the people of Paris come out to ask for autographs or selfies— and, okay.

She wants to give everyone the best treatment possible, of course, but she’s in absolutely no condition to do that like this. Definitely not like this.

It’ll be better for everyone’s comfort if she doesn’t stay around to listen to what people have to say about the fight— she’s Paris’s sweetheart, she knows, but if anyone says anything remotely negative in her direction, she’s pretty sure she’ll start crying.

Not to mention that if she hears anything bad about Viperion, she’ll start crying while beating civilians off with a ten-foot pole. She’s not in the mood at all to continue behaving like the sweet little Parisian Princess today— she can’t do it.

“Are you stressed out?”

“Yes. Very much. Ironically, the Akuma was my break from stress. Imagine that?”

He laughs. It’s a loving noise, usually, but there seems to be an edge to it this time. “Do you want me to help you with that? I think I saw an alley over there. Let me help you relax.”

She steams red behind her gloves. Oh, she knows exactly what he means— and, well, the answer is always yes. “Yes— but maybe not here. People are going to show up, soon, and I’m already in pain as it is—”

Viperion looks at her. She can tell because her face starts to prickle underneath her gloves. “Pain?”

She takes a deep breath, looking up at him. His hair is starting to curl around his neck, it’s so lovingly him that she can’t help but comb her fingers into his hair and smooth it back. The confusion on his face morphs into contentment as she takes her time brushing his bangs back, getting a good look at what the top of his domino mask looks like. “Nothing’s wrong— things are fine. Everything is fine. Sometimes things happen, and we can’t control all of it.”

Liquid golden eyes look back at her when she’s done petting through his hair and, he— he smiles at her. Really smiles at her— he knows that she’s trying to repeat the quotes and virtues that he usually says to himself. His smile makes his domino mask crinkle, the scales on his hexleather shimmering turquoise and green, and it’s not exactly a front when she smiles back at him. “That’s true. Sometimes things happen that we can’t control, even if we really try, but sometimes we can fix whatever is hurting us. So what really happened, Mousey?”

“Just a bad day,” She uses her left foot to brush against his, taking her hands back from his hair to follow the scale pattern on his chest. The muscles underneath are no illusion— he’s truly that filled out. She likes physical contact with him, just as much as he loves physical contact with her— and she finds a certain kind of sweetness in the way he leans just slightly into her touch as she traces his collarbone. “I’m not kidding— I’ve been having a really bad day.”

“The Akuma didn’t help all that much, huh?”

She cups his cheeks with her palms. She can’t feel him, because her fingers are covered in protective hexleather, but it means all the same to her when she presses their foreheads together, smooshing their bangs against one another. “I don’t know about that. I’m getting to see you, after all— I love being able to see you, Vai.”

His eyes twinkle as he laughs, giving her a kiss. “Stand up for me? I want to check if you’re missing any body parts.”

“What? I’m not missing anything.” She finds herself laughing at the strange request. “See? Look: I have my two arms, my two legs. Tail is still here, and so is my miraculous.”

“I don’t know about that,” His face is oddly serious, even as she continues to giggle. “Wiggle your fingers for me so I know they’re still there.”

“Vai,” She makes a face as she laughs. When he implores her, she rolls her eyes, twiddling her fingers in the air. “Told you.”

“All ten fingers?”

“I think so,” She breaks into a grin. What is this man on about?

“Let’s see.” He takes her hands in his, bringing every single finger up to his mouth so he can count them with a kiss. “One. Two.”

“Oh my gooseberries. Vai,” She giggles hard enough for her shoulders to shake.

“Don’t make me lose count, Mousey, this is important. Three, four—”

“How did I get so lucky to have you?”

“I think it’s the other way around, honestly. Five, six— how did I get so lucky to have you?”

“By treating me like this,” She can’t help but bite her lip when he makes it past seven and eight. “By treating me so sweetly.”

“Sue me, little mouse. I like treating my girlfriend well. Nine, and ten.” At the tenth finger, he kisses where her fingernail would be, then her knuckle, then the back of her hand. He kisses up her arm, too, all the way up to her shoulder as she snorts and giggles, until he tilts his head and kisses her against the jaw, finally completing his quest and kisses her softly on the lips— she melts. He keeps the kiss soft, though— and if her ankle wasn’t rolled, she’d honestly climb into his lap for more than just something so chaste. She deserves it, after this horrible day— and he always makes her feel loved and comforted. “I think your hands are okay.”

“You think so?” She feels a little dopey from the kiss.

“Move your feet, too, so I can figure out if your legs are still attached.”

She moves her left foot only, letting her right boot rest. Instead, she pulls up her right leg, hoping to look like she’s just switching up her sitting position, but that’s enough for Viperion to break eye contact with her and look at her knee. “See?”

But he’s smarter than that. “Ah, there it is. So you did injure yourself during the fight?”

“No. I— uhm— no. Not during the fight.” She’s not lying, but her smile dies down as a quiet contemplation morphs on his face. “It’s— I’m fine, Vai, honestly, I’m okay. My ankle will be fine after some ice, I’m sure—”

“Oh, Mousey.” He looks hurt for her, immediately swiveling in his seat to look her over. He grabs gently for both of her legs, lifting them up to place in his lap, and gently starts to move her foot at the ankle back and forth.

The first leg is the good one, so she barely even reacts— let alone blinks— to him swiveling her ankle around and testing the elasticity. But her bad ankle— oh— it’s enough to make her start to squirm.

His eyebrows pinch when she continuously flinches, her half-sentient tail batting against the asphalt behind her as she tries her hardest not to cry out in pain. He supports the back of her ankle with his palm, and doesn’t let her foot rotate when he puts her leg back in his lap. “When did this happen, baby girl?”

“It happened at school,” She hides her face back into her gloves. “Just the cherry on top, honestly. I fell and twisted my foot. I thought I was okay, but— I can’t walk in my civilian form.”

“School? And you fought the Akuma while injured? Oh, Mousey— I’m so sorry, I wouldn’t have let you stay alone with the Akuma if I had known. What else happened? Tell me what’s wrong.” She feels the gentle pressure of his thumb against her calf, even through the hexleather. “Maybe I can help you. I sure want to try, at least.”

Why is he so gentle with her? Why is Viperion always so sweet and soft to her— kind and loyal?

She knows why— there is the whole ‘they’re dating’ part of the answer— but honestly, how did it get this way? When did Viperion become the boy she fights crime with, day or night, live or die— to the man who snags her just before her showers, who makes it a habit to make her toes curl every time he sees her, who is happiest when she cuddles and routinely hides in his bed with? How in the world has she gotten this lucky?

How? How did she get so lucky to have a man so conditioned to care about her?

Why did he ever fall in love with someone like her— someone who needs everything to be in its place or else she has a nervous breakdown? Someone that loses her demeanor when there’s even a slightest mistake, because everything needs to be perfect or it’s not worth doing at all and— and— why would he even stay with someone like her like this? Why? She’s completely the opposite of him— so— why does he stay and deal with someone so completely different than him in every single aspect?

The thought is enough to make her cry— and— oh— that’s it, really. That’s what makes her push over the edge and start hiccuping into her hands, tears falling down her cheeks. “Oh—”

“Mousey, it’s okay. Shh. Your ankle will get fixed up in no time, okay? We can fix this.”

“I’m sorry,” She says, more to herself than anything else, gesturing to her leg before hiding back in her hands. She sags against him so easily when he pulls her onto his lap. “I’m sorry— I’m so sorry, Vai. It’s not just— just the ankle— I’m just—”

“I know.”

“And— such a bad day—”

“Breathe, Mousey,” He traces circles against her back.

She gasps for breaths between sobs. “And I just— I really did try to not let it get to me— I really tried—”

“You did very good. You are doing very good.”

“It really hurts, Vai, I’ve never rolled my foot before, it’s so painful— and I know I’m going to be in more pain when I’m out of the suit. I’m so exhausted, Vai— today has been so difficult.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Where does she begin? “So much coffee on my shirt, I smell like an espresso machine—”

He listens to her ramblings, even if they don’t make any sense without the full context. He’s gentle when he shifts her even closer, making sure that her foot doesn’t hit up against the car next to them, tucking her in next to his collarbone and letting her cry it all out. His chest is so warm against her. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“And then the subway— and I don’t have more blueberries for Lolo right now because she ate them all already, even after I went back home and refilled her cup—”

“We can get more in my house, it’s okay. All the blueberries Mullo could want.”

“And I was also stuck in the subway for two full hours with just a swimsuit—”

“You went on the subway with only a swimsuit on?” He makes a face. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“In my bag,” She explains, even if it doesn’t make much sense, sniffling around her gloves. “I mean— I picked up the wrong backpack— the wrong bag— before leaving the house and it was just my swimsuit in there— the subway got stuck and I thought it was because of an Akuma so I was just—”

“Take a breath, Mousey.”

She sucks in a breath, trying to fill her lungs in all the way, before the inevitable fresh wave of tears that she continues to border on. “And I— I couldn’t— even text you. I couldn’t, because my battery was out— and I was underground— and— oh, sugarcubes, I was so bored— I just kept coming up with more and more ways to sneak off the train without being seen because there was nothing else to do and I ended up overthinking everything.”

Everything. All of it. Every single thing. If she’s doing well in school— if what she’s trying to get a degree in is even worth it— if she’s wasting her time not focusing on defeating Hawkmoth— if Viperion even finds her necessary in fights. After all, most of what she does is just a distraction for him to get close and defeat the Akuma— but there’s not really a genuine need for her since all he has to do is move his ouroboros miraculous over to the side and turn back time and do whatever needs to be done, right?

“I thought about how you’re so much better without me during Akuma battles— I thought how much of a klutz I am— I thought about how I always have these nervous breaks whenever something goes wrong and you always just deal with them and I wish I could just stop worrying about every little thing without making it into a thing— and— and—”

Gentle hands make it to her wrist, and she looks up, sniffling and biting her lip. Viperion’s smile looks soft on his face as he wipes away her tears— golden eyes looking at her like she’s the most important thing in the world. He kisses her forehead, her cheeks— her nose, too— all in favor of getting a smile back onto her face. “None of that is true, okay? There’s no need to overthink about any of it anymore. You’re okay, you’re here— exactly where I need you to be. You are the entire reason why Paris is safe every day— I’m just here to keep you company, in all honesty. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known, little mouse, and I absolutely cannot do any of this without you.”

Amazing woman? Has he met his own mother before? “But— what about your family—”

“I’m aware of what I’ve said,” He smiles. “I don’t deal with your problems, we deal with our problems. You getting worked up about something is something we both work on together— I’m not going to let you suffer alone when you’re nervous about something.”

She blinks slowly at him, her lashes damp and full of tears, only being able to offer him a watery and a heartful: “Oh.”

He nods, encouraging her to smile back. “Everything’s going to be fine, just like it always is, okay?  You’re not a klutz. You’re doing great. Everything is going to be fine.”

“But—”

“Breathe, Mousey. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

She looks at him in the eyes, her breath slowing down, looking around them to see just how empty the street is. It’s an unpopulated street to begin with, so there are only a couple of shops at the corners, nowhere near them where they sit in between the cars, catching their breath from the battle. “I’m— I’m going to be okay. I am okay.”

“You’re okay.” He nods, smiling gently, taking her hands in his.

“I’m— I’m fine.” She takes another breath. She still feels watery, still feels like a wet sponge, but it’s a little easier to breathe. “Sometimes days just don’t go my way, no matter how much I plan for it.”

“Good, good— but you’re forgetting the second half of that.”

“The second half?”

“For every day that it happens, whenever your days don’t go right, I’ll be right here for you to cry on because you and I have always been a team.” He kisses her bangs, smoothing his gloves at the back of her head, behind the buns in her hair. “As much as I don’t like seeing you cry, baby girl, I know that I’d rather see that, than have you bottle it up inside.”

She sniffles, giving him a little smile when he pulls away to gauge her reaction. “Thank you, Vai.”

“I love you.” He kisses her on the lips again.

“I love you, too.” She ducks her head as a blush stains her cheeks underneath her domino mask. “Oh, I’m— I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For crying on you and turning this into a mess.”

“My girlfriend seeking out comfort from me— what a scandal, little mouse,” He teases with a flash of his fangs. “How dare my Mousey want reassurance from me.”

She has the reflex to giggle, even though there’s a bit of tears still trying to make its way down her face. “It’s probably not what you had in mind for today, huh?”

“All I had was work today,” He wipes at her cheek again. “The Akuma is always unpredictable, but it’s not like your parents don’t know why I have to leave the register when our phones start to ding with the Akuma notification, right? And I’m always thinking of you, so, in a way this is sort of what I had in mind.”

She kisses him. It’s not as quick as it should be— it definitely isn’t as innocent as it has to be, given that they’re in public and they haven’t technically told the public yet that Viperion and Multimouse are more than just a duo, not to even mention that they’re a lot, lot more than a duo now, if her wandering hands are any indication— but she breaks away just before she has the urge to shift her position on him, laughing softly when he narrows his eyes at her. “We should— uhm— probably go back, right? Your mom is probably calling your phone right now, asking why in heaven’s name you picked the Liberty for the trap location— Alya will be here any moment now to ask things for the Ladyblog.”

“Hmm? What did you say? I was too busy living in the moment of hearing you laugh again. Such a sweet melody.” He looks back up to her from looking at her ankle. She has no idea what’s going on in that head of his— and it bothers her, because she so desperately wants to know, even as he gives her a wink and a smile.

She’s so thankful for this man. So ridiculously thankful.

She bites her lip to stop herself from smiling harder. “We need to go. Out of here. And I need a favor.”

“I’ll do whatever you need, Mousey. What is it?”

“I need you to marry me.”

His eyes widen, completely caught off guard. “What?”

“I mean— I mean carry—” She gasps, hiding her hands behind her mouth. “Oh gooseberries— I’m so sorry. Sorry! I meant carry, I promise! Slip of the tongue, oh sugarcubes— I’m so sorry— that’s not what I meant at all.”

“Breathe, Mousey, come on.” He snorts so hard that he has to hide his face behind his hands, shoulders shaking in mirth. “Obviously I’ll carry you. That’s without question— I’m not letting you walk like that. Come on, let’s get you back home.”

-*-

Marinette’s finally sleeping by the time he’s back into her room.

They’ve wrapped and bandaged her foot, kept it elevated and out of the way for her. She sleeps soundly, even as he struggles with her trap door to not make any noise. He’s not good at being quiet when he really tries— the universe is always out to get him whenever he tries to do something quietly. Or maybe he just gets too self-aware of himself.

“How’s she doing, Sass?”

