#i lent out a pen today and never got it back

[icarusian]

"you're doing it again." diluc flicks the page of his book aside, barehanded and deft and entirely aware that he has an audience. he scratches down some notes onto his parchment with the other, white-knuckled and close to the tip for controlled, bold strokes.

"mm... yes," razor agrees. "your hands... are strong and pretty." shameless, diluc thinks. perhaps growing up without many social conventions made razor more honest, leaving him without the notion of shame or holding one's tongue.

"have you done your reading assignment for the day, razor?" ignoring razor's straightforwardness is about as easy as ignoring how his pulse jumps at the sincerity and awe, but diluc manages.

razor says nothing, instead folding his arms out in front of him and leaning his head down so he's eye-level with diluc's hands as they work. his latest research journal had just arrived from dragonspine, and diluc had been no more than ten minutes into albedo's newest findings before razor found his way into the study. the fact that he's here so soon after his assigned lesson likely means adelinde once again fell for his sad, abandoned-by-master-diluc gaze and released him out of pity.

and although razor is quiet, typically only breaking the silence to ask diluc how to pronounce more complex words in his assigned readings, diluc cannot concentrate like this:

knowing his every stroke and flick of the fountain pen is being watched, not under scrutiny, but admiration; knowing that razor is not here for mere company, but with a desire so singular diluc feels exposed without his gloves for protection.

"...diluc... master," razor starts. the word must be unfamiliar to his tongue, but he started picking it up from the maids. he has never been razor's master. wolves are untamable, and diluc is not a fool.

"do not call me as such," diluc says, still unwilling to meet razor's gaze. he sets his pen down, and resigns himself to finishing parsing out his updated journal at a later time. he is being watched, and he can no longer prolong the inevitable.

diluc lifts his eyes, daunted by the sharpness in razor's own. he is intelligent in his own right, and diluc has yet to fully understand just how much razor has learned about diluc simply by observing him.

"sure... diluc." razor tries again. "finished?" there's a hunger in him that diluc can't yet bring himself to match. he's afraid of what razor could bring out in him; all bared teeth and pure affection; vulnerability he hasn't lent a soul in moons.

"did you? finish?"

"no... not today. wanted to see you."

there it is again: a confession without hesitation. razor trusts diluc to let him want out in the open. when has diluc been afforded that in his life?

"i'm here, aren't i? no reading and entry into my private study... i'd say you got what you wanted, pup." but razor's eyes are watching the subtleties in diluc's hand gestures, not listening to him at all, and diluc feels his face flare.

"wanted something else."

diluc stands with a short sigh, a buzzing in his skin pushing him onwards and begging him not to fight, and moves to sit on the chaise lounge, legs lazily spread apart. he's less frustrated at razor than he is himself. disappointed, perhaps.

razor pushes away from the desk and eagerly takes up residence on diluc's lap, like he's done dozens of times over. diluc's hands are quickly occupied, razor slotting each finger between his until they're both gripping each other with the same strength. not in a show of power, but in a gesture of equity. i will meet you where you are. give me what i give you.

diluc closes his eyes. he knows razor has done the same, as he feels razor's nose brush his before their lips find each other. razor tries to open his mouth far too early, quickly ready for something deeper to satisfy him, but diluc squeezes one of his hands to stop him.

to his credit, razor pays attention to his signal. he pulls back just enough so that his bottom lip is still caught between diluc's, and simply pushes into him with a soft, pleased noise. diluc feels his lips quirk up, and he rewards razor by pulling one hand free to hold him by the back of the neck in a comforting gesture.

had he always given into such indulgences? surely, even as a boy, he had never been easily enticed by the adventures and riches kaeya promised him. there was not much that swayed his heart so easily like razor.

diluc slowly works his hand into the base of razor's skull, moving steadily upwards as razor presses his front more fully to diluc. he feels heat stir in him, steady as a lantern, as razor's mouth drops open with each pass over the base of his skull. razor whines, soft and high, when diluc tilts his head and tenderly bites his lower lip.

"does that feel good, pup?"

he thinks, foolishly, if he makes the wolf feel smaller, it won't have the strength to swallow him whole. but razor opens his eyes and they're still as hungry as the day diluc found him.

"feels good... right here..." razor drags his free hand over diluc's heart— "... and here." he makes a short, needy thrust against diluc's hips below him. "more, diluc. please."

"i will," diluc promises. "but since you shirked your lesson today, you'll have to wait longer." razor huffs, frustrated and aroused, but he instead goes right back to kissing diluc like he will never be satisfied.

and maybe he won't. maybe diluc will indulge razor just enough to fill him up, but leave him truly hungry. or maybe razor will eat him alive in his frustration.

as razor kisses him, soft sighs and needy moans pressed earnestly into his mouth like fresh air, diluc feels that a part of him has already been swallowed and razor will never give it back.

[writer-updates]

Sebastian Knight

Chapter 4 - Liliana

The next morning, I awoke to feel an arm pinning me to the bed, I looked over to see Sebastian sleeping next to me, his tattooed chest was on show for me. Biting my lip, I slowly turned around to face him, gently pressing my fingertips on his face, brushing the hair from his face.

A hum came from his voice as he began to stir, "Are you sore?" His gruff morning voice asked.

I didn't even think about that, now that he asked, I did feel a little of pain but it was bareable, "A little."

"So no round two then?" He asked, I could hear the smirk on his face.

I let out a small giggle, "Well I didn't say that."

A growl left Sebastian's throat as he quickly straddled me, a gasp left my throat before smiling wide. Sebastian lent forward and pressed his lips against me, I let out a low moan as his fingers touched my wetness.

Things were getting more heated, when a knock came at the door causing Sebastian to grunt and holt his movements, making me whine.

"Who is it?" He asked whipping his head to the door.

"I'm so sorry to distrup you boss, but Manuel has called, someone has broken into the bar," The man said from behind the door.

"We'll finish this later baby," He whispered.

"Can.. can I come with you?" I asked, not wanting to be alone in this mansion by myself.

"Baby, it could be dangerous," he sighed, shaking his head. "Alright but you stay by me at all times, you don't talk to anyone you don't know."

I nodded, smiling softly kissing him once more making him groan, "Baby, stop all we will never get out of bed. It pains me to stop."

Sebastian pulled away before getting off of me and put his clothes back on from last night, "I got Felicity to wash and dry your dress, I'll get her to bring it in."

****

Sebastian arrived at the bar, the car coming to a Holt as he out it in park and turned off the engine, opening the door, I stepped out and waited for him. Sebastian grabbed my hand and let me inside, concealing myself behind him.

Deigo was already there waiting for Sebastian to arrive with Manuel by his side, "Boss."

