#because us standing on opposite sides of the department in complete silence is actually more important than our responsibilities

[yuribalisms]

Working a job that is literally more focused on making employees miserable than actual productivity is a special circle of infuriating hell

[mandos-sluts]

The Payment

The Mandolorian x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 2.8k

Warnings: Smut, fingering, vibrator usage, bondage, dubious consent

Summary: The Mandalorian detains your criminal boyfriend you barter for his release

A/N: Please message us or comment if you want to be on our tag list!!

You’ve been tailing the Mandalorian for about half a mile, keeping a long enough distance behind him so that he doesn’t know he’s being followed. He and his bounty finally reach his ship and enter the open hatch. Once he disappears behind the walls, you sprint to the ship and tip toe up the ramp. You’re lucky he didn’t close the door as soon as they entered.

“Let him go.” You say holding a blaster in the air with two hands. It’s pointed directly at the Mandalorian’s back. He jumps and turns around quickly, reaching for his blaster on his hip. Once he lays his eyes on you, however, his stance relaxes and his hands fall back to his sides.

“Who are you?” The Mandalorian sighs in annoyance.

“Let. Him. Go.” You say as confidently as you can, staring him down, arms straight out in front of you. Why isn’t he alert? Why isn’t he trying to get you to drop your blaster? Ugh, why isn’t he intimidated by you?

“He your boyfriend or something?” He returns casually.

“I’ll say this one more time.” You state slowly. “Let him go, or I will shoot you.” Your arms begin to shake.

“Listen sweetheart, your little boyfriend is already in carbonite, and I'm wearing beskar, so good luck shooting me.” The Mandalorian says in a condescending tone.

You lower your blaster in irritation. This is not at all what you had envisioned this playing out. You thought he would at least be semi threatened by you?

“How much do you want for him?” You ask bluntly.

The Mandalorian let out a chuckle.

“Come on.” You say.  “The bounty on his head can’t be that high. How much do you want?” You honestly weren’t even certain the exact reason for the bounty. It was probably embezzlement or fraud or something involving the illegal methods he used to amass his wealth.

The Mandalorian is barely paying attention to you. He’s unloading and his blaster, or organizing his blasters, or doing some trivial task in his weapons armory. “I’m not gonna let him go, I don’t care how much money you offer.” The Mandalorian says without lifting his head. “But consider yourself lucky.” He turns to look at you. “Now you can go off and find yourself a real man. Someone who can actually satisfy you.” He turns back to whatever it is he was doing.

“Excuse me?” You say, crossing your arms. The Mandalorian doesn’t respond or look up, and you stand there in silence for a moment. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but my boyfriend satisfies me just fine. Now...how about two thousand credits.” You ask awkwardly.

“That pretty boy?” He asks pointing at the carbonite chamber, not acknowledging your offer. “Ha. The fight he tried to put up was laughable. There’s no way he can fuck you good.” The Mandalorian says with ease. “Which is a shame, because you seem like you need a good fuck.”

“I–”

“I’m gonna depart now.” He cuts you off. “So unless you wanna go to Nevarro, I’d get off my ship.” His voice is deep and unsympathetic.

Who does this Mandalorian think he is? Why does he think he knows anything about your relationship? You feel like you should feel insulted, but it’s your boyfriend he’s insulting, not you. In a fucked up way, he is sort of complimenting you– implying that you deserve better than your boyfriend. You have a feeling the Mandalorian knows exactly what he was doing.

You open your mouth but pause for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. “Five thousand credits.” Is all that you can think to say.

“Little girl.” The Mandalorian exhales. “Your credits are worthless to me.” He says peering at you. “...but...” He pauses as he considers if he actually wants to do this. The Mandalorian is a highly respected professional bounty hunter after all, and proposing this kind of trade is anything but professional. Yet at the same time, you are one of the most beautiful women he has ever seen; he’s never wanted to fuck someone more. And he just apprehended your pathetic and weak boyfriend, he knows you haven’t been properly taken care of. He knows he can take you to a level you’ve never been to before and give you the best pleasure you’ve ever felt. That concept in and of itself fills the Mandalorian with arousal.

“...but perhaps we could arrange a different form of payment.” He says taking big, slow steps closer to you. *see gif*

“….A different form?�� You say hesitantly as he continues to approach you. You can’t believe what you are hearing. You’re well aware of the reputations that Mandalorians boast, and you would never guess that one of them would propose something so risqué. To be honest, you’d be lying if you said that a small part of you wasn’t really turned on by the situation at hand. The Mandalorian was the opposite of your boyfriend. Sure, your boyfriend was conventionally handsome, but he is cocky while the Mandalorian is confident. The Mandalorian is big, strong, and tough, and your boyfriend has been waited on his entire life.

You’re frozen where you stand and your heart is racing as the Mandalorian creeps into your personal space. He puts his gloved hand on the bottom of your chin and pulls your head up so that you’re looking directly into his visor.

“Let me fuck you, and I’ll let this loser boyfriend of yours go.” The Mandalorian says in the deepest, sexist voice you’ve ever heard. But snap out of it! Your attraction to him doesn’t matter. You’re here to save your boyfriend.

“Fine.” You say, trying your best to project a neutral demeanor. “But I’m not going to pretend to enjoy it.”

The Mandalorian lets go of you and presses a button on the wall. “You won’t need to.” He says removing his gloves as the hatch closes. He sits on a bench and leans back, spreading his legs. He has an unmistakably large bulge that he’s not at all trying to hide. His arms stretch out on either side of him to rest on the back of the bench. You’re standing a few feet away from where he sits, and his helmet is glued to your image.

“Take off your clothes.” He commands in a flat modulated voice.

Your heart has fallen to your stomach. The idea of this was hot, but now that it’s actually happening, you’re terrified. What have you gotten yourself into? Why would you agree to have sex with a Mandalorian? Mandalorians are ruthless. They are feared across the galaxy for a reason!

You shake with fear as you struggle to get your shoes, pants, and shirt off your body. You discard your clothes on the cold metal floor and are left standing in just your tiny thong.

The Mandalorian stares at you for what seems like forever. “C’mere.” He says sitting up straight.

You walk over to him and he pulls you to stand in between his legs. You look down at him with what you hope is a poker face. He runs his bare hands all over you. His hands are so big wrapped around your waist, you feel like he could snap you in two. He gropes your ass and your tits and pulls you even closer. Your skin is so frikin smooth against his rough hands, and the Mandalorian can’t get enough of it.

“Fuck.” He spits out. “You’re so fuckin sexy. I can’t believe you settle for such a coward. He must be loaded or something.” He maneuvers one of your legs over his.

“Why you with him, huh?” He asks in a patronizing tone.

“None–”

“Doesn’t matter.” He interrupts. “I’m gonna show you what you’re missing.” He says as he lifts his thigh to meet your crotch. He begins rubbing his thigh between your legs, and the friction against your clit feels amazing. You bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from letting out a little pathetic moan.

He removes one of his hands from your butt and brings it to his belt. All of the sudden, he clasps handcuffs on you, binding your hands in front of your body. Your body tenses up. “What are you doing?!” You exclaim. Any arousal you had is now overridden by fear. If you were nervous before, you are petrified now. The panic you feel is written all over your face.

“Don’t worry, little girl.” The Mandalorian says in a low, soothing voice. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” He says as rubs your cheek with the back of his hand. Then, he abruptly stands up and throws you over his shoulder.

“Ah!!” You scream. That’s it, you’re pretty sure you’re gonna die. He carries you deeper into the ship. Your ass is in the air, and your handcuffed hands are swinging down by the Mandalorian’s legs. “Wha– what are you doing?! Where are you taking me?!” You shout as distress pulses through your veins.

Without responding, he enters a room, and gently lays you down on a bed. Then he reaches over you and attaches your handcuffs to the head of the bed frame. You lie on the bed with your hands bound and stretched up above your head, completely naked except your panties. The Mandalorian loosens the handcuffs and lengthens the cord between your hands so as to spread your hands further apart from each other.

You take a deep breath and begin to feel a little bit better. Although the position he’s put you in screams danger, you for some reason feel safe with him. Your body still trembles, though.

The Mandalorian can sense your unease. “Relax, pretty girl.” He says with his modulated voice. He’s standing on his knees with one of your legs between his on the bed. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you. Just breath.” He says quietly as his hands travel down your sides. He alternates between softly caressing and aggressively kneading your body. The way he’s touching you, the way his visor is swallowing every part of your body, it makes you wet. You feel so small as he kneels over you, you can hear his breathing, and you can tell he’s holding back.

The Mandalorian is holding back. He can tell that you’re scared and shy, and he knows you’re inexperienced, so he’s trying his best to be gentle. He’s restraining himself from treating you like the whores he fucks the shit out of in brothels. The Mandalorian scoots back and runs one of his hands up your thigh before dancing his fingers on your clothed cunt.

“Fuck. You’re already leaking through your panties.” He spits looking up at you. You say nothing in response and try to give off an uninterested look. The Mandalorian moves your thong to the side, exposing your glistening pussy. “What a pretty little cunt you have.” He says as he drags his fingers through your wet folds.

The feeling of his fingers trailing through your pussy sends shocks through your body. You let out a high-pitched breath and bite your lip to stifle any more from escaping your lips. You really don’t want to give the Mandalorian the satisfaction.

The Mandalorian slyly reaches under the bed and grabs a small, roundish cylinder-shaped object of metal, of which you could tell is beskar. He gently pushes your thighs apart, and repositions himself in between them, your legs laying flat on the bed. He flips a switch on the object and it begins vibrating. He brings it to your groin and starts circling the vibrator on your clit.

You gasp and bring your knees into the air and plant your feet on the bed. Your back arches and your legs impulsively open up wider, almost inviting the Mandalorian in for more. You can’t even attempt to look inexpressive anymore. Your breathing picks up and your exhales are laced in moans. His other hand is on your thigh, and his thumb is stroking your skin. You close your eyes.

“Open your eyes. And keep them on me.” The Mandalorian orders, squeezing your thigh. He wants you to be looking at him as you come apart at his will. He wants you to see the things he’s doing to your pussy. He wants you to have to face the fact that he is bringing you such immense pleasure. The Mandalorian flips another switch and the object begins vibrating faster. You clench your teeth down on your bottom lip as you try to keep your moans as small as possible. Your pussy is so wet you can hear its gushing sounds over the vibrating.

“You like that?” He asks.

“N–no...” You respond. You wish that was true. It should be true. You’re handcuffed to a bed on a dirty old ship, forced let this vulgar Mandalorian fuck you to save your boyfriend. You should not be liking it.

He scoffs. “Your mouth is telling me one thing, but your pussy is telling me another.” Your denial of the obvious truth just turns on the Mandalorian even more. He loves watching your pathetic struggle to hide and contain your reactions. It makes him all the more determined to break you; he loves a good challenge.

Keeping the vibrator on your clit, he teases your entrance with his middle finger before pushing it inside of you. “Fuck.” You mutter out between breathy moans as he starts thrusting his long thick finger in and out of your hole.

“Of course you’re tight as shit.” The Mandalorian says under his breath. “Tell me, baby girl, have you ever cum?” He asks in his deep voice.

“I– I don’t know.” You respond as he continues pumping his finger and circling your clit with the vibrator. Frankly, you didn’t even know if you could cum. You know that it's possible for women to orgasm– you’ve heard your friends speak about it before. But you're fairly certain you’ve never cum before.

“Awww, poor girl.” He says in an arrogant tone. An “I don’t know” is a “no” and both of you know it.

Suddenly, he starts circling your clit and thrusting you even faster. He adds another finger and this just about sends you over the edge.

Alright, you don’t have the energy to pretend anymore; you’re over trying to put on this charade, which you know isn’t fooling him. Now all you care about is chasing this high you’re feeling creeping into your pussy. Your body has never felt this way before, you can feel the pleasure pulsing in your cunt. Your heaving breathing is now unapologetic moans.

You can tell you’re approaching a climax. Your legs are twitching and your back is arching so much. But then the Mandalorian begins slowing things down, though still persisting.

“Plea–Please.” You moan out, looking at him with puppy dog eyes. If you could, you would grab his arm and guide him to finger you faster, but your hands are still bound above your head.

“Please what?” The Mandalorian inquires. “You want me to stop? Or you want me to keep going? Be a good girl and use your words.”

You wrap your legs around him. “Keep going. Harder. Fas–Faster. Please!”

The Mandalorian lets out a satisfied grunt as he grabs one of your legs and brings it on his shoulder, opening your pussy up even more and affording him a better angle. He cranks up the vibrator’s speed and his two fingers pump you with unmatched rapidity. Your mouth is open wide as your chest heaves. Your eyes fall shut as you can feel your orgasm on the horizon.

“I said, eyes on me.” The Mandalorian orders with a stern voice. “I want you looking at me while you cum for the first time.” You force your eyes open and glue them on his visor.

He watches you scream out and come apart on his hand. “Ahhh!! Mando! Fu– fuck ahhh yes Mando! Yes!!” You cry, maintaining eye contact with his visor. Your entire body is shaking as your orgasm rips through you, a sensation you’ve never felt before.

“Good girl.” He says, pushing a strand of hair out of your face. “You look so pretty when you cum.”

“Mando, I– I want your cock.” You stutter out, coming down from your orgasm.

“Oh yeah?” He asks caressing your thigh.

“Can you let my hands go, please?” You ask in the most begging-little-girl-voice you can.

The Mandalorian sighs out. “Sure...You’ve been a good girl.” He says taking your handcuffs off. You bring your hands down and sit up while you move your hair behind your ears. You take a deep breath and move your hand down to cup his bulge. You’re so turned on that you’ve completely forgotten why you’re here. All you want to do is release the Mandalorian’s cock and pleasure him the same way he did to you.

TO BE CONTINUED

The Payment Part Two

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Masterlist

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Taglist:

@pinkninja200 @raspberrymama @stevie75

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Lie to Me

Prompts: Post Pof: Janus is not doing ok, everday he can taste Roman's lies, he can feel Roman's pain. He can feel the ego crumbling. Guilt plagues him as hes done the opposite of protecting the ego. Hey uh... could you write a fic when you have the time? - meltheromanstan

Roman is having issues trying to keep up his facade (and maybe struggling with his work cause ADHD makes everything difficult on top of everything because I love the idea of the twins having ADHD) and he is one bump in the road away from a full on meltdown. And Janus realizes a lie in a conversation that’s concerning and at some point in Roman begrudgingly gives a self deprecating reason and Janus is like heck no and Roman’s like why not and Janus is like because i care? And then Roman breaks down because no one has told him anything like that in a long time. Sorry that’s so long. You can write this whenever, or never if you don’t wanna. Anygay, bye and thank you! - anon

Thank you for the requests! oh this poor man. roman i'm so sorry you didn't do anything to deserve this and here I am hurting you. I'm so sorry bb you need to be wrapped up with a hot chocolate and sat far away from everything.

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-hatred, self-doubt, poor roman’s got so much internalized hatred this poor man, some things that can be interpreted as self-harm but nothing explicit

Pairings: main focus on roceit but it can be platonic or romantic you decide, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR

Word Count: 10,554

Janus hears every single lie in the Mindscape. It doesn't matter whether or not the liar believes it to be true or knows it's a falsehood; if it isn't true, he hears it.

Roman lies. A lot.

Or: 5 times Janus had to hide that he was taking care of Roman, and 1 time he didn't.

1. 

They never gave Roman enough credit for how good of an actor he can be.

 The wedding is an absolute dumpster fire. The aftermath is a nuclear explosion. Roman sinks out in silence, long before the video is over. Virgil never shows up, neither does Remus. Logan is cut off before he can realize it.

 Well, that’s not true.

 Janus cuts Logan off before he can realize it.

 Because he didn’t care about them, no. Patton has the most influence over Thomas. Patton is the one who influences the other Sides more than they realize most of the time. And Patton is the one who needed to listen.

 So it didn’t matter that the others weren’t there when Janus had to talk to Patton and Thomas, because it worked. Thomas listened, Patton finally understood, and things could start getting better.

 …or so he thought.

 In fairness, the others came around…fairly quickly. He approached Logan with a book on philosophy and an apology on his lips, only to be swept up into a conversation that had drawn both Patton and Virgil into the living room by the end of the day. It felt…well, right isn’t the correct word, but…warm, perhaps. Yes, let’s go with warm.

 Of course, Remus belly-flopping onto the couch—and the rest of them—near the end was certainly an additional factor.

 But Roman…

 Janus didn’t expect Roman to forgive him. Certainly not quickly. He certainly expected Roman to forgive the others for whatever little parts they played in harming the prince’s precious ego. And he absolutely expected the prince to admit that he was wrong, that it was indeed his fault that everything had gone so spectacularly wrong.

 The first time Roman walks into the kitchen after the wedding, Janus flinches.

 Virgil notices and all but jumps in front of him, snarling a ‘what do you want?’ in Roman’s direction. Patton had turned around and his smile had frozen, staring at Roman.

 “Hello, Roman,” Logan says cooly, “may we help you?”

 “Yeesh, aren’t you lot jumpy this morning?” Roman shakes his head and sighs dramatically. “I am not here to grace you all with my glorious presence, simply to grab a little food and depart on a quest!”

 “Thank god,” Virgil mutters, too low for Roman to hear.

 He pushes Janus behind him as Roman waltzes into the kitchen to take something out of the cupboard.

 “…when will you be back,” Patton asks warily, “and where are you going?”

 “Into the Imagination, my dear Padre!” Roman spreads his arms wide. “To see where the spirit of adventure takes me!”

 “That answers only one of the questions.” Logan closes his notebook sharply.

 “Time is a social construct,” Roman says airily, “but I suppose I shall try to return for dinner?”

 “Don’t force yourself,” Virgil snarks, crossing his arms, “looks hard enough already.”

 Roman just laughs and leaves.

 “Goodness,” Patton mumbles, leaning on the counter, “I didn’t expect him to be so—so—“

 “Roman?” Virgil rolls his eyes. “Princey’s got a head bigger than a fucking balloon—“

 “Language.”

 “—and he’s not gonna come down to earth for anything.”

 “Roman is—or can be—remarkably immature when it comes to admitting his mistakes,” Logan adds, “it’s not to be completely unexpected that he is still in denial.”

 Patton sighs. “I know, I just…expected better.”

 “Don’t hold your breath,” Virgil huffs, “what about you, Janus? Are you hurt?”

 “I also noticed you flinch,” Logan says, standing, “are you alright? Did Roman…”

 “He didn’t hurt you, did he, kiddo?”

 No. No, Janus is absolutely fine right now.

 The instant Roman had appeared in the doorway, the lies slammed into Janus.

  They hate you, they never want to see you again.

  Everything is your fault.

  Virgil is right to try and shield Janus from you, you were so fucking cruel to him.

  They don’t deserve to be burdened with you.

  Leave. Leave so they never have to put up with you. You know they don’t want you.

  They’ve never wanted you.

 And yet, as clearly as he heard those lies, he heard Roman, the blustery, pompous Prince, loud as ever, spoiled as ever. He saw Roman, the swaggering adventurer, the cocky Creativity who was always right, always the center of attention.

 The actor.

 Janus had definitely given him enough credit for that.

 “Janus?”

 Right, they’re still waiting for an answer.

 “I’m fine,” he says, a beat too late, “just caught off guard, that’s all.”

 Virgil eyes him suspiciously. “You’re lying.”

 “Well of course I am,” Janus sighs, rolling his eyes, “it’s not like Deceit is one of my primary functions, after all.”

 “Kiddo,” Patton says, “you know you can tell us if Roman—if someone hurts you, right?”

 Something pinches just under his chin. “I know.”

 “…so?”

 He shakes his head. “Roman hasn’t hurt me, nor has he threatened to.”

 Virgil bumps his shoulder. “Just…keep us in the loop, okay?”

 “Because it’s very likely that Roman will hurt me.”

 The others chuckle or brush it off. Of course, they did. When they aren’t paying attention, Janus lets his gaze trail up the stairs, following the line where the prince vanished. The others have never paid much attention to when Roman returns from his ‘quests.’

 Janus does.

 Even if Janus weren’t consciously coming to the prince’s aid, he’s certain he’d be summoned regardless.

 He waits, quiet in the shadows, for the telltale squeak of the lower hinge on the red wardrobe door in Roman’s room. He’s learned to keep still, keep quiet, not yet fully materialized, watching as Roman stumbles back through the door, one of his arms sagging in relief as the other holds him up. The door creaks shut and a shuddering breath leaves the prince’s chest.

 His head bows.

 Before the charade completely falls away, Roman pushes himself up and starts getting ready to sleep. His sash, normally laid so carefully over the back of his chair, is given barely a second thought as he throws his costume onto the floor. Janus winces at the slam of the bathroom door and again at the way Roman all but collapses into the bed with a miserable expression on his face. He doesn’t need to pry away the pillow to know that Roman is desperate.

  Stupid, stupid, worthless prince.

  Not even a fucking prince, not even the fucking squire.

  Useless, can’t even do your fucking job.

  Can’t even stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself even though you know damn well you don’t deserve it.

  You don’t deserve anything.

 Janus grits his teeth and waits. Waits for Roman’s lies to grow less vitriolic, more sluggish, waits for Roman’s breathing to even out, sagging against the pillow, before he moves.

 His footsteps are silent as he crosses the room, keeping a wary eye on the door, lest someone else knock and wake up the now sleeping prince. He swallows, leaning down, his lips barely brushing the curve of Roman’s ear.

 He doesn’t touch, doesn’t want to risk waking him now.

 “You’re not stupid, Roman,” he whispers, barely loud enough to be heard, even by himself. “You’re not worthless, you’ve never been worthless.”

 Roman shifts in his sleep. Janus freezes. He stills and he breathes out. Bends just a little closer.

 “And you deserve to know that.”

 Even if he can only even whisper it when Roman is too deep in sleep to hear him.

 2. 

The lies don’t stop. They just get worse.

 Fortunately, Janus’s powers aren’t limited by the physical space, not when the lies are particularly pervasive. For example, every time Logan insists that he doesn’t have feelings, or Virgil insists he doesn’t care about the others, or Patton says—particularly passionately—that everything’s fine, Janus hears it. These ones typically merit a scoff and a roll of the eyes, or a quip if he’s actually in the same room. These ones he’s used to.

 Here’s the thing about the lies that Janus can hear; it doesn’t matter whether or not they’re lies that someone knows is a lie or whether it’s something they believe. If it isn’t true, Janus will hear it.

 Case in point: Roman’s lies, and the lies that took Janus far too long to figure out were lies.

 When he decides to tune into Roman’s mind, he’s normally greeted with statements lauding about how amazing the prince is, how he’s the best Side, how much he loves himself. Even when he’s not paying particular attention to Roman, he can hear those sentiments loud and clear.

 The issue with that? He can hear them loud and clear.

 Now, is it likely that these are things that Roman believes that aren’t true? The possibility exists.

 Is it more likely, given recent…developments, that these are things that Roman has known aren’t true, and is intentionally thinking them in order to keep playing a role?

 No, of course not, why would you ever think that?

 They won’t go away. He can barely look at Roman now, can’t stop seeing, hearing all the lies he tells himself every day. The others are starting to worry, growing colder towards Roman, concerned about how much Janus tries to put distance between them. Virgil keeps shoving himself in between the two of them, Logan keeps pulling Janus into long conversations that Roman wouldn’t dare insert himself into, Patton makes sure the two of them are never alone.

 Well, almost never alone.

 The lies are the worst at night. When Roman is in his room, curled up under the covers, his head buried in his hands, they roam freely, coloring the red curtains with shadows, smearing themselves over his paintings, his drawings, his writing, his keyboard.

  They’re right to be scared of you, right to hate you.

  You don’t deserve their forgiveness, especially when you haven’t even apologized for the amount of things you’ve done wrong.

  And you’re selfish enough to want a fucking apology from them?

 Janus, waiting in the corner for Roman to fall asleep, winces, the strength and magnitude of the lie filling his mouth with bitterness.

 Does he deserve an apology from Roman? Yes, perhaps, that would be nice. Laughing at his name in a moment of vulnerability was…perhaps not ideal.

 But the idea that Roman doesn’t deserve an apology? From any of them?

 Roman, the only one who consistently defers and gives and tries and hopes for them, the one who works nonstop to make sure they have something, anything to do, for Thomas, for each other, the only one who’s called out to apologize to them, who apologizes to them when he realizes he’s done something wrong?

 Roman deserves an apology. If only to make up for the amount of times he’s been blamed for something that someone else started.

 A noise.

 Janus blinks, coming back to the present as Roman stirs. For a moment, he worries that the prince has woken up, that he’s discovered someone else in his room, only for a trail of sluggish lies to funnel into his mind.

  Janus hates you more than anyone else and he’s right to.

  You hurt Janus on purpose.

  You never stop hurting Janus.

  You will always be someone he can use, a puppet, until you are nothing more than an obstacle.

 Before he can stop himself, he’s striding across the room to murmur in Roman’s ear again, chest aching with the weight of the lies.

 “The others,” he murmurs, flooding the words with as much sincerity as he can, “they don’t know what I can hear, what they have never noticed, and that is what hurts me, my prince, that you are so quiet and so brave that you can convince the world that you’re not suffering.”

 Roman clutches his pillow a little tighter.

 “I don’t hate you, my prince, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me like that, and I know—“ he takes a deep breath— “I know that the hurt you caused me is nothing compared to what I have done to you.”

 He closes his eyes and feels the guilt well up in his chest. He knows he can’t say the full apology that Roman needs—that he deserves right now. He can’t even begin to imagine all the little things he hasn’t even realized he’s done to Roman, how many things he’s done that he’s forgotten that were just another Tuesday to him, but rewrote entire chapters of Roman’s life.

 He can’t begin to imagine how much of this could’ve been stopped if only he’d realized just how hurt Roman has always been.

 “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m sorry that I never realized how far I let this get.”

 3. 

Roman is touch-starved, he realized, horrified one day when he walks into the living room to see Logan and Patton sitting on the couch, Virgil sprawled across their laps, and Roman in the corner, far away from everyone else, hiding such a look of heartbreak that Janus almost stops in the doorway as Remus brushes past him.

 “Hey!” Virgil splutters when Remus lies down on top of him.

 “Remus!” Patton pushes lightly at him. “You’re going to squish Virgil!”

 “He’s durable, he’s used to it.”

 Logan raises his eyebrows, looking to Janus for confirmation. Janus sighs.

 “I can remember every single time I’ve walked into our living room to see the two of them on the couch,” he says dryly, “and I’m certain that all of them have started with Remus asking Virgil’s permission to lie on top of him for hours.”

 “See?” Remus wraps his arms around Virgil. “He’s fine.”

 “Yeah, yeah, Pat and L’s knees won’t be though.”

 “Ooh! Did you know that some people have a third bone in their knee?”

 “I would be more than happy to follow this train of conversation,” Logan mutters, “if you were to get off my lap.”

 “Fine.”

 Janus shakes his head again as Remus clambers off, landing cross-legged next to Logan on the couch and immediately info-dumping. Virgil sighs and scoots, laying his head in Patton’s lap and going back to his phone. Patton runs his hand through Virgil’s hair and wiggles his free hand at Janus.

 “Come on, there’s plenty of room.”

 Remus snorts, interrupting his tirade long enough to say: “Jan-Jan’s not a cuddler,” before going back to talking about…something to do with knees. Patton frowns.

 “What?”

 “’S true.” Virgil peers up at him. “He’ll hug you if you ask for it but he’s not big on cuddling.”

 “O-oh.”

 “He should still come sit with us, though,” Virgil says quickly, shooting Janus a very subtle look, “so get over here, J.”

 Janus sits, pulling out his book and opening it. After a few seconds, Patton looks away, and Virgil tunes out again.