“She’s been sleeping for the whole time since you brought her home,” The little kwami answers just as softly. There’s a couple of doll-sized lounge chairs on her nightstand, as well as a small little dining table with a couple of cushioned seats— it looks like a playset, in all honesty, but they’re the perfect size for the two kwamis to sit and eat away at their food.

Sass looks like he’s finished with his eggs, which is good to see. Mullo is still working on her blueberries, chewing through each one almost anxiously as the two kwamis watch Marinette rest. He’s never known just how many blueberries is enough for Mullo, so he’d grabbed a heavy container full of it and put it in a small basket to keep her entertained.

“Is her foot going to be okay?” Mullo squeaks out.

“She’ll be fine,” Luka sits on the floor to be at eye level with the kwamis. He takes a couple of berries in his hands to snack on in order to have something to do. “She’s never hurt her ankle before, so it’ll heal up fast. Master Fu wrapped it up for her, after all— her uncle wouldn’t lie, would he?”

Both kwamis nod in agreement.

“I feel like this is all my fault,” The little mouse makes a face. “I should’ve helped her today, I shouldn’t have been quiet the entire time. Maybe things wouldn’t have gotten this bad. Maybe I could’ve told her she was taking the wrong bag— or maybe I could’ve remembered to plug in her phone. I fell asleep watching videos on mermaid history, I’m pretty sure— I don’t think the videos were worth her twisting her foot.”

Sometimes kwami and holder are really alike, huh? Even the face that Mullo makes is so reminiscent of Marinette, it’s incredible— he tries his best not to smile lovingly but can’t help himself. “It isn’t your fault at all, Mullo. There’s no point in thinking about what you should’ve done— all of it has already happened. It’s okay.”

“She’s never gotten injured like this before for as long as I’ve known her— and you said earlier that she hasn’t torn any muscles since I was given to Luka. Her ankle will heal before you know it.” Sass is quick to pet his friend’s arm. “But until then, she definitely won’t be able to act should an Akuma arrive.”

The room goes silent again as the three of them settle back into what they were doing. Sass is curled up, of course, enjoying the luxury of the little doll chair that is stuffed to the brim with cotton and sewn expertly shut. The dollhouse furniture looks well-loved, though— he’s under the assumption that Marinette most likely bought second-hand miniature sets for Mullo to play house in when she had first been given the mouse miraculous. There’s no dollhouse in sight around anymore, but the bookcase near Marinette’s bed still has two cubbies empty in favor of a little curtain pulled open to reveal two fake little rooms.

There’s a little closet rack full of little clothes. There are hats lined up against the bookshelf wall with two slits on the sides to make space for Mullo’s ears. There’s a doll bed with a blanket and a cushion— there’s a couch and potted plants all made out of felted material in order to decorate the space. A rug, too, underneath all the furniture.

All of these little trinkets and toys, so loved and cared for by a young girl and the love she has for her mouse— now something cherished by a young woman. “You know, I’ve always wanted to ask— how long have you two known her?”

“The Cheng family has always kept the miraculouses safe,” Mullo bites into another blueberry. “We’ve been passed down for generations.”

“Well, usually. Master Fu is the guardian right now, but he’s making sure that Marinette is the next guardian.”

“I know that, yes— but I meant Marinette specifically. How long have you two known Marinette?” He turns to her, wondering if she’s in any pain. The inflammatories must be working well in her system because there’s nothing on her face that indicates that her foot’s been wrapped and bandaged to stay still.

“We’ve known her ever since she was little. About eight years old, maybe? All of the kwamis loved playing house with her— the little princess was always so sweet and lovable. Growing up an only child was really lonely for her, so we played with her whenever we could.” The dollhouse furniture makes a lot more sense now. “You name it, we played it. Hide and seek, dollhouse, tea time, dress up— princess and the knight, too.”

Of course Marinette would’ve made them little clothes, how could she have resisted? The idea is adorable.

“Kaalki would frequently run away from Master Fu’s place in order to come play with her. Who could blame him? I for one loved it when it was tea time. Princess always made deviled eggs, just for me.” Sass slips his eyes shut to sleep. He always gets tired after eating his share of eggs following an Akuma attack— Luka’s thankful he works at a bakery, where eggs are plenty.

Sass is out like a light.

Mullo giggles to herself, holding a giant blueberry between her two paws, turning to him in her little chair, speaking as quietly as possible. Marinette may be asleep for longer, but Sass’s hearing is always so sensitive— they don’t want to wake either of them up. “I just ended up being the lucky one that got to stay with her. All of the other kwamis were really upset when they heard that I was her permanent friend— especially Kaalki. They all loved playing with her. We’re sure that Plagg and Tikki will love her, once we find them again.”

So much history between Marinette and the kwamis. No wonder Sass was so happy when they’d finally revealed their identities to one another. “Hey, Mullo— how come she didn’t tell me about her ankle?”

“She didn’t want to worry you.” Mullo replies in her soft, tiny voice. “You both needed to focus on the Akuma first.”

But in the end, she’d hurt herself. What he wouldn’t give to second-chance her ankle back to normal— but it’s been hours, not minutes, since it happened.

He takes his time eating the handful he’s picked from Mullo’s basket. The blueberry is sweet in his mouth, and tasteful, and something quiet to do while he looks at Marinette’s sleeping form. She’s working herself too hard, isn’t she? Trying to keep up with all the things at university— and trying to keep up with everything at home— and definitely trying to keep up with Akumas on top of it all. They haven’t technically even been on dates together, if that’s something she even wants, because her life is so full. It’s commendable, but watching the girl of his dreams get pulled in all different directions makes him understand entirely why a multitasking miraculous is the perfect one for her.

“You should rest, Luka. It’s getting really late.”

“I don’t know if I should— I don’t want to accidentally wake her up.”

“She’ll be more upset if she wakes up and you’re not in bed with her,” Mullo argues. He smiles, because he can’t help the humor at the sincerity of her words. “You should join her.”

He’d have to take off his jeans, and go pawing for one of his shirts she’s stolen from his room in order to not get flour all over her bed, but it’s doable. Her parents already know he’s up here, after all— he’s said he was going to check up on her once his shift ended. Her parents had let him go without barely any warning gaze— in fact, Mrs. Cheng had implored him to spend the night and make sure Marinette didn’t attempt to run off, in case another Akuma were to pop up.

They trust that he’s a good person and will actually stop her from leaving the house. And he doesn’t want to disappoint.

The last thing he wants to do is go back home and listen to the absolute earful he’ll be getting from his mom about using the Liberty as bait, so he’s going to camp out in Marinette’s room after sending about a billion and one heart emojis to Juleka, hoping she’ll try to keep their mom out of trouble.

Maybe it’d been a bad idea to tell his family about his identity— just his family in general. It’s safer this way, now that his family knows, so there won’t be any nasty revelations down the line and his family won’t turn into Akumas (and if he has to fight Reflekta or Captain Hardrock any more times in his life, he’s going to quit) but now there’s the added bonus of his mom knows why he disappears all the time.

So.

Heart emojis sent to Juleka it is.

“And what about you? Won’t you be going to bed?”

“I’m still hungry, so I need to dip downstairs and get some more food, if that’s okay. Or, better yet— do you want me to take Sass downstairs with me when I go?”

He raises a brow. Surely she doesn’t mean to imply… “She’s— Marinette— come on, Mullo. She’s injured.”

“I’m not sure she needs her ankle for that!”

This doesn’t top the weirdest conversation he’s ever had, but this is definitely up there. “And she’s asleep— I’m not comfortable with the idea.”

“She’ll wake up soon. You should ask her then, obviously.”

“Mullo.”

“You’re two aren’t our first holders, you know, we’ve done this so many times before.” Mullo giggles behind a paw. “So, do you want privacy? If you don’t, I’ll stay right here. Mari likes to tell us that we’re as scary as actual dolls, sometimes, with our beady little eyes.”

No one has to tell him that. He learned the hard way when he’d woken up the first time with Sass looking straight at him. Beady little eyes indeed— it’d scared him shitless and almost caused him to scream at a bleary five in the morning. Sass is a terrifying little creature when he wants to be.

“Maybe it’s a good idea to give us a bit of time.” He tries not to blush when Mullo tilts her head in acknowledgment. “I don’t think she wants anything except sleep, but, who knows.”

“We’ll give you all the time you two need,” The little mouse nods. She grabs Sass’s sleeping form by a paw, taking one last bite out of the remaining blueberry, before the two of them phase through the floorboards down below. Sometimes kwamis are weird little creatures with all of their powers, honestly— he’s gotten used to Sass appearing out of thin air in his attempts to scare him, but it’s always so concerning to see it happen without that context.

He lifts himself up from the floor, peeling open some of her drawers in search of one of his shirts. She’d taken his pleading to heart, and now has a steady collection of his clothes starting to grow and multiply in her closet— he’s running out of his own clothes, honestly, but he can’t say no when she smiles at him like she always does before squirreling away a new shirt into her bag when she wants to keep a piece of him with her.

He should probably take some of these shirts home with him, though. If the point was for her to smell like him, well, he should probably make it happen.

He folds his shirt and jeans. Marinette doesn’t have piles of clothes everywhere unlike him, so he makes the executive decision to stack his clothes on her desk chair. By the time he’s going back up the ladder over to her bed, Marinette’s shifted onto her side, facing him— she wakes up the moment he tries to shimmy his way under the covers with her.

“Oh. Hi.”

“Hi.” She has pieces of her hair catching in her eyelashes— he brushes it away, shifting closer to her. Her entire bed smells of faint traces of lavender, what a nice scent. “How are you feeling, Mousey?”

“A lot better,” She’s quick to smile, even as she’s groggy from sleep. Adorable. “Probably because of the amount of pain killers I’m on right now, though.”

He laughs. “Master Fu told me you don’t usually take painkillers. You must just completely relax under it, then, since your body isn’t used to it.”

“I don’t think I tore anything, did I?”

“No, I don’t think so. Your uncle said you’re fine, after all, but you should just stay out of commission for this week until you can put weight on that foot again.”

She looks so disappointed. “Where’s Lolo?”

“Downstairs. She’s probably eating through your entire pantry at the moment.”

“And Sass?”

“Went with her. Mullo took him to give us privacy. Are you okay?”

He should’ve known better than to relax his guard around her. The moment he’s completely at ease in bed, she grabs for him, pulling him so close to her that they’re perfect puzzle pieces. “How is it that I can sling myself across rooftops for years, day and night, but I can’t even walk in a straight line once I’m out of my suit?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mousey. That’s not good for you.”

“I wish I wasn’t such a klutz.”

“You’re not.” He kisses the top of her head as a punctuation of his words. “You just had a bad day, that’s all.”

“One of the worsts in a while,” She nods into his— hers?— shirt. “Luka? Could you make it better for me?”

He laughs. “And you call me the insatiable one, little mouse.”

Her eyes sparkle. “Who was the one that jumped me when I was going to go shower after my pool trip with my friends? One look at me in a towel and suddenly my boyfriend’s hands are all on me— sounds pretty insatiable, if you ask me.”

How can she blame him? She has such soft and delicate skin. Everywhere.

He loves touching and feeling her up whenever she lets him and asks him to. Not to even mention her ass— god— he could write so many songs just about it— he likes biting her everywhere he can, and he’s sure he’d done exactly that while sneaking his way into her shower box. Marinette always takes to bruising really well when it comes to him teething at her, she blossoms into hickies whenever he has his mouth on her. Not to even mention just how excited and turned on she was when he’d finally fingered her to completion.

“I don’t believe you were complaining, were you? Besides, I was just giving my girlfriend what she likes the most.”

She snorts and giggles. “And what is that?”

“Word is around here that she really likes Viperion. Has lots of fantasies about him— and, hey, I’m a pretty understanding guy. If my girlfriend wants to call out his name instead of mine, I get it.” He loves it when she laughs this hard— it’s always so much better to hear her laugh than it is to hear her stay quiet and in her thoughts. “It’s a good thing he likes helping out, too. The guy’s taken a real liking to my girlfriend, even though I’ve heard that him and Multimouse are a thing.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She smiles against his mouth. She’s feeling a lot better now, he can tell, because her hands disappear under his— seriously, hers?— shirt, teasing all of the skin available to her. Her fingers are ticklish against his chest and abs— she’s just as handsy as he is, most of the time.

“Insatiable,” He kisses her before pulling down the covers.

Her sleepshirt is soft and stretchy in his hands, and it’s easy to pull it up enough so he can kiss her stomach and hip at the waistband of her panties. He’s careful with her leg, of course— he doesn’t want to move it, just to make sure the wraps on her ankle don’t come undone by accident. He helps her out of her underwear slowly and gently, pulling the cute panties off so he can get her completely bare.

Such cute underwear. But then again, he’s always a little biased to anything green or blue— and the mint green color is adorable on her pale skin. The cut is cute, too— he doesn’t know enough about women’s underwear styles, but these are a lot cuter on her than he’d imagined. They rest just at her hip, with a pretty little scalloped edge that is just a smidge too Marinette for him to reasonably handle.

But he likes her better naked, of course.

“You’re already this wet?”

“Don’t tease, Luka.” Her hands disappear under her shirt. He doesn’t get to exactly see what she does underneath with her fingers, but it doesn’t take much brainpower to recognize the arching of her back like she always gets whenever he’s pinching at her nipples.

He follows the line she’s made with her body with an appreciating gaze, kissing up and down her thigh so slowly that she makes a frustrated noise. “Awh, don’t be like that, Mousey. Tell me why you’ve soaked through your underwear, I’m curious.”

She groans. “I thought of you the entire time I was in that stupid subway.”

Oh, did she? “No wonder you’ve been so tense today.”

She makes eye contact with him after a little flinch and a little exhale— she must’ve pinched herself just enough to make it count. “I was thinking about what you did to me in the shower. You’re such a glutton, Vai.”

He grins at her. Oh, he loves it when she calls him that. “I’m not so sure about that.”

And gives her what she needs.

He takes his time licking between her legs, even though she’s wet enough that it wouldn’t take much effort at all to slip his fingers into her. He likes this part, personally, even to the point where he shifts his hips down into the mattress to alleviate some of the pressure building at the base of his spine, starting to get desperate himself. It’s always so satisfying to go down on her— the noises she makes are always so attractive, and he loves making her come without much regard to himself. Marinette isn’t loud when she vocalizes her likes and dislikes, but not because she doesn’t want to be— she always hides her mouth behind her hands— and it always feels like a contest.

Today is no exception.

Her ribs heave under her shirt as he licks and licks, swirling his tongue at the place she loves the most. Her sighs are soft and sweet, even as he pulls her good leg up and over his shoulder, burying his face into her cunt as she makes a noise halfway between an exhale and a laugh.

“Who’s the glutton now?”