"Deigo, do you have anything?" Sebastian asked.

"I've looked around the entire building, it seems they came in the back. I believe they were looking for drugs or money. Manuel said that the cameras were disabled from that portion of time, he said he heard smash of glass and went to investigate but seems it was a diversion," Deigo replied as Sebastian walked with him.

I followed in suit, ignoring my fathers glares and looks of judgement.

"Was anything stolen?" Sebastian asked as we stepped into his office that was in the bar.

I closed the door once we were all inside, I allowed the men to speak, I found a piece of paper and pen and began to draw to keep myself distracted.

"The only thing that I found that was stolen was a few bottles of wishkey and scotch. I checked the inventory again, I don't believe they found what they were looking for. We will keep a detail on the place all day especially with the shipment coming today," Deigo replied.

Sebastian nodded his head, "Thank you Deigo, I also want detail on Manuel as well to see what he does. I don't trust him."

"Yes boss."

Deigo left the office, leaving myself and Sebastian in there alone together. "What are you doing baby?" He asked.

I looked at him and slid the paper over towards him, which had shown a drawing of him. I had gotten all his features, even the tattoo on his neck.

"Wow, this is amazing. People here were telling me, you were a great artist. But this just proves that you are even better than what they thought," Sebastian spoke.

I smiled warmly towards him, "Thank you. Please don't tell my dad. I don't want Savannah taking another thing from me."

Sebastian pulled me onto his lap, his lips connecting to my ear, "I would never."

Later on that afternoon, I was sitting at the bar talking to one of the bodyguards that were assigned to watch inside the bar. His name was Hughes.

"So you think you can play me like that?" I heard my father's voice come behind me.

I frowned as I turned around to him, "What are you talking about?" I was confused.

"You think that he loves you at all? You are never good enough for anyone. Savannah deserves him. Not you. You are a pathetic excuse of a daughter," he seethed.

Hughes stood up, but I gently placed my hand up to stop him. Standing up from my seat, I looked my father dead in the eyes.

"I know I'll never be good enough, no matter how many times I try. I know that you and mother will never love you like you do my siblings. I hate being in there shadow and the one time I'm actually on top here you are, having a cry because finally... finally something is happening for me," I spoke.

Manuel's jaw clenched as I spoke my mind to him, his hand came into contact with my cheek pushing it to the side. Staring at the ground, I curled my fists up. Hughes jumped right in and pushed Manuel away, speaking into an ear piece he had.

"You are finished Manuel. You and your family are done," Hughes spoke.

[hanluex]

♡ MORE THAN JUST KISSING YOU — JASON TODD

footballer!jason x fem!reader | wc : 0.9k words | content : possible grammar and spelling mistakes, lowercase intended, mild cursing, college au, petnames, best friends to lovers, mentions of drinking, mentions of feeling/being sick | request : can we have more of football jason? i really think it’s a cute concept!

“dude, where is y/n? she’s never late for class.”

gar wondered, glancing between the door and the clock, getting jason’s attention with his words.

before the brunet could question, rachel took her seat next to the green-haired male, answering the questions she knew the two males had by just looking at them.

“y/n has a terrible hangover after the party yesterday. she was sick from the moment she woke up. i offered to stay and take care of her, but she told me she was fine,” she explained, taking out her books and placing it on the table.

jason furrowed his brows, trying to connect the dots. you didn’t enjoy drinking. why would you drink to the point of getting sick? he tried to guess, causing gar to answer, having a faint idea of what the elder was thinking.

“you know how y/n is.” he shrugged. “if everyone around her is drinking, she drinks out of formality. and since it was the end-of-semester party yesterday, everyone went wild.”

the brunet sighed, shaking his head to himself. classic you, giving into peer pressure. he cursed his luck, having opted to go for football practice instead of attending the party. maybe i could’ve stopped you from drinking, he thought.

“are you sneaking out after attendance today, too?” rachel inquired, directing the question at jason, which got a scoff from the green-haired male beside her.

“of course he’s skipping. when does he ever sit through a class?” gar quipped, sitting straight as their professor walked in.

it was a known fact that jason todd barely sat through lectures, only staying until they took their attendance before sneaking out the back.

and even if he sat through a class, it was rare for him to take down at least one word their professors were saying.

jason sat there, mind elsewhere, as he zoned out until the class ended.

today was different, though. you, the overly studious student he kept annoying during the entire lecture, weren’t there.

part of him wanted to stick to his schedule and sneak out to check on you, but part of him knew you’d want him to stay in class.

you hate taking gar’s notes because it’s all over the place, and you also hate taking rachel’s notes because her handwriting gives you a headache. jason sighed, considering the choices he had. yep, there’s only one thing to do.

reaching inside his bag, the cocky all-star football player of gotham university made a lot of heads turn when he took out a book before fishing for a pen and placing it on his table.

rachel’s mouth fell open at the sight, surprised while gar smiled knowingly, having an idea why the jason todd was not skipping and taking notes for the first time in class.

“i knew y/n had jason wrapped around her finger. dick owes me twenty bucks.”

jason todd walked into the dorm you shared with rachel (who was currently at the library), quietly taking his steps since he knew you’d be asleep.

he couldn’t help but smile at the change of roles, since it was always you who tended to him when he was sick after getting wasted.

the friendship you and jason had was quite odd to anyone — even your closest friends.

the two of you were completely different; one quiet, the other loud, one careful, while the other was reckless.

your friendship dated way back to your middle school days, ever since the day jason lent you his jacket after you accidentally dropped water on your favorite shirt.

from that day onwards, the two of you were inseparable. with jason throwing away his dream colleges to make sure you two were in the same one.

well, now that you see it, this clearly wasn’t the usual friendships you’d read about. it was quite obvious, really. jason todd was in love with his best friend, and in typical jason fashion, he ignored his feelings because he didn’t want to lose you.

the brunet closed the blinds in the room, sitting on the bed’s corner and patting your legs to wake you. “wake up, princess. i got you food,” he called softly, moving closer and running his fingers through your hair as you stirred in your sleep.

“jace?” you muttered, squinting your eyes as you recognized his voice. “why are you here?” you sat up, sleepily leaning against the male as he held you upright.

“rachel said you were sick. i came to check up on you.”

“jason, you didn’t–” you couldn’t get to finish the sentence, the brunet cutting you off. “i got you food. and i also took down today’s notes for you, too.” his words caused you to widen your eyes, blinking slowly as you wondered if he had just said he took down notes for you.

seeing the look of disbelief on your face, jason left you for a second. he returned with the book in hand as you looked dazed. jason took notes? impossible. your mouth hung open as you flipped through the pages of the book, recognizing the male’s neat handwriting.