 Good.

 The lies were getting a little too hard to stand.

 Here, behind his book, he can shift his attention to Roman, scribbling in his notebook and looking every bit the creative genius at work, dead to the world, couldn’t give less interest as to what’s going on around him.

 As he said, Roman is a fantastic actor.

 This time, it’s not even that the words are the thing hurting him now. No, these lies are the type he’s more used to, someone frantically muttering the same thing to themselves over and over and over, trying to convince themselves it’s true. The problem is what’s being carried with the lies, and how deep this need must run in order for it to make it to Janus.

  I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it.

 Roman’s hand is trembling a little on his pen as his brow furrows, eyes skating back and forth over the page. The ache starts just under his chin, right where it meets his throat, and surges, rushing through his arms to the very tips of his fingers. All of them, even the hidden ones. His gloves twitch on the pages of the book.

 He’s so cold.

  I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it.

 The words start to blur together. It hurts. His arms ache. He risks looking more openly at Roman only for him to notice, looking back and quirking an eyebrow.

 “Something wrong, Deceit?”

 “He has a name,” Virgil growls.

 “Janus,” Roman amends, shooting Virgil a glance, “is there something wrong?”

 “Why’re you over there?”

 He meant to ask why Roman wasn’t sitting with the other Sides. He meant to ask whether Roman chose to sit by himself and starve himself of physical contact or if the others had cut him off. He meant to ask if Roman wanted to come to sit with the rest of them.

 Instead, Roman smiles.

 “You’re right. It’s getting quite late. I must be off!”

 Before Janus can say anything, Roman assumes his dramatic pose and sinks out, cheerily declaring his farewells.

 Next to him, Patton lets out a shaky breath.

 “Goodness.”

 Logan adjusts his glasses. “Quite.”

 “Thanks, Janus,” Virgil mutters, making himself more comfortable, “I thought he’d never leave.”

 No.

 No, no, no, this is all wrong.

 “Why did you want him to leave?”

 Virgil shrugs. “It’s harder when he’s here.”

 “Harder how?”

 “We do not know how to act around Roman,” Logan admits, fixing his tie, “he’s not—well, he seems content to behave as if nothing is wrong, and…”

 “It’s not,” Patton says softly. He fiddles with his hands. “We can’t go back to the way it was before, and Roman…Roman doesn’t seem to know how to move on.”

 Virgil snorts. “Not that he seems to care enough to try.”

 Well, if the lies still plaguing Roman’s thoughts are any indication…

  Why would they want to touch you? You ruin everything you touch, haven’t you ruined enough already? Haven’t you ruined them enough already?

  They’re done trying with you. They hate you. It’s a wonder they only realize it now.

  Broken, useless, toxic prince. Finally left out in the cold where you deserve to be.

 Roman curls up under his thin sheet, the heavy blankets put away for the colder seasons too far away and too close to Patton’s room for him to get them safely. Janus watches as he twitches miserably, curling up tighter, turning over, hugging his pillow to his chest, trying, trying to feel warm. Every now and then there’s a quiet noise, quickly stifled. His arms start to ache again, not just from the cold, but from how much Roman seems to believe that no one wants to touch him.

 He makes up his mind.

 He sinks out to his room, quickly grabbing one of his weighted blankets from his own storage. Returning to Roman’s room, he waits with bated breath until Roman’s chest rises and falls at a steady rate before carefully creeping forward and spreading the blanket over the prince.

 “Don’t make yourself cold,” he murmurs, tucking it into place, “stay warm for me, my prince, stay warm, it’s alright.”

 Roman shifts, turning his head so it accidentally brushes Janus’s hand.

 Janus freezes.

 Roman hums slightly and falls back asleep. Shaking, Janus moves his fingers, letting them card through Roman’s hair. The prince mumbles and doesn’t wake.

 He does it again, firmer this time. Roman all but melts under this, just this, just a proper blanket over him and someone running their fingers through his hair.

 “Oh, Roman,” Janus murmurs, unable to resist cupping Roman’s face in his hand, “you’re don’t ruin everything you touch, far from it.”

 He cups the back of Roman’s head, guiding it to a more comfortable angle.

 “On the contrary,” he whispers, “you make us better.”

 And maybe…maybe he can try and provide a little of what Roman needs. Even if they have to be stolen moments, felt only on the very edges of sleep, when Roman is conscious enough to remember them but not lucid enough to lie and say he doesn’t deserve it.

 4. 

The time when Roman barely managed to stumble through the door in his room before passing out is the only time Janus seriously considers calling the others to help.

 But no, he reminds himself as he rushes to the prince’s side, they would want to wake him up, to scold him, to figure out exactly what he thought he was doing, whether or not he’s considered whether this is hurting Thomas.

 Janus bites back a growl as he starts examining the prince.

 Perhaps if they were so concerned about whether or not hurting Roman hurts Thomas, they’d be more considerate about what they say to him.

 He pushes that away for now, more focused on getting Roman’s tight collar away from his neck and checking the state of his bruises. From what he can see from the dirt on the costume, he’s fallen, from quite a significant height, and who knows what else might be hiding under here?

 “I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he looks around for something to help, “but I may have to peel you out of these.”

 Sure enough, he can get most of the costume top off fairly easily—and gains a newfound respect for how difficult it must be to put the thing on by himself, there are so many buttons—but the undershirt proves more difficult, especially as it seems to be stuck in places that it should not be stuck in.

 …oh.

 Oh, no.

 Janus bites back a curse and moves quickly. One arm reaches for the first aid kit he knows is in the bathroom, one arm grabs a pillow and stuffs it under Roman’s head, two gently move his arms up and over his head, and two carefully, carefully take the edge of the undershirt and beginning to take it off.

 He presses a gauze pad to the wound over Roman’s hip.

 He holds an ice pack to the swollen lump on his rib cage.

 He checks over the wound on his chest.

 He tilts Roman’s head from side to side to see how far up the bruises go.

 The pants have to come next and Janus grits his teeth, running his hand over Roman’s forehead as an apology before he shucks the article of clothing.

 More bruises. So many bruises. Thankfully no more bleeding wounds.

 He lets out a breath and sits back on his haunches, staring down at the injured prince.

 The best thing about it, he decides, is that there’s no way for Roman to know that he would’ve been safe passing out and not taking care of any of these.

 The wound on his hip has all but stopped bleeding as Janus tends to it carefully, wiping away the blood and soothing the angry skin with a balm, covering the whole thing with a bandage. The mark on his chest isn’t as bad as it looks, bits of dead skin that Janus clears away and brushes off Roman’s torso. The antiseptic makes him hiss a little and he rubs soothing circles into his tummy until he resettles, murmuring that he’s doing so well, he’s almost done, they’ll get him into bed and he can rest.

 None of the bruises on his legs are bad enough to merit bruise cream, let alone keeping the poor thing from his bed for a moment longer. Instead, Janus quickly covers the one on his ribs and lifts the prince into his arms.

 Roman jolts.

 “Shh, shh,” Janus murmurs, stroking a free hand through his hair, “shh, shh, shh…”

 Roman shushes, just in time for Janus to lie him down and tuck him in, one hand still in his hair as he sits on the edge of the bed. A furrow grows between his brows.

  Should’ve gotten hurt worse.

 Janus freezes.

  Should’ve let them hit you more.

  Got off too easy.

  It should hurt more. You deserve it. Maybe if you pay enough it’ll get better.

 “No, sweetie,” Janus whispers, reaching out before he can stop himself and cradling Roman’s sleeping head in his hands, “no, no, no, don’t ever believe that we want to see you hurt.”

  Shouldn’t have come back.

  Shouldn’t be a burden.

  At least none of the others know about it, they would only complain and ignore you. Useless, worthless prince.

 “You’re not worthless, sweetie,” Janus promises, still cradling the poor thing’s head, running his fingers through his hair to keep him lulled and asleep, “shh, now, everything’s alright, hush now…”

 As the lies drift off into nothingness, Roman along with them, Janus’s face falls.

 Roman is the protector. The prince that will always put himself between them and whatever dared to try and hurt them. He’s not meant to fight a war on two fronts.

  Who protects the protector?

 “I will, sweetie,” Janus whispers, so, so quietly as he tidies up Roman’s room and gives the sleeping prince one last pat, “I’ll look after you.”

 5. 

Roman, perhaps more than any of the others, is essential to Thomas’s mental help.

 Roman is Thomas’s hopes and dreams, the things he wants above all else, the things he strives for, the things he desires. He reaches and reaches and reaches for Thomas, holds every single one of his wants close to his chest, and keeps them safe until they can bubble up into reality.

 Roman is romance, the reason Patton gets all fluttery and bubbly inside. He’s the suave, fabulous, gay disaster that encourages Thomas to be happy, to reach for who he wants, for who he desires.

 Roman is creativity, the livelihood that Thomas has chosen. He works nonstop, tirelessly producing idea after idea for Thomas to film, to write, to create, so Thomas can live and be proud of what he’s doing.

 Roman is the Ego.

 What is the Ego, you may ask? Well, although Freud is largely considered bullshit by modern psychologists—or at the very least, upsetting due to the fact that his research was largely corrupted by the rich men funding it—there are certain aspects of his work that remain in the public mind.

 Simply put, the Ego is the conscious mind. It is the sum of your thoughts, beliefs, and habits as they interact with your physical body. The tether that stretches into your awareness and consciousness and into your physical form. It is a combination of body-thoughts-feelings and the consciousness taken to activate it.

 The Ego gives you a sense of self-worth. It is a mask, one you put on and play as a role.

 Everyone and anyone, it seems, has been warned about the dangers of an out-of-control Ego. Overconfident, hubristic, arrogant, with no regard for others. A vapid complainer, sustained by the power of approval hoarded selfishly. You are encouraged, if not instructed outright, to learn how to live without paying any attention to your Ego.

 Here’s what they don’t tell you.

 The Ego is what you think of yourself. It gives you self-worth because that’s its job. To make you feel secure in who you are. It is sustained by approval because it lives in fear. It itself puts on a mask of strength, of imperviousness, that it is indestructible, because it is soft, malleable, and so very afraid.

 It is true that the Ego is nourished by positive comments, because it isn’t a crime to feel good, or to feel proud, or to want to be validated. It is true that the Ego sometimes reaches too high, only to fall, because that is its nature, to want, and to hope.

 They don’t tell you that when you turn your hatred inwards, your Ego doesn’t just bruise, it crumbles.

 So when Logan constantly tells Roman that they can’t do something, or it isn’t a worthy use of their time, despite his best intentions, he’s not doing much other than snatching Roman’s dreams away. Roman learns not to ignore Logan, yes, but at the expense of constantly being told that it is his fault when Thomas feels crushed, never mind that Roman is crushed, too.

 So when Virgil insults and belittles his worth, tells him he’s stupid and unimportant, despite the fact that Roman will snipe back at him, all he does is reinforce the idea that Roman is the only one at fault, that Virgil is allowed to sit and insult him to his heart’s content while Roman has to apologize for standing up for himself. Roman learns to stand quietly while Virgil tells Thomas he’s a disappointment until the time comes where he believes it’s true.

 So when Patton decides that Roman is bad, after how much Roman has sacrificed for Patton, to do what would make Patton happy, Thomas happy, when all he needs is just someone on his side, something, anything, Roman has to stand there, alone, hurt, angry, upset, and be told that he’s wrong. Roman learns that he’s only here to give, not to receive, that no one will hold him when he falls apart.

 So when Remus starts to show up, more and more, less and less restrained, no one puts it together that Roman literally does not have the strength to hold him back. Roman learns that the others don’t realize how little confidence he already has, only that their approval of him is directly proportional to how much they hate his brother.

 So when Janus decides that Thomas needs to take better care of himself and that the only one he needs to focus on is Patton, Roman is the perfect tool, the perfect puppet, to be used and tossed aside when he no longer needs him, because it’s so easy to twist and turn the little prince so he dances in just the right way, never mind how much it hurts. Roman learns that no one ever cared about him, not really, and perhaps they never will.

 As you might be able to imagine, destroying the thing that gives one self-worth is absolutely the best way to go about things.

 Can any of you guess where the blame gets pushed when Thomas’s mental health suddenly plummets?

 It’s definitely where it should be.

 The thing that scares Janus the most about how that meeting goes is how resigned Roman is.

 His hands are folded neatly behind his back. His face is politely blank. His mind is quiet.

 When there’s a break in the conversation—if you could even call it that—he opens his mouth.

 “What would you like me to do?”

 “Have you not been listening?” Logan adjusts his glasses. “To…anything we have said?”

 “Of fucking course he hasn’t,” Virgil grumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets.

 “Kiddo,” Patton admonishes, crossing his arms, “Thomas hasn’t had any ideas or dreams lately and it’s stressing him out.”

 “Which means you need to get out of the pity party and back to reality with the rest of us,” Virgil adds.

 “Which means,” Logan sighs, crossing his arms too, “you are going to have to start talking to us again.”

 Roman looks between them. “Are we not…talking now?”

 “He means actually interacting with us, Princey.”

 “Have I…not been doing that?”

 “It means accepting that things have changed,” Logan snaps, “and working through it.”

 Roman tilts his head. “How would you like me to do that?”

 “Well—“ Logan adjusts his glasses— “let’s start with an apology.”

 Something flickers across Roman’s face. Janus looks back and forth between Thomas and Remus. Thomas just looks a little confused as to what’s going on—which, when doesn’t he?—and Remus is staring right at Roman. There’s a strange expression on his face.

 “What would you like me to apologize for?”

 Janus winces when Virgil scoffs, turning away, and Logan’s mouth hardens into a thin line.

 “Why don’t you try starting,” Patton says, “and we’ll see.”

 “No, you know what? No.” Virgil points a finger at Roman. “I’m done holding your hand through all of this. Waiting for you to realize that you fucked up.”

 “Virgil—“

 “No, Pat!” Virgil gestures between the three of them. “You know how hard it’s been on us, waiting for something to change, and now he wants us to just…what, walk him through what he did wrong?”

 Patton spares a glance at Roman before looking away.

 Roman’s face twitches. He looks down.

 “Perhaps Virgil is right,” Logan says, “when Roman can try taking the first step, then maybe this conversation will be more productive. Until then, I see no reason to waste time.”

 “Great. Bye, Thomas.”

 “Wait, you guys are just leaving?”

 “I see no reason to simply stand here and be unproductive,” Logan shrugs, “perhaps if something changes, you can summon us back.”

 “Doubt it,” Virgil mutters, grabbing Logan’s shoulder and sinking them out. Patton spares one last look at Roman before he leaves too.

 Thomas shuffles a little. Remus keeps staring at Roman.

 After a moment, Roman moves.

 “…you want me to apologize?”

 Janus definitely imagines the chill that goes through the room.

 Roman raises his head. He does not look at where Patton stood, he does not look at where Virgil stood, he does not look at where Logan stood.

 He looks directly at Thomas.

 “I’m sorry, Thomas.”

 Thomas splutters. “Roman—“

 “I’m sorry that I sent you to the wedding,” Roman says softly, Thomas’s words dying in his throat, “I’m sorry that I made a decision that I thought you wanted. I’m sorry that I tried to put your friends above your own wants, because I thought that was right. I’m sorry that I thought I was doing what was right.”

 Thomas’s eyes go wide.

 “I’m sorry that you never had faith that you would win the callback,” Roman continues, never once looking away from Thomas, “I’m sorry that your dreams are always too far away, that you must always feel the need to crush them in favor of what is more practical. I’m sorry that you constantly feel like you’re set up to be one big disappointment.”

 Janus’s arms drop in shock.

 “I’m sorry that I can’t do what you want,” and by this point, Thomas looks on the verge of tears, “even though that’s supposed to be my job. I’m sorry that nothing I do is ever good enough on its own, that you feel so afraid, so scared of doing the things you want. I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel even the tiniest bit of my fear.”

 Thomas stifles a noise.

 “I’m sorry that I don’t know things.” Roman chuckles sadly. “I’m sorry that it takes me so much time to figure out what to do. I’m sorry that it always feels like everyone’s one step ahead of me, that you have to wait for me to catch up, even though I never, ever do. I’m sorry for not sticking to the plan.”

 Something heavy presses against Janus’s throat.

 “And I’m sorry that I’m hurt. I’m sorry that it’s been a little too much for me to handle. I’m sorry that my pain is an inconvenience to you.”

 “R-Roman—“

 Roman just smiles sadly when Thomas can’t finish the sentence. He spreads his arms, giving a little gesture to himself.

 “I’m sorry that this is your Ego.”

 Janus sees the moment the horrified realization dawns on Thomas’s face.

 “I’m gonna fucking kill them,” Remus snarls and it’s only years of practice that makes Janus’s reflexes fast enough to catch hold of him before he sinks out. “Let me go!”

 “You can’t hurt them,” Janus grunts, “you know you can’t.”

 “Fucking watch me!”

 “No, no, Remus,” Thomas splutters, “don’t—don’t do that.”

 “Why the fuck not?” Remus snarls, spittle flying from his lips as he struggles against Janus’s hold. “You heard what Roman just said, they—they—“

 “We did it too, Remus,” Janus says softly, glancing at Roman, “we’re not blameless either.”

 Remus keeps struggling. “Let—me—“

 “Remus.”

 Roman’s soft voice still the duke entirely, his head whipping around. Roman just stares at him, resignation and acceptance written plainly on his features.

 “It’s not fair, Ro,” he mumbles.

 “Life isn’t fair.”

 “I—I can summon them back, we can get them back, they can listen to you—“

 “But they won’t,” Roman cuts off in the same soft fury, “they won’t listen to me.”

 “Roman, they love you!”

 Janus winces. Roman just turns to look at him. He can’t meet his eyes.

 “Maybe,” Roman says eventually, “maybe not. Either way…”

 He spreads his hands.

 “Here we are.”

 “Let me go, Jan.”

 “If I do, will you stay?”

 “Fine.”

 Janus lets him go, only for Remus to lunge and wrap his brother in a tight hug. Roman stands there, immobile, until Remus lets out a howl. Roman just murmurs another soft ‘I’m sorry,' and sinks out.

 Remus collapses to the floor, his Morningstar cupped in his hands.

 “What—what just happened?”

 “The twins share things,” Janus murmurs quietly, his eyes still on Remus, “including emotions when they are particularly strong.”

 “So—“ Thomas shakes his head— “so Remus is feeling what Roman’s feeling?”

 “No,” Remus snarls, still gripping the weapon tightly, “I’m feeling what Roman isn’t feeling.”

 He stands up, eyes blazing.

 “I am what Roman isn’t. To you. What Roman isn’t, I am. Which means—“ his knuckles turn white— “the fact that I’m feeling so strongly right now means that Roman isn’t.”

 Thomas goes pale. “What?”

 “Roman is numb,” Janus says quietly, “he’s closed himself off from…everything. To protect himself.”

 “It means my brother, the good Creativity, passion, desire, romance, hopes and dreams, whatever you want to call him,” Remus growls, “is now numb, touch-starved, and too afraid of rejection to reach out for anything.”

 “What do I do,” Thomas asks frantically, “how do we fix this?”

 “You can let me kill the others.”

 “No, Remus.”

 “Talk to them,” Janus suggests instead, “I’m not sure they realize what Roman being the Ego means.”

 Thomas nods. “Okay, we can do that. Should we do that…now?”

 Janus opens his mouth to respond only for something very familiar to trickle into his mind, along with an all-too-familiar tug.

  Stupid, useless, worthless, toxic, dumb, unimportant, bad, can’t do anything right, selfish, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong—

 “Not now,” he manages, “get some rest. You need it.”

 Thomas nods tiredly. Remus just gives him a look that says ‘you’d better not fuck this up’ and leaves, probably to go work out some of his aggression on creatures in the Imagination.

 Janus sinks straight into Roman’s room and his heart breaks.

 Roman is on the floor, pieces of his prince costume thrown haphazardly around him, sobbing hysterically. It’s so loud that for a moment, Janus worries that someone else will come, trying to figure out what’s wrong, before he’s hit with another wave of lies.

  Broken broken broken broken broken broken broken broken wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless—

 He aches.

 Because he knows he can’t do anything while Roman’s awake. He’d never let him close, never let him see this. A sick feeling crawls into Janus’s stomach at the thought of invading Roman’s privacy like this but it wars with the knowledge that he’d be summoned anyway, and that Roman is falling apart.

 So he has to wait.

 Watching as Roman falls apart, believing himself unloved, unwanted, and unseen.

 Slowly, far too slowly, the harsh sobs morph into softer cries, then sniffles, then Roman stills, slumping on the carpet as his breathing evens out. Tears of his own threaten the corners of Janus’s eyes.

 The poor thing cried himself to sleep.

 But as he moves closer, reaching out a hand to stroke back his hair, he lets out a coo before he can stop himself when he sees more tears.

 The poor thing cried himself to sleep and kept crying.

 “Oh, sweetie,” Janus whispers, moving to cradle him as gently as he can without waking him, “sweetie you come here, shh, shh, honey, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.”

 He lifts the poor prince into his arms, moving swiftly to the bed and laying him down, tucking him in protectively and running his fingers through his hair.

 “It’s okay, sweetie, you’re safe now, it’s okay, you’re safe…” He settles Roman’s head on the pillow. “Shh, shh, shh, that’s it, shh…”

 Sleep-clumsy fingers curl around his arms. Oh. Oh, dear. Well…

 “Oh, sweetie, are you—do you want me to stay?” Janus tries to pull away a bit only for Roman to grumble and hang on. “Oh—okay, sweetie, I’ll stay, just—just a moment.”

 He snaps the fingers on a free hand and changes into something softer, something he can sleep in, something Roman can hold and cuddle. He slides into bed next to him, only to be immediately cuddled by a sleeping, still crying Roman.

 “Shh, sweetie,” he whispers, nuzzling Roman’s head, “I’m right here, I’m not leaving, I won’t leave you.”

 Roman mumbles something and snuggles into Janus’s chest. He makes another comforting noise at the evidence of more tears.

 “It’s gonna be okay, sweetie, I promise, I’ll look after you, I’ll take care of you.”

 And when Roman lets out a little cry, still asleep, he breaks, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

 Roman melts.

 “Oh, sweetie…”

 Janus spoils him with kisses, across his forehead, down his tear-stained cheeks, running his hands through his hair, down his arms, over his back, soothing a particularly painful hitch with a hand on his tummy, rubbing gently until he lapses back into a peaceful sleep. He buries his face in Roman’s hair and holds him tight.

 He swallows heavily, guilt and concern warring in his throat.

 “I don’t want you to think,” he begins carefully, “that I’m only apologizing because I feel guilty over seeing you hurt and that it’s my fault.”

 He tightens his grip on the sleeping prince.

 “I am sorry, Roman,” he whispers with his lips against Roman’s forehead as if to speak the truth into the prince’s dreams, “for all the hurt I have caused you. For using and manipulating you, for dismissing you and letting you think you were useless, and for letting the others make you believe you were so unlovable.”

 He shudders, his breath coming out shaky.

 “But mostly…” he swallows, “mostly I’m sorry that I won’t be brave enough to say that to you when you’re awake.”

 +1.

Janus blinks. There’s sunlight coming in through the curtains.

 His room definitely has curtains.

 Oh. Right. He’s in Roman’s room.

 Shit, he’s still in Roman’s room.

 He’s fallen asleep, he realizes, in Roman’s bed, with Roman cuddled protectively to his chest, after the poor thing had sobbed himself to sleep in the aftermath of that awful, awful meeting.

 Unconsciously, he goes to tighten his grip on the sleeping prince before realizing that he should be doing the opposite.

 He should leave. Now. Before Roman wakes up and sees him.

 He definitely wants to be around for that conversation.

 So, despite the ache in his stomach at the thought of leaving Roman alone right now, he grits his teeth and starts trying to disentangle himself from Roman, despite Roman’s best efforts to cling onto him. If he weren’t so afraid of the consequences of getting caught, he’d find it adorable.

 Okay, maybe he still finds it adorable.

 But Roman’s so soft when he sleeps, so lovely, so unabashed at chasing what he wants. He clings to Janus’s shirt with clumsy fingers, burbles soft noises of protest when Janus’s warmth leaves his side.

 “Come on, sweetie,” Janus coaxes, gently prying Roman’s fingers off, “let me go, you don’t want me to be here when you wake up.”

 “Mmno.”

 “You say that now…” He still won’t let go. “Come on, sweetie, let me go…”

 He leans down to press a kiss to his cheek, hoping Roman will melt and he can escape.

 “That’s it, just go back to sleep, sweetie,” he murmurs, his voice low and hypnotic, carding his fingers through his hair and kissing his forehead, “sleep, sleep, sleep…”

 “Stay,” comes the sleepy little mumble, its voice still lost in the dream, “take care ‘f me.”

 The earnest plea brings a sad little smile to Janus’s face.

 “If you knew who I was,” he whispers, “you wouldn’t ask that.”

 Roman opens his eyes and stares right at him.

 Janus freezes, his hands still caught in Roman’s hair, Roman’s hands still gripping his shirt.

 “Stay,” Roman repeats, his tongue thick with sleep but awake, “don’t run away this time.”

 This time?

 Oh.

  Oh.

  Oh, no.

 Janus swallows. “How long—“

 “You said you didn’t hate me,” Roman mumbles, still tugging on Janus’s shirt to get him back, “and that it hurt more that the others didn’t realize.”

 “You were supposed to be asleep.”

 “You were supposed to hate me.” Roman tugs harder. “Come back.”

 Janus gets slowly back into position, letting Roman cling to him like a child with a teddy bear. Without permission, his own arms wrap around the sleepy prince, and Roman all but purrs.

 “We c’n talk later,” the prince mumbles, already drifting back to sleep, “but stay. Want you to stay.”

 And…well, if it’s the first time Roman’s asked for something he wants in god knows how long, what else is Janus supposed to do but obey?

 “Alright, sweetie, I’m right here,” he murmurs, curling his arms tightly around the poor prince, “do you want to try and go back to sleep?”

 “Mm.”

 But his eyes don’t drift closed. Instead, they stay glassily alert, one hand fisted loosely in the slack of Janus’s shirt.

 “Sweetie,” Janus calls after a little, “do you want to change into something easier to sleep in?”

 He lifts one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug.

 “Can I help?”

 Another shrug. Janus tucks a loose piece of hair behind Roman’s ear, snapping his fingers to put the costume on the mannequin in the closet and replace it with a soft red shirt and boxers. He presses another kiss to Roman’s forehead and ruffles his hair.

 “Why don’t you hate me?”

 Janus frowns, pulling Roman closer. “How could I hate you?”

 He holds a finger gently up to the prince’s lips before the lies can fill Roman’s head again.

 “Let me rephrase: I don’t hate you, Roman, I promise.”

 Roman’s disbelief is palpable. “But why?”

 ...maybe he is going to have to do this.

 “I can hear lies,” he murmurs, “whenever someone says them or thinks them. If they’re not true, I’ll hear it. No, no—stay here, sweetie, shh, I’m not angry, I’m not disappointed. I can hear them when you tell yourself that you’re worthless, or toxic, or that we all hate you.”

 He lifts Roman’s chin gently.

 “They’re lies, sweetie, that’s why I can hear them. You’re not worthless, you’re not toxic.”

 Roman whimpers.

 “You’re not broken,” he continues softly, holding him still, “you’re not hard to love, we don’t hate you.”

 He cups Roman’s face and pulls him in to rest their foreheads together.

 “And I care about you, sweetie, so, so much.”

 Roman’s breath shudders warmly on his cheeks.

 “Shh, shh, oh, come here, sweetie—there you go, you can cry, honey, I’ve got you, I’m right here, shh, shh...”

 The weight of the prince’s tears drying on his collar makes it hard to swallow. He tugs the blankets closer around them and lets Roman cling onto him as he cries.