He makes a humming noise, not exactly interested in answering her question— he’s more in favor of showing. He’s glad to help, after all— pulling noise after noise from her when he licks his way into her, digging his tongue in as far as he can possibly reach. Her hips lift, using his shoulder as an anchor, and she moans— but still, again, it’s so soft and nearly quiet like she doesn’t want anyone to know what they’re up to. Always so considerate of others.

Cute.

By the time he’s got two fingers dipping into her, she’s wound up tight already. He can tell by the way she twitches, how she bites the fleshy part of her thumb— and how she bites harder when he uses his free hand to cup her ass and give her a squeeze. Soft. Soft soft soft.

God, so deliciously soft.

“Luka,” She whispers, trying her absolute hardest to stay quiet as he curls his fingers into her. Her free hand makes it to his hair, brushing it back so sweetly— she’s more cuddly this way, than an actual sexual deviant, like she’s desperate for reassurance. “Please please please?”

He loves it when she starts to beg for more and asks for more physical touch whenever he makes a home between her legs.

“Easy, Mousinette. Take a breath,” He kisses her thighs, liking the way how her thighs get sticky and messy with it. She sucks in a breath at his suggestion, looking at him with her hazy, pretty eyes. “You’re almost there, aren’t you?”

“Yes—” She cuts herself off with a particular sigh that makes him piston his fingers more into her. She reaches down with the hand that was in his hair, gesturing for his hand underneath her to join her. “Could you— oh— please—”

“There you go. That’s it. Come whenever you want, baby girl.” He intertwines his fingers and clasps hands with hers, giving her one last swirl and flattening of his tongue, before he feels her start to come on his fingers.

“Luka—” He doesn’t let up once he recognizes the exhale, or the squirming— especially not when he feels the attractive fluttering of her walls. She squeezes and squeezes, milking his fingers desperately.

He can deal with his erection later. For now, he slowly eases his fingers out of her, and kisses her thigh again when she complains about the loss of his hand between her legs. “How are you feeling, Mousey? Better?”

“Always am when I’m with you. Sex or no sex.” And— oh— if he wasn’t so desperately hard in his boxers, he’d fall in love with her on the spot all over again. She’s always so honest with him— it’s always such a shock, even when he knows that’s just how her personality is. He watches her eyelids struggle to keep open, even as she raises her hands up in an attempt to coerce him to bed— barely clothed, with a sleep shirt that covers nothing except her chest and her shoulders at this point. “Come cuddle? ‘M tired. I want my boyfriend.”

“Probably not a good idea. I’m going to end up dry humping you— I’m so fucking horny.”

“Vai…” It’s so heartbreakingly cute that she tries to be stern even while falling asleep. “Cursing.”

“Sorry,” He laughs, gesturing to himself even though she’s not really looking at him. “I’ll be right back. I should probably go take care of my di— uhm, I mean, this— in your bathroom, and wash my hands too.”

Her face unpinches. “But what about cuddling?”

“I will after I clean you up,” He kisses the lines of her abs— pulling her shirt down enough to get comfortable. “If you fall asleep can I still towel you off? You know I don’t like it when you’re left messy.”

“Always take good care of me.” She mumbles, completely oblivious to the way he hides his steaming face behind his hands. She nods a confirmation, patting the spot next to her. “And then after cleaning come cuddle. Please.”

By the time he’s made himself orgasm while thinking of her, and washed his hands clean of her, and made sure that she’s no longer sticky between the legs— Marinette is still bravely putting up a fight with sleep. He helps her put on some new underwear, making sure that she doesn’t move her ankle as much when he does it— but he’s completely caught by surprise when she pulls him in for a hug— and, honestly— he should know better by now.

He loves it, though.

So much.

AO3 | Start Here To Read The Whole 'Out of The Closet' Series! | Previous Fic in Series | Next Fic in Series

[ramblinganthropologist]

Crossed over

Summary: Garrus has something to tell Shepard before they get down to pound town. Same hat, though? Same hat.

(I wrote this originally for pride but didn’t finish it in time. Yes I am 100% pulling this out of my ass, but who cares. My city now.)

---

Shit.

Garrus’ heart was still racing as the door to the main battery shut in front of him. Only moments prior, the Normandy’s commander had been standing there, chatting with him. Well… chatting wasn’t really the right word. Propositioning, maybe? That felt more on the face plate to him, but it just sounded so salacious for something coming from the man people had dubbed humanity’s boy scout.

He didn’t know what a boy scout was, but he was fairly sure they didn’t make suggestions like that…

“I guess I need to… ask Mordin about this.”

His hand hesitated on his omni-tool before he could make the call. The salarian would be good for positioning and allergic warnings, but he didn’t need that at the moment. That wasn’t going to quiet the frantic racing of his heart. He needed somebody else for that, someone he was still on shaky terms with.

But he needed someone would listen and not need a million clarifying questions…

His talons typed in the familiar number, and it was soon sending out the request. Thanks to being so close to a mass relay, it would go through no problem. Well, that and the fact Cerberus had souped up the Normandy’s communication system in several definitely off the market and illegal ways. Though that really wasn’t his problem anymore – he hadn’t been part of C-SEC for over two years.

Just… old habits die hard he supposed.

The call took a few seconds to connect, but he soon heard the sounds of Palaven on the other end. Garrus felt his stomach drop as he realized just how late it was on his homeworld. No doubt he had woken up the other party from a deep sleep – that was strike two for him before he had said a word.

Strike one, naturally, was going off on Omega and becoming a mercenary who took a rocket to the face. She was still mad about that.

“Garrus?”

Solana sounded tired. He could hear her shifting on the other end, no doubt because she had been in bed and fast asleep. Guilt swarmed in his stomach, but his resolve pushed it away. As the humans said it, in for a penny in for a pound.

And boy, he was going to get a pounding…

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The humans of the Normandy would’ve never noticed it, but no doubt his sister had already picked up on just how frantic he sounded. Right then, any turian within a couple hundred yards probably could’ve picked it up. Hell, a passing ship might have even gotten the hint if they hadn’t been in FTL drive. But he tried anyway – he had his pride in the end.

“Uh, hey, Solana. Sorry, I realize it’s late and all, but- “

Right then, he could imagine her mandibles twitching in annoyance, but also the gleam in her eyes that gave away just how curious she actually was. After all, he wasn’t the call home type. Never had been really, especially after their mother had passed. It just sort of got pushed to the back and they caught up when they could.

“Gar, you’re freaking out so loud the humans are going to hear it. You’re not dying again, are you?”

Hey, that had been a one-time deal. It wasn’t like he had a habit of taking rockets to the face or anything…

Garrus took a deep breath to steady himself once more, and he allowed his body some respite by dropping it onto the cot he kept in the battery. Sure, he probably could’ve had a bunk elsewhere – but that would’ve been with humans who had no problems working with Cerberus. As the object of his anxiety would’ve put it, taco was good out there.

He still didn’t get that – what did food have to do with displeasure? Humans were weird…

“I’m fine.” His mandibles twitched. “Just… had a talk with Shepard.”

Solana’s subvocals were curiosity city as she leaned in. “The big one or the dead one?”

“He’s not dead anymore…” Garrus’ voice trailed off. “And the little one, yeah.”

On the other end of the line, he heard his sister chuckle. “What, did you two have a fight about calibrating or something? That’s not exactly something to call me over, Gar. He’s not going to kick you off the…”

Her voice trailed off, no doubt because she had put the pieces together. He felt his stomach squirm as he waited in the pregnant silence, knowing the ball was going to drop any second. Really, this was the last thing he wanted to tell her…

“Please tell me you told him before you two fucked.”

Garrus’ mandibles almost let him lift off the ground as he jumped to his feet on instinct. “We haven’t… not yet. We were just… he made suggestions. I think we’re going to eventually, once we both put some research in. Kind of hard to smash a turian and a human together and all…”

His voice trailed off, realizing just how awkward he sounded. Really, the logical side of him knew he was being ridiculous. It wasn’t like he was a virgin like Shepard was. There were a few lovers in his past, so for the most part he knew what he was doing. It was just… well, humans were odd.

Solana’s voice was steadier the next time she spoke. “So… you’re planning to fuck your CO.”

“Yes, I know, I’m a walking stereotype.” The embarrassment could have choked a krogan. “Honestly… I don’t even know why I called. I just…”

His sister finished for him. “You’re worried about how he’s going to react if you tell him, because you’re planning on filling him in.”

Garrus was left standing there in the battery, mandibles almost to the bottom of his neck. He had no idea what kind of vocals he must’ve been giving off then, but they had to be something. After all, Solana wasn’t making fun of him. When it came to his love life, she loved nothing more than doing that. It was some older sister commandment: thou shalt pick on thy little brother for his terrible interest in people.

So… yeah.

“Gar?”

He shook his head. “Yeah, I guess that’s it,”

Solana shifted a pillow on the other end. “He’s a medic, right? He’ll at least understand it that way.”

Enough interaction with medical staff had taught Garrus that didn’t mean a whole lot of anything. Besides, he wasn’t looking for a checkup, this was practically starting… something. And maybe that’s why his stomach shifted so badly at the thought of it as he glanced around the battery.

Shit…

“I mean… do they even hold classes on that outside of turian occupied areas?” He sighed. “It’s easier with us… I don’t know how a human is going to feel about it.”

His sister’s subvocals shifted to something that reminded him of when he had been smaller, and she had stood by him on the playground. He was bigger than her now… but something about it was oddly comforting. It was also kind of embarrassing, but he was going to take what he could get at the moment.

“Well, if he starts shit, tell him to count his days.”

Despite his anxiety, Garrus found himself chuckling. “You’re really going to threaten the first human Spectre?”

“He died once; I can make it happen again if he hurts you.” The certainty in Solana’s voice was a strange comfort then. “Seriously, if he has a problem with it, then he’s an ass and he’s not worth it. Not your fault he’s a dumb human who doesn’t get what it means.”

Another chuckle – he knew when he had lost a fight. “Thanks, but I think I can handle it. Besides, you’re kind of on Palaven.”

Not that that meant anything – piss Solana off enough and she’d find a way to show up.

“Lucky him.” Solana let out a yawn that helped Garrus know their call was ending. “I mean it, Garrus. If he says anything…”

He found the knot in his stomach loosening as he sat back down. “I’ll send you our coordinates.”

“That’s my little brother. Now, get the hell off the line. I gotta get up for work in 4 hours.”

Well, love you too…

Still, Garrus let his sister go and the battery lapsed into silence once more as the call ended. He could hear life on the other side of the heavy door as the crew went about their duties, but right then it didn’t matter. He had made up his mind over the course of the call, so now he felt more resolute.

Was he still terrified? Absolutely. Humans were fucking unpredictable. After all, who else launches out of a mass effect field and starts fighting with the first sentient species they meet? They had a species wide death wish or something…

But that didn’t matter then. Now it was time to figure out what he wanted to say. And at least he had time for that as he waited for the big gun in front of him to show him some data.

---

A few weeks later, and there he was. Garrus shifted from foot to foot as the elevator door opened and let him out. He had been to the top of the Normandy before, enough that he knew the layout. Past that door was the object of his anxiety, waiting on the pretense of a talk about what they were planning.

Maybe it had been a while since he had last had sex, but he definitely didn’t remember that much thought put into it before. Was it because he was getting older, or because his partner was a squishy human?

“That you, Garrus?”

Shepard’s soft voice carried through the metal. Something about it always set the turian’s heart beating a little faster. In those moments, he found it hard to talk. So, in the end he just stood there like an idiot.

This was going great, clearly.

Thankfully, Shepard wasn’t a stupid man. His head appeared through the open door, checking to make sure he was ok. Today he had his hair pulled behind his head – he was fairly sure he called it a ponytail – and out of his face. No doubt he had been working with Saren. The hamster had full face privileges at pretty much anytime. And yes, he was jealous of a hamster for that.

So sue him.

The words brought hm back to life. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, guess I was more tired than I thought.”

The Spectre smiled at him as he motioned for Garrus to follow. Just as the turian had thought, he had been working with his hamster. From the looks of things, it had been a deep clean and a cage change if the shredded bedding meant anything. No doubt the man in charge of it all had been cleaning it up when he had come calling.

“What’s Saren got this time?”

Shepard gestured to the cage as they moved past his desk towards the sitting area. “I went for an under the sea theme. It seemed appropriate; he is living in the old fish tank system.”

That would explain the sunken ship half buried in the substrate. He had to hand it to the human, he really knew how to spoil his pets…

Together they sat at the table, Garrus positioned so he could just see Shepard’s unmade bed in the background. It was so close, but it felt like lightyears away. He was supposed to get on that eventually with the Spectre…

Talk about nearly giving himself a heart attack.

“Anyway, you wanted to talk about …”

Shepard’s voice dropped and his cheeks turned pink. Humans called that blushing, and it was pretty noticeable on the ones with light skin. It usually turned the Spectre krogan rampage red if he got going, so things weren’t too bad yet. He could work with this.

Still, Garrus felt tense as he gazed over at the human. At least both of them were nervous about this, so he didn’t feel completely stupid. In a way, that was helpful as he tried to find the words he had practiced for a week.

Naturally, they had abandoned him at the sight of those blue eyes. He was a sucker for blue…

“Yeah. There was something… I needed to tell you.”

His talons tucked against each other as he tried to keep from looking at the human. “Just so we both know what we’re getting into and all.”

“You’re not allergic to human body fluids, are you?”

Shepard was so matter of fact in his tone that Garrus felt himself chuckling without meaning to do it. Leave it to the Spectre to find a way to relax him without consciously attempting it. Maybe that was his real superpower – the biotics were just a fun perk.

But yeah… maybe he could do this.

“No, I’m good there.” Another deep breath. “Just uh… I don’t really tell people this. None of their business, and most non-turians wouldn’t get it anyway.”

At that, Garrus paused and checked the sight in front of him. Shepard was watching him, analyzing him maybe. He had stopped nervously tugging at the end of his ponytail, and his hands were in his lap. From the looks of things, he had the Spectre’s undivided attention.

No pressure.

“Something up, Garrus? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t- “

He held up his hand. “No, I feel like I should. We’re getting kind of… close.”

The tension rippled across his carapace as he felt it on the tip of his tongue. “Do… you know what it means to be crossed?”

At that point, the translating function on their omni-tools went haywire. Whatever Shepard normally heard when it worked, he definitely wasn’t getting it then. At least the man hadn’t winced at the sound of him untranslated. That was probably a good sign for cross-species relations if there ever was one.

“Sorry, the translator didn’t pick that up. I got something about a mix up?”

Well, half points for trying.

Garrus nodded as he tried to pick his words carefully so they would translate right. “Something like that. You know we believe in spirits, right?”

When Shepard nodded, he continued, stomach churning all the while. “Well… sometimes the spirit and the body it’s in have a disagreement about… things I guess.”