“the threshold for copyright must record it as a permanent form as it is an expression…” you trailed off, completely in awe. “jason, i fucking love you. this is better than any note i’ve taken down. i could kiss you right now. this is literally the best—”

jason tilted his head, smugly smiling. “did you just say you could kiss me right now?” he inquired, causing you to raise your brows.

“seriously?” you sighed, narrowing your eyes. “only heard that from everything i said?” you couldn’t help but chuckle, unable to remain serious with him.

“that’s the only sentence that matters to me.”

“well, raincheck on that kiss, because i’m sick right now.”

the smirk never faded as jason leaned forward. “maybe a kiss could unsicken you,” he suggested, trapping you between his arms as he held himself up.

your eyes widened in shock. “i just know you didn’t just say unsicken, jason. what even–” your words fizzled as the male leant closer.

“yeah, you were saying?”

“jason, w-what are you trying to do?”

the brunet shrugged nonchalantly. “i’m trying to kiss you,” he muttered. “though this isn’t exactly how i pictured it.”

now it was your turn to be smug, even though you were a blushing mess. “so you’ve pictured kissing me, huh?” you knew you’d be eating your words later, considering jason had a no-filter motormouth.

“oh, princess, i’ve pictured more than just kissing you.”

TAGLIST: SEND AN ASK OR DM TO BE ADDED!

[kyopmi]

☆ — 𝒑𝒊𝒌𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒖 𝒑𝒆𝒏 ! [ ch02 : that pen? ]

pairing — suna rintarou x gn!reader

notes — suna rintarou... lost your pen... ?

words — 1,021

[ series masterlist ]

it’s been exactly a week since your interaction with suna. in fact, you haven’t even seen him on campus all week. in the back of your mind, you wonder if he’s been avoiding you on purpose (and in another part of your mind, you wonder when he’s going to return your pen). but now it’s wednesday, 8am once again and you’re sitting in the same seat at the back of the classroom where you both first met, mindlessly doodling little stars and hearts on a blank page in your notebook.

“uh... hi.”

it feels a little deja vu — a familiar voice interrupting your thoughts from your left — and you turn to see him again.

suna rintarou awkwardly hovers around the seat nearest to the door, two seats away from you, his backpack slung on one shoulder. he’s wearing a sheepish smile on his face and his fingers toy with the hem of the oversized black hoodie he’s dressed in.

“hi?” you reply, though it comes out like a question.

there’s a brief pause before suna clears his throat and carefully takes his seat, setting his backpack on the table in front of him and turning back to face you. from this new position, you can see each other a little clearer, without having to look up or down at the other.

“so, there’s something i need to... confess,” he says slowly, as if he’s carefully mulling over the words in his head before voicing them out. despite his obvious nerves, though, suna manages to maintain eye contact with you and for the first time, you notice just how striking his deep honey-colored eyes are, especially when they’re staring directly at you.

you blink, perplexed at his statement and shake off your momentary starstruck. “confess about what, exactly?”

suna fights back a grimace at what he’s about to say and swallows his pride. “it’s your pen. the one you lent me last week.”

your eyebrows furrow slightly, not quite getting what he’s trying to say. “what about it? if you still need it today, then—”

“i lost it.”

there are several beats of silence again after suna’s blurted confession. he’s still looking at you and with every millisecond that you stay silent, suna’s guilt only grows. well, it’s been growing since he realized he no longer had the pen on him, but he feels like it’s peaking right now and he’s never going to outlive it. he’s hoping — no, praying you wouldn’t get too upset. it’s not like that pen was a limited edition that was only released in select countries and happened to be a gift from your cousin that you’ve cherished for several years, right?

“oh.” 

it’s all you can say. honestly, you don’t know what else you can say. a few things come to mind, though, such as grilling him for answers — what happened? when did he last have it? where could it have gone?

before you can say anything else, suna beats you to it as he launches into an apology and tries his best to explain himself. “i’m sorry, i really am. i thought i’d put it in my backpack after another class and made sure i zipped it up, but when i got back to my dorm i couldn’t find it anymore.” he pauses to gauge your reaction and his heart drops when he notices you’re not even looking at him anymore, your eyes instead cast to the side.

“damn, i really feel bad and—”

“that pen?”

“yeah, yeah, that black pen with the pikachus all over it. and i feel bad because promised i’d keep it safe, too, but—”

“no, no,” you interrupt him again and point to his backpack. “is that my pen?”

“what?”

suna quickly whips his head in the direction of your finger and lo and behold — the pen that he’s been rambling about is tucked securely into the side pocket of his backpack, the top barely peeking out. his brain can’t comprehend it — he’s so sure he had put it on the inside of his bag a few days ago. now, he can’t stop staring at it and he’s not sure what mixture of emotions are currently washing over him. relief? embarrassment? even a little annoyance because he’s been scrambling around trying to look for it when it’s been there the whole time? probably all of the above.

“yeah,” he says, dumbstruck, “it is.” suna wordlessly plucks the pen out of his bag and hands it to you, eyes still fixated on the little pikachu decals incredulously. “here you go. thanks for lending it to me.”

it’s the sound of your stifled laughter that makes him look up at you once more.

“sorry,” you bite back another laugh, though you’re still smiling with an amused glint in your eyes as you take the pen from him. “it’s just — that was nice of you. that you would come confess and apologize for thinking you lost it.”

for the first time that day, suna cracks a genuine smile. “well, what else was i supposed to do?”

you shrug at his question. “some people would just not bother and move on with it,” you reply, storing your pen back in your pencil case.

“nonsense!” suna retorts jokingly, “how could i ever do that to you, pikachu?” he’s visibly more relaxed now as he leans back in his seat with his legs stretched out in front of him, head tilting back so he’s facing the ceiling.

your heart involuntarily jumps at the silly nickname he’s still using.

“speaking of,” he continues, sitting back up to face you, “i’m suna. suna rintarou.”

i know, you think to yourself. “i’m y/n.”

suna hums and nods at your reply. “okay, y/n,” he says, looking directly in your eyes, “what do you say we go out together after class?”

☆ tags — @maitaro @gyun-yuu @randomreader9797​ @chloee0x0​ @sapphosdilemma​ 

after like,, 3 weeks (oops) here’s part 2 <3

[peasthedumb]

There’s this kid who sits next to me in geography whos part of the people who are just a little less popular than the actual popular crowd. But the lesser popular kids are actually just a bunch of jerks.

Well like a month ago he’d asked to borrow a pen off me cause he hadn’t got one, so I panicked and gave him one of my good pens ( a black erasable one with cat ears on it) on accident. I said I wanted the pen back after lesson. He never gave me the pen back. In fact, he used it for several lessons after that, while sat next to me.