 “I know you don’t believe me,” he whispers as familiar lies start to drift across, “but it’s true, sweetie. It’s true, it’s true, I promise. I’m here to take care of you.”

 “I’m—I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor—sorry—“

 “Shh-shh-shh, don’t apologize to me, sweetie, you don’t have to apologize, I’m right here, I’m not angry, nothing’s so bad.”

 “I’m sorry.”

 Janus hushes him gently with a kiss to his cheek. “I know you are...even though you don’t have to be, not like this.”

 His chest aches when Roman won’t stop burbling apologies.

 “Roman.” He takes the prince’s face firmly in his hands. “Roman, look at me.”

 Roman’s glassy eyes fixate on Janus’s face.

 “I forgive you, my prince,” he says, “I forgive you.”

 Roman’s mouth stills.

 “If that is what you need to hear,” he continues, softening his grip, “I forgive you, my prince.”

 “You...you do?”

 “I don’t want you to think that you need my forgiveness for me to love you,” Janus murmurs, “but yes, sweetie. I forgive you.”

 Roman collapses.

 Janus catches him. Of course, he catches him. He curls around his prince and murmurs sweet nothings, reassurances, anything he needs right now.

 It’s messy, it’s frantic, it’s desperate, it’s human.

 He can care for Roman while Roman lets himself be human. So he holds the poor thing while he cries himself out.

 He doesn’t cry himself to sleep again, thankfully, just enough to slump against Janus’s chest and huff.

 “Sorry.”

 “No need to apologize, that was long overdue.” He runs his knuckles up Roman’s back. “Can we get you something to drink?”

 Roman stiffens. “Does that mean going downstairs?”

 “No, sweetie. Come on...”

 He gets Roman seated on the edge of the bed with a glass of water in his hands. Roman drinks, blinking as Janus passes him a warm cloth, then a cool cloth, to clean his face.

 “What do they want me to do,” he asks after he’s finished the glass and the cloths are hanging over the laundry basket, “now?”

 Janus winces. Is he surprised? No.

 “Shh, sweetie, I’m not angry,” he soothes when Roman tenses, “I’m concerned. You’re still—you still need to take care of yourself first before you worry about everyone else.”

  But everyone else is worthy of the worrying, not me.

 Janus hisses gently. Roman just sighs.

 “It’s what you’ve told me,” he mumbles, “I don’t—I can’t just stop it.”

 “I’m not expecting you to be able to just stop it, sweetie, it’s going to take time, but part of it is going to be recognizing what’s not true.”

 “I know.”

 Janus opens his mouth to say something else when Roman gasps, his hand flying to his chest.

 “Sweetie? Sweetie, what is it?”

 “I’m—I’m being summoned.” Roman clutches his shirt, staring up at Janus. “Thomas—Thomas—“

 “I’ll go.” Janus gives Roman’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just wait here for me, sweetie, I’ll be right back.”

 He can still feel the warmth of Roman’s shoulder tingling under his palm as he appears in the living room.

 “I’m sure you have a wonderful reason for trying to summon Roman,” he drawls, raising an eyebrow at a Thomas.

 Thomas looks up from his computer. “We were still filming.”

 Janus stiffens. “You’re not thinking of trying to continue—“

 “What? No, no, I’m saying that while Roman was talking the camera was still rolling.” Thomas points to the screen. “Which means we have it. All of it.”

 Ah, now he sees where Thomas is going.

 “You want them to watch.”

 “They should, shouldn’t they?”

 Yes, a bitter part of Janus growls, they should see how badly they’ve made Thomas’s Ego crumble.

 “What do you think?”

 Thomas rolls his shoulders back. “I think up until Roman said...all of that, I didn’t think the others were wrong either.”

 He glances up at Janus.

 “Did you?”

 Janus huffs. “I don’t think we ever give Roman enough credit for how good of an actor he is.”

 With that, the whole sorry tale spills out of him. He doesn’t reveal the exact nature of the lies, just the broad swaths of them and how many there are. To Thomas’s credit, he deals with it better than Janus expected. That is, he doesn’t burst into tears.

 Thomas takes a deep breath.

 “...yeah, we’re watching this now.”

 “Right now?”

 “Answer me this,” Thomas says, looking up at him again, “where is Roman? Right now?”

 “...on his bed.” At Thomas’s pointed stare, he relents. “He’s not alright, Thomas, he hasn’t been for a very long time.”

 “Then yeah. Right now.”

 “Then I’m going to ask Roman if he wants to be here.”

 Thomas nods. “Can you—can you tell him I’m sorry?”

 “You can do that yourself when he’s ready to hear it.”

 Understandably, Roman does not want to be there. Janus wraps him tightly in the softest blankets he has, tucked up with a pillow and a glass of water nearby if he wants it, along with the reassurance that if Roman wants him back here, at any point, to call. He’ll listen.

 “Thank you.”

 Janus leaves him with one last squeeze, appearing in the living room with the others. Thomas is back to setting up the computer so they can all see the screen.

 “Thomas?” Logan adjusts his tie. “I was unaware we had something scheduled for today.”

 “We didn’t. Spur of the moment.”

 Remus shoots Janus a look. Janus nods. Remus shifts a little closer to him and his hand grips his Morningstar.

 “Is this about the video from yesterday?” Virgil looks around warily. “Or is it something else?”

 “It is about yesterday.”

 “Shouldn’t we...wait for Roman?”  Patton rubs the back of his neck. “He kinda—well, if we’re talking about yesterday—“

 “Roman’s not coming.” Thomas keeps fiddling with the computer.

 Logan raises an eyebrow. “Are we deciding how to film the video without Roman?”

 “No.” Thomas glances at Janus. Janus nods. Thomas looks back at the others. “Roman’s not coming because he doesn’t want to.”

 “What the fuck?”

 “Language, kiddo,” Patton mumbles halfheartedly.

 “Wait, so—“ Virgil doesn’t look so much as chided— “you’re just gonna let Princey throw his temper tantrum and not come work?”

 “How much attention were you guys paying to what happened after you sunk out yesterday?”

 “…not much, why?”

 In response, Thomas just pushes ‘play.’

 Their voices fill the room, telling Roman what he’s done wrong, why he’s holding all of them back, why he’s the source of all their problems. Lies, lies, and more lies. They get to the part where the other three sink out and Remus tightens his grip on the handle.

  “…you want me to apologize?”

 Virgil opens his mouth, presumably to make some quip, only to cut himself off with a strangled noise once Roman’s apologies begin.

 Janus watches with a sick sense of satisfaction as Patton’s hands fly to his mouth, eyes wide at the hopeless tone coming out of the computer. Next to him, Virgil goes rigid, borderline catatonic. He looks as if one little push would send him toppling over.

 He can’t see Logan’s face until Thomas stops the playback. It’s only when Logan takes his glasses off to clean them that he can see the tears on his cheeks.

 Thomas looks up at Janus.

 “Can you still hear them?”

 “The lies?” Thomas nods. “Yes.”

 There’s a moment of silence.

 “Roman is the Ego,” Logan whispers, mostly to himself, “Roman is the Ego. Of course…of course, I understand—I understand now.”

 “What does that mean?”

 Logan takes a deep breath and looks up at Patton. “It means that Roman is Thomas’s sense of self-worth, more or less, and that he—he takes the brunt of Thomas’s reactions to…any sort of feedback, more than any of us. Good or bad.”

 Virgil stifles a curse. “And we’ve taught him to hate himself.”

 “Quite.”

 “We—“ Patton takes a breath— “we need to apologize.”

 “We all do.” Thomas closes the computer and sets it aside. “I don’t…I don’t know how we do that, though.”

 “Breaking patterns of thinking is hard,” Logan says, “and…especially hard when you have been taught not to ask for help.”

 “But there has to be something!”

 “Touch-starved,” Virgil breaks in, staring at a spot on the carpet, “Roman’s touch-starved.”

 Janus raises an eyebrow.

 “…when I was still having trouble,” Virgil says after a moment of them all looking at him, “Roman—Roman would just come and ask me if I wanted to—to—“

 He hunches his shoulders.

 “Sometimes it’d be a hug. Sometimes he’d sit next to me and—and lean on me. Sometimes he’d just—you know, with the forehead thing—“

 “Bonk.”

 They all turn to Logan, who has…a surprising flush to his cheeks.

 “Roman said that he—he wanted to be able to express affection for me and not disturb my work,” he manages, “so we…came up with a solution.”

 Patton blinks. “Is that why Roman will just walk up to you and bonk his forehead against yours?”

 “Yes.”

 “Huh.”

 “That’s adorable,” Thomas says quietly, “that’s—wait, hang on, that’s really adorable.”

 “It was Roman’s idea.” Logan swallows. “Most of his ideas are good.”

 “Yeah,” Thomas says, “maybe we should try telling him that next time.”

 Janus looks around. The others look to be in various states of remorse and determination. With the exception of Remus, who still looks like he wants to bash a few of their skulls in.

 “…can we go hug Roman now?”

 “I wanna do that.”

 “If he’s—“ Logan glances between Thomas and Janus— “do you know if he would be amenable to that? If he—would like that?”

 “We can ask,” Janus says quietly, “but I don’t know.”

 “And if he says no,” Remus growls, “you get out.”

 “We understand, Remus,” Logan promises. He looks at Thomas. “Thank you, Thomas.”

 Thomas shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. Not yet. We all have stuff to fix.”

 Janus adjusts his cape. “Then let’s get started, shall we?”

 They don’t sink right to Roman’s room. Instead, Janus knocks quietly on the door and waits for the soft ‘yes?’ from the other side to open it.

 “Roman,” he calls softly, “hey, sweetie, why’re you over there?”

 Because Roman, the poor thing, is at his desk, trying to work.

 “I—um—“

 “I’m not angry, sweetie,” he murmurs, arms going around the prince to pull him up out of the desk chair, “just concerned.”

 “I figured that if I got to work they’d be less mad that I wasn’t there,” Roman mumbles, even as he lets Janus pull him back to the bed, “so I…”

 “Oh, sweetie, no one’s angry at you.”

 Roman looks up at him with such a heartbreaking look of disbelief that he lets out a soft noise, cupping his face.

 “Would you believe me if I said they want to apologize and make it up to you?”

 “No.”

 He squints. “Have you believed anything I’ve told you since you woke up?”

 “No.”

 The lack of hesitation makes his eyes widen. Leaning forward, he rests his forehead against Roman’s as he pulls off his gloves, reaching up to cup the prince’s head.

 “I meant every word,” he murmurs, doing his best to wipe away the bits of salt in the corners of his eyes, “every single word.”

 He pauses, then leans closer.

 “They’re sorry, Roman,” he whispers, “they’re so sorry and they want to know how to make it better.”

  They don’t want you. They hate you. They’ve never cared about you. They don’t even want to touch you.

 Janus hisses softly as he pulls Roman in for a hug. The poor thing still reacts like it’s the first time someone’s touched him in years.

 “They want to see you, sweetie,” he whispers, “and I believe their exact words were ‘can we go hug Roman now?’”

 “W-what?”

 In response, Janus pulls away a little and nods to the door. Roman’s eyes widen.

 “Can we let them in, sweetie?”

 “They’re here?”

 “Right outside.”

 “They want—they want to—“

 Roman’s desperate gaze flies to the door. He raises a shaking hand and lets it open.

 Patton’s through the door before it’s even all the way open. Roman lets out a wounded noise as Patton barrels into them, his arms wrapped around Roman before Janus can blink.

 “Pat—Patton—Pa—wha—?”

 “I’m sorry, Roman, I’m so sorry, kiddo—“

 Virgil follows not too long after, pulling Roman’s legs into his lap and reaching out to take Roman’s outstretched hand.

 “Hey, Princey,” he says, the growl from not five minutes ago softened to a low rumble, “missed you.”

 “Mis—miss—missed me?”

 “Yeah, Roman, missed you. Didn’t feel the same without you there.”

 Then Logan. As Patton and Virgil move to get Roman into a more comfortable position, Logan sits behind him so that when Roman leans back, his head rests against Logan’s shoulder. Logan reaches up to tangle his fingers in Roman’s hair, smiling softly at the low noise from Roman’s throat.

 “Bonk?”

 Roman nods, still blinking in confusion but lets Logan press his forehead gently to his.

 “Thank you, little star,” he murmurs, smiling at the way Roman’s mouth falls open, “I didn’t forget, Roman, even if I haven’t been the best at showing it.”

 “We don’t hate you, Princey,” Virgil says, squeezing his hand, “and we—well, we owe you one hell of an apology.”

 “But we don’t have to talk about that now.” Patton adjusts his grip around Roman’s waist. “Not if you don’t want to.”

 Remus picks this moment to not walk through the door and climb onto the bed but to sink down through the ceiling and land on top of them.

 “Re!”

 “Hey, Ro-Bro.”

 “Re, get off, you—it’s too much.”

Remus rolls to the side, right into Janus’s lap, effectively making sure that none of them are leaving, not that they particularly wanted to.

 Janus watches as Roman slowly asks if they can stay like this for a while, smiling when the answer is a resounding ‘yes,’ the cuddle pile closing in around their prince. Roman’s head rests against the crook of Logan’s neck, one of his hands wrapped in Janus’s, the other in Virgil’s. His legs lie in Virgil’s lap, Patton cuddling him protectively as Logan strokes his head. Remus and Janus keep watch, sentries over the resting prince.

 For the first time, in a long time, as Roman drifts off to sleep, the only lie in his head is this won’t last forever.

 They’ve got time to prove him wrong.

General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness  @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes  @iminyourfandom  @bullet-tothefeels  @full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83  @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious  @firefinch-ember  @fandomssaremysoul  @im-an-anxious-wreck  @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch  @enby-ralsei  @unicornssunflowersandstuff  @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams  @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb  @cricketanne  @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer  @i-am-overly-complicated  @annytheseal  @alias290  @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions

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[golden-pickaxe]

Coffee (Part 5)

Fandom: Vikings

Paring: Ivar x Reader

Type: Modern AU, Office AU

Wordcount: 3619

Warnings: reader drinks wine casually

[Coffee - All Parts Here]

A/N: Here is part 5!

Tagged: @youbloodymadgenius​ @punkrocknpearls @mootiemoose​ @istorkyou @dini73​ @heavenly1927​ @hashimily​ @peakywitch​

Summary: You are a graduate student at the University of Oslo, and have applied for a job as a personal assistant at the Lothbrok Corporation, without really knowing much of the position advertised. When it turns out you are going to work for the (in)famous Ivar Lothbrok, your whole life is turned up-side-down.

With Ivar just wearing a t-shirt, instead of his usual well-cut suits, you could very clearly see the strong muscles in his arms, as you watched him pushing his wheelchair out of the pedestrian zone, towards the street. You had to swallow at the sight, hating yourself for the effect this man had on you.

 You walked along side him, finally realising what you had done. Just like a year ago, when the coin had dropped that you had really applied at the Lothbrok Corporation, it now dropped that you had just accepted his invitation to come to his home and let him cook for you. Him, one of the most influential businessmen of Norway. With his own fucking Wikipedia site.

Your heart was pounding rapidly in your chest at the thought, and you bit your lower lip, not quite knowing what this whole thing would mean now. And if it would change anything between you. You hoped not, but in the same way, you did hope.

 Getting your private life mixed up with your job probably was not a good idea. On the other hand, this whole situation kind of freaked you out, but in a good way. It was exciting.

 You and Ivar had reached the street, next to the national gallery, where a few minutes later the taxi arrived. Personally, you would never get a taxi in Oslo, as it was just insanely expensive, but with a lot of public transport, such as the tram you had taken to get here, not entirely being accessible to someone in a wheelchair, you could understand why Ivar had called it.

 Ivar maneuverered himself into one of the back seats, while the driver put his chair into the trunk of the car. You felt Ivar’s blue eyes watching you, as you rounded the vehicle to get into at the other side.

Even though he always successfully overplayed it, you saw that he was a bit self-conscious about his legs, often cursing them underneath his breath when they once again got into his way. He could move them a little bit, and also seemed to have some feeling in them, was even able to stand up for a few moments, if he could support himself with his arms. But in general, they did not really seem to be working.

In the office, Ivar hated to use his wheelchair, often just dragging himself from his desk to his sofa, his immense upper body strength enabling him to pull himself up with not much of an issue.

 Now, sitting next to you in the taxi on the way to his apartment, he readjusted his legs a bit with tight lips, appearing a bit nervous once more. You still could not quite wrap your head around what was happening right now, it all felt a bit like a dream to you. Just so, you managed to resist the urge to pinch yourself.

 Your boss, your grumpy boss, the infamous Ivar Lothbrok had just casually invited you to go out for coffee with him, had questioned you about almost every aspect of your life, paid for your drink, and now took you to his home to cook for you. It almost sounded like a very bad rom-com, like a romance story some bored, lonely woman would think up. Not that you expected it to end that way, of course. Even if you honestly wished it would.

 Until now, even if you sometimes chatted on business trips, your relationship had been purely professional, and you had only been over to his flat once, when you had brought him a set of suits to his home, when there had been issues with his dry cleaner. It had not really surprised you, finding out that he also lived in Majorstuen, actually not very far from you, although it had been a stress factor for you. Of course, he did not live in one of the old buildings, like you did, with paper thin walls, no elevator and wonky doors, no. He lived on the top floor of one of those new, fancy apartment buildings, costing a few ten-million krona, overlooking Frognerparken.

 When you had brought the suits up to his apartment, you had also met a famous Norwegian actor in the lift, so it was clear what kind of people occupied the other flats of the building. You had never been inside his home, had only delivered his suits to his door, but even the entrance and the lift had been very fancy and expensive looking. Admittedly, you had taken a stupid selfie in the mirror of the lift and posted it to Instagram.

 As Aker Brygge was, as stated, not far from Majorstuen, the drive was quite short, and the few minutes of silence were only broken by far too relaxing music coming out of the car radio. The taxi stopped in front of the apartment building Ivar lived in, and he paid the driver, while you got out, retrieving Ivar’s wheelchair from the trunk. You set it up and positioned it next to the car, for him to climb into.

 Ivar clenched his jaw a bit, obviously annoyed at something, even though you were not quite sure what exactly it was that he was annoyed by now, only hoping that it was not you. Well, at least you would have not far home now.

Ivar climbed out of the car, moving himself over to sit in his chair, before unlocking the breaks and rolling towards the door of the building, while the taxi behind you departed.

 Just as you remembered, the entry hall of the apartment complex was very posh, and you were reminded that this was a completely different world from yours. A different world from your shitty apartment, where you could hear almost every conversation your neighbours were having, and where you had push your full body against the bathroom door to get it to close properly.

 Following Ivar to the lift, the two of you got in, and Ivar pressed the button of the top floor. As soon as the doors had closed, Ivar’s eyes were on you, mustering you intently. His gaze was a tad intimidating, you had to admit, once again looking like a predator looking at his prey. Still, you managed to look back with a smile.

 “Are there any things you don’t eat, before I work my magic?” he asked, a smirk on his handsome face. You had to laugh at his choice of words, but told him about any dietary restrictions or things you didn’t like, and Ivar nodded.

 “Alright. I think I know what to make, then.” He leaned back in his chair a bit, biting how lower lip, a move that made your knees feel very weak.

 “Thank you.” It came out of your mouth, earning a very surprised expression from Ivar.

 “What for?” he asked honestly a bit confused, tilting his head at you.

 “For the coffee. And for inviting me over, and for cooking.” You studied his face, hoping to find something there, something that would give up his intentions, something revealing why he was doing this. You just needed to know, needed to know if you could get your hopes up or not. Was this really just a social call because you had been working for him for a year now, or was it something else?

 “Thank me after you’ve tasted my glorious food! Then I will gladly accept your thanks.” Ivar winked, and the elevator doors opened. Ivar left the lift, pulling his keys out of his pocket as he stopped at his front door.

 His flat was the only flat up here, and you guessed it had to be gigantic, covering the whole top floor. You were sure, his flat probably also had a roof terrace.

 You had to admit, this was another thing you found kind of intimidating about this man. The sheer amount of wealth he had, the wealth his family had. While you lived in a flat share with an old kitchen and horrible, tiny bathroom, with just a wet room and not even a proper shower, he lived in this extremely modern, borderline futuristic building, overlooking Oslo.

 Ivar opened the door, and pushed himself into the flat, with you following close behind, walking past him before he closed the door again behind you.

 Obviously you had imagined this place to be huge and expensive, but what you were seeing in front of your eyes was just.. something else.

It was less of a normal flat, and more of a large loft, most of the rooms merged into one big space. There was, similar to his office, a gigantic glass front overlooking the famous park, and West Oslo. The sun was still in the sky, the sunset not being for another one and a half hours or so.

 In the centre of the room was a big, beautiful white sofa, the kind where one could just stretch out like a starfish and not fall down. In front of it was a coffee table made out of driftwood and glass, the dark wood in stark contrast with the sofa. On the right of it were large, metal, urban looking bookshelves, filled with many thick books, some leather bound and old looking, dividing the living area from the ‘bedroom’, and there were a few doors opposite of the windows, that seemed to lead into extra rooms, probably the bathroom and other rooms.

 Behind the bookshelf you could see a large bed at the wall, so large in fact that you were sure that it could comfortably fit three to four fully grown people. It was covered and surrounded in white and grey furs, sheep and reindeer as far as you could tell from the distance. Furs also covered parts of the marble floor of the flat.

 There were many more furs on and in front of the sofa, and in general it seemed that grey, white and black, together with different shades of brown were the only colours in the whole apartment, making it look very sophisticated.

 On the left-hand side was a giant, very modern kitchen, seemingly equipped with everything a cook could wish for, with a large kitchen isle and a big table in front of it, a rustic looking piece of furniture, made of wood and carved with beautiful knot patterns, probably hand made by a very skilled Scandinavian carpenter knowing a lot about medieval woodcarving.

 The kitchen itself, you noticed, was lower than what you were used to, and while it confused you for a moment, you quickly realised that it was built so that Ivar could easily reach everything from his wheelchair, without having to get any help.

 “Welcome to my humble home.” You heard Ivar’s voice behind you, pulling you out of your thoughts. You swallowed and turned to him, looking at him as he watched you with a knowing smile on his lips.

 You could not hold back a laugh.

“Humble?” you simply asked, slipping out of your shoes and walking further into the big room, looking around.

 The whole flat was modern and elegant, yet had such a rustic and clearly Scandinavian aesthetic, it was truly impressive. Whoever was the interior designer, was truly a genius, and showed an amazing appreciation for medieval Scandinavian design. Similar works you had only seen in the Folksmuseet in Bygdøy.

 The walls that were not made out of glass were covered in picture frames, displaying either old Viking artwork or photographs of Norway and Iceland, of runestones and old temples. Somehow, it fitted in perfectly with the rest of the decoration.

 There was a door in the glass front of the flat, leading out, just as you had assumed, onto a large roof top terrace, furnished with even more rustic, wooden, and probably handmade tables and chairs, and, as cliché as it sounded, a beautiful hot tub. It was built into a frame, reminding you of a Viking ship, with a set of carved stairs leading up to it, probably so that Ivar had an easier time to get in and out of it, without requiring any help.

 “Alright, I admit, not so humble.” Ivar chuckled. “It was a present from my father when I started to officially work in the company. He had his friend Floki and his wife Helga design and build this whole thing.”

 That made you turn around to him once more. You knew these names.

“The Floki and Helga?” you swallowed.

 Floki and Helga were very, very famous, highly awarded architects and designers, often hired to design important landmarks and museums. Houses planned by them costing up to a hundred million kronas. They were famous for being able to combine the traditional aesthetics of their ancestors with the modern designs of this century, creating masterpieces that were rewarded all over the world. Now, looking around Ivar’s loft once more, it seemed obvious that this was their handy work.

 “Yes, The Floki and Helga.” Ivar chuckled. “The two of them almost raised me when I was a kid. With my parents busy all the time and me being bound to.. this.” He gestured at is chair. “Floki made all the wooden furniture himself. I am very lucky.”

 “Indeed you are.” You shook your head, unable to believe what you had just heard.

 Obviously, he had been raised by the two of them. Obviously, they had made his home for him, being like family to him, and being friends of his father, the most powerful businessman in Norway, and probably even all of Europe.

By now, you wouldn’t even question, if Ivar casually told you that he was descended from Odin.

 Ivar just shrugged at your words, although the expression on his face was a mixture of amused and pride. He bent down to slip out of his shoes, before moving his wheelchair over to a spot next to the door, where another wheelchair was waiting for him, this one looking a bit different, similar to the ones used by disabled athletes. Easier to navigate and probably a bit more comfortable. Ivar heaved himself up from his chair, navigating himself into the other one, a sigh leaving his lips.

 “I don’t fancy the dirt from the streets in my home.” He explained at your confused face, before he pushed himself towards you.

Oh yes, that made sense. Just as both of you had taken off your shoes, it would only be logical for him to also ‘change wheels’.

 A faint smile was on his lips, as he looked up and into your face, his expression soft and open, something you were not quite used to from him. His body language was relaxed too, his arms simply resting in his lap, as his head was once again tilted slightly.

He was truly a beautiful man, you had to admit. It was difficult to ignore, and sometimes you caught yourself staring in meetings, hoping that no one had noticed how your eyes had been practically glued to your boss. Solveig had made fun of you even more, when you had told her about it.

 “I think I’m going to start to cook now, before we starve to death. So, sit down, get comfortable.” He winked at you, before moving his chair towards the kitchen, in the process letting the wheelchair roll a bit, while he pulled his long hair into a tight bun at the back of his head. “Or would you like to help?” he looked back at you with a raised eyebrow, looking at you from underneath his long eyelashes. You had to swallow.

 “Well, I am still your personal assistant. So, I will assist you.” You smiled, following him into the kitchen. You hoped that reminding yourself that you were still his employee would calm your nerves.

 “I had hoped you’d say that, dove.” There it was again, that nickname. Your nerves were certainly not calm now.

 Ivar started to pull out pans and a cutting board, gesturing at the fridge for you to take out certain ingredients and washing them in the sink.

 You were not entirely sure what he was going to make, but you were positively surprised that his fridge and his whole pantry was stocked very well. You had to admit, you had taken him for one of those bachelors who had never touched their kitchen in their lives, and with all the money they had always ate out.

 But, as Ivar casually explained while you were preparing food, he enjoyed cooking for himself, and did so almost every evening.

While you were washing some vegetables, and he was skilfully cutting up an onion, he casually told you about the cooking schools he had visited when he was younger, and about the occasional dinner parties he threw for his close friends and family, where he cooked up five course meals for them all by himself. He moved around his kitchen as if he knew every millimetre of it, knowing the layout like the back of his hand.

 You enjoyed this far too much. You rarely saw Ivar this casual, only on business trips when he was not in the mood to talk about work anymore. And though you did not like to admit it, you were keen to know more about his personal life, to know more about the man behind the name Lothbrok.

 It was nice to see him here, in his home. He seemed so at ease, so open, the usual anger and annoyance he often seemed to carry around with himself in day-to-day life completely absent in this moment. This was his space, where he did not have to worry, to think about what upset him.

 This flat truly seemed to be his place, and his place alone. His kingdom far from the influence of other people. Here he was himself, independent of everyone else, everything built in a way that he did not need help from other people.

 Whatever else would come of tonight, you were just happy that you could witness this. You would see Ivar differently now, you knew. And would probably fall even more for him.

 You noticed it getting a bit darker out, and a quick look at your phone told you that it was already half past nine PM. It had not seemed that long, getting to Ivar’s home and starting to cook, as you had not even finished the preparation for cooking yet, but frankly, you didn’t even mind. The setting sun tinted the whole apartment in a magical, golden light, making it look even more beautiful and magical. Ivar’s face turned away from his work for a moment, his blue eyes wandering over the horizon, where the sky was slowly tinted in orange, pink and purple. A faint smile appeared on his face, before he returned his attention to the food.