Disagreement was putting it mildly, of course. Garrus would’ve rather called it an all-out war in his early teens when the bad feelings were at their peak. Now it was mostly quiet – thank you, modern medicine – but sometimes it still whispered in his thoughts when he least expected it. His spirit was a tricky one like that, no wonder he had lasted so long on Omega.

But… yeah, he was getting away from the awkward conversation he was having. That was probably a bad coping mechanism left over from being a merc.

Shepard still seemed tuned into the conversation at the very least. “Ok… so your mind and body don’t… agree on something? Is that what I’m getting?”

“Pretty much. It’s not super common, but it happens.” His mandibles flapped as he tried to find the words. “There are ways of… making the spirit more comfortable depending on what way you need to go. Medical procedures help, but oftentimes one of the best ways is to just live the way your spirit wants.”

He had been 13 when his spirit had started acting up. That was a common age, though he didn’t exactly hang out with many crossed turians these days…

His shoulders still tensed as he snuck a glance at the human – hadn’t lost him completely. “I guess I’m trying to tell you… that I’m crossed. Not that it’s going to matter for us in bed, the hormone therapy has pretty much taken care of everything. I only have to take a maintenance dose every couple months…”

His voice trailed off. Shepard hadn’t said anything for a long time. Instead, the Spectre seemed to draw into himself. Something about that made Garrus’ stomach drop and almost instantly he regretted saying anything at all.

Maybe he was going to need Solana after all…

His voice was shaky when he spoke again. “Look, I get that it doesn’t- “

“So, you’re like the turian version of trans?”

Garrus blinked. The word was a new one, he had learned it from listening to the crew. Mentally, the translation ran through his head as he sat there, trying to remember what it meant. Something about gender?

What was that again, an ice cream flavor? He was kind of drawing a blank…

“Uh… don’t really get what that is, Shepard. You’re going to have to explain it to me before I can say anything.”

There was a glint in the man’s eye then as he nodded. “Basically, humans have a thing where their brain and body don’t match up. We can also fix it with medical procedures, but the best way is the same way you’ve got.”

The turian found himself nodding. “Guess that would be the human version of being crossed, yeah.”

In that moment, Garrus wasn’t sure what to expect as the pieces fell into place. It was Shepard, but Shepard was still human. More importantly, it was impossible to read how he was reacting then. His face was utterly blank as he sat there, staring down at his hands.

In the words of the Spectre… he should probably go.

Garrus could feel something breaking inside still as he stood. “I get it’s probably not what you expected. It’s ok… I just ask you don’t spread it- “

Those eyes were on him as Shepard reached out to keep him from going. “Damn it, Garrus, same hat.”

…

“Same…”

A wide grin broke out on Shepard’s face as he started laughing. “I think we’re in the same boat here if you’re telling me you’re on the turian version of HRT. Holy shit, talk about one hell of a relief. I thought you were going to say you were allergic to humans or something.”

The translation whirred in Garrus’ visor as he wordlessly sat back down. He had a full picture now, and it was one hell of a sight. The tension that had been vibrating across his carapace began to melt away as he listened to the human laugh, and soon he found himself chuckling as well.

Solana was never going to believe this.

“Nope, still not allergic to humans.” His mandibles twitched. “So… you humans do it too then?”

Shepard was still smiling as he nodded. “Yeah. If not for my biotics fucking everything up, I would’ve been on HRT too by now. But then you wouldn’t get to hear my lovely, squeaky voice cracking over the battlefield and who would want to miss that?”

“I wouldn’t…” Garrus’ voice trailed off. “Oh…”

Well, from the sound of things he hadn’t needed to worry. Maybe he didn’t need his older sister to come beat up his not-yet lover yet after all. His pride would survive for at least one more day at this rate.

Honestly, he felt lighter than he had in weeks. If not for the ship’s gravity, he might have been floating then. Then again, that might have been caused by Shepard’s quiet chuckles over all of this. Something about the man’s laughter always put him at ease.

“I can’t believe you thought I was cis, though.” The human had gone back to playing with the end of his ponytail, though from the motions it was less nerves and more something to do with his hands. “I would be insulted if you were human.”

Garrus felt his mandibles twitch. “It’s not like I know the difference, Shepard.”

“You literally saw my dick fall out of my pants, Garrus.”

…

Yeah, well… he wasn’t the medic, now was he? For all he knew, they were supposed to do that.

Still, at his silence Shepard just chuckled more. Surprisingly, he seemed lighter as well as he sat back. Maybe because of his own nerves, but he hadn’t noticed just how tight the man’s shoulders had been when he had entered. No doubt they had been worrying about similar things if there was that much crossover.

Something, something, communication made for happy relationships.

“Well, clearly we’ve got plenty of research to do if we want to do this right.” The human sounded much happier as he looked down at his always present omni-tool. “I mean… if you still want to and all. I understand if you’ve changed your mind.”

Garrus all but hopped to his feet. “No! I mean… no, I haven’t changed my mind. I’m just glad I know what to research. I think I was looking at the wrong vids…”

“Well, that makes two of us, unless you guys figured out a way to fix anatomical issues we’re still working on. Turian anatomy seems a little more straight-forward when it comes to genitals, what with everything being internal.”

…

You know, he probably should’ve found his anatomy being discussed in such clinical terms rather dry. Yet the fact Shepard seemed so relaxed about the whole thing was rather heartening. Maybe he was just more relaxed now that the bomb had dropped and he still had both of his mandibles.

He was glad for that – the implant surgery to fix him the first time had really sucked.

“I think you’ll be fine with whatever you’re looking at.” He let out a sigh of relief. “So… good talk?”

Even he knew that sounded awkward. Yet, the other man chuckled and nodded as he stood at last, pushing his ponytail behind his shoulders as he approached the turian. Apart from when they were getting shot at, it was probably the closest they had ever been.

“Yeah. Good talk.”

And then he smiled. “So, uh… I need to finish cleaning up from Saren. Unless you want to help with that?”

Garrus was already on his feet, eyeing the door. “I think I have some calibrations to get to down in the battery.”

Shepard’s cheeks briefly puffed out, but then he allowed a rather laid-back chuckle. “Alright, I get the idea. I’ll talk to you later, Garrus. Good luck with the calibrations.”

Luck – he certainly had a lot of that at the moment.

Garrus honestly felt lighter as he left the man’s quarters to return to his spot in the battery. The weight that had pressed down hard on his talons had evaporated, like gravity no longer affected him. It was a bit strange – the ship was set to adjust to that – but right then he wasn’t thinking like a tech as he rode the elevator back down.

All things considered, that had gone better than he had expected.

“Well… doubt Solana is going to believe this one. Who knew humans had it too…” he trailed off as the door opened to the crew floor. He let the matter drop for the moment, focused instead on getting back to work. After all, the Normandy was a big ship, and keeping her running was a heavy task he was more than happy to deal with.

Still… it was good to know they were on even footing. Maybe it wouldn’t go as badly as he thought it might. But he definitely needed to change his vids…

But he could worry about that later. A big gun needed some specialized calibrations if they were going to live another day. He could think about his sex life later.

[aminiatureworld]

Storms

Ship: RFA + Minor Trio and GN!Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 5,431 words total; about 700 per person

Premise: A rewrite of an old request I wrote back in 2017 (link here).

Author’s Note: These are less headcanons and more fics outlines lmao but hope you like this rewrite. I do considering I can barely stand reading the original, my writing has thankfully improved, and I hope it will continue to do so. I haven’t written in 2nd person in literal years (3rd person ftw) so I hope it doesn’t come off too strange. 

Two notes. Firstly I’ve done my best to make the reader gender neutral. If you catch any gendered terms feel free to tell me so I can fix it. Secondly, I haven’t played Another Story yet, rip my broke ass, so if V and Saeran are a bit out of character, that’s definitely why. I’m working on it haha. In regards to V I simply know almost nothing about his route, and in regards to Saeran I’ve decided to ignore what I know about his route, mostly because this was hitting 4,000 words at that point and an in depth HC involving canonical thing would probably be about that length. Sorry this is so long and thus the final HCs a bit rushed. Thanks for putting up with me! Hope you enjoy!

Ao3 link in reblog

Zen

Having a fear of thunderstorms was one of the most obnoxious fears on the planet sometimes. Especially when one is surround by 60 mph gusts of wind and the house one lives in feels like 80% glass.

This was the predicament you were left in when a series of storms passed through the first week you and Zen were officially dating. Oh joy.

Despite how in love you were with Zen, revealing one’s fears, especially when they seem vaguely irrational, is a difficult thing to do, so you teetered towards Option B

That being: Don’t tell anyone, keep calm, if you need to take a break go to the bathroom or say you forgot something in the bedroom. Okay? Okay.

However this flawless plan of attack lasted only about five minutes, and the first clap of thunder had you ready to bolt under the bed.

Zen, bless him, was utterly oblivious, listening to the backtrack of a song he was working on and occasionally making such benign comments as “that’s a lot of rain” or “wow that was loud”

Yeah. That was loud. Help me.

Eventually it got a bit… much, and you had to make your excuses about getting a book from the television/living room. Since it was in the “basement” part of the complex you’d figured that it’d be easier to hide out there. Just turn off all the lights, try to find earplugs, then count down the time until the storms were over.

Unfortunately the weather wasn’t adhering to this plan very well, how typical of it, as the storms were supposed to last until the early hours of the morning. And it wouldn’t exactly be unobtrusive to not eat.

So after ten minutes in the dark you went out to help Zen prepare dinner. At least no one needed to go to the grocery store. And today’s menu included Japchae, so always a treat! It was going to be okay, nothing was going to happen. It’s fine.

At least that’s what you told yourself until a particular bright flash of lightning streaked the sky and you promptly jumped and dropped the sweet potato noodles on the ground.

At this point Zen switched from oblivious to overly concerned. Say what you will about him but he was truly a sweetheart when he noticed something was wrong. As he helped you pick up the spilled noodles, assuring you that there was enough still in the package to use, he asked what was wrong

You explained that when you were little your grandparents had a house in a village in the countryside and one summer day lightning struck a powerline, causing it as well as two houses close to yours to burn down.

Zen responded with such concern. “Oh MC I’m so sorry to hear that! Was anyone hurt? No wonder you’re uncomfortable around storms now.”

“It was such a long time ago, and it’s so unlikely to happen again my lifetime… I don’t know why I’m still so afraid, it’s so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid to be afraid of something. You don’t have to hide your fears around me sweetheart. There’s no shame in it.”

Unfortunately words usually cannot make fears go away, but safe to say you were touched. Picking up the rest of the noodles and disposing them you and Zen shared a sweet series of hugs, and maybe you wouldn’t continued down that route if the water hadn’t begun to boil and dinner was once more brought back into stark focus.

Afterwards you guys ate in front of the tv, turning on a random crappy show and making fun of the announcer.

You could still hear the thunder every once in a while, but Zen made sure you felt safe and happy, cuddling you, doing something to draw your attention to him at the beginning of each clap of thunder, and keeping up a steady stream of conversation, even about the most mundane of things.

Your fear still wasn’t gone, and you still weren’t excited for the rest of the week, but at least you had someone with you who truly cared and was actively trying to make you feel better. You knew Zen would always be there for you, and that knowledge would carry you through the most anxious of times, to the other side.

You truly loved him so much.

Yoosung

Sometimes you wished that you could disappear into something as easily as Yoosung did, both with his games and with his studying.

Yoosung was in his first year of veterinarian medical school and, having just passed the first series of exams, had invited you over to the apartment he was leasing, for an evening of games, television, and overall hanging out. It would’ve been more of a date, but the weather was impressively stormy and, much to your relief, it was decided that staying inside was the better option.

Yoosung was loading up a game on the tv and you were checking to see what remained in the fridge, when a bolt of lightning raced across the sky; suddenly you became aware of just how very high up apartment buildings tended to be, and, much like usual, the logical part of your brain repeating Googled information about lightning rods was replaced by a static of anxiety floating around in your brain.

Returning to the TV room you nervously picked up the controller, hoping that Yoosung wouldn’t notice. Not that you didn’t trust him to understand, indeed you’d hardly met anyone as understanding as Yoosung, but it was more that years of being told “it’s just rain” had kinda gotten to your system.

The first half an hour or so was alright, the quiet mental notes you were taking told you that the storm was still far enough away, although there was no doubt it was getting closer; something reinforced by your, hopefully, discreet checking of the weather app.

When the storm arrived, oh boy did it arrive.

The winds felt unbearable, screaming terribly, rattling the windowpanes with fast, stinging rain, so much so the outside looked less like the outside and more like the middle of a whirlpool. A whirlpool that occasionally set itself on fire, the lightning dispersed by the odd shadows of the rain.

At this point all pretense fell out the window.

“MC?” Yoosung looked over as you’d dropped the remote and drawn your legs up to your chest, burying your face in your knees, all thoughts blocked out. “MC.” Yoosung said a little louder, putting his own remote down on the coffee table and scooting over to where you were sitting on the couch. “Hey.” He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, something vaguely uncomfortable considering the position you both were sitting in, but still a welcome presence, a bit of comfort making its way past your wall of fear.

“Not a huge fan of thunderstorms I see.” He said when the storm had calmed down a bit. You let out a shaky sort of laugh. Understatement of the century, wouldn’t you think?

“I have an idea!” Yoosung ran out of the room, leaving you to curl yourself up again, until he came back, a pair of headphones in hand.

“These are the best noise cancelling headphones I own, and they cost a fortune so they’d better work.” He placed them over your ears, and immediately you noticed how muffled the sound became. Evidently it must’ve shown on your face, because Yoosung smiled even wider, nodding gently before picking up his remote again.

As the storm continued so did the gaming. At some point you guys ended up thrown about the couch, cuddling each other, and occasionally knocking elbows when the gaming got intense. When things were finally over you two lay there a little longer, although you’d taken the headphones off.

“Thank you.” You whispered, content.

“For what?” Yoosung smiled. “That’s what boyfriends are for.”

“Not all boyfriends.” You countered “You’re special. The best boyfriend one could ask for.”

And you meant it.

Jaehee

I imagine both you and Jaehee not being huge fans of thunderstorms. They frightened you, and to Jaehee the volume gave her a headache, not to mention the fact you were both living in a cheap apartment on the ground floor while the coffee shop’s purchase was still new; and the whole structure had this obnoxious habit of vibrating with both the lightning and thunder, leaving everything a bit discombobulated and very unpleasant.

The coffee shop wasn’t much better really, open as it was, the whole front being 85% glass and only 15% brick.

So when you both checked your phones and saw that storms were on their way it was all about planning.

Since you couldn’t afford to close the shop for the week you instead put a large display in the windows, putting up cardboard trees, birds, and whatever else would block most of the view.