Today, he asked me for a pen again. I offered him a broken one that barely worked because the only other pens I had were my good ones. He asked if I had that pen I gave him last time. The fucking pen that HE NEVER GAVE BACK AND USED FOR SEVERAL LESSONS AFTER THAT. I told him he never gave it back and he was just like ‘oh yeah it ran out’. So I decided to offer him my rainbow, most clearly gay pen I own, because I knew that mf wouldn’t accept it cause he’s part of the jerk crowd and is almost definitely homophobic . Everyone else who’s also part of the jerks on the table laughed at him and he decided to not use my gay pen. I’m pretty sure he decided to struggle with the broken pen for the lesson.

I know it’s like- very mild, but I’m obsessive with my stationary and I’m over-confidently not straight. That is the best petty revenge I’ve ever got.

[TL;DR] Jerk kid stole a cat pen I’d lent him for the lesson, so next time he asked I offered him the gayest pen I own and embarrassed him in front of his friends, plus, he didn’t use my pen so I lost nothing.

[randomshyperson]

Hi!! Hope you're doing good and drinking water :) May i request something? 😁 I was listening to "the 1" by Taylor Swift (queen) and got me thinking about a Wanda X Reader story where maybe idk they dated in high school/college but ended cause whatever reason but they never actually stopped liking eachother (yknow, like the song) and then they just meet somewhere and get to talk and you know... happy ending lol But only if you like the idea really. Have a good one!

Hello anon! Here it is, hope you like it. It’s short but is sweet, i hope you like it.

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - The One

Summary: Prompt based “A story where Reader and Wanda broke up and never stopped loving each other. Inspired by the song “The 1″ from Taylor Swift.

Words:  2.531k    ///// Read on AO3

Warnings: None.

Marks: @mionemymind @wandamaximoffpuppy

Wanda Maximoff came into your life during autumn.

You were both in the same art history class, and she lent you a pen.

All it took was two dates, and you were completely in love. Unfortunately, as quickly as it started, your relationship burned out.

You wish you had a big plot justification, with betrayals and twists and turns to justify to your friends your emotional misery when it ended, but the only reason was the complete emotional immaturity you had.

There were fights, and accusations, and so much jealousy. And you wish so much that you had gotten over it, but you couldn't. And then Wanda was gathering the clothes that she had in your dormitory, and throwing the key at you.

You swore you wouldn't cry anymore, because there were no more tears after so many weeks, but you kept going. Until all that was left was the bitter feeling that you had ruined everything and lost the most important person in your life.

It had been more than two years since you two had broken up, and you still had the number saved on your cell phone with a heart emoji, even though the conversation had been archived a long time ago. And then you were walking out of the main building at NYU, and your friend Natasha Romanoff called out to you as she walked quickly toward you.

- Hey, girl! - she said with a smile. - How are you?

You shrugged as you walked with her around the campus toward the secondary building, where the Philosophy classrooms were.

- I’m surviving. - You joke with a weak smile, Nat looked at you worriedly, but you shook your head, trying to reassure her. - And how are you doing? 

- Fine, I think. - She says, entwining your arms. - I miss you, but things are fine.

You nod, looking forward. You knew that you had been absent in your friends' lives, simply because it seemed that things no longer made much sense since you were no longer with Wanda.

- Did you hear about Bucky and Sam? - she asked, and you let out a sigh.

- Yes, I... I don't know if I'm going to make it.

- Ah, Y/N, please. - She says. - It won't be the same if you are not there.

Natasha was talking about your friends' engagement party, which you were invited to a week ago. You hesitated, because all of Bucky and Sam's friends were invited. And that included Wanda.

You let out a sigh.

- I will make an effort to be there, I promise. - You assure her with a smile. 

- You don't want to see Wanda, do you? - Nat asks. And you look at the ground. - Look, I just... I never really understood why you two broke up. But maybe it will be good to see her, you know. Maybe you two need to talk after all.

You shrug, feeling the familiar sadness take over your chest every time you think of Wanda. 

- Let's talk about something else okay? - You ask her with a weak smile and Natasha nods, changing the subject as you two walk along the campus.

//-//

You straightened your clothes before knocking on the door. It had been almost two weeks since you had spoken to Natasha, and the day of the party had finally arrived. You saw many cars parked outside the Barnes residence, and were not surprised when one of the family friends answered the door instead of the owners.

You smiled and greeted the gentleman, saying that you were a friend of the grooms, and he smiled back when he let you in. You overheard someone say that it was better to leave the door open because of the number of guests, and you let out a small laugh. 

The house was full, and it took a few minutes for you to find Bucky, who looked extremely happy. He smiled slightly surprised when he saw you.

- Hey, you're here! - he said, walking over to you. - It's so good to see you!

Bucky hugged you tight and you laughed lightly, saying that it was very good to see him too.

- How are things going? - you asked as you broke the embrace. - Are you feeling anxious?

Bucky laughed, putting his hands in his pockets.

- Everything is working well. My parents are helping me and Sammy to organize everything. - he says, smiling. - And damn, yes. I can't wait for the ceremony.

You laugh, nodding in understanding. You talk for a few more minutes until Sam comes to check on the groom.

- Wow, look at you Wilson! - You exclaim when you see him, and he opens his arms toward you, grinning contently. You hug each other tightly. - It's good to see you, my friend.

- Yeah, it's great to see you too, stranger. - He smiles back, and then you part. - Glad you could make it.

- I couldn't miss the first wedding of the group. - You joked and made them laugh. 

And then they were talking about the preparations for the wedding, and the family members who had come from far away, and you were smiling and laughing at the stories. But everything seemed to slow down when your gaze focused on someone behind Bucky, the only person who always had the ability to capture your full attention.

Wanda had just walked through the front door, and was taking off her coat. You barely noticed Pietro standing beside her, as your heart started racing at seeing her again. Sam called out to you a few times, until you blinked and looked at him.

- Wow, you really haven't changed at all. - he teased. - Three years and you are still completely out of breath when you see her.

You blushed, telling him to shut up, but Bucky and Sam just giggled. And then you swallowed hard, because Wanda was looking around and her gaze met yours.

Your gas in surprise, and you told the couple in front of you that you needed a drink, then you rushed to escape the room.

You ended up on the balcony, trying to recover from the intensity of the previous moment, completely affected by seeing Wanda again. 

You thought it was the best to greet the people you knew at the party, and after talking to Clint and his girlfriend Laura, and also to Steve, Tony and Bruce, you made your way to the family circles. Bucky's parents and siblings were very friendly, and Sam's family was very warm, and they all hugged you and smiled. And then you were walking around the house again, and Nat approached you, two drinks in her hands, and one of them she handed to you.