 Absently minded you put your phone on the kitchen isle, before you grabbed a jar of mixed spices, which Ivar had instructed you to get for him while he was still cutting up vegetables. You read the label, not surprised that he had not purchased them in Norway, but in Spain, turning around, eyes still on the jar. Thus, you only noticed too late that Ivar was right behind you, his chair almost inaudible on the marble floor.

 With a slightly embarrassing yelp escaping your throat, you lost balance, tripping over Ivar’s wheelchair, falling over and landing straight in his lap. His strong arms were suddenly around you to keep you from completely falling to the floor, and your face probably had taken on a crimson shade.

 “Careful there, dove. I’m usually not that hard to miss.” He smirked, to your surprise not even remotely angry with you.

 You had once, in your third month at the Lothbrok Corporation, seen a small clerk run into him in the office, who had been a bit late and had not really paid attention. After Ivar had yelled at him for good twenty minutes, he had never been heard of again.

 “Gods, I’m so sorry, I..” but you stopped, swallowing, not knowing what to say. You tried to get up, the jar of spices still in your hand, but Ivar’s strong grip around you firmly held you in place.

 The man tilted his head, eye flickering to the glass container you were holding. He let go of you with one of his arms, while the other one was still around you, taking the jar from your hands and placing it on the counter next to him. His blue eyes mustered you once more. Your heart was pounding. In the light of the setting sun he looked even more handsome than he had already.

 “I have told you, that you look good today, right?” he asked, his voice low. His hand had returned to hold you again, and you noticed his fingers carefully caressing your back, which sent a shiver up your spine.

 Your mind was racing, as was your heart.

You could not but stare into his piercing blue eyes, not sure what to say, how to respond to him right now, or if you should say anything at all. You were unable to think even one coherent thought, as you felt his strong arms around you, his firm body below you, and his hot breath against you skin.. wait. When had he gotten this close to you?

 Before you could really comprehend what was happening, you suddenly felt Ivar’s lips against yours, not firm, but soft, almost shily moving against yours. In that moment, it was as if your mind just gave up, and turned itself off.

[sorry-i-ship-drarry]

30. Scared, potter ?

Prompt used- Grabbing onto their arm | FLUFF | Draco finally reveals how he fell in love with harry | can't believe I've already reached 30 days with these prompts.

Laughter cackled into the room with people draco had enormously grown to love. It's weird how fast time flies when you are surrounded by people who care about you regardless of how many shit days you may have and draco was a happy victim of it. All his life he had never cared for anyone else, treated them as if they were nothing untill he himself felt like one of those people, what it felt like to be nothing and he hated every second of it and when finally life gave him a second chance by a simple act of fate, he rose out the person who was completely opposite of who he used to be and he was proud of it and more proud were the people who once had hated him. It was a miracle how draco was sat amongst these people now, but he could not be more happier to reach where he is today and everyone he have right now. 5 years of learning, progress, trying to clear his name, he had finally became the person he wanted to be and love, it was just a small Miracle that happened by his side, so unpredictable but exactly what he needed and if there was one person who struck through it all was none other than, harry james Potter. His so called arch nemesis.

He met harry by a very simple mistake actually. One day he was serving coffee in a muggle coffee shop to pay his rent and the next day he knew he had almost been fired for spilling coffee over someone, and obviously that someone had to be harry. They got to talking about how different lives were, how difficult and yet they had the most complex similarities. It took harry exactly 9 months and 3 days during draco's final trials to get a job for him in the auror office, claiming if they didn't take him it would one of the most stupid choice they'd ever make because they'd lose a brilliant mind. Draco's first instincts were obviously disliking harry for doing something like that for him and maintained distance as much as he could but showed his gratitude in different ways like anonymously sending harry his favourite deserts every Friday and cup of coffee every morning. It wasn't until they both had been paired up for a mission related to a death Eater that they collided once again. According to the recruiters, it was important they had someone who was familiar with the death Eater ways, draco and a person they feared the most who vanquished the dark lord, harry. One scene to another, the tension building up one day led them into fighting and eventually resulted in them not talking until during the end of the mission when Draco got fatal injury, not because of the case but because of a muggle driver basically hitting draco. Eventually harry had to assign the mission to officials under him and draco being on bed rest, since it was a muggle injury and treating it the wizarding ways could've possibly been a hindrance in his 100 percent recovery.

And now this is where they are, sitting on top of the grimauld place, on its roof , lit up by almost 70 golden fairy lights, sheltered by a silver tent with a bunch of their friends and families assembled for the rehearsal dinner, or so the muggle called. It was just a last party from harry potter and draco malfoy.

Neville clinked his work lightly on his champagne glass raising it " Time for toast"

Draco cleared his throat grabbing attention from everyone across the table. Harry looked at him, bewildered since he definitely didn't knew Draco planned this.

" I'd like to take a few moments from all of you for this. I- I am blessed to have you all in my life and I met most of you when my life hit rock bottom and through it all, you guys have supported me unconditionally and I'm forever in debt for that"

They all raised their glasses in appreciation.

" and to you harry, tomorrow morning I will be pronouncing my vows and I know we've practically written them together, I can assure you no words are ever enough to what I feel for you. I've met you by a simple act of fate and it is my choice to choose my destiny to spend the rest of my life loving you just like you love me.

I met harry 6 years 3 months and exactly 25 days ago. I was merely counting the days of my life to make it through all of it and by far that day had been a huge blessing. A lot of you have asked me when did I realise I was in love with him and I've Always said that it was somewhere along the way but the truth is I have been saving this answer my whole life for this specific day. 3 years ago when I got hit by a car and had stitches up and down my body, 2 fractures and almost a broken nose, thank goodness for that though, I love my nose, harry being the absolute gentlemen he is, dropped the damn case to take care of my lousy ass. So this one day during my 1 month bed rest, harry had been late and I was absolutely glad he was because of ego issues, I heard my bell rang, I got up and took sometime to reach the door and by the time I had even checked who it was, the person had left, leaving a parcel in my letter box. Being me, I went downstairs to pick it up and just as I started to go back upstairs, a floor below mine I almost rolled down the stairs and guess who was the knight in shining armour, harry. He ranted the hell out of me for choosing to do that and simply grabbed my hand, put it around his neck and carried me back up. The entire day he kept bashing on about what would've happened if he wasn't there. That's when I fell In love. It wasn't magical or something as people describe it, I felt what I had been deprived of my whole life, care and love. The way he just went on and on about it, just showed me how much he cared and the same exact night he stayed over claiming he is never leaving my fucking ass alone, guess he took that too seriously by the way, I fell in love that night of him scolding me. And that's the answer I've saved up all these years. And I'm pretty sure harry is still never leaving my fucking ass alone if in future I get injured, just the consequences and situations would be far different " and draco raised his glass again.

" to harry and draco " Ron grinned, his arms wrapped around Blaise's waist.

" to harry and draco " everyone cheered

" to us " they silently whispered smiling at each other, with a look in their eyes, that was simply just their own, their love.

" I actually can't believe you took an entire minute to make this speech with basically no phrases such as electricity running through or how admirable harry looked. I means it's all sorta sparky " Ron joked. A few people around him laughed too including harry and draco.

As time went on, when everyone was almost done with dinner and simply hanging away slow dancing, chatting, making jokes, harry intertwined his fingers with those of draco's under the table and rested his head against draco's shoulder. Draco looked on his side to see his fiance finding his comfort in his neck. Smiling to himself, draco pressed a long kiss on top of Harry's head, bringing their hands to his lips and kissing over Harry's knuckles before resuming laughing at yet another one of Ron's jokes.

By midnight everyone had started to go downstairs in the house to crash over and a few of them leaving. Finishing up with the cleaning harry and draco too finally departed to their seperate bedrooms as per before marriage rituals. It was almost half an hour later when Draco heard a soft knock on his door. He opened the door cautiously to find harry standing there with a small smile.

" breaking the rules as usual " draco smirked as he turned around to let harry in behind him.

" well, that's just who I am. Besides your room have a nice balcony. Could use it " harry said as he shut the door softly and followed draco.

Draco finally turned smiling at his fiance, just staring at harry until he pulled them into the balcony, letting the moon wash over their bodies, making Harry's eyes sparkle more and draco's hair looking softer than usual.

" can you actually believe, we're getting married in less than 24 hours " draco said as he looked at the sky.

" it doesn't seem so different, does it ?" Harry asked as he stepped closer to draco and grabbing his hands to intertwine their fingers again.

" it doesn't " draco smiled as he kissed Harry's forehead. He too smiled at Draco and finally hugged draco, his arms hanging loosely around his waist , his head rested against draco's chest to hear the faint loveliest sound of his heartbeat. Draco put his chin on top of Harry's head, his arms too hanging loosely around Harry's back and just staying there like that.

" can I ask you something ?" Harry finally asked after moments of silence while watching the moon, different memories, different thoughts running in their own heads.

Draco hummed in response. Harry looked up at Draco, staring blankly as if he was trying to find something, but there was no freckle or a mole or anything left on draco's face yet for him to discover. He knew Draco better than he knew himself and it was just a small proud achievement.

" during that speech, you said something about saving your answer for this day, did you know we'd ever reach this far ?"

Draco pouted looking behind harry deciding on how to phrase it.

" I didn't. If this were to ever end, the secret would've died with me but I knew the only time I'd ever reveal it would the day before our marriage. And I did "

" so you Always wanted to get married ?"harry asked curiously in a Playful way.

" I think yeah. I never had anything close to having what we have, I'd had been a fool not to imagine whatever comes next " draco smiled at harry fondly, his hands tightening around his waist.

Harry looked at Draco amazed. Despite being together for so long, being with each other was Always a different adventure each day and this was their kind of adventure.

" when did you knew you loved me ?" Draco finally asked not looking away from harry.

" well- I think it was during the time you joined DMLE. Those deserts every Friday and the cup of coffee, they had the same handwriting on the Little notes you put into the desert box and on the coffee cup, I knew they were from you long before you told me, courtesy of stalking you all around 6th year "

" So you were obsessed with me " draco teased smirking.

" whatever helps you sleep at night " harry chuckled before he pressed his head against draco's chest again and stayed there in silence until harry had finally gone to his own bedroom, as silently as he had came.

The next day when harry and Draco finally stood against each other on the alter, after the vows, the ring ceremony, the speeches, the minister finally claimed

" I now pronounce you husband and husband, you may kiss each other "

Harry smirked at Draco holding his hands

" scared potter ?"

" you wish, Malfoy " draco smirked back.

And then they kissed, promising an eternity of love that even this life wasn't enough..

Requests open. This might be one of my favourite ones.

Day 29- sweet, sexy and practically fainting | Day 31- would you come back to me

[rainywritingsx]

Scenario: Shoji, Todoroki and Midoriya protecting their very shy s/o

Request: Would you be okay writing about Shoji, Shoto and Izuku protecting a very shy s/o? Maybe someone is mean to them or there's something falling from somewhere. S/o can't stand up to ppl (maybe s/o is also not in the hero course but in u.a.?) thamk so much and have a nice day ~the one you matched with shoji btw lol

oh hi there :D this request is so cute, I hope I did okay with writing it! You didn’t specify whether you wanted  a scenario or headcanon, so I went with scenarios, hope that’s okay. Have fun reading!

xxx Damla

Reminder that as of right now, requests are closed!

Warnings: none :)

words: 2670

If you’d like to give me a small tip, you can buy me a coffee! ^^

Shoji Mezo

As soon as the bell rang, I pretty much jumped out of my seat and left the classroom. Finally, I can leave. This class isn’t particularly my favourite, which is due to the fact that I don’t have any friends here. Most of them, as well as my boyfriend, are in the hero course.

When I arrived at my locker, I was surprised not to find Shoji waiting as usual. Maybe he had to train? Right at that moment my phone beeped. I opened my bag and took it out. Shoji had texted me.

I’m sorry love, I was training in teams with Tokoyami and he got injured. I will be there in 10 minutes

A soft smile spreads across my face. He really is one of the most caring people I know. While I’m not exactly happy to be alone, it’s most likely that some of Shoji’s classmates can be found in the cafeteria, so I will just go there.

I open my locker and quickly take out the books I need after lunch. Luckily there aren’t many, since I only have English and then PE. I close it again and zip up my backpack before making my way to the cafeteria. Luckily it isn’t that far, and the halls are empty.

I look outside out of the large windows. The sun is shining brightly, and it's clear that it’s spring. Many flowers have bloomed, and I see a lot of birds. There are people having their lunch outside, some are even training. Wow, that’s some dedication… My eyes land on Jirou, who is sitting at a table with Yaoyorozu. Our gazes meet and she smiles before patting the spot next to her. Alright, I guess I’ll eat outside too.

I make my way towards the door. It’s pretty heavy, but thankfully I manage to open it. I’m about to run up to the girls, but I freeze when I hear what I think is the door slamming against someone.

“Oi! What the fuck!” I turn around wide eyed, to see someone whom I thought to be a student of my homeroom class. I don’t remember his name, but he has never been very nice to me. Something gives me the idea that I’m in trouble. I gulp and slowly walk backwards on the grass, but soon my back hits a wall.

“I-I’m so-”

“you’re sorry?” he interrupts, taking a step closer to me. I cower slightly. His closeness is making me way too uncomfortable. “Yeah, you better be! Maybe if you stopped daydreaming about your stupid boyfriend from class 1-A you’d actually notice your surroundings.” I’m speechless. A billion thoughts are running through my head. I want to curse at him for talking about Shoji like that, but my body isn’t doing anything. It’s like I’m glued to the brick wall my body is resting against

“You’re gonna pay for-”

“It was an accident.” An indescribable amount of relief comes over me when Shoji stands in front of me. His right hand reaches behind him for mine, and I immediately hold it. It’s only now that I realise my hands had been shaking the whole time, just like my legs. The guy who was almost yelling at me a second ago, now has a smirk on his face but I can tell he’s a little intimidated.

“Still, your partner should look where they’re going.” I can’t see any of their faces, but by his posture I can tell that Shoji remains completely calm and unfazed as usual.

“Okay,” he calmly responds. “I’m sure you’ve given them enough of a scare, so they’ll be more careful in the future. Still, I don’t think it was okay for you to talk to them like that. That wasn’t exactly behaviour fit for a UA student.” he didn’t even comment anymore, but just bowed to us both and apologised, his tone shaky. Before I knew it he was gone. He was all talk, I knew it.

Shoji turns back to me, still holding my hand and I smile. “Thank you, Shoji.” I can see his eyes moving upwards a bit, which shows he’s smiling too.

“No need to thank me. I guess it isn’t always bad to look scary to people.” I can’t help but laugh at that. Shoji’s appearance is something that he’s insecure about, so knowing that he can joke about it a bit makes me happy.

However, I can’t help but feel bad for not being able to have said anything to that guy when he was insulting Shoji. And I was sure he heard it too…

“I’m sorry.” I sigh, looking down in shame. For a moment, there's silence. Then I see Shoji’s feet taking another step closer to me. His other hand grabs mine as well.

“Can you look at me, please?” his tone wasn’t demanding, rude, or angry. He’s calm, it’s a simple request. He gives me the idea that even if I said no it would be fine, but I look at him nonetheless.

“Y/n, I really don’t care that much about people like that. He doesn’t know me, or you. I only care about what you and the other people in my life think. You don’t need to defend me. I know people like that don’t change minds easily.” I have to admit that he’s right. I mean, I don’t even know his name, so why did I care that much?

“Let’s go, I saw you were on your way to Jirou and Yaoyorozu, right? Tokoyami is there too now.”  I nod and Shoji is about to walk, but he stops when he realises I’m still standing. I smile and walk over to him, stand on my toes and kiss his cheeks. A giggle leaves my mouth when I see his eyes have widened. Even though I would usually have the same reaction, today is different.

“Yep, I’m ready now.”

Todoroki Shouto

Of course, as soon as one person found out I’m dating Shoto, the news spread around the school like fire. Of course I notice the glances at me in hallways, the quiet whispers, the way that people approach me now. Some act nicer, but there also some that seem to suddenly dislike me. And I can’t do anything about it.

In theory I can, but I’ve never been able to even tell someone that their tone was rude, or that something was uncalled for. I’ve even been called names sometimes, and when people see my flustered face, they laugh and throw more insults at me.

Despite all this, Shoto isn’t aware. I never told him, and I’m not planning to. He already has enough going on for him and what has been happening to me just seems like a mild inconvenience at this point. It’s times like this where I’m glad that he isn’t the type of person to keep pushing if he wants to know something.

And of course this happens today too, as I’m walking to the hero course department of UA. I can already hear some people snicker at the fact that I’m even here. I ignore it, because as usual, I don’t want to cause a scene.

My eyes scan the hallway. His classroom is supposed to be somewhere here, but where? Idiot, y/n, you had to ask him what class he currently is in. Now I have to check everywhere.

I don’t see any students from 1-A so he definitely has a class right now. At least I know something. I look through the windows in the doors, but every classroom is empty. Why are there even so many classes here? Maybe I can ask a teacher what subject 1-A has right now. Wait, but isn’t that weird? No, they probably know that I’m looking for Shoto.

In my train of thought, I completely forget my surroundings. So it’s no surprise that I bump into someone and fall on the ground. I hiss when my knees graze the floor, but then remember that that was a person that I bumped into. I look up and my eyes widen when I see Monoma from class 1-B. He looks down at me with a smirk and laughs at my confused state.

“Look who’s here. Looking for your boyfriend?” Without thinking, a billion apologies leave my mouth as I place my books that had fallen earlier back into my bag. My knees feel like they’re burning but I’m more worried about what just happened.

“Wow,” Monoma chuckles. I can feel his eyes on me as I finally zip up my bag and get up. “Can’t even walk properly. I knew that the other departments were losers, but this?” My grip on my bag tightens as he speaks.

“Well, at least you’re kinda good-lookingI guess. Still, I would’ve thought someone from 1-A would go for a person who’s way better than you.” In surprise, I lift my head up. Of course the thought of Shoto deserving better has crossed my mind before. He’s the son of the current number one hero, of course people expect someone who’s the opposite of me. I always try to tell myself it’s amazing I even got into UA at all, but at times I cannot help but wonder if it would be better for Shoto to leave me.

“You know it too, don’t you?” Monoma continues. “No need to tell me, I can see it in your eyes. You want to say so much, but you’re way too much of a coward to do it.” he laughs and looks away for a moment.

“That’s why everyone picks on you and your sweet prince charming has no idea. You can’t even stand your ground, how pathetic. Nobody understands what he even sees --” his voice trails of. Monoma moves his head to his side, and his grin widens.

“Ah, there he is, just as I was speaking about him!” I turn around and gasp when I see Shoto walking in our direction. Shit. He saw it all, didn’t he?

“Your prince charming just knows when to save you, huh? I mean, with such a weak significant other, I probably-”

“My classes are done, let’s go y/n.” Todoroki says, completely ignoring Monoma’s presence. He grabs my hand and is about to walk away.

“One more thing.” he says as he turns around and looks at him.

“Y/n is the best partner I could ask for, and if all you care about is what their education is, you are the disappointment here.” he glances back at me and grabs my hand with a small smile. “Let’s go.”

Midoriya Izuku

The silent aura of the library usually brings me at peace, but today, as I’m entering it by myself, I feel uneasy. A part of me feels like everyone’s eyes are burning through me. So, I keep my gaze down and just walk over to a random bookshelf. As I lift my head again and look through some books, I try nonchalantly scanning the library for any sign of my boyfriend, but Izuku is nowhere to be found.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, so I quickly grab it and see that Izuku texted me.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I had to help Kaminari with something related to Hero Studies. I’ll be there soon. I love you ❤︎.”

He’s too sweet. I text him back, assuring him that it’s okay and put my phone back in my pocket. Maybe I should pick one book and read it until Izuku comes here, or else I’ll be bored doing nothing. Also, I feel like people keep whispering about me here.

Izuku may not be the most popular student of this school, but people definitely know of him. I mean, he’s a class 1-A student, he worked at Nighteye’s agency, and has done more impressive stuff. So obviously, when he gets in a relationship people will talk about it. While I do get it, I also hate the attention it brings. People have been mostly nice to me luckily, so that’s a relief.

I decide to take a seat at a table with only a few people. It’s also close to the entrance door, so Izuku will be able to spot me easily when he gets here. After also placing my bag on the ground, I finally start reading. After what feels like a few minutes, but probably is a lot more, I’m already halfway through the thing.

“Y/n?” a familiar voice whispers. A smile can’t help but grow on my face as I turn my head to find Izuku standing next to me.

“Hi.” I reply. He smiles and kisses me cheek, to which my eyes widen. We’re in public, what is he doing? I quickly cover my face with the manga I was reading earlier, so people don’t see my embarrassed expression. Izuku only giggles softly.

“Babe, there’s almost nobody here.” he reassures me. “and I missed you.” he adds with a small pout. Ugh, I can’t be mad at him when he makes that adorable face.

“O-okay.” I close the manga and get up. “I’ll just put this back, and then we can start studying.” he follows me to the shelf.

“So, how was your day?” I ask as my eyes scan for the right manga series. Izuku starts telling me about his day, making me almost laugh a few times when he mentions some silly moments, like Sero and Kaminari trying to prank Bakugou but only failing and angering him as a result.

“Oh, and we will get to work with the other departments of the school for some projects, I’m really excited about that.” I smile. Yeah, that sounds fun.

“What is it for?”

“Well,” I accidentally bump into the bookshelf behind me and yelp quietly. “Mr Aiza-Y/n careful!” I squeeze my eyes closed, preparing for anything falling on top of me, but I feel nothing. My eyes open again and I look up. Izuku is holding some books that would’ve landed on me if he wasn’t here. His expression shows that he was a little scared, but soon relief takes over.

“I thought something was going to happen to you..” he sighed as he placed the books back on the shelf. I awkwardly stand up straight and fiddle with my fingers, mumbling a soft apology. Of course I had to be stupid and not take in my surroundings

“Hey, it’s okay.” he grabs my hands and smiles. “I’m not upset, I’m just glad you’re alright. Just be a little more careful next time, okay, honey?” I nod, trying to hide how flustered the nickname makes me feel and squeeze his hands softly. I look at his hands, and rub my thumbs over them. There are a few new bruises on there.

“Did you get hurt again?” I ask, examining his knuckles. Izuku chuckles awkwardly.

“I-It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I already went to Recovery Girl for it.” he lets go of one of my hands and wraps an arm around my shoulders.

“I-Izuku, there’s people here…” I say hurriedly, hoping that nobody will see us. I’m not embarrassed by him, of course not. It’s just that I always feel a bit nervous when it comes to PDA.

“I have an idea. How about we study in my dorm room? Can I have cuddles then?” he asks sweetly while removing his hands from me. I nod softly.

“That sounds nice..”

“Okay, let’s get some of your favourite snacks first and then go.” my face lights up and I nod again.

“Let’s go.” I hear him giggle before we both leave the library.

“Oh, we can also get dinner together somewhere if you want, I’m sure there’s food in the kitchen or we can get take-”

“Izuku.” I stop him. “L-let’s get those snacks and study first.” he chuckles and nods.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m just really happy we get to hang out again. Let’s go then, the grocery store is only a few minutes away from UA.”

[pinkhairedlily]

Every Glance A Step Closer

Prompt: Glances | AO3 link here. Connect with me on Twitter. Happy SS Month everyone! 🌸🍅🥗 @ssskmonth

“This one barely goes out of her laboratory. I swear to god she smells like formaline.”

“He smells like the dust and cobwebs in the library. I cannot even pronounce what he’s doing – archi…something. I just know he handles lots of old papers and books. B-o-r-i-n-g.”

“So anyway, Haruno Sakura meet Uchiha Sasuke.”

This was her one free day in her experiment period week, but she needed to steam off for a night and so she allowed her friend to tug her along for a chill night drink. What Sakura didn’t expect was to socialize with a small group of people in their year and to suffer the cold indifference of the guy in front of her.

To her another surprise, he held out a hand to her. “Hello there.” She took it, slightly conscious whether she used her formaline-cancelling hand lotion. A brief and firm shake and he quicky turned away.

“Sasuke finally speaks.”

“That hello sounded a little spicier.”

“Oh my, that hand holding definitely had some electricity.”

The cajoling and teasing finally stopped when the first round of beers came in. Local university gossip was the go-to conversation opener, from the open secret student-teacher relationships to recent couple break-ups. It eventually led to Sasuke and his list of confessions.

“I heard you turned down Mio from fashion design department.”

“No way. I heard she was approached by Celine for a gig.”

“Really Sasuke? That makes her the fifth girl you dumped for this week alone.”

“You never actually had a girlfriend, did you?”

Sakura stared at him doe-eyed, genuinely curious of his answer. He returned her gaze and raised one brow. “I have high standards.”

Oh wow, what a douche, Sakura thought. Hoots erupted in their table but only for a few seconds. While the drinking and the exchanges went on, Sakura found herself wanting to go home early. She was bored and her neck was tired from not looking at him. Under the guise of stretching her already strained neck, she stole a glance, hoping to have a brief moment to take in all of his features and remember his face.

But he was already looking at her. His eyes went to the door of the restaurant then back to her. Bored? He mouthed.

Sakura looked at the door, knowing perfectly what he meant. She chugged her supposedly last bottle of beer and made a small gap with her thumb and index finger. He caught her signal and started to stand up. Their group was tipsy enough not to notice their sudden movements as they shuffled out of the door.

She halted after a few steps, Sasuke’s figure already paces in front of her, wondering whether she should say goodbye or just walk towards the opposite direction back to her apartment. She didn’t think too much of it and quickly chose the latter.

She had to get ice cream first though, a sugar rush to help jolt her senses awake. She was choosing between chocolate and strawberry when a large figure stood beside her.

“A vanilla one, please,” Sasuke said, looking smug with his hands both in his pockets. “Your treat.”

Sakura felt weirded out by the fact that he actively kept on engaging her. His reputation preceded him, but she decided to humor him for tonight. “So library science and you’re an archivist.”

“Intern archivist actually. So you actually know me.” There was arrogance in his voice that made Sakura almost choke on her ice cream.

“Process of elimination. There is no male major in our year in the History department.” She glanced at him and saw that smug look slowly transition into a slight flush of embarrassment. Cute.

“And what if it was a hobby?” Sasuke fiddled with his still unopened vanilla ice cream.

“There was a job posting in the bulletin specifically calling for Library Science students.” Their feet led them to the park still bustling with university night life and settled on a bench under the canopy of a fully bloomed dogwood tree. “See, I’m not your admirer.”

“Well, that’s a downer,” he smirked.

They talked like that for a while, fleetingly exploring related topics to their degree programs, the usual prominent teachers, the busy schedules, until Sakura finished her chocolate and strawberry popsicles. It was on her way home, finally this time, that she realized he never ate his ice cream.

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

She next saw him on their building’s rooftop with a group of friends, a piece of unsmoked cigarette in between his fingers. He quickly met her eyes, did a brief nod, and looked away. She inadvertently expected more than that but she wasn’t here for a smoke break, and it wasn’t her intention to take it further. She was here for a quick getaway from her microscope and to appreciate the city view dotted with the flowers of spring.

He kept glancing her way, however. He would be in the middle of a conversation and his eyes would stray to her, and she would catch it in her periphery, trying not to notice it. She got tired after a few repetitions of this, and the next time he glanced, she caught his gaze.

Stop it, she mouthed.

I’m bored, he mouthed back. Walk with me. His fingers mimicked the gesture, his fingers walking in the air.