You went through the store, making sure everything unnecessary was unplugged.

Really it was probably a bit overkill, or at least Jumin and Seven certainly thought it was, but hey better safe than sorry.

The apartment was given the same treatment, blinds and shutters were closed, toasters and charging cords were unplugged, and Aspirin and earplugs were stocked up.

The week of the storms was really incredibly unpleasant, with you two sneaking in hugs and kisses whenever the line of customers was small, squeezing each other’s hands when a particularly bright streak of lightning flashed, or when the thunder seemed to become unbearable.

No dawdling home this week, much to the chagrin of both of you, who’d taking to park exploring and other such mundane things that both you and Jaehee had missed out on, her due to work and you due to being shut up in Rika’s apartment for eleven days.

Nevertheless neither of you were particularly keen to venture out in the middle of a storm, so instead you two headed home, a night’s worth of musicals and cuddling ahead of you.

Dinner was spent in front of the tv, although usually you two usually made a point to eat at the dining table it was in the most windowed room in the house and thus not meant to be.

Zen’s beautiful tenor might not have been enough to completely drown out the storms, but it was certainly a help, not to mention the large doses of cuddles you were giving one another.

But really the best part about it was just being able to talk freely about your fears, you both having the reference that those who don’t suffer with what’s widely considered an irrational fear in modern times don’t understand.

And that was really what kept it together for you two. You’ll always be there for one another, you’ll always understand one another.

Eventually the clock struck the hour and you both realized that not only would there be work tomorrow, but musicals can’t much be enjoyed when you’re only paying half attention.

You got ready for bed, both making a final sweep for plugged in appliances that might burn out if there should be an energy surge.

Right before you two drifted off to sleep you gave Jaehee a small kiss. “What was that for?” She whispered. Everything was so beautifully comfortable, so cozy and intimate, and your happiness in that moment overpowered all fear.

“I just love you, I love you so much.” You replied. Jaehee blushed, but returned the kiss.

“I love you too. Forever.”

Jumin

It’s not that you hid it from him because you were embarrassed, well at least that wasn’t the main reason. It was more Jumin’s habit of blowing everything out of proportion, to the point of hindrance. That was really what you were afraid of, you just needed calm, need comfort, not yoga or whatever was to be the cure. And not that Jumin couldn’t or wouldn’t give you comfort, but the likelihood of him giving you calm was maybe a bit more debatable.

So you tried to keep it hidden, mentioned nothing of it on your way out the door in the morning, avoiding the topic in the messenger, even when Seven started to go on and on about windspeed – did the bastard know something?

Things seemed to be going… okay? I mean they weren’t great, you were constantly pushing down the urge to hide in a closet or something, but hey Jumin wasn’t aware yet. Success?

The trip home was certainly unpleasant, and the text that your husband was working late again certainly didn’t seem promising, but hey there’d be Elizabeth, and the bedroom had amazing blackout curtains. So, yeah, it’d be fineeee.

At least it would be if the damn penthouse didn’t have windows for walls. Something that certainly wasn’t normal or part of the regular plan.

Nor was it really possible to take a nap with the thunder so loud and your thoughts running high, really it’d probably be better on the lower floors if you weren’t so sure of people being there.

At this point the plan became less of “don’t let Jumin know, play it cool” to “survive whatever the cost”, which yes perhaps was also an overreaction on your part, but you knew damn well that all rationality had long fled, and you weren’t about to go chasing after it, that wasn’t what you needed right now. Rationality was also what had you go into a google wormhole about terrifying lightning related accident. Need one say more?

So you picked up a perhaps a bit disgruntled Elizabeth the 3rd, and buried yourself under the covers, stroking her fur at regulated intervals, trying desperately to pay attention to the video you’d loaded on your phone, to less than perfect success.

You wouldn’t say that you were dozing when Jumin came home, it was more like you were so deep in your fears that you really didn’t have room to pay attention to anything else.

“MC?” Jumin was instantly alert when you didn’t run to greet him at the door, something that had really become tradition between the two of you. Him being also a bit of a worrier – and a bit being perhaps a gracious way of saying it, lovely though it can be – his first thoughts were that you’d hit your head and passed out somewhere, but the fact that Elizabeth had also not come to greet him clued him in that you two were most likely holed up somewhere, perhaps napping, as had happened a few times before.

His surprise then when you turned out to be in bed, distinctly not unconscious or asleep, holding onto Elizabeth like a vice, was really immense.

“Darling, is something wrong?” You knew he meant something rather more akin to “Something is definitely wrong and I’m very worried and hope you tell me, if not I might become a horrendous paranoiac and never stop bugging you but I also want to be polite about it.”

You folded quite quickly, deciding that it really wasn’t worth it, you were in such a state, and the anxiety was still in complete control of your brain, excuses weren’t about to be made.

In a moment Jumin had enveloped you in a hug, which you were glad to accept, discreetly kicking his phone away hoping that he’d not notice it and get it in his head to send for a meditative trainer or some such thing, since that wasn’t what you were looking for, at least not at the moment.

Thankfully though he seemed more focused on your wellbeing, asking you to talk through your anxiety, gently drawing circles on your back in an attempt to get rid of excess tension. It felt good to be able to release your stream of consciousness, even if it was a bit embarrassing. Every time you started feeling a bit overwhelming you’d insert an apology here and there but Jumin would simply shake his head and assure you it was fine

“After all, you were so patient and understanding when I went through a crisis of consciousness, when all my emotions were suddenly flooding my mind. You listened to me then, the least I can do is listen to you now.”

After you’d exhausted your thoughts and you two had laid there a bit, cuddled together, basking in each other’s presence, you two went to the kitchen, where Jumin insisted he’d make dinner himself.

You weren’t happy to be in the windowed room again, but one flick of a discreet switch and they were suddenly shuttered closed.

“You can do that?!”

“Of course?”

“Ugh, the idle rich.” You shook your head and Jumin feigned horror. This act went on throughout dinnertime, another thing to help soothe your nerves, as well as Elizabeth, who was being awfully nice, curled up in your lap.

Every clap of thunder and Jumin would hold your hand or give you a kiss or hug, again trying to distract you.

Afterwards it was watching trashy soap operas – really you couldn’t understand why Jumin adored these shows so much, he really did secretly have a flare for the dramatics – and more cuddling.

As the night got later and you got sleepier you realized that, though the anxiety wasn’t completely gone, you really were quite content.

“Ah, I wouldn’t mind this every time it stormed.”

Jumin chuckled at that. “Why not? Anything to make you comfortable and happy.”

“You’re going to spoil me terribly you know.”

“Again, why not? Comfort isn’t spoiling someone, and if it was I’d spoil you rotten. You deserve the universe, I’m just giving what I can.”

And really the comfort he gave you was worth five universes at that moment, but wasn’t he always worth that much?

Saeyoung

Saeyoung’s reaction to your fear would probably initially be teasing.

Not because he thought it was funny, more his brain still found sincerity a hard thing to grapple with, and he found his knee jerking reaction be to try and make fun, enough fun for you to forget about everything.

You knew this of course, had long ago learned his patterns, his mannerisms and habits, and initially you tried to play along with it, after all the only reason he knew you were afraid of thunderstorms was because he’d caught you running into the closet on the CCTV in Rika’s apartment. If it weren’t for that you would’ve been perfectly happy with him never finding out. Surely you could humor him a bit.

Well anxiety has a funny way of sharpening one’s nerves, and by the sixth joke you were ready to pull your hair out, both from Saeyoung and from the storm.

“Hey Saeyoung? I really do appreciate what you’re doing, don’t get me wrong, but I… I don’t think this is going to be the way to sort it out.”

“Oh… I see.” Saeyoung faltered. Saeran, who was also not a fan and was thus gaming, probably with the volume at unhealthy rates, still managed to snort out a “I could’ve told you that.” Saeyoung shook his head apologetically.

“I’m sorry MC… I, uhm. Yeah…” For a moment you both sat on his horrifically battered couch, the tension rising. Saeyoung screwed his face up in thought, before launching himself towards you, wrapping you up in a huge hug.

“I.. Saeyoung-?”

“Cuddles are a miracle cure.” He said, kissing you on the forehead. “They’ll chase away the storms, just you wait, and in the meantime, how about you teach me how to make something other than sandwiches.”

“I know you know how to cook.” You pointed out, at least happier with this approach, but Saeyoung shook his head.

“I forgot. I can now only make ham sandwiches, and that is truly a sad fate. Won’t you help me? Oh cook in shining armor.”

You rolled your eyes at that “Isn’t being the hero more of your route?” But agreed to make something with him.

Saeyoung really put everything into the “I forgot act”, and you soon found yourself distracted by his antics, peeling onions with a vegetable peeler, “accidentally” getting flour in your hair, tackling you with hugs and kisses the minute thunder or lightning even attempted an interruption. You found yourself either laughing or breathless from his attention, and when your anxiety was too difficult to ignore you allowed Seven to wrap you in a hug as you buried your head in his shoulder, his arms acting as a barrier for the sound.

Dinner took a horrendously long time to cook, something Saeran was sure to point out, but it really did help. As you two were cleaning up dishes Saeyoung paused for a moment.

“Being a hero really isn’t my thing you know.”

“Huh?” You’d sorta forgotten the earlier conversation amidst all the antics.

“You saved me MC, from myself, my own destruction. The least I could is chase away a few thunderstorms. I’d do anything to make you happy. So, I hope that you can be happy.

“What a silly thing to say.” You said, giving him a peck on the cheek. “I’m already so very happy, so incredibly glad to have you in my life. Indeed, if this isn’t happiness then there is no such thing.”

He really was your hero, your knight in peculiar armor. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

V/Jihyun Kim

V hated thunderstorms. Although he’d agreed to get his vision fixed, the date of the surgery was still some months off, and in the meantime every storm sent him in disarray, the sudden loudness of the thunder a disconcerting reminder of his own vulnerability, the fact that if even one thing in his life shifted he was likely to run right into it.

Being someone who had such a visceral hate, he was quick to become aware of your anxiety as well. It was something he just picked up on, before you had the chance to even think about hiding it from him.

“I see I’m not the only one who hates when it storms.”

You weren’t really surprised by his fear, he’d made it quite clear how he disliked to be reminded of the vulnerability that came from being blind, his eyes were already an ever present reminder of his past, a reminder of the feelings that had rotted inside him, which were so difficult to reconcile with.

So during the storms he ended up focusing most of his nervous energy on you, preferring that to morbid thoughts about the path his life had taken.

Coincidentally you tended to have the same reaction, and thus stormy days, though far from pleasant, became a semi-pleasant ritual, full of affection and comfort.

You pointed out the lightning and counted the miles out loud for him, something that helped him ground himself in the world, feel a little more in control of the situation, and in return he kept up a steady stream of conversation, telling you how your fears weren’t silly, how much it mattered to him that you were happy, and all the things you’d do together when the storms passed.

Sometimes you two turned on a podcast, or a video whose audio V had heard multiple times before, another exercise in familiarity that helped comfort you two. He also didn’t mind whether you kept the lights on or turned them off, only wishing to keep at least one window open, to keep track of the storm’s progress.

He also was in the habit of singing or humming at random intervals, his voice kept you in the moment, rather than in an endless loop of “what ifs”.

By the end of the storm you two were often exhausted, which is why they so often ended with you two tangled together, already half asleep.

One such time you were about to sleep, only barely awake to nod when V said the storm had passed.

“Jihyun,” you mumbled, hearing a hum in return. “I love you.”

V smiled, hearing that from you always felt like a moment of rejuvenation, of sudden clarity.

Kissing your forehead he hugged you a little tighter.

“I love you too.”

Saeran

Saeran loved storms. Loved the sheer, raw, uninhibited power they exuded, the proof of how natural ruled above all.

You knew that. You also knew that storms were, in fact, the bane of your existence, and that you’re rather die than sit up and watch them with him.

But you also didn’t want to disappoint him, didn’t want to be a source of unhappiness in his life, so when Saeran eagerly looked out the window and called out “MC! It’s thundering!” You reluctantly dragged yourself over to watch with him.

At first it was alright if you focused on him more than on the outside, the awe and glee he took in watching the rain was endearing, the happiness marked so clearly and without inhibition. It was something that almost took your breath away in how beautiful it was, the joy of somehow who’d had so little of it.

Then the first clap of thunder arrived and you’d nearly sprained your wrist, slipping on the counter and banging your arm.

Saeran’s attention was immediately turned away from the thunderstorm and he looked at you curiously.

“Are you alright MC?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just, I’m fine.” You didn’t want him to know. It made him so happy, how could you ever take away from that, holding you bruised elbow you excused yourself to the bathroom for a moment, saying you needed make sure nothing was serious.

Of course that excuses could only last for so long, but the bathroom seemed such a comfort compared to the windowed rooms, and you lost track of all sense of time or space, curled up in a ball, leaning against the cold wall, the linoleum tiling keeping you grounded.

Eventually however it came to an end, and there was a short knock before Saeran turned the doorknob and opened the door.

“Something wrong?” He asked, immediately realizing the answer to that question after looking at your position. Kneeling down to face you he cupped your cheek. “Thunderstorms?”

You nodded, despite yourself. You really didn’t want to take this from him. But he didn’t seem to have felt like anything was taken, instead kissing you on the forehead and opening his arms for you to envelope yourself in them, something you did gratefully.

He held you, rocking you slightly, whispering random bits of words, random pieces of song, anything to keep your anxiety lower. Nudging the door shut once more you two stayed there for a while, and you finally felt yourself calm down.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled.

“For what?” His tone was that of genuine confusion.

“For taking away watching thunderstorms from you. I don’t want to take anything away from you of course, I really don’t. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh MC…” Saeran peppered your face with kisses. “You haven’t taken anything away from me. I can still watch the thunderstorms, can still love them. Your fear isn’t something to be ashamed of, we all fear things in our lives, all have things we’d rather throw aside. I’m always here for you, always. It’s something I chose, and would choose over and over again. And that choice doesn’t mean I cannot chose to love thunderstorms, or watch them. It just means I have to make sure you’re comfortable as well. Besides, I wouldn’t want to do something that made you uncomfortable, not if I could do something about it. So don’t talk like that anymore, okay?”

You nodded, feeling reassured and slightly sheepish. He really was too good for words.

You two stayed in the bathroom until it became too uncomfortable, when you moved to the bed. It was a lovely evening, the storms having mellowed into a gentle rain.

Wrapped in Saeran’s arms you suddenly felt such a rush of emotions overcome you, contentment, bashfulness, love. Especially love.

You loved Saeran so much. And you always would.

Vanderwood

You’d really rather not tell Vanderwood.