- You really came. - She said with a smile. - Bucky just told me and I didn't believe it.

- The faith you have in me is touching. - You sneered with irony and she laughed before taking a sip of her drink. You looked at your own glass suspiciously.

- Is this champagne? - you asked, and she nodded, making you sigh. You put the glass on the balcony table near you. - Thanks but I'm driving.

Nat grumbled in understanding.

- You're running away from her, aren't you? - She remarked when she noticed your gaze wandering around the room.

- Is it that obvious? 

Nat laughed lightly.

- I suppose you are going to be uncomfortable for the next few minutes, since I just told her I was coming to talk to you and invite her to join me. - She tells you and you turn your face to her sharply with a surprised expression.

- Wait what?

But Nat is smiling past you and then you feel your body tense up as Wanda's voice sounds behind your back. Nat is saying something about how nice it is that everyone is together, while you turn around and you’re probably staring, but you can't react to having Wanda in front of you. Just as beautiful as she was three years ago.

- Hi. - She said a moment later looking up at you, a slight blush on her cheeks. It took a gentle nudge from Nat's elbow on your rib for you to react.

- Hi. - you exclaimed surprised and slightly uncomfortable. - How... How are you?

Wanda smiled awkwardly.

- Good, I... i'm good. And you? - she asked hesitantly. You nodded frantically, trying to smile.

 - Good, good. I... Good.

- Jesus. - You heard Natasha say as she looked at the two of you with a frown. - Okay. I'll put our names in the gymkhana, and you can continue with whatever this is by yourselves.

You scratched your neck uncomfortably as Natasha hurried to leave. 

- So... how are things? - Wanda asked, putting her hands in her pockets.

Ignoring your current anxiety, you assumed a thoughtful expression for a few seconds.

- Things are fine. I’m... I... I'm graduating. - You tell clumsily, running your hands through your hair. - Yeah, I... I'm graduating in a few weeks. 

- Wow, that’s actually really cool. - She comments with a smile. 

- I think so. - You say, laughing nervously. - What about you, Wands, how are you? Are you still studying?

Wanda blushes at the way you call her, looking away. You barely notice the nickname escaping your lips. But then she is smiling, so you don't notice much beyond that.

- Yes, I still have a year to go, but I'm doing well. - she says. You nod in understanding, but then Pietro is joining you two, a smile on his face.

- Wow, it's really good to see you Y/N. - He remarks as soon as he reaches you two and hugs you. You laugh lightly. 

- It's good to see you too, Pietro. - you say when you let go. - I like the beard, by the way.

- Thanks, I'm trying to look older. - He comments with a cocky smile, and you laugh, ignoring the nervousness of having Wanda looking right at you. - I didn't know you would be here today, I heard you were going back to California.

- Oh, yes, I... I am. - You say clumsily, gazing at Wanda quickly. - After I graduate, I'm going back home. I don't really have anything to keep me here.

- That's a shame, really. - Pietro says and you try to focus on his face and not on Wanda's frown. - But I hope you will keep in touch with everyone by skype at least.

He jokes last, and you laugh, nodding. And then he starts asking you about college and your parents, and you answer politely, trying to ignore the nervousness in your stomach that has settled with Wanda's attentive look on you.

- Pietro, would you get me something to drink, please? - Wanda asked after a moment, and you and Pietro looked at her in surprise, but she just smiled innocently, and her brother grumbled, before nodding and leaving. - Can we talk for a moment?

You blinked in confusion, but agree. Wanda took your hand next, and you bit the inside of your cheek, feeling your face flush as she pulled you around the yard, toward a farther area.

When she stopped walking, she let go of your hand, and turned around to face you, looking nervous and a bit anxious.

- Are you really leaving? - She asked with a almost sorrowful expression.

You straightened your posture, frowning slightly.

- Yes, I... Wanda, what is it? 

- Okay, I’m.. I'm going to say this once, because I have to, and then we'll go back to our life as before, okay? - She said hurriedly, closing her eyes for a moment as she took a deep breath while you just stare her. - I'm still in love with you. And I know we broke up two years ago, but I just couldn't move on. And I guess a part of me never will. - She confesses and you feel the air escape from your lungs. - And I need you to know this before you leave, because I almost couldn't come to this party because I knew you would be here. And I can't believe that we were this intense and amazing thing only just for me. - She says last. But you are in shock, so Wanda swallows dryly. - Damn, I'm... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything and…

- I love you. - You confess interrupting her, listening to your heart pounding in your ears.

- W-what?

- I love you. - You repeat breathlessly as you are moving forward and kissing Wanda firmly. She stumbles back in surprise, but you keep your hands on her face, until she sighs in delight and kisses you back with the same intensity. It feels as good as you remember, but eventually you part breathlessly and start talking with your forehead touching. - I'm sorry I ruined things between us. I was stupid, childish and a bloody idiot. But I'm completely in love with you and i have always been. 

Wanda lets out a surprised laugh, her eyes filled with tears. And then she kisses you again.

- God, we are a complete disaster. - She comments as you separate, making you laugh lightly. And then she swallows dryly, stroking your face with her thumbs. - What are we going to do now?

You smile, hugging her waist.

- I'm not going anywhere if you ask me to stay. - You tell her, making her sigh with surprise and happiness.

- Be my girlfriend, then. - She asks, and you let out a giggle. 

- I'd love to. - You say, and then back away a little. - We'll make it work this time, Wanda. I'm going to love you the right way now.

Wanda nods in understanding, looking at you tenderly.

- You have always loved me the right way. - she says. - We just didn't know how to show it properly.

You sigh.

- I missed you. - You say, bringing your foreheads together. 

- I missed you too. - She breathlessly retorts before kissing you again.

The kiss intensified in the next second, and you ended up pushing Wanda against the outer wall of the house, and she sighed into your mouth. God, you missed her taste. Then she sighed against your lips, and you slowed down, because you are literally in an engagement party.

When you parted, you let out a breathless giggle.

- We should get back to the party. - Wanda comments, her face close to yours. You grumble in agreement, before kissing her again, your tongue running slowly and sensually across her mouth, making a warmth rise in the pit of your stomach.

- Wow. - You say breathlessly a moment later, breaking the kiss for breath. Wanda's hands are dangerously low. She lets out a breathless chuckle, her face flushed. You swallow dryly, clearing your throat. - We'd better go before I can't stop.

Wanda smiles, nodding her head in agreement. And then you took a step back, and it was easier to breathe and think clearly.