She put her hands together and slightly bowed in apology. Next time, she winked at him before running back to her laboratory, a small smile painted on her lips.

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

It became like this for the next few weeks; they conversed through glances and awkward gestures whenever they were in public with their friends. When it was time to come home, they would walk in separate ways and meet again in the park under the same dogwood tree and they would converse for hours. It was mostly Sakura word-vomiting about her experiments while Sasuke would look at her with abandoned fascination.

“Stop doing that,” Sakura called him out one time.

“Stop doing what?” Sasuke asked, his ember eyes never leaving her face.

“You stare too much I feel like I’m melting.”

Sasuke made a small grunt and wore his hoodie over his head to mess with her more. He waved his hands on both sides of his face, and she immediately understood the reference of a horse having its blinders on. “Good because usually I’m the one being stared at.”

Sakura reached out to his hoodie and tightened the strings around his neck. “You’re hopeless.”

He leaned forward, almost touching her lips, his face still between her palms. “Hmm, maybe I am.”

Sakura moved away just as quickly as he moved into her personal space, a hot flush creeping to her cheeks. She hated this particular situation since blushing always made her look like a cherry tomato.

“Cute.” Sasuke apparently said his thoughts aloud because he was taken aback the moment she glanced back at him. “Cool, I said cool.”

She laughed this off just as he completely covered his face inside his hoodie.

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

She visited the basement section of the library for reference materials. Her writeup was due tomorrow and she was missing a section on historical evolution of vaccines and dosages for the viral DNA she uncovered. The small library slip in her hand, she made her way to the dimly lit rows on Biology. The shelves were twice taller than her, but there were spaces in between stacked books.

Would make it very easy to spot a ghost, Sakura chided to herself. A shadow moved along the row adjacent to the Biology section, but she dismissed this as the library staff. Her fingers traced the spines of ragged books and examined the list of recommended titles in her hand. When she raised her head, ember eyes stared back at her between the spaces of the opposite row.

Hi, Sasuke mouthed. He glanced around and seeing no one, he whispered, “Can I come over to your side?”

She found it hard to stop her grin from rising. “More eyes, the better.”

It took only a few minutes for Sasuke to find all the titles in her list, but they littered around, walking in between shelves, taking one random book and flipping its pages, stopping when they find something interesting. When heavy footfalls were heard on the stairs, Sakura inclined her head, gesturing she needed to go.

Sasuke seemed to misunderstand as he pulled her through the sleeve of her cardigan to the area further behind the room, and as the shadows grew darker, and the noise became more muted, she heard the racing beat of her heart.

Finally reaching the wall, Sasuke slumped to the floor and patted the space beside him. Sakura followed suit, consciously leaving a space between them as she was slowly becoming hyper-aware of their proximity.

“How are you faring so far? Done with the requirements?” Sasuke asked, his voice low but audible enough for her.

Sakura nodded, and after beat, rolled her eyes at him. “Shouldn’t you be out there assisting others?”

“I believe you need more immediate help.” Sasuke pulled his knees in to rest his chin on and trained his eyes on her. “Sakura.”

“Sasuke.”

The longest minute of silence hung between them, tension strung by the stare, until Sakura broke it off with her eyes shifting to the floor. “What are you doing?”

“Flirting,” he said like it’s a matter-of-fact. “This is what they usually do to me.”

“And what should I do?” She let the words roll out of her mouth, unsure why she asked, uncertain also of what he felt. She met his gaze again.

And in that moment, he just sincerely looked at her. “Flirt back.”

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

Sakura was done for the school year. She will be officially graduating in a month, and to celebrate, she went out with their group for a sem-ender discotheque clubbing. She was gonna shoot her shot for a one-night stand with literally anyone who had chemistry with her – haha she was just kidding. As this seemed to be the final cap-off to her university life, she went all out with her clothes Sakura-style – basically a boxy cropped tea, high waisted jeans, and old heels her best friend gave to her in pity.

This was actually her first club experience, but she was glad to be with veteran friends. The first few minutes inside a closed space with bass boosted, unfamiliar crowds, and lots of skinship made her very uncomfortable. Her only reprieve was the free-flowing drinks – ironically she can handle alcohol well. The disco lights would have made it difficult to spot faces, but she found him in the dark, on the corner directly across her group, his eyes already glued on her.

She wondered if he ever forgave her for scrambling out of his presence in the reference section last time, explicitly avoiding his request to flirt back. It seemed like she worried for nothing since Sasuke raised his glass to her and mouthed congratulations. She raised her glass back, resolving to mind her own business tonight. But he kept looking, a smirk etched on his beautiful face, urging her to meet him halfway.

She didn’t need to look for an excuse as her friends suddenly pulled her into the harmless mosh pit of friendly grinding. Sakura allowed herself to move to the beat, enjoying the bubble offered by the club to lose herself for a few seconds. But she kept glancing towards his direction, his eyes looking for her in the mass of bodies. At first, the glances were mischievous, like playing hide-and-seek, then they held gravity, heavy lidded and palpable.

Sasuke was impatient, and soon enough, at her next spin on her heels, he was right behind her, his hands hovering over her arms, seeking consent to touch. Sakura turned to face him, one part shy, other parts unnerved, and she slowly encircled her arms around his neck, her eyes a definite yes. His hands went to her waist, and he brought her closer to his embrace.

“You don’t have your hoodie though,” Sakura said, a little louder over the crooning of Carly Rae Jepsen to Gimmie Love. “Someone will definitely see you.”

Sasuke closed whatever distance was between them and brought his lips to her ears. “That’s a relief then. I want to be seen with you.”

“Simp,” Sakura teased. “You’re probably expecting a confession out of me, aren’t you?” This was a long time coming and she wanted to get it over with tonight especially when she had alcohol buzzing on her side.

“I am actually,” Sasuke said. “I was hoping to beat you to it in the library last time, but you ran away. Coward.”

“What?”

“What? Didn’t you hear me?”

“You like me.” Sakura said in realization. She edged her face away from his hold to take a good look at his embarrassed face. “Oh, you really do.”

“You could be dense sometimes, Sakura.” Sasuke poked her forehead playfully, and he was rewarded with a bubbly laughter from her.

Their friends finally noticed them and the intense skinship happening. The yells and woots started to drown out the speakers.

“That took you two long enough, huh?”

“They really waited for the end of the school year to do their big reveal.”

“As if the whole school doesn’t know already.”

“What?” Sasuke and Sakura asked in unison.

“It was the constant eyesmex.”

“Really, they do it every time with no shame. It gives me secondhand embarrassment.”

“Right? Sometimes I think I need to yell get a room.”

“Maybe they’ll get a room tonight.”

“Oh my god, shut up."

🌸 It's my first time participating actively for SS Month so please go easy on me haha. Work is loosely inspired by Nevertheless webtoon (which now has a Netflix adaptation). Hope you enjoyed reading!

[songbirdsingingthings]

Daisies - Shouto Todoroki x Reader

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THESE CHARACTERS, THEY BELONG TO KOHEI HORIKOSHI

I should really be going to bed rn but instead I had an idea while listening to some music and got really in my feels SO HERE IT IS <3

Warnings: Angst ending in fluff You could see it in the way that he carried himself. Shouto was nowhere near who he used to be when you first started dating. You missed the stolen glances the two of you shared, the red that took up residence on his cheeks whenever you came into the room, and the subtle touch he gave your hand which indicated that he wanted to hold it in his. You remembered when he would do anything in his power to get home to your shared apartment so that you could have dinner together and maybe watch a movie. Now when he got home, if he came home at all, it would be way past dinner and bordering on the next day. You used to stay up for him, waiting to put his meal you had prepared in the microwave so it could be warm by the time you helped him put away his coat and work bag when he came home from the agency. At first, you believed that it would only be a couple days of this, but those days turned into weeks, and those weeks turned into 3 months. You stopped staying up almost 3 days ago.

Currently, you were on the phone with your mother who was begging you for more details on your two year relationship.

“I know you know this, but your father proposed to me after two years of dating, about as long as you and your boyfriend have been dating,” she said, making you swallow a lump that was lodged in your throat. 

“You’re right Mom, I do know this. You tell me every chance you get,” you say in a joking voice with your voice as blank as a slate. You loved your mother, you really did. However, recently, she felt the need to hint at a proposal that you knew was not coming soon, if at all. For the duration, the two of you had never talked about marriage or if you thought about wanting to get married.

“I’m just saying, you would look beautiful in a white dress with a bouquet of daisies walking down the aisle. Where is Shouto? I haven’t been able to reach him in a while, can you put him on the phone for me?” At her words, you rub your eyes with your right hand and will yourself not to cry. You’ve already cried enough these past two weeks.

“U-um,” you begin, your voice wavering, “he’s n-not home. Probably won’t be for a while.”

“...Honey, is something the matter?” She asks, concern laced in her voice. It’s the soft comfort in her voice that makes you break. You sob into the phone, letting your tears run down your face.

“M-mom I’m so scared,” you say, crying through your words. “I-I don’t think he loves me anymore.” You feel your body shake from your weeping, now holding onto the edge of the kitchen counter for support. 

“Oh, Y/N...” your mother says, her voice quiet.

“He hasn’t come home for days and when he does come home, I feel like we’re strangers. I haven’t been able to talk to him and see what’s actually going in his life in so long that now our conversations are one of us commenting on the weather. THE WEATHER!” You scream into the phone as you walk over to your couch and collapse onto it. Your mother stays quiet as you vent, and boy, do you vent. On how Shouto’s given you the excuse of ‘work’ when you know for a fact that your friend Ochaco’s husband, Midoriya, worked at the same level that Shouto did and he came home at 7:30 sharp every night, and she lived ten minutes farther away from the agency than you did. How he hasn’t made an effort to try and take you on a date in months. How he’s stopped doing anything to make you feel like you were in a relationship.

“Y/N, you know what you have to do.” Your mother says, her voice serious.

“If you’re implying that I should break up with him-”

“No honey. You need to talk to him, and not about the weather. You need to tell him what you just told me and how much his actions have been hurting you. And, if he doesn’t see the fault in his actions, that’s when I would let him go. If anything happens, you can always have your old room back. I miss your cooking anyways, I feel like the house has downgraded from a 5-star restaurant to a 2-star one ever since you moved out.” This earned her a light laugh from you as you began to wipe the salty tears from your cheeks and take a deep breath.

“Thank you Mom,” you say.

“I’m always here for you Y/N, you know that. I’ll always be in your corner,” she says. You say goodbye and exit from your phone app to open up messages. You send Shouto a simple and concise message.

Y/N: I would really appreciate it if you could get home a little earlier tonight. We need to talk.

What shocked you was that almost immediately after, you saw the three dots pop up on the opposite side of the screen.

Shouto: Okay. Something up?

You were definitely not going to be starting this conversation over text. Absolutely not.

Y/N: We’ll talk when you get home.

The three dots didn’t pop up again, so instead, you decided to make dinner. You prepared a simple yet fail-safe comfort dinner for yourself, (favorite meal). Just as you finished fixing a plate for yourself and covered the rest in foil, you heard the faint jingle of keys outside of the apartment door. Your eyes dart up and your heart begins to beat wildly. Not in months has he been home early enough to have dinner with you - you thought you would’ve had more time to prepare what you were going to say to him. The door swings open to reveal Shouto with his work bag slung around his shoulder, hero costume stuffed in it. That detail stood out to you - never has Shouto not folded it carefully in order to prevent wrinkles. He dropped his bag near the front door and slid off his shoes. When he met your eyes, you stopped chewing instantly. The two of you stayed in your positions, perfectly still, until you slowly got up and grabbed an extra plate, putting a good portion of the meal you made onto it, and set it across from your spot at the dining room table. As you were sitting back down, Shouto walked towards you slowly, warily. It was like he was trying not to spook you. Like if he made any abrupt movements, you would jump up out of your chair and run for the hills. In his hand, you noticed, he held a daisy, which he placed on the table. Daisies always used to be a thing between the two of you. On your first date, he had taken you on a picnic in a meadow surrounded by the white dainty flowers. Daisies meant that you loved the other person. Taking a forkful of the food and placing it into his mouth, you could see him relax a bit. He always had a soft spot for your cooking, no matter what he felt like. The silence was overwhelming as the two of you ate, so Shouto decided to clear his throat.

“It’s been a long time since we had dinner together, huh.” He says. This simple sentence, just those 11 words, set you off. You slam your fork onto the table making Shouto jump a bit in his chair.

“Yes, Shoto, it has been. It’s been 3 months and 5 days since we last shared a meal together.” You say, venom leaking from your voice. Shouto instantly knew what this ‘talk’ you wanted to have was about. Just as he was about to open his mouth to respond, you cut him off. “No,” you simply say, “let me speak first. I could forgive the first couple of weeks when you came home late or said you had to stay over at the agency, but good god, what has been consuming all of your time that has made you spend more hours there than you have at home? I know for a fact that Midoriya works in the same department and has the same title and responsibilities that he has, but he’s home at 7:30 on the dot every night to see his wife and have dinner with her.” You snarl. “You haven’t been visiting home, I’ve called Natsuo and Fuyumi to ask if you were there and they said no. You haven’t been visiting your mother because the nurse makes sure to send an alert to our computer system for security reasons. So what, what has consumed your life in such a way that you don’t want to spend your time with me anymore?” As much as you tried, you couldn’t help it. You feel the moisture on your cheeks before you can comprehend that you're crying. Shouto’s face falls, his heart breaking as he can see yours has been crumbled for a long time.

“Y/N… I’m so sorry,” he says, his gaze never faltering from yours. He takes a deep breath and stands from his seat, making his way over to yours and kneeling in front of you. “I…,” he choked out. You always knew that putting his feelings into words has never been one of Shouto’s strong suits, so you granted him the time to slowly get his thoughts together. “I freaked out.” He said simply.

“W-what?” You said, confused.

“I know we’ve been together for a long time, and I know that you’re looking for someone to settle down with and I freaked out because I didn’t think that I was a person who could do that.” You close your eyes and exhale. “I’ve been staying out late because I’ve been going to counseling, and I couldn’t let it get in the way of work. I wanted to help myself so that I could make the both of us happy and partake in an equal and loving relationship. I know I should’ve told you, but I… I just couldn’t get myself to spit it out.” You slid from the chair to your knees so you could be on the same level as Shouto was. Shouto rustled around in his jacket pocket and what was in his hands made your eyes widen. It was a small velvet box which left little to imagine what was inside. Before he could say another word, you put a hand on top of it to prevent him from opening it. This caused panic to flash in his eyes as they darted up to look into yours. 

“Shouto… I love you. You know that I love you, but are you sure?” You make sure to squeeze his hand. “I need you to be completely sure before you do this, because I am, and I can’t imagine myself with anyone else.”

“Yes.” He says, instantly. You smile and lean your forehead against his. What confuses him is when you grab the box and nestle it back into his coat pocket.

“This is not me saying no. I just think we need to get back into our old groove before this happens. We both know that we want to reach that milestone, but we need to run there first, okay?” You ask. Shouto exhales and reaches his hand up to cup your cheek.

“Okay. You share a kiss and let yourselves cry and hold the other. Shouto’s strong arms now move to tighten around your waist, which sends you over the moon. He hadn’t done that in a long time. 

“Let’s go to bed, yeah? I don’t want you to be late tomorrow.” You whisper, sniffling.

“No. I’ll shoot Midoriya a text telling him that I’m not gonna be in tomorrow. I want to make up for lost time.” Elated, more tears trail down your cheek, but these were happy ones. Letting Shouto pick you up, he carried you with such care to your soft bed and helped you get changed into pajamas. He taps your shoulders to get you to hold your arms straight up so that he can slide the blouse you wore to work today off of you. You unclip the pinchy bra you wore yourself and slid down the flowy pants you wore until they pooled around your feet. Shouto handed you one of his shirts, the one you’ve always had a soft spot for. It was now ragged with holes and falling apart at the seams, but the softness of the material enveloped you as he helped your arms through the sleeves. When you poked your head through the top of the shirt, Shouto gently gathered your hair and pulled it out of the shirt, laying it down your back. He himself then got changed and climbed into bed next to you. The two of you were like magnets with opposite poles, immediately being attracted to the other’s side. You lay your head on his chest and you feel his chin find its place on top of your head. You finally felt peaceful. Felt loved. And, more importantly, felt Shouto at your side.

“I love you,” he breathes. The air he exhales tickles your neck which only makes you nestle into him more.

“And I love you,” You murmur.

“We’re going to get married one day, okay?” He says, brushing a hand over your hair and playing with the ends of it.

“Okay.” You smile, a smile gracing your face as you drift off. Shouto’s heart didn’t slow to its normal pace until hours later. He was proud of himself. He finally admitted to himself that he was ready to enter a relationship where he knew that both of you felt the same way. For the entire time the two of you dated, he knew that he loved you, but he was terrified that one day, a switch would go off and his parents’ relationship would become yours. But now, with you in his arms agreeing to marry him one day, although he hadn’t yet formally proposed, guided him into a blissful sleep. Dreamworld decided to be nice to him, because all he could picture in his mind as he slumbered away were images of you, rings, and daisies

[queen-pudi]

Cuteness Overload

Hello! So I’ve never written a fic before and English is my worst subject in school but when I realized I read every single fic on this app for Fire Force I got sad so I made this. Please enjoy and if you like it maybe I’ll make more! Also thank you to @seashellsandshores for getting me into Fire Force, proofreading this for me and overall being a great friend!! She is a much better writer than I am so please check her out!!

Viktor x Reader

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Being a new recruit to Company 8 was something you thought you were prepared for but apparently weren’t. You were a little shy in the beginning but over time you warmed up and created a family within Company 8. Sure most families don’t have siblings getting attacked and kidnapped by a cult every 2 weeks but it’s still a family nonetheless. Your power was the ability to use your hair as any sort of weapon you want. It was a little hard to get used to but once you got the hang of it was super useful on the field. 

However, you still had a hard time controlling your power, especially when you were flustered or nervous. When you were a bit flustered like most people you’d blush but sometimes you’d been known to get so hot your cheeks would go up in flames. Sometimes going as far as your hair catching on fire and wrapping yourself in a cocoon. 

At first, it was annoying but overtime you got used to it, and overall most of your shyness was just you trying to avoid having to explain why you were having a mini bonfire on your face. You had been doing a great job until Viktor showed up.

 When he joined Company 8 you just about burst into flames. In your eyes he was perfect. He was everything you wanted, witty, smart, kind, and extra points for the height and that beautiful head of hair

When he first came to Company 8 he wanted to learn as much about everyone as he could. This meant he wanted to set up appointments to meet with each and every one of you guys, this obviously including you. Due to your condition and his overall, well everything, you were dreading this moment. You had gotten better at hiding it but normally you weren’t going to be as close as you were with him. It was just going to be you and him with all his attention on you. 

“SHIT” you screamed, at the mere thought of talking to him you had burned your pillow and effectively rendered it useless. Sighing you threw it with the other ones and went to get a new one. 

Viktor saw you as an enigma. You had been actively avoiding him ever since he came to the company. Only ever speaking to say Hello or goodbye or “Arthur accidentally stabbed himself with his sword again” You barely even made eye contact with him and he was starting to get curious. He knew he could be a bit eccentric but you haven’t even spoken enough to see that side of him. 

Truth be told he also fancied you. He thought your quiet nature was cute but he also found it fascinating how you became so confident and fierce when you were in battle or when you were in a meeting. He wanted to get to know you but every time he got close you’d dodge him or go off with someone else.

He was patient though because he knew his time would come where he could sweep you off your feet and impress you with his intelligence. 

While you avoided him for a while it was finally time to have your meeting with him. To say you were nervous was an understatement. You were like a walking radiator at that point. It’s amazing how you aren’t a puddle right now. 

After standing outside the lab door debating the consequences of just quitting and joining the circus you finally gained the courage to knock. Before you could though Viktor was already opening the door on his way to find you

“Y/N! I was worried you wouldn’t show up!” He exclaimed just a little louder than he wanted to and instantly regretting it once he saw you flinch

“Well, I wouldn’t miss an opportunity to improve on my abilities!” You said trying to come off confident but ultimately failing when your voice started to crack. You walked into his makeshift lab. It wasn’t perfect but it would do for now. You observed all the equipment like a child, curious on how it works and what it was used for. 

You stopped when you felt a pair of eyes watching you. You turned and saw Viktor looking at you with a dopey grin. You spun around fast, feeling your face warm up not even a minute into this and you were already on the verge of erupting.

For the first 5 minutes, it was an awkward silence. While he took your vitals you were trying not to turn into hades as he was just inches away from your face. He was trying to scramble for something to say. (All that brainpower and he can’t even think of a dad joke smh) 

“Well it looks like you are perfect!” he said after finishing the first round of tests. You knew he meant you were in good health but to hear him call you perfect was enough to set your cheeks blazing. You were scrambling to calm down before he took notice of your predicament 

The next test was just accessing your abilities. Show all the things your hair could do and so on. Nothing really interesting, although you did burn a hole through the wall and almost gave yourself some wicked whiplash. 

For a while he was chalking this up to the uncomfortable setting of him constantly probing you with tools and questions. After a while though he started to worry it wasn't the setting that was making you uncomfortable but him.

Viktor tried to make conversation but all he would get was a few chuckles and some nodding. It was starting to get to him. He knew he wasn’t as sweet as Shinra or as Attractive as Obi but he thought he was good enough in the looks department and overall a pretty nice guy. 

The meeting eventually came to a close and he had just about enough of your lack of response. As you were on the way out he just couldn’t help himself 

“I’m sorry but am I doing something wrong?” he asked, concern lacing his voice, you stopped in your tracks and looked at him in confusion 

“No you have been great-” “ Then why won’t you talk to me, hell you barely even look at me!” He cut you off. He was frustrated at this point, and rightfully so.

Thinking back on it you had been a bit ruder than you intended to be. While trying to keep your distance you had basically ignored him. It was almost as if he was just another wall to you. 

“I have been trying to talk to you for weeks only for you to avoid me at every chance you get. I was hoping to maybe establish some sort of friendship during this meeting but you have been ignoring me and when you do acknowledge me it’s with short responses and nods. You don’t have to like me but at the very least you could pretend for a second-” He blurted out. 

He hadn’t intended to word vomit all at once but he couldn’t help himself. He was a curious creature by nature and he needed to find the answers to all these questions he had.

“It’s not that I don’t like you, it's just the opposite! I just…” you trailed off you had noticed that in his state of frustration and your panic you 2 had inched closer to one another. Your faces just within inches of one another.

Ultimately it was too much and you could stop your cheeks from flaming up. Viktor backed away in shock wondering why you didn’t mention this before. Before he could ask what was wrong you had cocooned yourself in a little hairball out of complete embarrassment. 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to! You are just so nice and smart and I just get so flustered when you are around! I want to get to know you but then this happens and I’m sorry-” you were trying to calm down but you just kept getting more embarrassed causing your cocoon to heat up more.

Viktor was just in awe. Besides the fact that you were in the process of turning into a human butterfly, he sort of found it adorable. This combined with what you were saying he was also in the process of burning up

“Y/N! It’s ok! I’m not mad!” he said in an attempt to calm you down “I actually think it’s sort of cute” he mumbled just loud enough for you to hear. This intrigued you enough for you to calm down so that you could look at him, cheeks blazing an all. 

“Really? What’s so cute about me turning in a human lighter?” 

Viktor laughed while taking a seat next to you “I find everything you do cute when you laugh and your nose crinkles; cute when you yawn and instantly cover your mouth with both hands to hide your face: cute, and when you turn into human torch from fantastic four when you get embarrassed: cute” he confessed

You slowly cooled down and let your hair unravel. You mustered up all your courage to look at him. Your cheeks were still emitting flames but not as bright as before. He gave you a soft smile which you returned. You don’t know how it started but slowly you 2 started to lean in. Lips just a breath away from each other until

“Viktor Y/N its time for dinner…” Hinawa said, bursting into the room. You and Viktor bolted away from each other, flames starting to engulf your face. Hinawa paused, processing the scene that was in front of him. 

“Lieutenant this is not what it looks like! I mean it sort of is but it’s also no-” You screamed frantically

 “When you two are done making out can you please join us for dinner. Afterwards we can discuss workplace romance and fill out the proper paperwork.” He announced while on his way out. 

Mortified you wrapped yourself up into a burrito and ran out the room. Left in the lab was Viktor who looked just about as red as you, wearing a lovesick smile, “Like I said: Cute”

[costellos]

author’s note: I like to think that this takes place shortly after the gang realizes that they’re in love! I also wanted to take a more harem route on this (bc this blog is all about self indulgence, duh) so there are more mentions of the boys getting jealoooous ꉂ(´艸`●) anywho, I had a blast writing this and I hope you have a blast reading it!!

❥ ┋ ❝ bucci gang & how you know that they’re in love!

bruno bucciarati.

tries not to make it obvious that he’s assigning more missions with you. Bucciarati tries to sprinkle in assignments where you work alone when he can; those days, he’ll tag along in the car just to spend a little more time with you. this infuriates Fugo to no end.

(you can’t help but notice Fugo being unusually snarky at most everything Bucciarati says during the ride.)

he starts to ask for your opinion on how to handle new missions. part of it is because he genuinely values your take, part of it is to spend time alone with you. ↳ “ah... I see. you make a valid point there. I’m glad that I came to you first, you always have such valuable insight.”

Bucciarati had always requested an update after a mission’s completion, but recently, those conversations seem to go longer. he asks more details about the mission, if there was anything interesting about it. if you mention you got hurt, he’ll ensure you get the best care Italy has to offer.

like a true gentleman, he always makes time to walk you home at night. you live on the opposite side of time from him, and despite your protests, he insists that it’s fine. ↳ “please, [Name]. I’d rather do this than wake up tomorrow to find that something happened to you.”

sometimes old ladies will giggle if they see you and Bucciarati on walks together. if you ask what they think is so funny, they’ll comment that it’s so nice to see him finally making time for relationships.

he’s smooth about brushing them off, however. he calls you a good friend, but subtly hints that he’s interested in entering the dating world.

unofficial first date: he takes his time walking you home after a meeting. casually suggests that you should walk along Naples’s port. after all, it’s a warm summer night. why waste it? he would let you carry the conversation since he loves hearing your voice, and would only chime in as he sees fit. you note that throughout the entire night, Bucciarati has a smile on his lips.

leone abbacchio.

obviously not as rude as usual. he’ll still make snippy comments at you as he sees fit, but he also offers praise (a concept that you’re not quite used to yet). with enough time, those snippy comments turn into teasing. ↳ “jesus, [Name], you want three shots? was Mista really that unbearable to partner with this week?”

once that happens, he’ll direct his comments to the others. he’s ruthless when it comes to insulting the others’ attempts at wooing you (especially if it’s Giorno). Narancia will be the first to object, calling him out on trying to impress you too.

he’ll just shrug when this happens. it’s not his fault that their motives are so apparent.

anyway, Abbacchio has always been the type to put the mission before anything else. but during a particularly rough stand battle, you notice that he made the extra effort to guarantee your safety. though you do try to confront him, he brushes it off. ↳ “we wouldn’t have been able to advance without you. fight harder next time so I don’t have to save your ass again.”

you can’t help but notice the slight pink on his cheeks. caught red-handed, it seems.

if you’re going on a mission by yourself, Abbacchio will take the time to stop you and wish you good luck. brief and straightforward, nothing too fancy.

he’s willing to do things if you ask. before he’d tell you to ask someone else, but now... he might scoff or sigh or do nothing at all, but he’ll still accept.

surprisingly, he becomes the most comfortable to be around when things get quiet. Abbacchio is a firm believer that strong relationships don’t need to have mindless chatter. if you don’t have anything to say, he won’t push it, and that’s okay. no awkward silences will come from him.

unofficial first date: he invites you back to his place after a meeting. it’s raining and he doesn’t live far. he would make you any drink you fancy, but would be especially amused if you requested alcohol. it’s a casual affair; talk a little, watch some TV if that’s your thing. would let you stay the night if you wanted to! he wouldn’t make it weird, though. he’d just make his bed for you while he takes the couch.

giorno giovanna.

he starts talking to you more than anyone else in the gang. you took Giorno as the kind of person who won’t speak unless spoken to during moments of peace, so to have him casually start conversation with you feels... odd. but not uncomfortable.

he’s not fond of fighting for your attention amongst the gang. hence, he tries to make small yet meaningful impressions on you. he’ll order your usual at Libeccio if you’re running late (you didn’t even tell him what it was, he picked up after countless meetings) or leave you your favorite dessert at your doorstep on your days off (he remembered it from an off-hand comment).

on that note, Giorno starts leaving little things around for you, such as a single flower on your desk. small gifts that he knows would make you happy, even if for a moment. he himself gets happy thinking about your smile.

he would compliment you if he found it appropriate (usually for your fighting), but now he compliments you on everything. just in quieter ways. ↳ “you coordinated this plan flawlessly, [Name]. I truly wonder if there’s anything you can’t do.”

surprisingly, he also starts teasing you. nothing major, he just starts being more friendly toward you. his nonchalant exterior melts for something more familiar. ↳ “you must really like the rain. that’s the third time this week you’ve forgotten an umbrella. it’s alright, though, I brought one for the both of us.”

he’s honestly a pro at handling Abbacchio’s accusations. he plays it cool, saying that you’ve both gotten closer lately. he emphasizes the “closer” part, though. it might be considered sadistic on his part, but he enjoys watching his superior get annoyed.