You two were the cynics of the group, sarcastic, unfazed, or rather you hid your general emotions to the larger group in a swath of wit and humor. You really didn’t want to tell him that you were afraid of what was essentially a fear that had outlived its purpose.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Vanderwood with your true feelings, indeed sometimes you felt as if Vanderwood was the only person you could trust with your true feelings, a sentiment they had reciprocated multiple times.

It was moreso you already knew how much people saw your fear as overreacting. Didn’t need your partner to join the bandwagon of slight bafflement and bemusement, even if they couldn’t help themselves.

So there you were, sitting on the couch, storm on full display, trying not to dig your head into the side of the lazyboy as Vanderwood sat typing away on their computer.

Unfortunately the storm grew more and more violent, and you quickly grew more and more uncomfortable, your plans of nonchalance having really taken a critical hit.

Before you could think of a proper excuse to go into the bedroom closet and have a bit of a scream a huge clap of thunder shook the complex and the book you’d held in your hands plummeted to the ground.

Vanderwood immediately got up and shut the blinds. “I forgot you don’t like storms.” They said, closing the last of the blinds before turning around to your startled face.

“You know I don’t like thunderstorms?!”

“Was I not supposed to?” They looked vaguely confused, and not a bit amused.

“No.” You buried your hands in your palms.

“No I was or no I wasn’t?”

“You weren’t.” You groaned. “It’s embaraassing.”

“Why should it be embarrassing? Look, MC.” They walked over to you, taking your hands in theirs. “There are a lot of embarrassing things people are in life. Of which I’m at least half of them. I cannot say a lot of things with great confidence, but I can say this. You aren’t the least bit embarrassing for having an incredibly common and practical fear.”

“A fear that should’ve died out with the invention of bricks.” You muttered.

“Perhaps. But we both know that’s not how it works.” They replied. “So don’t feel the need to hide something like that. Okay?”

You nodded and Vanderwood smiled, before giving you a hug, something which you gladly reciprocated.

It was a quiet evening, one of easy cooking and laughing at miscellaneous videos, of making fun of spy shows and swapping stories.

In the end you probably shouldn’t’ve been so surprised.

Vanderwood was an amazing partner, caring, funny, observant, loving.

Perhaps it was okay to have such a fear around them. And if it was okay with Vanderwood than everyone else would have to suck it up, because really two people’s opinions mattered to you on the fact, yours and theirs. And in this instance you’d found yourselves completely in accord.

[countessmorgasson]

The Man Made of Gold

Fluffy Lucio x MC! Lucio shows m/c a side to him they didn’t expect...

Gender Neutral MC

(Disclaimer: Based on Lucio’s route, minor spoilers)

“Thank you for coming down to the palace, m/c. We really need you around here.”

“Sure,” you follow Julian down one of the corridors, half-waiting for him to further explain. It’s not like you weren’t coming down to the palace anyway, but the moment you saw Malak fly towards you, you knew something was up. “What did you need my help with?”

Part of you hopes it isn’t Lucio. You’d think by now, after all that’s happened, he’d be a little friendlier to those around the palace. And that they’d be nicer to him... 

It’s a bit of a selfish wish on your part, but you can’t help it. You’re never going to feel the pain that your friends once suffered due to Lucio’s wrath, so forgiveness was easier. Even if you did, (and surely you had at some point but fail to remember) your love for him would always outweigh the past.

Was that wrong? 

You see it in the way Julian sheepishly walks you down Lucio’s wing. He doesn’t like being around here- and he definitely doesn’t like being around Lucio. With a heavy heart, you stop in front of the door leading to the main bedroom. Julian nudges you forward with a blush. 

“There’s nothing wrong, per se... I think he’s having a bit of a bad day.” The doctor holds his tongue after that. “Nothing cheers him up like... well, you.”

A small relieved smile begins to spread across your face. 

But Julian steps backwards, running a gloved hand through his hair uncomfortably.

“Can I leave you to it?”

You take notice of how Julian’s eyes sweep the hall. You almost forgot how scary Lucio’s wing used to be.

Even long after he came back to life, the servants were wary of the area. You even performed a number of theatrical “cleansing” rituals for their sake, but at the end of the day, you were the only one who still dared to walk these halls alone at night. Of course, you’re also the only one who’s madly in love with the Count...

“Of course.” By the time you get the words out, you’re alone.

Turning to the door, you can’t help but wonder how bad of a day Lucio must have had. For you to actually be summoned to the palace to deal with him... 

-

“Lucio..?” 

You push the door slowly, after knocking didn’t get a response. You’re barely into the room when you have to dodge something hurling towards you.

“Ah-!” You duck instinctively as a pillow hits the door behind you.

“Get out!” A familiar shout makes your heart skip a beat. Beautiful, rage-ridden eyes come into view, and Lucio’s scowl contorts into shock when he recognizes you. 

“Fucking hell, Lucio.” You try to laugh it off, but you’re thrown off. “What’s gotten into you?”

“...Oh.” A flush crosses his face, but he’s still got that anger kindling in his eyes. It seems like he’s actually trying to hide it from you. “Sorry, m/c. I thought you were... someone else.”

“Someone else?”

“Anyone else,” he crosses his arms in a bitter pout while you shut the door behind you and put the pillow back in place. Lucio leans against his bed while you sit comfortably on the right side- the side he saves for you. 

“I told everyone to get out of my face today, but no one seems to listen,” Lucio goes on with a huff. “I can’t just have a single day to myself, it seems.”

When has Lucio ever wanted to be alone? you think. 

Before you can come up with an explanation, Lucio lets out a frustrated yell that makes you jump nearly a foot in the air.

“Damn this thing!” He snaps. You look over to see him clutching his left arm. 

“Is it acting up?” You ask.

Lucio either pretends your question wasn’t as stupid as it sounds, or he’s too angry to care. He nods with another groan, and your stomach sinks. You heard the pain in his voice. 

“Why don’t you take it off?” 

“I... was going to...” His eyes flicker to yours in a panic. You scoot closely to him, gently dragging your fingers across the metal arm. The gold is cool against your touch- and you can sense the magic radiating from it. It’s exhilarating- enough to make your arms break into goosebumps. 

Lucio, on the other hand, is less impressed with his arm at the moment. He’s only standing still, letting you examine the gauntlet with much more patience than you’d expect. 

“Now that I think about it, I’ve never seen you take this off...”

“I know.” Lucio’s eyes fall to the floor for just a moment, but then another bitter expression takes over. “Ugh, couldn’t you have stopped by later?”

You throw your arms up in exasperation. You know it’s just misplaced anger, but you’re starting to understand why Julian didn’t want to deal with this. Lucio seems to read your mind and soften up. 

“I just don’t really... want you to see this.” 

With that, you watch as his right arm crosses his chest, reaching to slide his blazer off. He shrugs the clothing off effortlessly, but you watch as he tries to dislocate his arm from its latch. You jump to your feet, watching the way he winces. 

“You’re in pain,” you gently dismiss his hand and work on the latch yourself. It takes you a moment, as you’ve never done it before and you’re secretly terrified of adding any more pain. Lucio’s chest settles with relief, however. 

With a satisfying click, the gauntlet is light in your hands. 

You turn it over and over, thinking back to that first day... when you entered this room under completely different pretenses. You held Lucio’s arm in your hands just like this, when he was a stranger to you. You used your blood to bind his soul to you, when he was nothing but a whisper in the wind. 

“Why didn’t you want me to see...?”

You look up. Lucio’s gone quiet in front of you- somehow both pale and blushing simultaneously. Your eyes quickly go to his left arm- what’s left of it. As if your gaze affected it, his left shoulder twitches. The tension in the room melts away, and you no longer feel the anger radiate from the man in front of you. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” he finally speaks. “On any other day, I’d sit you down and tell you all the gory details about my arm- it’s really an awesome story. But today...”

Lucio crosses the room and plops down on his bed, leaving the right side wide open for you. You accept the invite and leave the arm by the wardrobe. He waits until you’re against him before he can relax. He slings his arm underneath you, pulling you to his chest. Your eyes are on his left side. 

“But today..?” 

With a heavy sigh, Lucio shifts uncomfortably in your embrace. 

“Today sucks!” He grumbles. “I didn’t want to show you my arm when it was acting like this. It’s been irritating me all damn day. You’d think I’d be used to the feeling by now. Ugh... I don’t want you to see it and think that it’s a nuisance-”

You hold a finger to his lips. 

“I’m going to stop you right there,” you say. 

“Don’t kid yourself. You saw my face- I know you know it hurts. It’s not... always like this,” he sighs in frustration. “Just don’t get the wrong idea.”

“What idea do you think I have?”

“That I’m...” he grits his teeth, and your heart breaks to see the strain on his face. “That it’s a pity. Or that I’m just an idiot who lost his arm in a reckless fight.”

With that, he lets out another frustrated sigh.  You’re at a loss for words at this point. How could he think that? 

“...Can I try using magic? It might help if you’re having phantom pains.”

You feel stupid, and a little guilty for not responding directly to what he just told you. But you’ve never been good at these things, and you can’t bear to watch him in this state. The pain doesn’t seem that intense, but the way he winces makes your heart drop. 

You trace your fingers along what’s left of Lucio’s left arm. You keep a light touch, wary of the way he’s eyeing you. With all the focus you can muster, you let your magic flow through your fingertips and into his skin.

Gods, please let this work. 

You look to him, but his expression is still the same- sad and a little anxious.  You can’t even finish your sigh before you realize Lucio’s hugging you.

“Thank you.” His voice dips into a low whisper.

“Did it work? Do you feel better?”

“...yeah.”  It’s not very convincing, but you feel the sincerity in his embrace.  You act impulsively, out of your heart, and plant kisses on his left shoulder. 

“!”

Lucio stiffens for a moment, but you’re determined to show him what you think. How you feel.  

“I guess I should know better than to be nervous around you.” The smile in his voice is apparent.

“I just want to lie here and admire you.” You admit. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise at first, but he seems to relax.

“Hah!” Lucio’s voice begins to break through- the Lucio you’ve been waiting to see. “Well, who am I to get in the way of that? Eat your heart out, my dear.”

He poses for you like you’re about to paint his portrait. You chuckle, but in a moment of seriousness, you cup his face in your hands. Your heart feels like it’s about to burst when you realize his smile is genuine.

Damn... I’m really in love, aren’t I?

“Hey, Lucio... it’s really okay. I don’t think those things of you, you know. Thank you for trusting me.” you whisper.

He doesn’t seem to know how to respond, but that’s okay. You’re just happy to see his mood brighten. 

Maybe Julian was right- this was the kind of thing only you could deal with.

Lucio leans forward, gently pressing his forehead to yours.  You close your eyes and lean into the touch.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.  

[originalhybridloverfics]

Ch 6 I Can't Let You Disappear From My Life A Second Time

Eda looked up at Artlife, standing just outside the doors.

With Halil’s help, she had worked on her resolve to show Serkan that she was here for him. She was throwing away all her reservations. She was not going to be coy. If this was going to work she was going to go after Serkan like she did her dream.

She had breakfast with Halil and Alara this morning and they were nothing but supportive. Eda hoped to introduce them to Serkan soon and she was going to meet up with the girls and she couldn’t wait to introduce them. She was having dinner later that night and she was taking them to meet her aunt.

She looked forward to introducing them to all the important people in her life.

Eda’s phone buzzed. Melo was insisting she come to lunch.

She agreed. She was so focused on Halil and Alara and seeing Serkan that she hadn’t met up with the girls. Moving and settling in was so time-consuming and it was important to her that she and make some steps forward.

Eda nodded to herself, straightened out her green blouse that she paired with a pair of black jeans. She had her hair in a ponytail, strands of her hair framing her face.

She walked into Art Life, greeting the people that she knew as she made her way to the work area.

“Eda, you’re back again! Does this mean you’re staying here?” Leyla asked hopefully.

“Yes. You can expect to be seeing me around a lot.” Eda’s answered. “Is Serkan in the conference room?”

“No. He’s up in his office.” Layla answered.

“Thank you, Leyla,” she offered her a smile and walked up the flight of stairs, turning right to go to Serkan’s office. She knocked on the door.

“Come in,” she heard his voice through the door.

She pushed the door to his office open. He was seated behind his desk looking over a dossier. He was dressed in one of his vest suits that he wore so well. “Do you have a moment?”

Serkan looked up at the sound of Eda’s voice. “Eda,” he was genuinely surprised to see her again so soon.

He stood coming around his desk to meet her. “I always have time for you.”

“I thought about your job offer and I want to take it,” Eda told him.

Serkan smiled. “Really, just like that? You don’t need more time?”

“No, I know what I want and I want to be here,” Eda assured him.

“Okay, follow me,” Serkan placed his hand on her waist turning her around, his hand slid to her back, urging her forward.

Serkan led her across the hall from his office and pushed the door open to an empty one, it was wide with glass windows already furnish and nearly as big as his office minus the ensuite bathroom. “This will be your office unless you don’t like it. In that case, we can work on fixing it to your liking.”

“Don’t like it?” Eda replied. “No, this is good.” The large windows led out to a wide deck. She would add some plants and flowers out there and it would suit her well. It was well furnished. It was definitely to her liking.

“Good, you can get settled in and then you can join me for lunch and we can work on the details of your work here,” Serkan said, he hesitated in the door, just watching her. “Would that be alright?”

Eda nodded. “It would." she would just reschedule her lunch with Melo. She was certain her friend would understand. "Thank you for this opportunity.”

“You don’t have to thank me. The reputation you built for yourself proves you’re going to be an asset to our team.”

“Serkan Bey, you have a call on line 2,” Leyla came rushing into the room.

“Assist Eda with anything she needs Leyla, and find her an assistant,” Serkan instructed before walking away.

“Assistant?” Leyla repeated, looking at Eda. “Are you working here now?”

“I am,” Eda smiled. “And I could use some help settling into my new office if you have the time Leyla.”

“I have the time,” Leyla clutched her folder to her with a smile. “It’s good to have you back Eda,”

“Thank you,” Eda smiled and turned to survey the room. What to do first?

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Selin couldn’t believe what she was hearing in the gossip Mill at Art Life.

Serkan had given Eda a job with an office and without talking to her first about it.

What was he thinking?

She walked up to the steps to the office across from Serkan’s. The door was open and she could see Eda, she was setting up an arrangement of flowers behind her desk.

“I suppose I should be congratulating you on your new job?” Selin said, stepping into the room.

Eda stood up straighter and turned to face her. “I rather you didn’t. Any kind sentiments from you would be a lie.”

Selin was quiet for a moment. “It’s not that I dislike you, Eda. I just want wants best for everyone-”

“No, you don’t. You want what’s best for you, for your agenda. Stop doing your PR micromanaging and trying to control the situation with careful planning and calculated words.” Eda didn’t want to play games and pretend like everything was normal.