When you returned to the party, holding hands, Natasha stared at you two and sighed, taking a twenty-dollar bill from her pocket and handing it to Pietro, who had a smug smile on his face. She complained that she had bet that you two would only get back together after the party, while Pietro had bet that it would be during. You and Wanda's faces reddened, but you laughed at the story.

Two years later, you visited Bucky and Sam, but now, the wedding invitation in your hand was yours.

[jackson--t]

... and all the boys love Tommy Shelby

A small one shot, or more, I don't know yet.

Words: 1.2 k Warnings: a pissed off Alfie (kind of)

Alfie avoided glances in his direction.

There was no reason for him to be one of the people who were getting on Tommy Shelby's nerves, elevating the boy even more to a throne that did him no good even as it was, only making him more conceited. Alfie had known Tommy for a long time. Back then, they had gone to school together until Alfie had been sent to a Jewish school - while Tommy had continued to stay at the private high school.

Alfie had never had much to do with Tommy, and had never had the urge. He didn't want to be one of the ranks that threw themselves at the feet of the prince, hoping one would catch even a glimmer of his charm, a moment's fleeting attention, with the time span of a hummingbird's flapping wings.

No, actually, it was even different.

Alfie hated Tommy fucking Shelby.

Whenever he saw Tommy, the arrogant nature of this man pissed him off; it had even like this back in school. He was spoiled, fucking spoiled gypsy trash, just because his mother was a famous whatever, and Alfie hated that. His people had always had to stay in the shadows because people like the Shelbys got in the way. With their fucking glitter on their bodies that they lulled everyone in the vicinity with.

His mood got all the worse when Alfie found the handsome face of Tommy breathless at the bar, just a few people away from him. Alfie rolled his eyes. He was still waiting for his damn drink, and continued to avoid looking in Tommy's direction. He could hear it all the way over here, people's chatter. Tommy this and that, what kind of stuff is that, you're so beautiful.

Fuck yeah, he was beautiful. But did it need to be rubbed in this cocky jerk's face any more? He'd only glanced at Tommy from the side, a brief glance when Tommy had just been talking breathlessly to the bartender, once again his wide, happy grin on his lips. As far as Alfie knew, he wasn't exactly averse to alcohol, that was what he'd heard. And other stories.

When Alfie finally had his drink (without alcohol, just no one knew he wasn't drinking), he leaned back and was about to turn back towards the lounge when a light hand touched him on the shoulder. Alfie stopped, but didn't turn around yet.

Please, don't let it be that damn Shelby face.

But yeah, of course it was, as Alfie turned around and looked into the happy smile on the handsome face, all finely done, blue eyes like sapphires in the night, gazing up at him in a goggle. Contacts for sure, huh, Alfie thought, raising an eyebrow in a less-than-impressed way.

"Alfie! I haven't seen you in a long time. Not since school!" Tommy blurted out, and he actually had the gall to pull Alfie into a light hug. Hell, what was that? Alfie wrinkled his nose slightly, then nodded bluntly at Tommy. He smelled good, though, that damned little rat.

"Yeah... Hey, Tommy. Honestly no idea how long ago that was. And especially why we're even... talking." Alfie grunted, and Tommy gave him a gentle nudge with his hand. He had a colorful cocktail in his hand, matching his striking appearance, Alfie thought, blinking in irritation.

"You didn't? I lent you a pen once in sixth grade. And... oh god, I wrote you a love letter once," Tommy chuckled, actually blushing a little on his cheeks, he, Tommy fucking Shelby. The guy who could have had everyone, who everyone wanted to have, even today. Pretty thing with money, that's all.

Alfie raised his eyebrows in irritation and took a sip of his drink. "You wrote me a love letter? When?" he asked, and Tommy licked his lips. His eyes roamed lightly over Alfie's beard, his face. It did not escape Alfie's notice, but left him cold.

"I think in the seventh, yeah. I didn't put a name on it, though, because... I was too shy. And it didn't turn out anything, obviously," he said, and Alfie grunted.

"Obviously not if it was anonymous."

Alfie remembered a letter he'd gotten once. Indeed. But that it had been from the Tommy Shelby, how could he have even considered that? Tommy hadn't given him a glance most of the time... Or had it been himself? Alfie was thinking hard when he felt a light touch on his arm.

It was Tommy's fingers running over his tattoos, light-handed, soft. With pointed fingers, as if Alfie were something precious.

"It's too bad, actually, that it's never been anything... Well, that somehow you never liked me," Tommy said, his eyes fixed firmly on Alfie.

"I didn't like you? I rather think it was the other way around."

"Oh no, Alfie. You kept ignoring me, not noticing me at all. I wasn't used to that, not until today, and even today I'm still standing in front of you like an idiot," Tommy remarked quietly, his face pressed a little closer to Alfie because the music was getting louder.

Alfie had trouble hearing when an environment got too loud; he gave Tommy a slight look, then took him by the hand briefly and pulled him further away from the dance floor and bar. Tommy followed him, and the hand in his squeezed him tightly. Alfie wasn't sure, but he thought he felt slight heat. Okay, granted, this damn place was really warm, too.

He walked Tommy to a quieter corner, and then looked at him. Tommy still wore the same red on his cheeks as before, and seemed slightly breathless, but he was still smiling at Alfie. Alfie wasn't one for smiling, never had been, so he just crossed his arms in front of his chest after letting go of Tommy.

"So, what was that about idiot?" Alfie asked, and Tommy leaned closer to him. Tommy smelled of sweet alcohol, of his undoubtedly expensive perfume, and of light cigarettes.

"I said I always feel like a jerk around you. Ever since high school."

"You? Why?" Alfie grunted, amused, and a soft hand playfully slapped his face, against his cheek, ever so lightly. Fucking funny, Tommy.

Tommy chuckled, and ran his hand through his hair, his gaze slightly averted, as if he was fucking shy. Was Alfie drunk? Had the bartender mixed alcohol in his drink after all?

"Isn't it obvious? I had a... um... a terrible crush on you back in school, you know? Because you're different from the others, and you haven't changed. Would you like to go out to dinner with me sometime?" Tommy asked quietly, almost as if really fucking shyly, and Alfie stared at him.

Okay, they were clearly too old for pranks already. And Alfie couldn't see anyone near Tommy giggling or laughing in any conspicuous way, and his eyes settled on Tommy, who was biting his lower lip quite sheepishly.

Had Tommy Shelby just asked him out? Had Alfie really been a little blind all these years?

Alfie ran with an irritated sigh over the back of his head, eyes still fixed on Tommy, whom he actually hated, oh yes, he did. But apparently this feeling wasn't mutual. At least that's what Alfie read from Tommy's movements, his looks, his body language.