(which, of course, irritates Abbacchio a lot.)

unofficial first date: he asks you to accompany him to his campus; apparently his school has rare frog species in the bio labs and he needs to observe it “for reference.” walks you through the biology department and shares what he knows about each species present. he loves amusing you with neat little fun facts, but he loves seeing your face light up at the cute little creatures more.

guido mista.

he’s the first to compliment you. about anything, really. how well your new shirt fits you, how your skin looks a little brighter today. all of it is genuine, and all of it is to see you smile just from something that he said. Giorno comments that he’s being overbearing.

(he retaliates by saying that there’s no harm in being nice to another teammate. Mista tries to be nonchalant about it, but he’s actually embarrassed that he’s that easy to read.)

he’ll follow you around everywhere. if you say that you’re going to run to the corner store before the meeting starts, he’ll tag along. if you mention you’re going to Chiaia this weekend to go shopping, he’ll casually mention that he’s going there too and that you should meet up.

the Pistols start paying more attention to you. they’ll dance around your shoulders, play on your hands — anything to get your attention. Mista gets flustered when this happens and barks at them to come back. ↳ “oi, what the hell do you think you’re doing?! leave them alone!”

this rarely works, though.

(Mista never even gets the chance to confess that he loves you. the Pistols do it before he can. because of that, he would likely be the first to confess to you.)

he’s a sucker for pop culture. if he hasn’t watched it, he’ll tune in to any movie or TV show that you like. he’s desperate to get closer to you so there really isn’t a downside to this, even if he doesn’t like it. he’d then talk about it to you, discussing plot elements and whatnot. ↳ “whaaaa? okay, okay, okay. back up. so he purposely killed himself to force his kids to come together?”

unofficial first date: the most traditional out of the gang. he asks if you want to join him to watch a movie starring your favorite actor / actress. would pay for your ticket too, obviously. he tries to play it cool, though! just going as two friends.... yeah...... friends...... he won’t pull any funny business but he’d love to discuss your thoughts on the movie afterwards.

narancia ghirga.

Narancia is the most obvious about his feelings for you outside of Mista.

for one thing, he starts saving a seat for you next to him at Libeccio. Narancia gets defensive if anyone tries to take it. Bucciarati has to intervene by asking him to stop and let you sit wherever you want preferably next to Bucciarati himself.

likewise, he sits really close to you. like, shoulders-almost-touching close. he’d back away if you ask, however.

he’s bad at taking criticisms from the others (he would be the worst if it wasn’t for Fugo). if he gets called out by Bucciarati, he’ll sink in his seat and pout. if anyone else does it, he’ll challenge them and call them hypocrites. it’s an uncomfortable situation.

when that does happen, he’ll scoff and say that you should leave with him. ↳ “ugh, I can’t stand this place. c’mon, let’s go somewhere else.”

he’ll invite himself to your missions if he can beat Mista to it. insists that you need backup and that Aerosmith can guarantee your safety. after all, his stand is meant for detecting threats.

if he does manage to tag along, you notice that Narancia starts showing off during missions. not only does he fight more aggressively, he also has Aerosmith do all sorts of flashy moves.

he looks up to you so much. he sees you as a role model of sorts, often thinking what you would do in certain scenarios. it helps him rationalize situations and keep his cool under pressure. ↳ “okay. relax. what would [Name] do...?”

unofficial first date: he asks if you’d like to see something cool after shopping for snacks post-meeting. from there, he leads you to the rooftop of a nearby residential building. it’s a struggle to get up there since you have to climb an array of pipes and balconies to reach it, but he helps you up. it’s quiet on the roof, and you can peacefully talk about life with nothing but a couple sodas and the stars above you. 

pannacotta fugo.

always volunteers to drive you to your missions. any more time with you is time well spent. Mista catches onto this quickly and will promptly tease him anytime Fugo offers a ride.

on that note, he gets really defensive if someone teases him about wanting to spend more time with you. hands down, he’s the worst at handling others calling him out. it might trigger an outburst regardless if they were joking or not.

oddly enough, however, he immediately relaxes if you so much as clasp his shoulder. part of it is that your touch is so gentle he can ease up. part of it is he’s embarrassed for losing control in front of you. he gets flustered afterwards. ↳ “I’m sorry you had to see me like that. let’s move on.”

he’s more patient with you than the others. he hates repeating himself, but you notice that he doesn’t seem to make an issue when it comes to you (much to Narancia’s chagrin).

if you’re going on a mission by yourself, Fugo makes the effort to stop you before you head out. he’d ask that you be careful and that if you need any help to let him know. however, he tries to cover that up and say that he knows you’re capable.

likewise, he’s a lot more doting on you now. he’s the first to check up on you following a mission. if you’re hurt, he wouldn’t hesitate to tend to you (not before chastising you). ↳ “tch. I told you to be more careful, and this is how you respond? you really are hopeless... but I’m glad that this cut isn’t anything major.”

he detests how the others act around you. how Mista and Narancia are always inviting themselves to your missions, how Bucciarati is quick to walk you back home, how cool Abbacchio is around you despite his own feelings... Fugo wishes he could be more forward with you, but he knows that’s just not who he is.

unofficial first date: he asks you to accompany him to the archives of a library. it’s for “research” he claims, to look up something relevant for the next mission. he would show you all the dumb records that the library contains. he loves sharing something so small with you! but he loves it even more when he can make you laugh. feeling something other than anger is an event he can only experience with you.

[shedreamsofstars]

our union is a secret i’m hoping, dreaming, lying to keep - chapter nine

you’ve all heard of ‘pretending to be married when you’re not’, now get ready for ‘actually married but pretending you’re not’

When Tohru and Kyo accidentally find themselves married, they must keep their new union a secret from their friends and family. That’s easier said than done when you’re both newlywed dorks who just want to spend some quality time with one another whilst said friends and family are always one step away from discovering the truth.

start from the beginning | previous chapter | next chapter (coming soon!)

Kyo watched with quiet contentment as the landscape beyond the train windows shifted from open country fields and rolling hills to flat crop fields and back, waiting for the more industrialised and sharper sights of the city to mark their arrival in Tokyo.

He leaned his head against the headrest of the train seat, a hand casually twined with his wife’s fingers as she talked on the phone. Her own head was pressed firmly against his chest, every word she uttered sending gentle vibrations rumbling through him.

“Oh … I see.”

Kyo frowned at her change in tone, glancing down at the top of her head. He squeezed her fingers lightly to get her attention and she looked up to flash him a small smile. It was likely meant to ease his concern, but it was far too strained to do anything but the opposite.

He shifted in his seat, forcing Tohru to sit up beside him, phone still pressed to her ear. “No, no Grandpa, that’s okay, really. I completely understand,” Tohru said in her typical cheerful tone before falling quiet for a moment, a distinct sorrow tugging at the smile she forced onto her face.

“Okay, take care of yourself. I’ll call you again soon.” Tohru nodded slowly at the conversation on the other side before pulling the phone from her ear and ending the call.

“That doesn’t sound like good news.”

Tohru pressed her lips into a thin hard line. Kyo leaned in towards her, forcing her to look up at him. He barely had time to register the soft sigh she whispered into the space between them before she slumped in his direction, landing carelessly against his chest.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and gently stroking her back. “I’ve got you. What’s wrong?”

“Grandpa can’t see us today. He’s really busy with some appointment,” she said after a long silence. “He said he’s fine and not to worry but … I really wanted to see him today.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Kyo soothed, letting his chin drop onto her head. Tohru was almost faultlessly happy, so to see her upset made him want to do whatever it took to cheer her up. “We’re here for a few days, maybe we can try and find some other time he’s free?” he offered, hoping it might be enough to boost her mood.

“Hmm,” Tohru replied noncommittally, curling in closer to him as if he were shielding her from the hurt. She had been looking forward to seeing her grandpa, and though she wasn’t saying anything right now, he knew it was only because she was still trying to figure out what she was feeling.

Kyo didn’t push her on it, knowing she’d talk in her own time. He pressed a reassuring kiss to her temple and left it at that, deciding to distract her thoughts with other things in the meantime.

He let the quiet silence that fell around them heal her disappointment, holding her close as the train rolled closer and closer to the city. They’d be arriving at their station soon, so if he wanted to cheer her up, he was going to have to think of something quickly.

“You know, instead of heading straight over to Master’s place, we could just wander around and sightsee for a while. You want me to check if Hanajima and Uotani are free this morning?” he asked.

He wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of meeting the two of them the moment they set foot in Tokyo, but Tohru had already been disappointed once this morning. He could suffer their presence for her sake.

Tohru lifted her head to look up at him, her hair falling into her eyes that brightened at just the mention of her two best friends. “That would be really nice,” she said, a small smile blooming on her lips.

“Alright.” Kyo brushed the hair out of her face with his fingers, stealing a quick kiss. “I’ll call them.

“So, Tohru,” Arisa said casually, leaning against a tree and stretching her arms above her head. “How’s living with that hot head going?”

Tohru and Hana sat at the base of the tree, shielding their eyes from the sunlight that filtered through the canopy of leaves above as they glanced up at her. The three of them had paused their stroll around the park to rest, and Kyo had wandered off to find refreshments.

“It really is wonderful,” Tohru admitted, her cheeks flushing involuntarily as a myriad of thoughts about her husband ran through her mind. He’d only been gone a little while, but already she missed his presence and found herself glancing around to see if he had returned yet.

“Look at that beautiful glow,” Hana said, pinching her cheeks playfully. “He might not be us Arisa, but it seems he’s at least figured out how to keep Tohru happy.”

“Oh, I’ll bet he has,” Arisa said, chuckling as Tohru’s face burned so hot she wondered if she’d start melting. “So, any idea of when he’ll propose?”

Tohru’s heart dropped to her stomach. “What?” she stammered out.

“Well, despite his many many flaws, he does seem prim and proper. You know, the type that wouldn’t keep a lady waiting. In fact, I’m surprised he hasn’t done it already.”

The back of Tohru’s neck broke out in a cold sweat and she giggled nervously, hoping that Kyo would come back and help her before she blew their cover.

Unfortunately, he was still nowhere in sight but luck took physical form in Hanajima, who broke through Tohru’s strained silence with her own observations.

“Tohru has always wanted to get married someday. There is no chance that Kyo would risk losing her by holding off. He’s as loyal as a cat that one, so I don’t think we have any need to worry in that department.”

“Hana, I think the phrase is loyal as a dog, not cat,” Arisa corrected.

“Oh is it,” Hana replied, gazing wistfully off into the distance as if the mix up didn’t bother her at all. “I’m not sure I see the difference.”

Not for the first or last time, Tohru found herself wondering just how much the dark-haired girl knew about the Sohma’s history.

“Well … as much as I could watch Kyon suffer, I can’t stand to see you being hurt Tohru,” Arisa said, leaning down and running a comforting hand through Tohru’s locks. “You know, we can talk to him and set him straight if-”

Tohru never got the chance to hear the rest of Arisa’s words as she straightened up at the sound of her name being yelled across the park. Tohru followed the sound to see Kyo heading down the path, four ice cream cones balanced precariously in his two hands.

“Come give me a hand before I drop all of these you damn Yankee!” he called out, struggling to keep the cones upright as he slowly made his way over.

“Who’re you calling Yankee, you damned idiot!” she fumed back, and Tohru wondered if she was more angry at being called a delinquent or the fact that Kyo had interrupted her midsentence.

“Do you want to eat ice cream off the floor? Cause that’s what’ll happen if you don’t take some of these off of me!” Kyo responded, grimacing as some passers-by stared at him for causing a commotion. Arisa rolled her eyes before slowly and reluctantly heading over to help him out, taking both her own and Hanajima’s cones off of him.

“Thank you for going all the way,” Tohru said as Kyo dropped to the ground beside her, handing her the double scooped cone of vanilla ice cream, a tantalisingly warm stick of chocolate fudge sticking out of the top.

“Now that you’re here Kyon,” Arisa said, taking a large bite out of her ice cream as Kyo watched on in horror. “I got a question for you.”

“No!” Tohru squeaked in alarm, her hands flying up so fast that she almost dropped her cone. “Please don’t ask that,” she said, her face flitting between helpless and panicked as she realised where the conversation was headed.

“Something isn’t right,” the blonde girl said, glancing between Tohru and Kyo with a look of pure clarity and an odd gleam in her eye.

“I agree. The waves are in turmoil … but in a pleasantly insistent way. It’s very strange indeed,” Hanajima added, her gaze never leaving the sweet treat in her hands as she devoured it.

“It’s nothing … really,” Tohru said nervously as she glanced at Kyo for support, hoping he’d catch on to what was happening. “We just haven’t really discussed marriage and proposals and … any of that stuff really.”

There was a soft thud from beside her and both Hana and Arisa looked at the source with a curious surprise. Tohru followed their lead only to see Kyo lift his head up from the crook of his arm, looking as if he’d given in.

“No, it’s not nothing,” he grumbled, looking over apologetically at Tohru. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t make you lie to your friends about this.”

Tohru stared at him in shock. “But … what about Master?”

“He’ll find out later tonight, so I guess it doesn’t really matter if we tell them first.”

“Tell us what?” Arisa said suspiciously, a smile on her lips that seemed a little out of place considering the fact her tone was laced with concern.

“Uh,” Tohru stammered a little helplessly, biting her bottom lip as she considered where to begin. With a deep breath to centre herself and a reassuring glance from Kyo, she told her friends everything that had happened over the past week.

About how a simple visit to a festival had spiralled into so much more. Both Hanajima and Arisa listened quietly and patiently as she explained everything from the mistaken paperwork to the ritual and everything after.

“Wait,” Arisa said once she was done, trying her best to hold back a hearty chuckle. “So the two of you got married accidentally,” she said, beginning to cackle gleefully. “And you’ve been hiding it this whole time?”

“A normal person would usually say congratulations or something,” Kyo grumbled.

“I’m sorry, I’ll get there, but that’s gotta be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You two are such dorks!” she replied, wiping a tear of mirth from her eyes.

“An unpredictably bizarre turn of events, I’ll admit. Although it still doesn’t explain the strangeness I sense around you,” Hanajima said, locking onto Kyo with her sharp gaze. Tohru’s chest went tight as her husband shrank under her scrutiny.

“Okay, that’s enough Hanajima. Let the poor guy live. He can’t be a good husband to Tohru if he’s traumatised by your waves.”

“I suppose not,” she agreed, relenting her mental attack on the red head in favour of reaching for Tohru’s half eaten ice cream who handed it over without a second thought. “I shall send you both blessings on your marriage of absurdity,” she finished, mouth full of pilfered ice cream.

“Thank you,” Tohru replied, looking perkier and less nervous than before. She felt so much lighter and excited about everything now that she knew she could share it with her two best friends.

“Yeah, what she said. Congrats to you both,” Arisa said, leaning forward to thump Kyo on the shoulder. He made a small whine of pain, rubbing at his arm with a deep frown as she took a seat beside Hanajima. “Good job on locking her down,” she added a little more softly, looking as if the words hurt her soul a little.

“Thanks,” he replied to the tall blonde, reaching for Tohru’s hand, and pressing a casual kiss against her knuckles. “It means a lot to both of us.” Tohru wanted nothing more in that moment than to reach for him and press kisses all over his face for being so wonderful and doing his best to get along with her friends, but that would have to wait.

For now, she settled on holding tight to his hand as she caught up with the others and how their lives had been going. It was so delightful and nostalgic, that she almost didn’t notice how the time had flown by. Before she knew it, it was almost time for her and Kyo to meet with Kyo’s father. Hers now too, she realised as an afterthought.

“We should make a move if we want to get to Master’s in time. Tohru and I planned to get there a little earlier, just in case he needed any help in the kitchen since the guy can’t cook for anything,” Kyo explained, his face betraying how horrified he was at the thought of leaving his father in charge of dinner alone.

“I’m sorry to have to leave you both so soon,” Tohru admitted sadly.

“That’s okay. As wonderful company as one of you are, Hanajima and I really have to get going too,” Arisa said, glancing pointedly at Kyo who bristled in response. “Relax, we don’t hate you just yet,” she added with a smirk, noting his response.

“Oh yes, our appointment for this evening had almost slipped my mind. It would be best if we get going too,” Hanajima agreed, reaching to pull Tohru into a warm hug that reminded her of the types she’d get from her mother. Arisa ruffled her hair affectionately before heading off with a goodbye of her own.

“I’ll miss you,” Tohru said a little tearfully as the two girls disappeared down the path that led out of the park.

Once she and Kyo were alone, the first thing Tohru did was grab a hold of his jaw and pull him down for a hard kiss, her teeth skimming against his bottom lip as she pulled away.

Kyo was stunned, looking for all the world as if he had forgotten his own name let alone how to speak actual coherent sentences. “What … ?” he started helplessly, unable to find the words he needed to finish his thoughts.

“I wanted to show you how much I appreciate what you did for me today,” she said quietly.

“I didn’t really do anything,” Kyo protested as he rubbed at the back of his neck bashfully, but Tohru frowned lightly at him.

“I know how much you wanted Master to be the first person we told about our marriage,” she explained as she shifted her hand to press gently against his warm cheek.

“Your happiness is more important than something superficial like that. Besides, Uotani and Hanajima seemed to take the news well, so no I have hope that maybe Master will too.”

“Of course he will,” she reassured him, pulling him into another kiss, longer and softer than the last. “Master thinks the world of you Kyo, and I hope you see that someday.”

Kyo took a deep breath but said nothing more on the subject. “Ready to go?” he asked before a mischievous glint flickered in his eyes. “Or we could find somewhere a little more private for a while,” he murmured against her cheek.

As much as her skin heated at his words, she knew that neither of them were really serious about following through. Not when Master was at risk of burning the entire Dojo down without their supervision.

“I’m sure we can find somewhere,” she said, pressing a soft kiss against his nose as she reached for his hands. “But … not right now,” she smiled happily she began to run, dragging him along behind her with a burst of laughter.

… xxx …

um, lol, so i might have accidentally forgotten to post anything for the last five months ... sorry? this chapter probably wasn't worth the wait, but unfortunately it's all i have right now so i hope you at least tolerated it.

i hope you're all doing good though, especially since the final season of fruits basket is feeding us all that good kyoru content <3

[btsficsforthehumble]

adj.: 1. Modern, unfamiliar, or different

2. Not based on or conforming to what is generally done or believed

pairing: reader x ot7

genre: college au; angst, fluff, smut, poly, ot7

Summary: You begin your first year at a prestigious university, set out on achieving your academic goals when a series of men step into your life that change the way you view the definition of love.

Part Seven

Warnings: sexual insinuations, slight sexual harassment (catcalling)

Word count: 2.7k

You hear Hoseok’s cheery voice call out your name almost immediately after you step into the quaint coffee shop. You send him a smile and a wave. Spotting Taehyung across Hoseok at the table, you send him a slightly more hesitant smile. The one he returns is one you have grown used to, now --- cheeky.

You order your coffee and walk over to the table after you get it from the barista. As you walk over, Taehyung sees you, and quickly clears away his stuff so you can take the seat next to him, and not Hoseok. At the sight, you hold back the urge to frown. It seemed like the pain in the ass Taehyung was back.

You sit, and Hoseok looks up from the textbook in front of him. “Hey y/n! How are you?” he says, his classic sunny smile on his face.

“I’m good! And you?”

“I’m great! I was just beginning to practice some problems for the first chapter, do you want to do them together?” he asks.

“Yeah! Let me just take out my book,” you answer, already reaching in your bag.

“Here, just use mine.” Taehyung slides his book across the tabletop, leaving it directly in front of you.

“Don’t you need yours?” You ask, furrowing your brows in confusion.

“Nah, I already did chapter one,” he explains with a shrug.

“Oh, okay, if you’re sure…”

“Yeah, go for it.”

At that, you and Hoseok begin to tear through the problem sets, moving rapidly as you had secretly studied prior to coming. As you finish the first chapter, he looks up at you and gives a noise of surprise. “You didn’t need any help at all! You weren’t giving yourself enough credit, y/n!” he teases.

You divert your eyes, feeling a blush climb to your cheeks from his praise. When you look back up, it’s Taehyung that catches your gaze. He was giving you a knowing smirk, seemingly having picked up on your little crush on Hoseok.

Your eyes dart back to Hoseok as you respond. “Let’s see how the next chapter goes, it might not be so easy…”

He makes a noise of agreement, flipping his textbook to the next chapter. “Yeah, it does get a bit harder. I’m sure you are already a pro though, based off of chapter one!” He gives you a toothy grin, causing your blush to return. “Taehyung, you didn’t do chapter two, right?”

----

An hour later, the three of you had managed to get through all of the practice problems together. All of you feeling tired, you were fast to slip into conversation about anything other than the math in front of you.

You learn that Hoseok is an environmental science major, and a third year. He also shares that he was in your school’s dance club, but shyly declines to bust a move at your and Taehyung’s insistence. His bubbly personality only grows when talking about his passions.

Having learnt Taehyung’s major earlier today, the only new information you got out of him was that he is a second year student, and is taking calculus as a general math requirement. He doesn’t care for it, personally, he says. Despite that, he also seemed to do just fine when the three of you trudged through the problems.

Before you depart for the night, Taehyung catches both of you, and invites you both to a party, hosted by his roommate on Saturday.

“I was told to invite everyone, so feel free to bring anyone you want. It’s supposed to be a back to school thing,” he explains.

Hoseok frowns. “I already was invited to something on Saturday, actually. Maybe next time!”

Their eyes both move to you, waiting for your response. “Uhm, yeah, I’ll come,” you answer. You didn’t have plans and honestly, you imagine you’ll want to relieve some stress after this week anyway.

Taehyung looks like a cat that got the canary after you speak, and Hoseok looks happy you were able to accept the offer, as he’s smiling at both of you.

“Yay! That’ll be fun, y/n! I’m sure Tae here will make sure you have a good time!” he beams, completely oblivious to the subtext of his own words.

Unfortunately, Taehyung wasn’t. He didn’t seem to care about the casual nickname Hoseok had used, but more so about the dirty interpretation of his words. “Of course, it’s always a good time with me,” he says with a grin.

You felt yourself grow slightly restless at the dual conversation being had. You wanted to tell Taehyung to stop being annoying but didn’t want to draw Hoseok’s attention to the dirtiness of what was being said. Taehyung must have noticed your shiftiness, because he places one of his large hands on your knee.

“I wish I could come! You two have fun without me,” Hoseok pouts.

“Oh, we will! Next time, sunbae,” Taehyung answers, giving your knee a light squeeze.

The thoughts that filter through your mind at Taehyung's words are far from innocent. It was one thing to insinuate that you and Taehyung would be having sex, but to suggest that the time after Hoseok would also be involved? Combined with the thoughts and Taehyung’s hand on your knee, you felt yourself get slightly turned on. Trying to calm down, you squirm a little in your chair, which tips Taehyung off to the fact that you were affected by the situation. His grin turns downright wolfish, at your chagrin.

Hoseok appears oblivious, as he begins packing up his stuff preparing to go home. After a second, you hurry to follow suit. Taehyung removes his hand as you do, allowing you to gather your things peacefully while he gathers his own.

You all stand, ready to depart for the night. Slightly uncomfortable with your partially aroused status, you clutch onto your bag and bounce lightly on your feet. Taehyung’s obnoxious smile fails to leave his face as he watches you.

Eager to escape, you bid them both goodbye, and tell them both you’ll see them in class tomorrow before you hightail it out of the cafe. Before you get more than two steps out of the door however, you hear a voice call after you. You stop in your tracks, and Hoseok speeds out of the cafe to catch up to you.

“Do you want one of us to walk you home? It’s dark out, and neither of us mind, right Tae?” He turns over his shoulder to confirm this with Taehyung who had emerged from the cafe right after Hoseok had.

“No, of course not. I wouldn’t want anything to happen,” Taehyung replies, now leaning against the glass of the storefront.

You shift on your feet slightly, torn. They had a point, it would be safer to have one of them walk you, but you were already a little jittery from the suggestive conversation that was just had.

Seeing your indecisive state, Hoseok reasons, “I live over by Munsu Street, if you live over there it wouldn’t even be out of my way.”

You couldn’t figure out if you were disappointed or not that he lived in the complete opposite direction. “Actually, I’m on Bongdeog… don’t worry about it, I’m pretty far from you.”

Taehyung raises his eyebrows once he hears your street. “I’m only a street over from you. I’ll walk you home, it’s no problem,” he says while pushing off of the building.

You glance at Hoseok, who was smiling at Taehyung. “Great! All right guys, have a good night!” he says, already backing up to go the opposite direction of the one in which you and Taehyung were about to go.

“You too!” you call out to him as you start walking away, back facing his receding form.

Now you and Taehyung were alone. You feel safe, but are on edge --- but only because of how he riled you up only a number of minutes before. Taehyung, on the hand, seemed perfectly at ease. Hands in his pockets, he started walking --- no, more like strolling --- towards your street. You both fell into a silence. Tense on your part, but easy on his, it seems.

After a few minutes, you felt the tension in your shoulders start to fade. Taehyung probably didn’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable while you were alone, you thought. Which, honestly, was really thoughtful and sweet… it wouldn’t even occur to most guys to do that.

After another minute of walking, you see him tense up slightly and glance over to an alley that you were approaching. You look up at his face, with his heavy brows furrowed in concentration. He looks down at you, widens his eyes, seeming to ask for consent for something.

Confused, you nod. He quickly wraps his arm around your side to pull you into him, leaving you hip to hip, his hand still resting in the dip of your waist. You look up, startled at the action, but are interrupted before you can ask him what the hell he thought he was doing.

“Is that your girl? She’s mighty pretty.” A man's voice called, seeming to come from the alley that Taehyung had looked at with concern moments before.

You see a man step out, wearing what looked like baggy clothes with some mysterious stains on them. His hair looked unkempt and greasy all the way from where you were standing.

Now you understand why Taehyung had pulled you in. He must have known that alley held some shady figures.

“Just keep walking and ignore him. He won’t do anything with me here,” Taehyung leaned down to whisper in your ear. You nod in response, not wanting to draw any more attention to yourself from the man, who now was only several meters away.