“Okay,” Selin crossed her arms over her chest. “I will put it simply. You and Serkan are never going to work. Coming back here for a relationship in that past that is never going to being successful is a mistake and selfish of you.”

“Selfish?” Eda repeated. “You’re talking to me about being selfish after what you did?”

“I was putting Serkan’s emotional wellbeing first.” Selin defended.

“No, you weren’t. You wanted me to stay out of his life. Let’s just drop all the pretenses. You have this set idea of what your life is supposed to be, and the man you see standing next to you is Serkan. You wanted me out of your way so you can have the life you want with him but the thing is he doesn’t want you Selin because if he did you would be together.”

“Don’t get comfortable, Eda,” Selin told her, anger simmering in her gut. “You will realize what I know eventually.”

“And what would that be?” Eda challenged.

“You and Serkan will never work and you don’t belong at his side. You never did.”

With those parting words, Selin turned and walked out of her office. Eda was unbothered. She had fallen for Selin’s tricks before. She would not do it again.

If Selin thought she could keep her from reclaiming the love she shared with Serkan she was going to be severely disappointed.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Selin was seething, she hated how confident and sure Eda was in her place in Serkan's heart. She was so sure she could just come in and take everything as she did before.

She stormed her way into Serkan’s office, he was seated behind his desk on his computer. “You’re giving her a job here? How could you make this decision without me?”

Serkan shut his computer coming around his desk to stand in front of her. “I don’t need to make decisions with you, Selin. You are my PR manager and as of now nothing more.”

“I had the right to know. I have my stake in this company as you did and you’re making bad decisions based o-”

“This is my company and I will do as I wish. It’s none of your business who I hire. More importantly, Eda is one of the best landscape architects in the business today. She has made a name for herself and her talent has always spoken for itself. She will be an incredible asset to the team." Serkan defended.

“And I’m not?” Selin said. “Are you saying she is more valuable to Art Life and the Holding than me? I am perfect at my job.”

“Yes, you are good at your job. Your good at spinning a story but you use those same talents outside of your job, don’t you?”

“Serkan, I-”

“Stop. I don’t care what excuses you’re coming up with inside your head. I am tired of your backhanded tactics where Eda is concerned. You lied to me, and kept the truth from me for years”

“I didn’t -”

“I said stop.” Serkan snapped. “You kept me from being there for Eda in a time when she needed me. That’s not something I can forgive. More so you and I need to get something straight. We are never going to be anything more than co-workers. There is no hope for a reconciliation for us no matter how much you want it.”

“Serkan, I know you’re angry but don’t say things you don’t mean because of it.” Selin stepped closer and laid her hand on his arm. “Haven’t I been here for you every time you needed me?”

Serkan shook off her hand, her touch just making him angrier. “You are not here for me. You are here to do your job, Selin and if that’s not enough for you then you can quit and move on with your life.”

Selin took a step back from him. “How can you be so harsh with me. You have to at least give me a chance-”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Serkan cut her off harshly. “And if you interfere in my personal affairs again I won’t hesitate to fire you on the spot.” Serkan stepped closer, looking down on Selin. “And I will make sure you never work in PR again, do you understand?”

Selin said nothing staring at him in shock.

“I said, do you understand?” Serkan repeated, jaw clenching.

Unshed tears shining in her eyes, Selin said. “I understand, Serkan.”

“Good, now get out of my office,” Serkan ordered.

Selin nodded, and turned on her heel, and walked back out of his office.

When the door shut behind her, she let her head fall, she wiped at her lashes and took a moment to compose herself before walking toward her office.

She hated the feeling coursing through her. Rejection. It wasn’t something she was accustomed to and it was even harder to accept.

She was certain that Eda being back here was temporary, she had kept tabs on Eda through the years and she was aware that she was engaged to another man and she knew Eda had a daughter.

Maybe that was the key for Serkan to be done with Eda once and for all. Eda couldn't have Serkan and the little family she created for herself during her time away.

She just had to reveal Eda’s new family at the right time.

Serkan would be hurt. Rightfully so. But she would be there to help him through the pain and then he will see, she was the one meant to be at his side. Not Eda.

She just had to wait and bide her time and everything would fall into place. She will get everything she wants, everything she deserves. The life she wants with Serkan. She just had to be patient.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Eda knocked on Serkan’s door at the end of the day. It was getting late.

She had stayed later than she intended but it had been a hectic day, dealing with Selin and then everyone congratulating her on joining the team.

She wasn’t surprised to find Serkan to be the only one left at the end of the day.

Then again he was dedicated to his work.

“Come in,”

She pushed the door open to find Serkan seated behind his desk, his hand was moving over the paper and it only took her a moment to realize he was working on a design. “Serkan?”

Serkan looked up, lowering his pencil and putting it down. “Eda, it’s your first day. There was no need for you to stay so late.”

Eda moved around his desk, to look at his sketch. It was beautiful and perfect just like all his designs. “I lost track of time. Have you got dinner yet,” she asked, moving to lean against his desk next to him.

“No,” he shook his head, pushing his chair back a bit to accommodate how close she was to him.

“We could get dinner?” Eda offered. She was supposed to get dinner with Halil, Alara, and her aunt but maybe this would be a good time to introduce them.

“No, I need to get home to Serius.” Serkan stood and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair.

Eda nodded, pushing off his desk and bringing them closer together. “I would like to see him, perhaps I can stop and visit him.”

“Soon,” Serkan promise. “However not tonight, I need a little time to adjust to all these new changes.”

“Right,” Eda nodded forcing down her disappointment. “I understand but there’s something I need to say.” she stepped forward into his space. “I want to tell you that I want to leave what happened to my parents and your dad’s involvement in the past.”

“It’s that easy?” Serkan asked. “How can you even look at me and not see what he did? What he took from you?”

“I spent a lot of time coming to terms with what happened and I have long since reconciled it. More, importantly your father’s actions were never on you.” Eda paused. “I left because I felt like you didn’t trust me, didn’t believe in me, in us.”

“That’s not true,” Serkan was quick to say. “I trusted you more than anyone and you know trust isn’t easy for me. And I have always believed in you. I believe in you more than I believe in myself.”

Eda's breath caught in her throat, and she touches his arm, reaching for his hand. “Serkan, I, I’m really happy that we’re back in each other’s lives.”

“Its’ good.” Serkan agreed, pulling his hand away. “I think we are going to work well together.”

It hurt to have him pull away from her but Eda was not ready to give up.

Eda nodded deciding if she should say what was on her mind. It was clear he was protecting himself by putting up boundaries that didn’t go past their working relationship.

She was only able to stay silent for a moment before she was reaching out again, placing her hand against his stubble cheek and directing his gaze back to her. “Serkan, I know you don’t believe it but I’m not going anywhere.”

The way he looked at her, his eyes guarded but somehow filled with hope at the same time.

“Serkan, I don’t want to play games and I know this is going to take time but you need to know something very important.”

Serkan waited expectantly.

“I didn’t come back here for my career, my friends, my aunt, or because I missed home.”

Serkan’s hand lifted, reaching for her unable to ignore the pull toward her any longer. “Then why did you?”

“I came back for you, and I don’t tend to go anywhere without you again.”

Serkan’s breath left him in a rush, his heart skipping in his chest. “Eda.”

Eda's lips pressed against his own and his heart started pounding against his ribcage earnestly.

Her lips were so soft against his, so perfect, and better than he remembered.

He was reaching for her with his other arm and pulling her against him before he realized it, wrapping himself around her.

He felt like the world was once again his when she was in his arms, her mouth against his, the warmth of her skin seeping into his own.

Eda knew this was fast, too soon after just being reunited but she had no plans of putting on the brakes. She had dreamed of this moment for years and it was better than she imagined.

[alwaysmychoices]

Are you still doing HC requests? I’ve been thinking if Ethan didn’t back out in Miami and didn’t push MC away and they started their relationship then?

I know there are a few series about this kind of thing, and I used to be obsessed with them but apparently can’t remember any of their names to tag them. If anyone has some recommendations, please drop them below.

Also, I wanted to make this fluffy, but the more time I thought about it, the messier it got… I think that their relationship works in Book 2 because they’ve grown so much, but Book 1 Ethan and MC are just so chaotic. I basically just rewrote Book 1, so I may not have really delivered on this HC… If you want more fluffy stuff, feel free to hmu again, and I’ll see what I can do, lol.

Ethan & MC Dating after Miami  🔥 💖

⚪ Kissing each other in Miami was arguably the best and worst thing MC and Ethan had ever done.

⚪ Even in the moment, it felt monumental. It felt dangerous. But it also felt… right. Unsettlingly right. Like, no matter how hard they tried, they wouldn’t forget it.

⚪ There was a moment when Ethan almost backed out – when they were walking back to the hotel room and he was suddenly devoid of MC’s close proximity. There was a wave of clarity where he recognized that, no matter how right this felt, it was wrong.

⚪ But then she looked back at him… That soft smile, those shining eyes. And he realized he recognized the look. She had always looked at him like that. She had always wanted this.

⚪ Ethan wasn’t sure what changed in him, but he didn’t stop himself. Instead, he gently whispered, “You might just be worth the risk, Rookie.”

⚪ The next morning, MC was afraid he would change his mind again and push her away, but he didn’t.

⚪ When they got back to Boston, things were strange.

⚪ They didn’t know what they were doing. Those first days were made up of awkward exchanges, clumsy hookups when they absolutely couldn’t stop themselves, and a quiet understanding that whatever they had was stronger than they originally thought.

⚪ They didn’t say it, but it never felt like casual sex. In fact, nothing about it felt casual.

⚪ They didn’t know how to talk to each other at work, and worse than that, they didn’t know how to talk to each other when they were alone. The transition was clumsy and terrifying.

⚪ It didn’t help that their lives were slowly falling apart.

⚪ Miami wasn’t the night when everything changed. That was just the night they acknowledged what they felt.

⚪ No, the night that changed everything started as a normal Thursday. Naveen’s illness was getting worse, and MC’s career was being sabotaged by some unknown force. But those weren’t the things they kinds of things they shared – not yet.

⚪ MC came over to Ethan’s apartment late after work. And after they had sex, it was just silent.

⚪ None of this felt right. This wasn’t what they hoped for. The magic wasn’t gone, but it was stifled.

⚪ Maybe they were wrong to even start this thing.

⚪ Ethan was the one to say it, and when he was done, MC didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t want this to be the end, but what else were they supposed to do?

⚪ She left without saying anything.

⚪ And it felt wrong.

Both of them knew it.

⚪ Ethan took a long, hot shower trying to drown out the thoughts. He made a mistake, and he knew he had. He went over all the arguments against their relationship, but none of them were able to overpower his need to get her back.

⚪ When he called, MC didn’t answer.

⚪ So, at one in the morning, Ethan took a cab to her apartment.

⚪ He felt a little ridiculous when he did it. People don’t do this for the person they’re just having sex with.

⚪ But when was he ever “just” having sex with MC?

⚪ She answered his third call, and to his surprise, she came to the door to hear him out.

⚪ Ethan apologized, which was enough to startle MC. He said that he wanted to see this through, even if it was complicated (and a little unethical).

⚪ When he stopped talking, he realized she was smiling the same smile she gave him in Miami. That was enough for him to know he made the right decision.

⚪ After that, things were different. They had rules and expectations. And they both knew that this was something real. Even if they didn’t put a label on it, they knew they were together now.

⚪ The next few months were hard, but it was a little bit easier having the other with them.

⚪ They both had a lot of growing to do. Ethan’s conscience and sense of propriety remained a looming threat. MC thought she could everything, often to the detriment of what really mattered. Secrecy just added a new element to an already tricky relationship.

⚪ They fought.

⚪ The fights were always different. Sometimes, they were screaming in his apartment. Others, they were passive aggressive for hours on end. Often, it ended with them making up in spectacular fashion that night.

⚪ But a few times, the fights turned ugly.

⚪ Because, as much as they adored each other, they weren’t always sure if they were ready for this relationship.

⚪ They disagreed on so many things. Like if you should be nice at work. Or if MC expected to much of herself or if Ethan expected too much of everyone. They even disagreed on whether or not they even knew each other or if they were just building fantasies around the other person. Most annoyingly, Ethan viewed MC as naïve, a charge directly attributed to her youth. She thought he was just a cynical asshole.

⚪ But the big disagreement was the diagnostic team.

⚪ Ethan didn’t think it would be ethical for her to join. MC thought that was ridiculous. When they started dating, Ethan assured her that he didn’t want to harm her career or her reputation. He respected her as a physician, and he had great expectations of what she could achieve.

⚪ So, who did he think he was to hold her back now?

⚪ In the middle of one of their screaming fights, MC decided to remove his ethical dilemma and broke up with him.

⚪ It wasn’t the first time one of them threatened to end their relationship, but surprisingly, this one stuck.

⚪ And neither of them particularly liked that.

⚪ But they were stubborn – far too stubborn to accept defeat and ask for forgiveness.

⚪ They kept working together, and their coworkers politely pretended not to notice that their demeanor had changed. Naveen was the only one to call them out on it, but they never confirmed anything.

⚪ And then… Naveen checked out of the hospital, Ethan resigned, Mrs. Martinez died, and MC was suspended under ethical charges.

⚪ It was different after that.

⚪ The fight felt silly.

⚪ They missed each other so much…

⚪ MC called to see how Ethan was doing after Naveen decided to embrace his illness and accept his death. Ethan wanted to know if she was okay, too.

⚪ The call lasted two hours.

⚪ Just minutes after they hung up, MC went over to his apartment.

⚪ The second he saw her, he swept her up in a tight hug, and they both apologized.

⚪ The night that MC won the ethics trial, she celebrated with her friends and ended the night in Ethan’s bed.

⚪ Ethan told her that he wanted to go back to Edenbrook but that he wouldn’t return if that meant losing her. She agreed that he needed to go back, even if she was sad that meant going back to secrecy.

⚪ She was almost asleep when he whispered that he loved her.

⚪ He didn’t know she heard until she said it back.

⚪ The next morning, Naveen appointed MC to the diagnostics team, and their fragile relationship was under stress once again.

⚪ But this time, things were different.

⚪ They made their rules, and they openly discussed their concerns without yelling. They decided what they were comfortable with, and they vowed to communicate the entire time.

⚪ That summer was amazing.

⚪ They went on dates in the park, and Ethan spent a whole Saturday teaching MC how to sail. They kissed under the moonlight, and Ethan even introduced MC to his father. They never said they were dating, but after dinner, Alan made of point of telling his son how much he liked MC.

⚪ They actually got to know each other – the good, the bad, and the messy parts.