Actually, he was too old for this bullshit, dammit.

But he shrugged his shoulders at some point, as if he didn't care, and took another sip from his drink. "Whatever."

And the smile Tommy gave him, for once, Alfie thought was almost sincere. Even the number Tommy typed into his cell phone afterward seemed to be a real one.

Well, that would be interesting.

A date with Tommy Shelby.

[thedemonstherapist]

Tension Solution

Summary: “I think this tension between us needs resolving. Be that with swords against each other’s necks or in my bed. You decide”. 

Wordcount: ~4,2K

Pairing: Kaeya Alberich x GN! Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Enemies to Lovers, Sexual innuendos, Small mentions of blood

Author’s Note: Here it is! My Kaeya enemies to fuckers piece. A huge thank you to @gnocchi-ghoul​ for Beta reading this for me! I had such fun writing this, and you all know I’m a sucker for some good tensioned sworfighting, and this smug bastard has been on my mind ever since starting to play the game. I know this is not my usual content, but I write when I want, about who I want, ok? I’ve had so little inspiration over the past months that I’ve got to take chances like these and go with them.

Banner is not mine! If you know who to credit it to, let me know, I couldn’t find it!

There he came again. That stupid coin between his fingers, flung into the air at random intervals. That stupid grin softening his face, cheerful greetings echoing through the noisy hall. Oh, and above all, that tremendously stupid way his eyes find you immediately, just trying to do your work.

You lower your gaze, pressing your pen down onto paper with renewed determination. Jean and her new open doors policy be damned, you couldn’t wait to slam it in his face. Of course it’s the last few minutes of visiting hours that he decides to come back from his commission. Three blissful weeks of calm while he was stationed out near the Liyue border, no comments, no irksome remarks, no-

“Don’t tell me you’re too busy to greet me”. 

You sigh. Kaeya observes you with his arms crossed, casually lent against the doorframe. His sword is still strapped to his back, droplets of water running down the blade, and he clearly hasn’t gone to take a shower yet, covered in dirt, mud and sporadic dried blood. 

“Captain”. You can’t help your displeasured tone. “I see you’re back”. 

“Inspector”. He raises a brow in retaliation. “I sent a notice stating my return three days ago”. 

“Oh, that”. You pick the unintelligible letter from your desk with two fingers, holding it at an arm’s length. “Apparently your messenger didn't go for a swim on the way here. Could you confirm?”

His jaw tightens momentarily, as you note with satisfaction, but it doesn’t deter the grin. “You should be used to my handwriting by now”. 

You place it back on your desk with contempt. “I am not. Hopefully your report to Jean is a little more… readable”. 

He shrugs, beginning to peel off his gloves. “She’s never complained about it”. 

Taking a deep breath, you try to calm yourself down. Kaeya tends to make you irrationally angry, and no, it wasn’t just the absolute nonchalante recklessness he treated his position and commissions with. You couldn’t count the times he’d risked more than his own life in battle, somehow always managing to pull it off in the last second. And of course, that was his surefire way to getting out of trouble, no matter how much Jean grilled him for it afterwards.

“Go clean up”. You try your best to make your dismissal abundant, leaning back over your work. “You’re dripping water on my carpet”. 

“Oh, we’re touchy today, aren’t we?” Kaeya’s grin widens into a smirk, pushing himself off the frame. “Did Fawks hit on you during your patrols again?” 

“That’s none of your business”. You shoot him a glare, tapping your nails impatiently. As if you still had the opportunity to go out on patrols, you’d been holed up in your office pretty much ever since becoming Inspector. You wished you could get out again, your body had been aching for some action for weeks, but he was the last person you’d ever confess that to.

Kaeya hums lightly, and instead of exiting, takes another step into the office. His eyes wandered your shelves with staged disinterest, but you knew he was looking for something to use as ammunition.

“I’m assuming you couldn’t hear me” you state, sarcasm adding a bite to your tone. “I told you to clean up. You look like you haven’t seen soap since leaving Mondstadt”. 

“Oh, Y/N, always so worried about my appearance” he muses, drawing closer to your desk. God, you hated that stupid cat-like expression he bore, so sly and pretentious. “I’d be more worried about yourself, frankly”. 

“I’m not playing these games, Kaeya”, you reply sharply, fingers tightening around your pen. “Go take a damn shower, and stop ruining my carpet. I don’t know why your immediate goal seems to piss me off, but I’d like to maintain some level of professional dignity between us”. 

He rolls his eyes. “By Barbatos, you really are wound up today. I doubt that’s just my fault”. 

“Be delusional, then”. You shake your head. “I don’t think Jean would appreciate another formal complaint, so do her the favour, if not for me, and get out of my office”. 

“Fine”. He turns around, but not before throwing you another glance, and damn it, you know he has one last trick up his sleeve, just by the way he says it. “However, before I forget-”. 

“What?”

“You’re pre-reading my report for Jean. Her orders”. 

---

“... and that bastard didn't even take the time to brief me about the mission outcome, the entire time he was dirtying up my office!” You end your rant with an angry flourish, slamming your hand down on the table. “I don’t know what he intended with that whole interaction, he just likes making my day so much worse!” 

Your friend chuckles, stirring her drink idly, an ocean of calm in comparison to your raging fury. “Man, if we weren’t close, I would never guess Kaeya to be such a pain in the ass. Each time I’ve encountered him he’s been so chivalrous and kind”. 

“He just can’t keep it in his pants”. You cross your arms, sitting back in your chair with a huff. “If you ever end up in his bed, I will personally hunt him down”. 

She laughs. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t put you in that position”. 

“I just don’t understand it”. You run a hand through your hair, glancing around the tavern. It was unusually crowded for a Thursday night, you’d been lucky to get your usual table. “Why he has this stupid grudge against me. We used to be normal colleagues, back when we were both only trainee’s and officers, but then one day the switch flipped and it’s like we can’t stand the sight of each other ever since. The worst thing is, he has every last person in Mondstadt wrapped around his finger! So nobody understands my frustration!”

“First of all, Diluc exists. Second of all, aren’t you higher ranking than him?” she asks, and you regretfully shake your head. 

“No, Captains and Inspectors are on the same level. I personally didn't feel ready to be a leader in combat situations, so I passed on the opportunity. Now I miss active commissions so much, my poor sword is nothing more than an ancient relic at this point”. 

“Surely, you’ll still be sent out?” 

“I don’t have a command, the only times I might be are on extraordinarily dangerous or sizable sightings, or for assistance to Captains. Rue the day I get sent out with Kaeya”. You shudder at the thought. “That would end in total disaster”. 