“Hey, I’m talking to you pretty boy. You want me to take her off your hands?” In response to the man's provocation, you felt Taehyung’s fingers tighten slightly on your waist. You could tell now that the man was visibly drunk, barely able to stand on his own, and seemed to be a poor soul that was down on his luck. You felt a pang of sympathy for the man.

You look again up to examine Taehyung’s face. He had his lips pressed into a flat line, and still had his eyebrows furrowed. The contortion of his normally open and playful features only emphasized his beauty. He looked so handsome, you think to yourself.

The thought passes quickly as you are brought back to reality. You were both now getting closer to the stranger, trying to pass by. You become more stiff with nerves, and Taehyung gives you a light squeeze of reassurance in response.

To your surprise, Taehyung reaches into his back pocket and produces a few bills from his wallet as you get closer to standing in front of the man. As you pass, he hands his money to the drunkard.

“Stay safe,” he tells the man, who was now looking at him with the same wide eyes you were giving him.

Taehyung ignores your wide stares, and continues walking as if nothing had occurred, completely unbothered. His hand still rested around your waist, however.

Realizing his luck, the man quickly scurries back down the alley from which he emerged, probably in fear that Taehyung would demand his money back.

Still surprised at what had happened, you were processing quietly to yourself for a minute. Once you both were out range of the man, Taehyung respectfully dropped his arm and gave you space.

You weren’t sure you were as relieved about it as you should be at his release. Your mind returns to the act he had done a moment ago, and couldn’t resist asking him about it now that you felt safe with the man gone.

“What was that about?” you ask bluntly, looking up at him to read his expression.

He just shrugged. After a second, he says, “That man is there all the time. Pretty sure he’s homeless. Drinks to cope, I think.”

Your eyes soften at his words. You had seen a serious side to him this morning; and now you were seeing him show his thoughtfulness and kindness, even for a stranger. Taehyung was proving to be a deeper person than what you had originally pegged him to be.

“You really didn’t have to do that, you know,” you say, wanting to get more out of him.

“I know.” He maintains his nonchalance. Seems like you wouldn’t be digging any deeper.

You both keep walking, again in silence. This time though, it is a completely comfortable one. The boy next to seemed like a different person than the one who touched your leg in secret and made innuendos about threesomes earlier. He seemed more mature, mellow even.

Before you even noticed, you and Taehyung had walked all the way to your street, both lost in your own thoughts. Moments later, you arrive at the front of your apartment building.

You stop at the entrance, and look up at Taehyung to say goodbye.

“This is me,” you offer.

He leans against the building, hands in his pockets. “Do you want me to join you up there?” He gives you one of his cheeky smirks.

“I think I can handle it.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “You sure?”

You sigh, and roll your eyes. “Try again next time, buddy.”

“You’ll want me soon? Wow, and here I was thinking you were a woman of virtue,” he grins.

“It doesn’t take virtue to turn you down, I’m afraid.”

He fakes a gasp, and covers his heart with his hand. “You wound me, y/n. And here I was thinking we were friends.”

“Ah, yes, because good friends keep trying to get in the pants of the other, I forgot.” You stretch your arms above your head, the textbook in your backpack beginning to weigh on your shoulders. You watched his eyes travel down your body and back up, becoming slightly hooded. You’ll admit stretching may have also been a way to tease Taehyung.

“You can’t blame me too much… you’re quite captivating, sweetheart,” he admits, but holds his teasing tone.

“Sure, if you find all random college girls captivating. Which, I guess if you’re a fuckboy, you might,” you say with a shrug.

He raises his eyebrows, and pulls his head back slightly at your accusation. “Don’t write yourself off so easily, y/n.” He tilts his head to the side. “Have you seen me pursue any other girls? Flirt with anyone else at all?”

You look down at your feet at his questioning. The truth was, you really hadn’t. He only ever seemed to focus on you, which you had previously found annoying, but were coming to enjoy secretly.

“I suppose not, but I’ve only known you for a few days. Who’s to say the list of girls you have isn't long?”

“Who’s to say that it is?”

You narrow your eyes and regard him carefully. You wanted to determine if he was just bullshitting you or was being genuine; his eyes were open and honest, and nothing about his body language told you he was lying.

“You’re a strange one, Kim Taehyung. Goodnight,” you say with finality while you turn around to head inside your building. You don’t know if you can deal with any more of him tonight. It feels like he turns your head upside down. You can never seem to get an accurate read on the guy.

“Sleep well, y/n.” You hear his deep voice call out as the door shuts behind you, and it sends shivers up your spine. You hated the fact that he had that power over you, but he was undeniably attractive. And the more you uncover about him, the more you feel his pull.

Just thinking about it made you realize how exhausted you were from today. Today felt insanely long, so much so that the Jimin/Yoongi fiasco felt like it happened ages ago. You could practically hear your bed calling your name, so with sleep in mind you rush to get some rest. Tomorrow, you’d deal with Taehyung in Calculus --- tomorrow.

[novelconcepts]

"#I could also write a book on how they hold each other during kisses" 10000000000000000/10 would read pls do it

You may regret asking, this is gonna get long. I think about the story that is contained in silent physicality so much with this show. How even if we didn’t hear them speak, you could read so much of their story and the essential character of each party just in the way they physically hold themselves in these moments. 

For one thing, I am obsessed with the different way each of them comes to that first kiss. There are several points over the course of two episodes where it looks like Jamie is considering it. The moment on the couch, where they’re just sitting in silence. The moment by her car, with Dani brave enough to take her hand for just a minute, and then let it go. The moment in the bedroom, talking about a funeral, not talking about how they’re flirting just a little more than maybe you should on such a sad day. Jamie considers. Watches. And, most importantly, waits. 

Dani, though--Dani goes for it. Dani has spent so much time watching and waiting, telling herself it’ll maybe be next time, maybe be a little longer before she’s ready. And then she finds Jamie, and she escalates so quickly. Jamie’s mid-word when she launches into her, and I’m so interested in what their hands do in particular. That she latches on to Jamie’s coat sleeve, her shoulder, her collar--something to ground her, something to pull Jamie closer with, but arguably not quite Jamie herself. Jamie, though, who we get the sense is more comfortable in her body, as out as someone maybe gets in 1987 around a family they’re happy with, Jamie is so careful not to overstep. Her hand comes up so slowly, touches hair first, braces against the side of Dani’s face like she doesn’t want to break her. And yeah, she kisses back, because it’s important to let Dani know it’s not just her in this thing, but then the breaking away with a smile. The making absolutely verbally certain this is the right move. And only when Dani looks around, says yes, does she actually allow herself to hold on. Only when she’s absolutely certain does she let her hand bury in Dani’s hair and pull her so close. And Dani is clearly into it, clearly having a good time under the grief and the panic she’s suppressing, but her hands are still only ever on the jacket. She lets herself get pulled in, grips tight, but it looks like holding on for dear life. 

That second kiss, though. Dani chooses it in such a different way. Not a lay awake at night in a blind gay panic way, not a drink wine and freak out way, but with intentionality. And it shows in the physical action. In her taking Jamie by the shoulders, and just looking at her for a second. Leaning in slowly. Gripping the jacket again, but with less of a flailing desperation and more of a grounding force. And this time, she’s not interrupting, and she’s not looking for ghosts, and she’s not afraid to reflect the way Jamie held her face the first time. This time, it’s Jamie who pulls her closer by the elbows, by the jacket, giving her less intimacy while still showing she wants her. And it’s Dani who breaks first, who gives Jamie a chance to say something, or to change the situation they’re walking into. When they go in again, it feels like it’s an equal decision, both of them so invested, and now Dani is willing and eager to wrap her arms all the way around Jamie. Not just hanging on in an effort to stay in the moment, but purposefully keeping her as close as she can. 

And every kiss thereon reflects this closeness. That’s the last time there feels like there’s any desperation in the action, and it drips away into relief so quickly. The next time we see them kiss, there’s a whole different kind of palpable energy between them--no longer an “are you on my page” or an “are you ready for this”, but the aftermath of having slept together for the first time. This buzzing energy of two people who don’t want to walk away from this, one knowing if she pushes too hard, the other might panic after all. They’re standing outside Dani’s door on opposite sides of the hall, with Jamie carefully keeping her hands in her pockets, leaning back away from Dani to give her that space to feel whatever it is she’s going to feel. And Dani watches her, angles her body toward her, closes the distance with her body while asking her stay with her voice. It’s so telling how Dani is no longer looking away, no longer looking at anything except this woman in front of her. Her hands are nervous, fidgety, but she’s pushing closer and closer as the scene goes on. Which, of course, Jamie isn’t going to just let dangle there, because Jamie doesn’t leave Dani hanging. She takes her hands in a very gentle soft way, like saying this is okay. Trust me. I’m not actually going anywhere, I just know new life needs space to breathe. When they kiss here, it’s hard to tell who’s instigating the action. It’s still Jamie holding Dani’s elbow, but it’s Dani pressing a hand to her back that pushes Jamie into her body. And it’s Jamie’s hand on Dani’s cheek, each of them showing so clearly and so lovingly that they want to be here. Both of them opening up to one another in the physicality of the kiss, both of them grinning so goofily, too hard to keep going. Because if they did, Jamie knows they’d just back right back into that room. And that’s a huge part of their relationship, the physical, but more important is making sure neither of them disappears into the other. Step back. Linger on her hands. Promise you’ll be back. 

And that’s the deal sealed. Every kiss after that obliterates that space between. It’s always hands softly cupping faces, arms wrapped around shoulders, both of them so aware of one another. And as life goes on, as things start to get harder and darker, I just think of the way Jamie holds on during the proposal kiss. How Dani is a little more fragile now than she used to be--or maybe just fragile in a different way, but always trusting that Jamie is going to catch her--and Jamie is still cradling her face. Gently moving her hands to cup the back of her head. It’s so hard to drift away when someone is holding you like that, when someone’s solidness is so warm and welcoming and insistent that you belong. The harder a time Dani has holding onto herself, the more Jamie holds onto her. The more the Lady pulls, the more intentionally present Jamie is in every moment. And you can watch Dani lean into this as she gets more and more afraid. In the way she lets Jamie wrap her up in the kitchen, in how she leans into Jamie’s hand on her back or her shoulder or the back of her head. Even on that final night, in how her body is curled toward Jamie like a flower toward the light, her arm across Jamie’s body, keeping contact even in sleep. 

I don’t think it was an accident that the final shot of the story before it loops back in on itself and starts over is Dani’s hand on Jamie’s shoulder. That physical pressure, that physical presence that Jamie can maybe sense in her dreams, closing the space between them. 

It’s just all so damn good and tender and there’s a solid amount of passion, but it never feels like it’s just sex or just the thrill with them. It feels like they each found something that completes them in a way they’ve never known before this. It’s in every single scene. And it’s not lost on me that most other lesbian love stories don’t do this stuff. They over-sexualize with nudity, or under-sexualize with chaste closed-lip kisses, or they punctuate huge moments like declarations of love or proposals with a hug instead of what we get here: long, lingering, let it play out organically actions. It doesn’t feel like a marketing department sat down and said, “Okay, how do we make this hot?” It feels like a bunch of people who are actually queer, or have been in love, or are both, went, “Okay, how do we make this honest.”

[whoacanada]

Camp Sweetgum

Pre-Canon Zimbits —  Camp Sweetgum shares lakefront with a private resort and Eric is used to wealthy, entitled people wandering into his camp. He isn’t used to them awkwardly hitting on him.

“Hello?”

Eric looks up from the mess he’s cleaning out of the bottom of a canoe to find a man waving awkwardly a few yards away. The glare from the lake is enough to mask any discerning features, but Eric can make out a thick accent. 

“Hi. One of your campers left this oar near the water polo court?”

“Oh, bless,” Eric sighs, rinsing his hands in the lake to clear any lingering stench. “The little kids are still learning and our new counselors are just as green. Thank you for bringing it back, I hope they didn’t interrupt your morning?”

The man comes into focus and Eric realizes he’s younger than he sounds, the hair on his head floppy and overgrown, softening his sharp features and oddly bright eyes. Eric can’t recall the last time he’d met someone with such light blue eyes, if he ever has; and the realization comes with a flutter low in his stomach. A flutter Eric always tries very hard to ignore when he’s working.

“Oh, no worries,” the man says, smile half-timid. “I saw the kids playing and should have said something before they left it behind.”

He’s older. He’s foreign. He’s cute. Not that Eric needs to think too hard about any of those details.

“So, bleach, eh?”

Eric looks down at the bucket and rag, realizes he hasn’t spoken aloud recently enough for this to be a real conversation and takes steps to amend the problem.

“How else are we supposed to determine what campers get motion sickness?” Eric offers with some measure of levity. “What’s life without a little mess?”

“Are you a counselor?”

“Caught me,” Eric balances the plastic bucket as he steps out of the canoe onto the pier, trying not to stain his shirt when the bleach solution splashes over the edge. “You’re looking at Sweetgum’s Senior Counselor. Why? Looking for a summer job? We need a cook if you’re halfway decent in the kitchen.”

He’s only half joking. Eric doesn’t have the authority to hire anyone, but they do need a new chef, and there’s very little Eric enjoys more than knocking rich guys down a peg.

“No thanks, I’m just on vacation,” the guy points over his shoulder at the resort on the opposite side of the lake, completely missing Eric’s sass. “But I’ll keep that in mind. I’m good with kids, I used to coach bantam hockey.”

“Used to?”

“I’m going back to college this fall,” he shrugs, bending low to rest the oar on the sand. At this angle, Eric can see the man shares the familiar, slightly bowlegged stance of some of his lifer teammates; the good ones who’ve played ice hockey as long as Eric’s known how to walk. “It’s kind of weird, isn’t it?”

It takes a moment for Eric to realize what the guy is talking about, but then he notices the way he’s looking at the bunk buildings behind Eric.

“Oh, you mean how there’s a middle-income summer camp next door to a super secret private resort? Believe me, I know. Half my job is making sure tech billionaires on speedboats don’t mow down my campers in water wings.”

The words are out before Eric has time to think, and the man’s pale cheeks flush pink, which Eric only notices because he’s already so pale. Who spends their summer at a lake resort and doesn’t tan?

“I don’t like speedboats,” the man offers. “I mostly golf with my dad.”

“Well I appreciate you not murdering my kids.”

“You’re welcome.”

They stand in silence for a few moments, Eric waiting for his visitor to do something, anything other than awkwardly hover while Eric’s campers scream and play a short ways away.

“Well, thank you for the oar,” Eric says, opening the door on the end of their conversation so this hottie can escape. “You feel like coming by the snack shack, I’d be happy to reward you with a fun-size candy bar of your choosing.”

“Thanks. I’m conditioning so I can’t.”

Eric’s used to rich kids sneaking across the lake to play pranks and be generally unworthy of any measure of kindness, but this is new. This boy, this hockey player, has accomplished his mission of returning a missing camp item, he’s made small talk, and rejected Eric’s thank you offer outright; and yet, he isn’t leaving.

“Is there anything else you needed?” Eric asks. “You’re welcome to help me clean.”

Pale, blue-eyed hottie actually scuffs his heel into the sand.

“Yes?” Eric prompts gently.

“I just saw a sniper scrubbing puke out of a boat and thought I’d say hello,” he says, looking appropriately horrified the moment the words leave his mouth.

Eric suddenly gets it.

This is not the first time someone’s mistaken him for a girl at a distance, especially when he’s wearing his swim shorts. Figure skating did wonders for his coordination, it also gave him the ass and thighs of a co-ed. One day, a boy will hit on Eric from behind and actually be interested in what’s happening on the front end as well, but that’s a day he’s saving for his college up north, the one with a much healthier gay-straight ratio.

“No stress,” Eric forces. “It’s an easy mistake. You aren’t the first guy to clock me at a thousand yards. Happens all the time.”

Blue-eyes blushes harder and looks away.

“I-I didn’t,” he stammers. “I’m sorry, I should go. Thanks for . . . um, don’t ruin your clothes. The cleaner.”

Eric waves halfheartedly as the man departs, walking quickly to the wooded path before breaking into a sprint the second he thinks Eric can’t see him any longer. When he disappears from sight, Eric adds another tally to a mental checklist labeled ‘sexuality crisis’.

“Stupid boys,” Eric sighs, giving up on appearances as he dumps the remaining contents of the bleach bucket into the canoe.

[starryseung]

can i request minho enemies to lovers ?

lee minho + smut

word count: 3.6k words

warnings; oral (both), enemies to lovers, dry humping, slight overstimulation

Lockers

“Fuck you.”

“Oh really? Well fuck you too!” you snap back at the taller male, hands closed in a tight fist.

It was one of the hundred fights you had with your high school rival. Lee Minho. Of course, each school had a unique pair, the kind who are always at each other’s throats, jabbing at each other with vulgar comments, and none of the other students know why. People assumed you both had a past, a never ending fight, a relationship gone wrong.

But in the grand case of you and Minho, there was no such misunderstanding. There was nothing in between you two, ever, and you were always at war with each other for no damn reason. And none of your friends or school mates knew why you two had fumes rising when your eyes met.

The school year had just begun a few weeks ago, and when the lockers were assigned, yours was coincidentally right next to his. Thus every morning started with gossips and tea spills throughout the school now. Just like how it was going to be, today as well.

Someone had vandalized his locker, drawing penises and other unexplainable things, and he obviously held you accountable. You had gone for a trip out to the nearby town with your parents, so hadn’t even come to school for the past week. How could you do something without even being there! You cussed at each other for a couple minutes, throwing crumpled paper and unpredictable forehead flicks at each other. That was until you slightly pushed his shoulder, which was enough to send him off-board.

“Don’t take advantage of the fact that I don’t hit girls—“

“Girls and boys, leave for classes right now!”, your headmistress’s voice boomed throughout the corridor, and all the students that had slowly gathered around the scene started to scurry away to their classes.

“Not so fast, Mr. Lee. You and y/n, my office. Now.” She gestures towards the end of the hall just as the two of you are about to leave.

You and Minho walk towards her office, giving each other death glares occasionally. Just as you reach the general waiting area, she walks past you two as if you two were completely invisible, and heads to her cabin.

“You two can sit and wait! She’ll call you in a while,” the chirpy lady squeaks out, motioning you to sit down.

You take a seat, bouncing your knee up and down. Considering there was place for two only, Minho decides to stand, as he wanted to be as far away from you. You realize and get up from your position, huffing and pointing to the now empty seat.You despised him, but you had a heart.

He sighs, slowly walking over to the couch and sitting down. After a few seconds, he sighs again, feeling bad for making you stand up.

“You don’t have to act like you’re kind. You can sit.”

Wait. Did he think you felt pity on him?

“No, it’s okay. I don’t need your orders. I’ll sit when I want to.”

So much for being kind.

“Fine! Stand.”

A few minutes pass by, and you sense the pain rising from your calves. Your ego was taking the best of you, and you huff and walk over to the congested couch, plopping down next to Minho. He grins, crossing his hands mentally celebrating his victory over you.

You start bouncing your knee again, waiting for the lady inside the cabin in front of you to call you in so that you don’t waste the whole day out here. Minho notices your moving state, and he clicks his tongue, placing a stiff hand on your thigh to stop it from moving and slowly vibrating the entire couch.

“Stop it. It’s annoying.”

You gulp and sit back, relaxing your tense muscles. Acting was hard. You couldn’t pretend that his recent action didn’t affect you. You straighten your t-shirt, fumbling around with the hem.

Just as you think your head was going to explode with all the awkward silence, the secretary walks in, all bright and smiling.

“Come in, kids. She’s calling you in.”

You and Minho get up and you let the taller male walk ahead of you. He pushes the door handle downwards and the old door creaks open, revealing your headmistress sitting on her leather chair. She motions you two to walk in, pointing at the chairs in front of her.

“So, tell me. What was happening out there.”

Minho takes a breath before starting off, but you beat him to it.

“Mrs. Ahn, you know I was out with my parents for the past week. I wasn’t in contact with anyone from the school either! And Minho, here, has the audacity to blame me for drawing… stuff, on his locker! And when I was defending myself, he pushed me—”

“She might’ve come early in the morning and done this! I promise, Mrs. Ahn, this is 100% done by this woman here. You can check today's camera footage!”

And thus, you, Minho, Mrs. Ahn and Mr. Song from the IT department were stuffed into the cabin, with the old man working his way through some files to check out that morning’s footage.

“Here it is,” he announces, hitting play.

The video, after a few skips, does reveal a tall masked man, searching for something, preferably Minho’s locker number, and just pulled out a spray can before vandalizing the school property. Mrs. Ahn gasps softly, and Minho frowns, and you immediately cross your hands, cocking your eyebrow at Minho.

“See? That’s not me.”

“It’s your brother!”

“I don’t even have a brother!—”

“Silence! Thank you Mr. Song, you may leave now. And you two. Stop bickering like small children. You are adults. Behave like it— make amends, and only then you’ll be allowed to leave.”

You both groan and get up, apologizing under your breaths before looking over at the old woman.

“That’s not enough. Give each other a hug.”

“Yeah, no, I think we’ve forgiven each other alre— oomph”

Minho grins, pulling you into a rough hug, and Mrs. Ahn laughs aloud. You push Minho away, fixing your clothes and bowing to your principal before leaving. Minho turns to the woman behind the desk, smiling warmly at her before walking away.

The rest of the day goes rather quickly (because you stayed at the office for most of it) and you call your friend to get her to drop you home, since your Dad must be exhausted from all the traveling last night.

“Hey fish head! This way!”

You groan, cursing under your breath before turning on your heels to look at Minho along with… Mrs. Ahn?

“Good Afternoon, Mrs. Ahn. I was just heading home. Anything important?”

“Yes, actually. Very important. For the past year, I’ve seen you and Minho fight endlessly, and it’s time to put this war to an end.”

You cock your head in confusion, not understanding what she had in mind.

“I want you and Minho to go out today. Just the two of you. You can think of it as a date, a study session, whatever you want. This fight has to end, and I think it’s time for us to intervene before it gets bigger, and… more violent.”

“I don’t think that’ll be something you’d have to worry about, Mrs. Ahn. Minho and I are doing just fine! You don’t have to interfere, really—”

“I wasn’t asking, y/n.”

She replies, displaying a toothy smile. She walks past you and Minho, who simply smirks at you, and she leaves before announcing, and you scowl.

“I need proof!”

Minho chuckles, walking past you as well before whispering, “Today at 6? You know where the Pearl Restaurant is, right?”

Your eyes go wide at the mention of the venue. This… dude, was going to take you to one of Korea’s top notch restaurants?

“Yeah, meet me at the café next to it. Bye!”

You stomp your feet in annoyance, walking away to your friend’s car waiting at the entrance.

—

You didn't believe yourself either, but yes; by the time it was 5, you had dressed up. and now you were lying in your bed, contemplating if you should actually go on the date and fulfill his ego, or, he could just photo-shop a picture of you and him at the restaurant and send it to Mrs. Ahn to fulfill her ego.

You decided to call Minho, if he would be accepting of your plan.

"Hey? Do you know how to use Photoshop?"

A laugh resonates from the other line, before Minho responds.

"I had that plan too, y/n. But I suddenly forgot how to start a computer at this point of time? I was going to ask you the same thing! But then I realized that you might not know what a computer is, in the first place," he laughs again, agitating you even more. "I'm surprised you had high hopes from someone you hate?"

You could hear the cockiness in his voice. You could practically imagine that he was grinning as if he had just K.O–ed you (which, no doubt, he had) and you could even hear the sass dripping out of your phone.

"Guess what! I'm freaking coming now, you asshole."

You hang up just as you finish hearing his laughter through the static line. You scream into your pillow and pray that this goes well.

Taking a cab to the cafe Minho had told you to come by, you walk across the street to see him through the glass enclosure of the small aesthetic cafe.

Minho had worn a black tee with some skinny jeans, his earphones plugged in as he tapped his foot lightly on the wooden ground. His pointy nose was hidden behind a black mask, and veiny his hands clasped his phone loosely as he waited for you.

You shudder, thinking about how you were slowly falling for him. You shake off the vague feeling before walking ahead, slowly opening the crimson coloured door. The bell above it jingles softly, and your lungs fill with the warm smell of coffee brewing in the four walls. Minho looks up at you, and he smirks behind his mask as he drinks in your beauty.

You had worn a baby blue sundress, with a silver bracelet your friend had gifted you a while ago. You smile at him and walk over to the table he was at, taking a seat on the opposite side of the booth. He pulls down his mask, enough for his plush pink lips to jut out.

"So, you came, huh?"

"Did you leave me any choice?"

He laughs and shakes his head, slyly reaching out his hand to place it on top of yours which was on the table. You cringe at the sudden wave of emotions in you. You didn't know how to react to his action. Do you not react? Or do you smile? Or wait, do you put another hand on top of his? Your mind was going haywire and was running a speed of a hundred miles a second. Thousands of thoughts run in your mind, and a few so dirty that your breathing hitched in your throat. Minho looks up at you, blank eyes staring back at you.

"You good?"

"Y–yeah. I'm great. Let's just click the picture and get over with this shit."

The waitress walks up to you two and places two menu cards between you. You pick up one, slowly flipping through the pages as your eyes scan for your favourite drink.

"Do you have any favorite kinks?"

"What?!"

"What. Do you have any favorite drinks? There's plenty here…" he trails off.

You shiver. Why was this happening! Did you start hallucinating? In front of someone you hate? Just so he could make fun of you later on?

"I think I need to use the restroom? Yeah I guess, I'll be back in a bit." you ramble, shuffling out of the seat to walk over to the washroom.

You walk inside the small washroom, quickly rushing to a sink and washing your face. You look at yourself in the mirror, fixing up your hair and breathing in and out a few times. You mentally prep yourself up for whatever you had to face outside.

After a few minutes of catching your breath and creepily talking to yourself, you walk out. But when you look up, Minho wasn't there in his seat anymore. Neither was his phone, or whatever else he was carrying with him. You look around, and your eyes fall outside the cafe, and you stare as Minho has his hands behind his back, looking around at the streets. Why was he out? You walk out of the small cafe, bowing to the waiter who held the door open for you.

"Hey! What are you doing here?"

"The coffee was fucking disgusting. Let's go somewhere else."

"Are we seriously continuing this? Just take a picture so we can go back to hating each other," you whine out of annoyance, stomping your feet on the concrete sidewalk.

"Let's go to your place then."

"It's not really clean…" you say with a shrug as you remember the mess your roommate had made before leaving the apartment for the night.

"It's okay! I bet my house is worse."

—

"Okay I take that back. Your house is a dumpster."

"Hey!"

You and Minho reached your apartment, and you knew he was going to day something snarky to piss you off. You sigh and pull him inside the house. You didn't want to deal with another mom–like figure again.

“You can sit, I’ll get something for you.”

“No it’s good I don’t need anything. That coffee made me lose my appetite for the next decade.”

You laugh, placing down your purse on the shelf before walking Minho to your room. Your roommate had strictly warned you to not bring boys to the dorm, and when she was the first one to break the rule, she covered it up by saying they shouldn’t be in the living room or whatever.

Minho plops himself on the single couch, looking around in your room. He looks at you going into the bathroom— probably to change —and uses this moment to check out your room.

You leave the bathroom door half open, since the strong stench of fish cooked by your neighbors filled the small space. You weren’t doing any personal business anyways, just opening the little-too-tight messy bun and combing through your locks for the usual bedtime.

Minho found your bed more comfortable than the rough couch, so he decided to settle himself on it, looking at the small photo frames with pictures of you with your friends and family in them. He hears a thud from your side, looking over in delight if you’ve finally messed something. Instead, he was met with your petite frame picking up the wooden brush you had dropped, resuming to combing through your hair. He wasn’t disappointed, though.