⚪ They grew as individuals and as a couple.

⚪ And then, things were almost easy.

⚪ There were messy moments, of course. They were both extremely stubborn, and working together, they had ample opportunities to disagree. But the disagreements were less dangerous now.

⚪ They were the worst kept secret in Edenbrook, and eventually, they dropped the pretense all together. They were never explicit about their relationship, but since everyone already knew, they didn’t go out of their way to keep it a secret either.

⚪ The second time Ethan said he loved MC, there was no life-changing event to prompt it. He just looked over at her one night and realized he was in love. He considered holding on to that information and making his declaration romantic and bold. But instead, he told her right there, right then.

⚪ She asked, “So, was I worth the risk in the end?”

⚪ “Definitely,” he replied.

⚪ “You, were, too,” MC paused for a moment, and just to be sure, she added, “Oh, and I love you, too. In case you weren’t sure.”

⚪ The amazing thing was Ethan actually was sure before she said it. And Ethan was hardly the kind of person to trust something that that.

⚪ In Miami, they had a feeling that this was right, and they were correct.

⚪ In fact, it was even better than they thought.

[angelic-serenade]

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

request: Imagine being Light’s girlfriend and he finds out that you possess a Death Note of your own and wrote his name down in it

requested by: @sacredwarrior88

a/n: I hope this is what you expected, sorry once again for the delay! enjoy 💖

gif, original work and characters do not belong to me

pairing: Light Yagami x f!reader

fandom: Death Note

warnings: angst, death, murder, light yagami being light Yagami, long (!), blood ment, canon typical violence

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Being Light Yagami's significant other had always been perceived as some sort of divine privilege, a once-upon-a-time story one could only hope to achieve in their wildest dreams. It became some sort of unspoken, universal truth spread like a gospel throughout the hallways of his high school, where he was equally envied and admired by students and professors alike. Light Yagami was by all definitions the perfect guy, therefore the public opinion of onlookers and admirers had silently but unanimously come to the conclusion he only deserved an equally perfect match: everyone was well aware that Light Yagami did not do relationships - he was adamant on rejecting every single advance he received regardless of gender and social status and that was a clear sign as any of the hopelessness of the challange itself. Nobody was ever going to be good enough for the golden boy of Daikoku Private Academy. Or so everyone thought.

Light Yagami had never seen you coming, nor had he cared enough to acknowledge your existence: at first you had simply been one of the many anonymous faces he had no interest in engaging with for too long. It never went farther than a polite greeting every now and then, when the pretense of being a wonderfully polite and integrated individual made it impossible to ignore your presence in the hallway or in a professor's study - you were supposed to be one of his fellow classmates after all, a newly transferred student from a foreign country, to make things worse. He could not allow rumors to spread regarding his reluctance to help the new student feel fully integrated now, could he? In precarious moments such as the ones he constantly found himself in nowadayd because of his new found rival, the infamous L, he could not allow himself to slip so easily, not even in his mundane everyday life. Any mistake was bound to have severe consequences and every slight change of his routine - he was certain - would be dutifully reported to the task force. Now more than ever, Light Yagami would not let underestimating a variable be his fatal flaw.

So the charade went on, and things only got worse when he realized every adult in the Academy relied on him to make you feel as comfortable with the new environment as possible. When you missed a class, he'd be tasked with delivering you the materials that had been discussed and analyzed during the daily lecture; when you had questions about the burocratic practices you were meant to fulfill as a foreign exchange student, he had been the one appointed by professors for you to rely on. And the list continued. Soon enough, you had turned from a minor inconvenience and necessary evil to a complete and utter annoyance in the life of the golden boy. You weren't a particularly irritating person per se, but the situations he found himself in as the unexpected arrangement went on took away quite the amount of time, precious hours he could have spent to gain advantage in his battle of wits against that ridiculous detective - the term "wits" was far too generous on his behalf already, he'd get rid of that self-proclaimed genius in no time either way.

Turns out your company had its own perks. Light Yagami was no fool: he acknowledged your beauty, both physical and intellectual, finding himself almost pleased to engage in playful banter during a particularly boring task a professor would assign them both to carry out. And he also knew that many boys and girls in the academy would have been utterly ecstatic to escort you wherever you went 24/7 in his place, even only to experience your own exotic nature and brag about it with their peers.

But (Y/L) (Y/N) was no fool either: she knew how much attention the golden boy brought about whenever he had to hang out with her - it reminded her of the way pollen called out to bees - and decided to make the most of it in order to build her own shiny reputation in the Academy. She soon came to be regarded as the golden girl, as dutiful and flawless as the golden boy himself. That's why it didn't come as a surprise when news spread of your newly blossomed relationship: everyone thought it natural that two superior individuals such as you and Light would be compelled to stick together, one way or another.

For you and Light though, the new arrangement was mostly convenient. You tolerated each other's presence well enough - surely more than any other mindless student's populating the Academy - and the mutual agreement you silently shared only managed to spurr on your enthusiasm about the chance to finally be left alone by other possible suitors. However, what particularly appealed to Light's keen mind was the possibility to further enhance his portrayal of a perfectly normal high school boy in front of the police and its investigators by simply keeping you near: a girlfriend would prove to be a useful alibi in moments of need, and seen as Misa Amane's sudden public appearence as his companion (as per her request) would have been perceived as too suspicious because of the recent messages she had unceremoniously left for the police to find, he'd have benefitted from the company of a new face. Might as well be the only face he could actually stand.

Since when you had become independent in your scholastic endeavors, Light had been able to gain most of his freedom back as well. Irony, however, made it so that by the time you both tried to finally part and go your separate ways, in the end you'd always end up gravitating back towards one another. Light had been utterly baffled at first, thinking it ridiculous that he found himself wishful to hear your witty comebacks when talking to some other nobody student rambling about puny matters he had no care for, or pondering what your sarcastic mind could have come up with when a professor made a fool out of themselves as they appointed yet another responsibility of theirs to a mere student. Ryuk had cracked countless jokes about the way Light would look at you the same way he looked at apples - there were so many times he had threatened the creature to actually cut off his apples supply had he not shut up, he lost count.

Therefore, in the most unlikely of outcomes, he decided to kill two birds with a stone and officially ask you out. That way he wouldn't have to worry about his private life being brought up during the investigations of the police anymore (or at least they'd be less frequent) while finally getting you out of his mind - hopefully.

The first date went rather well, he brought you to a nice cafe you had mentioned once and insisted to pay your share too (you had tried to convince him on splitting it instead, and only after various attempts had he relented).

“No wonder you are single, (Y/N).”

“Oh, am I now?”

You were proud of the way you had managed to bring down most of Light's outer walls, his boy-wonder façade irking you more than any stubborn love-sick fan of his ever could. It was the first to go, right off the bat:

“If we have to do this, might as well get comfortable, boy-wonder. No need for the goody-two-shoes charade with me, I know this is simply business.”

He had smiled but hesitated to verbally reply. Unbeknownst to you, that was the first spark that ignited his admiration for you and the milestone of your budding relationship as well. He had resented your arrogance and had you not been that crucial to his current plans to rebuild the entire world, he'd have found a way to unsuspiciously get rid of you straight away. It was a good thing you proved to be a good intellectual stimulus.

For a time, everything seemed to fall into its rightful place and the relationship not only proved to be useful for Light as regards to his public image, but he also managed to enjoy the time spent with you. He would never admit that the necklace, flowers, chocolates, and other tokens he gifted you were anything more than just for show, not even to himself. He would not allow himself to get too close, trivial things as love were not meant for the future God of a new world. Too bad it was too late for that.

When Misa Amane came into the picture, however, things escalated quickly and dangerously. You were hanging out with Light in his room, as it had been a rainy day and neither of you felt in the mood for a walk under the pouring drops. The sudden call for Light's name from downstairs came as a surprise and only later did you realize it had been the first sign of inevitable disaster; Light's mother usually never disturbed you two when you came to visit and mostly kept to herself in the kitchen, greeting you when you came and then when you went (you were glad for her respect of both her son's and your privacy). When a pretty blonde barged into the room even before Light could get up from the bed, however, you were certain disaster was at that point inevitable.

That's how you first met Misa Amane.

The yelling and crying had been obnoxious to say the least, and it only got worse from there. Light seemed more tense than usual and looked like he was single-handedly wrestling a roaring tiger while also trying to keep his head attached to his neck. Never had you seen him so worked up, trying so hard to restrain himself: it was a strange sight and it made you wonder if there was more at stake than what you had originally taken into account. Needless to say, you were worried.

When the girl took out a black notebook from her purse and started throwing threats your way, your quick mind clicked instantly.

You kept silent however, feigning ignorance: if you wanted to get even just a glimpse of the truth behind this whole tragicomic pandemonium, you'd have to be patient. Your shinigami might have been useless, but you had took the time to read the rules yourself and that would definitely work in your favor, you rationalized.

“You let this wench get in the way of our love? How could you! I did everything you asked of me and that's what I get?”

Calming the girl down had been an admirable feat. Thankfully you were able to control your anger, even though you felt positively livid with the recent developments of what you thought had been at least a mutually respectful relationship. You had grown close to Light, and maybe you had illuded yourself believing that he really did care for you too in his own way. You kept silent still and pondered about the various possibilities brought forth by Misa's mere existence: Light was fully aware of the existence of the Death Note, as he had tried to persuade Misa not to use it against you. The implications of this fact alone brought chills to your spine: why did Light have connections to this girl? Why was he so adamant on trying to snuff out the tracks of Misa's words? Had he exploited the girl to use the Death Note? Was Misa Amane the feared Kira whose killing sprees where making Japan tremble in fear? She must have been involved someway.

And then it clicked. Light Yagami had a Death Note too. He had to have one. The last broadcasted messages sent from a mysterious second Kira suddenly came to mind and you swore a light bulb went off over your head. Misa Amane could not possibly the original Kira - too impulsive, too reckless. If you had learnt something about the one true murderer, it was that the original Kira would never expose themselves like this in front of a stranger. Narcissistic they may have been, but their work was not that of a fool.

Your world suddenly came crashing down and your stunned state worried even Light. Misa had regretfully left, mind full of unfulfilled promises, and you could only thank the odds that her shinigami had not called you out straight away. Same went for Light's. Though you couldn't see them, you knew they were there and you also knew that any wrong move would have led to your untimely demise. If Light Yagami was truly Kira, he'd have no problem in ridding himself of your presence once he realized how much of a threat you currently represented, having a Death Note of your own. Shinigamis could see one another after all.

It was nerve-wracking to be on the receiving end of a gun.

“(Y/N), are you alright?”

A moment of hesitancy, then a tired attempt:

“Yes, yes. I'm just... a bit rattled, is all.”

“I hope you'll stay to let me explain.”

You realized he wasn't asking and you had no choice but to agree. You tried your best to feign hurt during the whole ordeal, but in reality you just felt nauseated and exhausted. He made up a very believable lie and you would have surely fallen for it had you not been certain Misa Amane owned a Death Note, just like you were certain he did too.

You had your own Death Note, yes, but you'd never actually used it. That was the main reason why your shinigami, Lux, had decided to completely ignore you from day one - apparently, you weren't entertaining enough for him. He'd been pretty vocal about his displeasure. But no matter how much Lux complained, using violence and murder to get your way seemed like too easy a solution. But it seemed that the boy in front of you did not share the same sentiment.

When Light took you into his arms to hold you close and tears started streaming down your face, you made up your mind: if Light Yagami truly was Kira, you'd be the one to bring him down.

The day when you finally confronted the boy you had grown so close to finally came and it was probably the scariest experience of your life. You supposed that his shinigami had told him nothing about your own status as a Death Note owner or at least, Light acted as if he didn't know. Which option was worse, you couldn't tell.

“Light... We need to talk.”

It was 22:00 sharp.

A pause, a second in which you realized you life was hanging by a thread.

“Come on in, then. ”

“I will be direct and straight to the point-”

“Yes, as you always are. That's one of the things that I appreciate the most about you.”

You couldn't believe he was trying to manipulate you. A sudden surge of boldness, straightened by pure remorse, made you vomit your next words as if they were venom.

“I take it you know of my Death Note.” you tried to keep as calm as possible and waited for his reply even though by now you already knew the answer.

“I do.” he solemnly conceded.

“Then why have you not brought it up before?”

“I was waiting for you to make up your mind.”

“Make up my mind about what, exactly?”

“About which side you decided to choose. But I take it you may need a little more motivation to pick the side you rightfully belong to. I'm here to provide it.”

“I'm all ears.”

“You have been watching the news, yes? The state of the world is in shambles, the cruel and wicked thrive off of the innocent. It's every man for himself and those in power only think about ways to make more money. The world we know is slowly rotting away, slaughtered from inside out by its own inhabitants. It's sickening. But, you see, I realized I have a cure, I have the power to make it better, to solve the problem once and for all. And I used it, as I intend to use it again and again, for the greater good. Humanity needs rehabilitation and I'm willing to provide it. There's people who recognize the necessity of this method and people who lie to themselves. So now I ask you (Y/N), which one are you?”

Your throat was parched, your hands were shaking and sweating profusely. You stared into those brown orbs of his and found yourself unable to look away. You had grown fond of his eyes, as well as the rest of him. Never in a million years would you have guessed that Light Yagami was a cold blooded killer who thought himself the God of a new world. He had played you like a violin and you had sung along. But no more would you be willing to associate yourself with that idealistic and childish monster.

“(Y/N)...” he tantatively neared your form, raising a hand to your cheek. His once cold gaze was now filled with warmth, but you weren't able to discern how much of it was fabricated and how much was real. You couldn't trust him, you couldn't play his symphony again. It was crooked and violent and selfish in its own right.

“We can do so much together, we can remake the world and save lives, so many innocent lives. No more undeserved suffering, no more unjust violence.”

You found it both unsettling and ironic how his words clashed with his actions. How could he speak of injustice, of violence when he was the one constantly playing with the lives of people? It was not his place to dictate who should live and who shouldn't, it was no man's right to claim the power over life and death. And yet there he was, in all of his fiendish glory.

“Help me, be my right hand in the monumental task of rebuilding the world. Be there when the world becomes our personal heaven.”

Oh the devil has such a way with words.

When his lips fell on yours, you knew you had done the right thing. Light Yagami suddenly wretched himself away from you as if he'd been burned; he took a step back, clutching his chest as spasms overtook his body. And then he fell.

It was 22:15.

He aimlessly fell to the ground just like Icarus had once he came too close to the sun and burned his false wings. You took the piece of paper from your left pocket and opened it only to let it fall to the floor.

Light Yagami, 07.03.2004, 22:15, heart attack

You had been merciful.

You had done the right thing.

And you would keep doing the right thing, even if the price to pay was staining your hands with more blood.