You weren’t just a pretty face to him. You had a beautiful soul. He definitely thought you were cute, and he had fallen for you since day one. And now your actions were just fueling his desire. He sighs, looking down when your eyes meet his through the mirror. You finish off your routine and step out, a soft smile dancing on your lips as you walk over to Minho. You hop onto the bed, crossing your legs and facing him.

“So uhh… who's your favourite artist?”

“Can I kiss you?” Minho asks. His cheeks flush red in embarrassment when you ask something completely unrelated to his request.

“Um, I think so? Yeah. Yes you ca—”

Minho stops you midway by pushing his pink lips onto your chapped ones, grinning cheekily. You can hear the fireworks bursting in your insides, and you try your hardest to stop yourself from smiling wide into the kiss. Minho gently places a hand on your thigh, resting it there until you take initiative and slowly pull away.

He looks at you with soft but dark eyes, lips red and wet from the kiss. You look back at him hungrily, this time leaning over and kissing him. The second time was way better— more confident, lustful, rough, passionate. You coil your arms around his neck, moving deeper and ahead onto his lap. You sit above him straddling him, while he holds you down in place with a strong grip on your waist.

You moan softly when he bucks his hips, slightly grinding into you. He breaks the kiss and falls back on the pillow with hooded eyes and a smirk, having you seated in his lap. You quickly shuffle and pop open his jeans, dragging them down steadily. He slightly sits back up and pulls you into a heated kiss, moving his lips in sync with yours.

You groan when he starts running his hand down your back, unzipping the blue dress. When you’re finally free out of the garment, you resume grinding down on the male as he throws his head back on the pillow, incoherent profanities and moans spilling out his lips. You feel impatience bubbling in you and you pull down the material off of him.

“Wait.”

You look up at him, confusion and curiosity building up in you. He picks you up by the waist and places you down on your back next to him, as he climbs up above you. He latches his lips on your neck, sucking various spots and watching in satisfaction as the purples and reds bloom on the skin. He kisses down your form, pecking your chest, to your abdomen and finally reaches your core.

He licks a tight strip up from your folds to your clit, and you whine at the tease. He smirks, gliding his fingers up and down your cunt. You arch your back reflexively, gripping the sheets under you tightly. Minho looks at you through drowsy eyes, smirking as he feels you crumbling under him.

He prods one finger at your entrance, slowly pushing it deeper and deeper. You moan louder at the intense feeling burning in your core, and Minho starts thrusting his digits in and out of your hole. You feel the pressure building up in you, and just then he adds two more fingers and curls them in you. It was as if an invisible force was tearing you apart, pleasure eating you up.

He hisses as he pumps his fingers in you at an unbelievable pace, reaching his other hand to your breasts and toying with your nipples. You dig your nails into the sheets beneath you, bringing the other hand over Minho’s which played with your boobs.

The burning feeling in your abdomen nothing but rises, and you feel yourself losing your mind as you fall closer and closer to your orgasm. You feel a soft sensation pressed against your clit, and your eyes flutter open as you look at Minho licking and kissing your clit as he humps the bed, driving you insane. He grazes his teeth above your clit, and you let yourself lose, the knot inside you untying. Your juices escape you and Minho licks and laps them up like he was a man starved.

You whine at the overstimulation, and he slowly pulls his fingers out. He sits up as you catch your breath, and sits at the edge of the bed. You crawl down and position yourself between his feet, placing your palms above his thighs. You lick his hard shaft from bottom to top, one hand slowly pumping his base. He sighs deeply, dropping his head down while biting his lip.

You lick his tip one last time, before hollowing your mouth and going down on him. You take him in one go, using your hands for what wasn't going to fit. His tip brushes the back of your throat, and you press your tongue flat against his cock.

He grunts at your pace, holding a fistful of your hair before thrusting harshly in your mouth. Tears spring in your eyes as you take him whole, never leaving his cock void of your touch. He bucks his hips up, loosening his tight grip on your scalp, as you feel his shaft swell. You slide up with a pop, using your hand instead, and pumping him at a quick pace.

You use your other hand to press your fingers on his slit, smothering the pre-cum all over the tip. The sensations send him overboard, and before you know it, he moans and groans as his high washes over him, liquids covering your hand and wrists.

He catches his own breath, as you rush over to your nightstand to grab a couple of wet wipes. You clean up your hands, walking back over to him and handing some to do his business. He swabs off the sweat and struts lazily to the washroom, washing up so that he could leave. You look at him, upset that he was going.

"You're going?"

"You want me to stay?"

"Me? Want you to stay? Pfft yeah right."

You both laugh awkwardly, as he starts getting dressed up.

"No actually, uhh my roommate is a bitch so she apparently doesn't want guys around and stuff so… yeah. I mean I totally wouldn't mind, you know."

"Yeah that's alright, my roommate must be waiting for me. I told him I'd be up to play a game or two."

"Sure. See you."

He grins back, not responding as he grabs his keys and phone to head back home. Once you both bid your farewells, you rush to your room smiling like a madman, throwing yourself onto the bed. You look up dreamily, hiding your face in your hands as you recollect what you had just done. Two dings on your phone wake you up from your daze, and you reach out to check who the messages were from.

M*nhoe: Mrs. Ahn is my aunt

M*nhoe: haha loser.

—

a/n; thank you guys for the support hehe🤧 Also have no reason for why this took me like 300 years to write~ I’ll be posting more frequently now since my school hours have been reduced :)

[lady-charinette]

Dinner for Two Chapter 12: The Purrfect Plan

Previously on ‘Dinner for Two’…

An idea popped into her head suddenly, “Hey, wait, I thought you found your mystery cat. Didn’t you say that professor guy was Chat Noir?”

A miserable frown marred the designer’s face and she gently hit her forehead against the table in frustration, “I’m not even sure what I found, Alya. Erik’s…alright, I guess. It’s just, he constantly makes fun of Nath and I don’t like that. He acts different than when we’re in the restaurant.”

“Maybe it’s a thing between professors? They do study in similar fields.” Alya shrugged.

Marinette huffed, “That’s what I thought too, but Nathaniel had that haunted, ‘that guy harassed me’ look about him when I mentioned his name. They really don’t get along at all.” She pushed aside her coffee and rested her chin against her propped up hands miserably, “Maybe I should drop it, maybe I was wrong about Chat, after all.”

Alya’s brow shot to her hairline, “What?! You can’t be serious, Marinette! You’ve talked about that guy for the last weeks! You’re totally smitten!”

“But what if I misjudged his character? What if he’s actually a jerk? I can’t date or like someone like that.” She pouted, looking truly conflicted. Alya hated seeing her like that.

The reporter stood up from her seat and walked around her kitchen table, wrapping an arm around her best friend reassuringly, “Hey, don’t be like that, I’m sure it’s all just a big misunderstanding.” She rubbed her cheek against Marinette’s affectionately, “Besides, my best friend doesn’t just fall for anyone, either way he’s a great guy or there is no guy at all!” she grinned and Marinette giggled, hugging Alya back.

“Thanks Alya, you always know what to say to make me more confident.” With a playful smirk, Marinette gently nudged her best friend, “By the way, Nathaniel is giving you competition, he started learning how to cheer me up too.”

Alya clenched her hand into a fist, “That punk! How dare he! Oh, he should watch his ass when I come into one of his lectures! That paperball is going straight for tomato child!”

Marinette laughed.

--

Adrien’s chemistry professor was perplexed when the part time model handed him a thick stack of papers neatly stapled together. “This is…?”

Adrien beamed, with eyebags that could go for days and suspiciously slouching feet, but beamed, “My assignment I’m supposed to hand in, professor.”

His professor did a double take, excusing himself to browse through his schedule and class list to see for when the assignment was due. “That’s in two weeks Adrien!”

The blond smiled tiredly, “Yes, I know, I wanted to hand it in sooner because I have other assignments to complete…I’m sorry did I inconvenience you?”

The taller man quickly stood, placing Adrien’s assignment on his desk and shaking his head, “No, no, that’s fine. I was just so surprised, you always hand in your work, but it’s still early and I know how busy you are.” He smiled kindly at his student, old worry lines deepening the more he noticed Adrien’s demeanor, “Are you getting enough sleep? If I remember correctly, you have another part time job to run to.”

Adrien nodded, straightening his stance. “Yes, I do, but oh sleep- yes of course, I’m getting enough sleep. Thank you.” He stumbled, shaking his head as if to clear the fog before giving a decisive nod, “I’m…working on that.”

His professor chuckled, patting Adrien’s shoulder kindly, “I know exhausted students when I see them, I know you’re well liked by the other professors, so don’t overwork yourself if you don’t hand in some assignments on time. I’m sure the colleagues would understand and give you more time if you needed, Adrien.”

The young man looked bashful, shuffling his feet before planting them firmly on the floor, adjusting his bag slung over his shoulder, “That’s alright, I can manage the rest well. I’ll be looking forward to your next lecture on analytical chemistry!”

The professor waved him off with a smile, shaking his head. “I’m glad you seem to enjoy chemistry as much as you do physics studies. Not many in the physics department do.” Adrien was certain his professor was thinking of another colleague, judging by the sour expression on his face.

Adrien waved goodbye, jogging up the steps towards the large double doors of the lecture hall. He still had time to get ready for the next lecture and grab a bite to eat.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Hey babe, aren’t you supposed to be at work already?” the sound of keys jiggling accompanied her boyfriend’s voice as Alya turned to the opposite direction they usually took to her workplace at the newspaper company.

She smiled, standing on tiptoes to plant a quick but affectionate peck on the DJ’s cheek. “Nope! I took the day off, gotta do some…investigating.” She grinned, a grin Nino learned to recognize from miles away.

It meant she was in ‘reporter’ mode and that any and all efforts to possibly stop her were futile.

With a resigned sigh, Nino pulled her closer and kissed her hair and forehead, shaking his head. “Alright, but be careful, don’t overdo it, okay?”

Alya’s grin brightened and she nodded, jogging in the opposite direction while waving. “Don’t worry!”

Nino sighed again, a longer more exhausted sigh, scratching his neck worriedly. “I always do…”

With that, he shoved his hands in his pockets and slowly made his way to the studio.

Pierre’s day had been as inconspicuous as most, and when another customer approached his desk, he was quick to grab pen and notepad and open the latest entry in the guest book.

The auburn-haired woman stopped in front of him and gave him a kind smile, but her eyes seemed to be all over the place, scanning the room, analyzing, as if searching for something.

“Hello! I didn’t make a reservation but is it possible to get a free seat?”

Pierre didn’t need to eye the guest book to answer, this lady came before rush hour, so there were many seats available. He smiled politely, “Of course mademoiselle, follow me, please.” Pierre led the woman to the nearest available seat, handing her the menu and already jotting down her order.

“Um, excuse me, may I use your unique service today?”

Pierre blinked once, before nodding. “Certainly, which one would it be?”

The glint in the woman’s eyes reminded Pierre of a fox eyeing its prey, “Is the black cat in use?”

“No, I don’t believe so.”

The smile stretching the woman’s lips reminded Pierre of a fox after a successful hunt, “Perfect,” he wasn’t sure what it was about this woman, but her inquisitive nature befuddled him.

Pierre excused himself with the promise to return with the lady’s order; a simple breakfast menu consisting of a cappuccino, orange juice, baguette with fresh fig jam, pain au chocolat, and a honeyed fruit salad.

As the waiter left, Alya took the time to look about the restaurant. It hadn’t changed much from the last time Nino and her went here a year ago, the walls had a fresh color and new chairs better fitting for the overall ambience but it stayed largely the same. She looked at the yellow tablecloth, discreetly taking out her notepad with her pen placed on her lap. As a passionate reporter, Alya never forgot conversations she had with clients, but she wanted to be safe with this one, since it seemed like Marinette was torn about knowing two contradicting sides of Chat Noir.

Speaking of the devil…

A sizeable black plush toy with large green eyes was carried by another waiter while Pierre was carrying her breakfast and Alya didn’t know what to feel more excited about, her impending interrogation or the delicious food.

Once situated opposite of her on the chair, the two waiters left with a ‘bon appetit’ on their tongues, Alya throwing back a happy word of gratitude for the food.

It wasn’t until Alya was sipping her coffee that she began the conversation before the toy could, “Alright, now listen up, I know there’s a vague humanoid person behind those fuzzy ears and I would appreciate it if you strain the human ears for me.”

There was radio silence on the toy’s part, so Alya continued, cool as a cucumber and fiery as a chili pepper, “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, sweet blue eyes and dark hair, a smile that could summon angels and cure the ill, ring any bells for you, kitty cat?”

Alya waited for an answer from the human behind the toy, slicing through her poached eggs and internally delighting in the visual beauty and the savory texture in her mouth when she took a bite.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was too early for Plagg to be awake, too early to start work, too early to even think of work. And yet, here he was, staring at Adrien’s screen in mounting horror, the image of an auburn-haired woman with glasses glaring him down with all the bitterness of a woman hellbent on revenge.

Revenge for what, Plagg didn’t know, he just wished he wasn’t in the middle of this while trying not to starve to death.

Only minutes ago, he had been pressing buttons on his computer, in his little room filled with the smell of cheese, working like a slave deprived of his most basic needs.

Pierre had graciously brought him his post breakfast, as Plagg liked to call it, something with cut meat, perhaps a vegetable or two, but most importantly cheese. A lot of melted cheese. So much cheese that Adrien’s nutritionist would’ve balked at his choice of food and promptly demanded a refund. And possibly counseling after dealing with Plagg and his unholy list of food he ate on a weekly basis.

He was working for two today, he needed all the energy he could get.

It seemed not even his meal would be enough to replace all the life that seemed to have trickled from his hands like sand when the woman began speaking to the Chat Noir toy like she was all too eager to drive that butter knife anywhere else other than her poached egg.

He was a goner.

••••••••••••••••••••••••

“No answer, huh?” Alya regarded the plushie curiously, wondering, for a brief moment, if Marinette had been telling the truth about her lengthy talks with the doll. No, of course she did, but it seemed like Chat Noir was in no mood to talk to her. She knew they had automated responses, but this one didn’t even seem to have those since all she had heard from it was silence.

Alya glanced down at her notepad, thinking of all the questions that burned at the tip of her tongue, fueled by the fierce need to protect her best friend, to get answers for all the questions Marinette had, an answer to all the confused feelings that plagued her. She deserved that, so Alya pressed on.

“I know I’m not the person you normally talk to, I don’t even know if you will talk to me today, but I’m here to get some answers for Marinette, since you weren’t here the last time she came. You have no idea how worried and confused Marinette is right now.” Alya’s tone softened, if slightly, she wasn’t sure which approach would work best to tickle answers out of the plushie, but she would try the hard and the soft way.

“So, here’s one question I have for you: the first time you met up with Marinette in a café, you talked badly of Nathaniel. Is this a rivalry thing between professors? Or are you just a jerk?”

•••••••••••••••••••••••

Plagg was debating whether to call Pierre and get the toy back, or risk suffering mental injury. He was glad this woman wasn’t able to physically reach him, he was sure he would be losing more than just his mind.

He had a hunch today wouldn’t be a normal day, it didn’t even start normally. No sooner had he arrived at work, he was being starved and had to beg Pierre to fix him a meal after breakfast. Plagg shook his head, running a hand down his face to focus on the issue at hand.

Nathaniel? Who in the world was Nathaniel? Was he someone Adrien knew? Obviously, but he knew the kid, Adrien rarely talked bad about someone and even if he did, he never did it behind their backs. Adrien talking badly about someone while on a date with a woman? Plagg doubted it.

And yet, this woman seemed to believe he did.

Plagg leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin, food temporarily forgotten. She mentioned a rivalry between professors, Adrien wasn’t even a professor, he was still a student. This must be some misunderstanding. This Nathaniel didn't seem to be a model but a professor.

Wait, met up in a café?

Plagg leaned over and checked his phone, scrolling through all the messages he exchanged with Adrien, he tried to remember if Adrien ever mentioned anything about meeting up with pigtails girl before, but nothing sprung to mind.

Was he getting old?

Adrien never mentioned that. Plagg was sure of it.

The kid would be over the moon if he had met up with Marinette in person. Adrien would’ve been a mumbling, panicking fool. He would’ve harassed Plagg about dating etiquette, not that Plagg had many, and yet he had a girlfriend. He would ask Tikki for better advice, after being fed up with Plagg of course. He would get ready two weeks beforehand, choosing which outfits and cologne to wear, how to style his hair, having pep talks with Nino over how to talk to women.

And calling Plagg in the middle of the night while the middle-aged man slept peacefully, to harass him over popular places people visited for platonic dates and if it was too old fashioned to walk her home and kiss her hand. At which point he would squeal like a girl and hang up, leaving a grumpy, confused Plagg to stare at his phone.

But none of that happened. Nothing happened.

This had to be a mistake.

Just when Plagg wanted to press the speaker button, the woman spoke again.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

After a long pregnant silence from the motionless toy, Alya clenched the material of her skirt in her hands, fists shaking in mounting rage.

“Not answering that either? You want to convince me that all those talks you two had and how she talked about you all these weeks was just an act?” Alya’s temper flared, nails now digging into the tablecloth, her poached egg momentarily forgotten.

There was static noise, as if someone was ripping paper and then a robotic-like voice sounded from the toy.

“Oh mon dieu, mademoiselle, you have quite a temper don’t you?”

Alya’s eyes narrowed, folding her hands over the other and resting her elbows on the table, “I’m all ears, cat.”

Plagg loved to dig his own grave, it even had several floors, one of which was the devil’s personal residence. Plagg was sure after this, he would have to pay his horned buddy a visit.

Should he try to channel his inner Adrien? The radiant, carefree, dreamy spirit of youth?

No, he would make things worse. Until Adrien got here, he had to set things straight for the kid’s sake.

With a deep breath, Plagg spoke.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

“What a clawsome day we have, huh? Purrty fine meowrning, right?”

Alya tapped her foot, eyeing the toy suspiciously, did it have a camera too or was it just a speaker for the voice?

“Or should I say, an eggcelent morning.”

So it had a built in camera.

Alya was mildly disturbed, with the new knowledge of a person behind this doll actually watching her eat and rage at it until now.

Gathering back her courage and anger, Alya adjusted her glasses. “Quit it with the puns, will you answer my questions or not?”

Silence followed her words, Alya thought the doll wouldn’t offer any answers she was seeking, but just a minute later, she was proven wrong.

“Sorry lady, you uh-this isn’t the cat you think you’re talking to.”

“What?” was this a bad joke? Had Marinette’s hunch been right? Was this person an impostor?

“The real owner of…uh the black cat is unavailable right now, I’m just filling in for him. But every time pigt-Miss Dupain-Cheng was here, it was the real him, trust me.”

Should she trust him? This was only a doll she was talking to, she had no way of knowing who was behind the voice, if this man was telling the truth.

Then again, she had nothing much to go on.

Crossing her arms and leaning back, Alya pondered her next movements, ire and ego sufficiently snuffed now that the man she had actually wanted to confront wasn’t even here, and she was talking to a third party.

…A third party who might just have the answers she needed.

“Hey, kitty cat.”

“What?” the voice originated from the plushie, sounding mildly grouchy.

Alya brushed the tone off, leaning forward to write in her notepad. “I have some questions I think you can answer, I’ll try to hold off on the difficult ones.”

There was another moment of silence, before the toy spoke, “…What kinda questions?”

“First, tell me if this switcheroo thing is an often occurrence and if you inform my best friend of this if it happens?” sticking her tongue out in concentration, Alya held her pen close to the paper.

The answer followed immediately. “What kind of a cat do you hold me for?! Today was the first time since he, uh Chat Noir, was busy.”

Alya scribbled the answer done, satisfied with the speed at which he answered.

“Okay, why are you a jerk?”

A scoff sounded, “It’s in my genetic make-up. Next.”

Snorting in amusement, Alya continued, “Did ‘Chat Noir’ ever had any intentions of meeting up with Marinette in person?”

“He has to keep his identity secret, so unless he could fully trust her with keeping his secret, I don’t think so. Or at least I would stop him, he wears his heart on his sleeve, at one point he would crack like an egg.”

Alya wrote that down too, ‘secret identity’, ‘no meeting’, ‘crack like an egg’.

The young woman rubbed her chin in thought, half the questions flying out the window now that the person she wanted to interrogate wasn’t here.

“What does ‘Chat Noir’ look like?”

“Oh, god-like. A model really. Sun kissed skin, corn golden hair, forest green eyes and all the smhuck.”

Alya rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her coffee, “Are you giving me false information?” she stared at the soulless eyes of the doll, annoyed she wasn’t getting her questions answered.

“…Pawsibly.”

“So, you have to protect his identity that much? Alright, I’ll leave this for Marinette to figure out but can you at least answer me one question?”

Plagg mulled the suggestion over, before pressing down on the speaker and replying, “Fine.”

“Did you ever meet up with Marinette in person or do you know if he ever met up with her?”

“Nope, cat’s honor. The ki-he never met up with her personally, if he had I wouldn’t be trying to hide his identity, now would I?”

Alya sighed heavily, leaning her head back to massage her forehead in frustration.

If Chat Noir never met up with Marinette, who the hell was the guy Marinette met up with?

Her thoughts were interrupted when the doll spoke again.

“Now, let me ask a question, miss Reporter.”      

••••••••••••••••••••••••     

Plagg tapped his fingers against the control panel, never letting the woman on the screen out of sight.

According to this woman, some guy apparently met up with pigtails girl and pretended to be Adrien?

Did somebody know their secret? Did someone leak it? No, they kept it heavily guarded, they always make sure no one catches them entering or leaving the restaurant.

If this man was someone unknown to them, maybe he knew Marinette? But if Marinette didn’t know him, was he her stalker?

Plagg felt a headache sneaking up on him, all this talk of identities and possible imposters made him want to just eat cheese and sleep.

“Hm, what to do with you?” he mused aloud, fingers still tapping his desk.

If he wanted to gain anything from this conversation, Plagg had to get as much information as he could.

He pulled the microphone close to his mouth.

••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Sure, spill.” Alya leaned back, notepad resting on the table next to her half finished breakfast.

It had only been an hour, but she felt like half the day passed. Interrogations always made time pass by faster.

Finally, the cat asked, “Do you have a photo of the man who claimed to be Chat Noir? Did Miss Dupain-Cheng show you a photo?”

Alya frowned, mentally slapping herself. “Uh…no. No she didn’t. Just that he was good-looking but seemed to act weird, like, downright mean to Nathaniel, Nathaniel’s her friend and co-worker by the way.”

The doll was silent, seemingly deep in thought over her answer, before he poised his next question. “Yeah, no way that’s the same guy. Chat Noir would never disrespect someone like that, especially if he’s a friend. He’s too nice for that.”

Leaning forward again, Alya rested her chin on her palm, “So, what do you suggest we do Puss in Boots?”

Another moment of silence before the replacement Chat Noir answered, “Tail her.”

Alya blinked, “What?”

“Tail your friend when she goes out with that guy, try to get a photo.”

“What will you do with that information anyway? Are you from the secret services?” Alya froze, what if this guy and this Chat Noir fellow were some men with secretive backgrounds?

Alya snorted in amusement. What were the odds of them being some cliché secret agents? She would buy the story with Chat Noir being a model any day.

“If I were, I wouldn’t be sitting here posing as a plushie talking to people in a restaurant, would I?”

Someone was grouchy. Alya guessed this individual was either an old grump, or just a grump.

“That’s something a secret service agent would say to throw suspicion off themselves,” Alya teased playfully, before clearing her throat. “Anyway, fine, I’ll try to get a photo, but what will you tell Chat Noir when he comes back?”

“Exactly what happened, he has to know there’s a copycat out there. What will you tell Miss Dupain-Cheng?”

Alya glanced down at her notes, “The truth and nothing but the truth! What kind of a best friend would I be if I didn’t tell her what I discovered today?”

“Don’t tell her anything yet, let her stay in the dark until you get that photo of the copycat, then tell her the truth.”

Frowning in dismay at the prospect of lying to her friend, Alya shook her head, “But why? What if she gets hurt with that weird guy? We don’t know who he is or what he wants from her!”

“If he wanted to do something, he would’ve done that already. No sense in playing cat and mouse forever, right? I think your friend will be fine until you get his picture.”

“But why is the picture so important? Can’t she just ditch the guy and come here again as if nothing happened?” Alya didn’t understand why he insisted on that picture.

“Look, if that guy shadows Miss Dupain-Cheng one day and knows to what restaurant she goes to, he could potentially discover Chat Noir and I. And that’s something I wanna avoid, so get that picture of him and I’ll deal with him.”

The edge from the robotic voice made Alya’s skin crawl, “I knew it! You’re a hitman! A muscle for hire! Will you kill the guy if you find out who he is?” Alya slapped her hand on the table, ducking her head and mouthing an apology when nearby patrons glared at her.

Plagg swirled around in his chair, coming to a stop facing the monitor again.

He smiled, chuckling as he gave his answer through the speaker. “Not kill, but I’ll deal with him for trying to stir up trouble. Don’t worry, nothing illegal. I want to keep a low profile too.”

He waited patiently for the woman’s answer, seeing her mulling it over in her head.

He knew he sounded shady, maybe even downright dangerous, but Plagg would not take any chances in getting to that guy before he got to them and possibly endangered Adrien this way.

“Fine, I’ll try to arrange it next week when she meets up with him. If you break our contract, I’ll personally hunt you down and hold you accountable, got it pussycat?”

The woman pointed her finger at the camera, coming dangerously close to one of the cat’s eyes.

Plagg smirked, pressing the speaker on the microphone to talk. “Got it, miss reporter. Hope you can keep a secret.”

He grew more amused when the woman gathered her things, grabbing her untouched croissant, “I wouldn’t be good at my job if I couldn’t, pussycat.”

With that, she left with the promise to bring the photo and Plagg was ready to finish the rest of his meal until a hazel eyes suddenly popped into his field of vision.

The scream Plagg released was never to leave this room, the shrill pitch embarrassing to his own red ears, he was glad Adrien wasn’t here today.

“What?! Don’t get so close to the camera!” he spat, trying to calm his racing heart down.

The woman backed away, quickly retrieving something from her purse and holding it up near the camera, “Sorry! Just, write this down so you know how to contact me, since I can’t contact you.”

Plagg squinted, eyeing the details on the white business card.

La presse de la societe

Alya Cesaire

Journaliste d’investigation

Tel. XXX-XXX-XXX

Quickly scribbling down the information, Plagg spoke into the speaker and Miss Cesaire left with the promise to return and the threat to contact her.

Plagg stared down at the information he wrote, quickly folding the piece of paper and shoving it in his pocket.

Just when he reached for his bowl of now cold cheese, the lock on the backdoor sounded.

“Hey Plagg! Sorry for being so late, I still had to ask my professor something.” Adrien greeted him with a wave and a tired smile, hanging his jacket on the coat rack and placing his bag on the empty chair before walking towards him. “So, anything interesting happen?”

There was this hopeful shimmer in his eyes, the one that told Plagg he was still waiting for Marinette to show up.

He almost felt guilty for lying. “Nope, nothing, just some cranky old lady eating her breakfast. Her teeth fell out so she had to leave, good thing you didn’t see that. Gonna give me nightmares for weeks, ugh.”

Plagg stuck his tongue out, rolling his chair out of the way so Adrien could take a seat at his desk, chuckling. “Don’t be like that Plagg, I can’t wait to see the day you grow all old and bald with your dentures in a glass.”

“Ha, ha, very funny kid.” Plagg playfully kicked Adrien’s chair, causing him to rotate in circles. The model only laughed and Plagg discreetly shoved the slip of paper that peeked out back in his pocket.

Thank you for reading everyone! And thank you again for your eternal patience, hopefully the next update is quicker :3