“So you really have no idea why Kaeya began to dislike you so suddenly?” your friend inquires, tilting her head aside. You shake yours. “And there wasn’t some kind of incident that caused this?” 

“Not that I know of”.

A grin spreads over her face. “Hey, you ever considered that he likes you a little too much for his own good?” 

“That’s some misogynistic bullshit”, you snort. “Guys are rude to people because they like them, yeah right. That’s just trying to normalise shitty behaviour in the name of quote-on-quote love”. 

“I know that”. She gives you an exasperated look. “But… you have to admit that the two of you have some serious chemistry”. 

“What are you even talking about?” you question, downing the rest of your drink. 

“Every time you two interact”. She raises a brow knowingly. “Remember that time you were bickering on patrol through Mondstadt? I swear, even without a vision, I could see sparks between the two of you, and I wasn’t the only one, you got the entire town talking. You get on each other’s nerves because you have some unresolved tension you need to work out, and neither of you wants to admit it”. 

“Shut up”. Your cheeks suddenly feel suspiciously warm, and you firmly decide it’s the alcohol. “Fine, Kaeya’s attractive, but he’s so fucking annoying because he knows that. He messes with me ‘cause he knows how to get in my head, and gets some kind of sadistic pleasure from it”. 

Your friend makes an attempt to interrupt you, but you don’t let her, motioning to her to let you rant. “Let me finish. He was nice enough up until he got that damn ego boost after being promoted, I think, and even then I could still talk to him without the need to stab myself in the eye. He’s just so frustrating, never thinks twice about anything he does, and always gets away with it, plus he has this weird urge to always show off that stupidly toned chest of his and - by the Seven, I hate that idiot smirk of his, and the fact that he’s so damn perfect at his swordsmanship, I can’t even deny how good he is in battle, Jean has said he rivals her, and I despise that he knows he looks good while doing it, he-”

“So, how much longer were you going to let them just talk?” A voice offhandedly asks from behind you, and the blood in your veins turns to ice. Your friend smiles lazily, winking at you. 

“Oh, you know, however long they need. Y/N’s been ranting quite a bit this evening, you really get on their nerves”. 

You whip around, and sure enough, there he is, the cause of this mess. Kaeya has his arms folded, grinning down at you with thinly veiled satisfaction. You’re pretty sure half of the tavern is watching, and your blood turns from freezing to seething within seconds. 

“How long have you been there?” you ask stiffly, glaring at your friend. She pulls an innocent face, leaning back in her seat with performative disinterest. Traitor. 

“Just long enough to hear what I needed to”. Kaeya’s grin is threatening to split his face in half. “You really think I’m that attractive, huh? I never would have guessed”. 

You jump up from your chair, spitting out the first thing that comes to mind. “Fight me”. 

He actually laughs, a few of the tavern occupants joining in. “What? Are you sure you’re not mixing up a couple words there?”

You clench your jaw, deciding to just go with it. “Fight me. Knights of Favonius training ring, tomorrow morning. I’m sick of your attitude”. 

“Oh?” He cocks a brow at you. “I hope you’re ready after wasting away in that office of yours”. 

“I could beat you blindfolded”, you reply presumptuously, mimicking his stance, unable to ignore the fact that he smells a little too good for your tipsy state. At least he finally took your orders. You hold his stare regardless, unwilling to give in.

“Thank the Seven, you’re working this out at last”, your friend sighs, sipping at her drink. “And here I thought you’d take the sexual tension to the grave”. 

Kaeya’s lip twitches in amusement as he extends one hand. “Tomorrow morning at seven. I’ll try not to kill you then, for that sake alone”.

You give him a dirty look, reluctantly shaking his hand. “Your chance of me doing the same is decreasing with every word that leaves your mouth”. 

“I can live with that”. He suddenly leans closer, and before you can pull away, whispers in your ear, sultry tone leaving the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. “You’re going down, darling”. 

Like Hell you are.

---

The training hall is usually relatively empty at this time of day. Some dedicated trainee’s use the morning to get their routine over, but otherwise, not many knights exercise this early. And though at least a few of them must have heard of what happened last night, not many are to be seen. Even if you could live with an audience, you decide this way is perfectly fine, especially in case of the (distinctly undesirable and should-be-impossible outcome) of you losing to him. You’re a bit out of breath from warming up, fixing your shirt before making your way over to the ring.

Kaeya is waiting for you there, clad in athleisure and in the midst of testing out a beginner’s sword. His vision is nowhere to be seen, and you curse him a little for not giving you something more to berate him for. Nevertheless, you straighten up as you approach.

“Good morning”, you greet him nonchalantly, walking over to inspect the racks of weapons. 

A grin flashes across his face as he turns around, wiping the sweat off his brow. “Hello, darling”.

“Sweating already?” You raise a brow at him, deciding to ignore the nickname. “And here I thought I’d have a challenge”. 

Kaeya laughs, rolling out his wrist. “You are cute when you’re acting tough”. Tilting his head aside, he watches you take your pick of one of the swords. The morning light bathes him in a soft glow, falling through the high windows, hair tied up in a messy bun at the back of his head, and- wait. Your cheeks grow hot as you realise what absurd directions your thoughts are heading to. Your friend must have gotten under your skin more than you realised last night. 

Shaking your head a little, you roll your shoulders back and face him head-on. “Whatever makes you feel better. For the rules, as by training code, drawing blood is an immediate end”. 

“No visions, no hits near the head or vital organs, dull blades and stop means stop”, Kaeya counts up calmly, making his way to the center of the ring. His blue eye gleams playfully in the light, and he swings the sword near aimlessly while walking. You grit your teeth at his relaxed manner. He wasn’t taking this seriously at all, huh?

“Don’t worry, Inspector”. He winks as he comes to a halt before you, maintaining the mandated arm’s distance. “I know the rules”. 

“I’d hope so”, you reply, getting into position and watching him do the same. You decide to stir the pot a little, knowing it’s best to get into his head, and feign a smile. “I can’t wait until the rest of the knights hear about how royally I kicked your ass”. 

He laughs lowly, and is immediately on the attack. Anticipating such, after years of observing him in battle, you parry it easily, ducking aside to avoid the next one. You wait until he’s nearly backed you into the corner, ego visibly growing with every move he makes, and take a rolling dive, knocking his legs out from under him with your own. 

He manages to catch himself, and you’re relieved by the split-second of surprise in his expression. You withdraw towards the middle, blowing a stray strand of hair out of your face and, in a rush of adrenalin, smirk at him. “Not so confident now, are we, Captain?”

“You’re not as out of shape as I anticipated”, he counters, slashing his sword through the air as he repositions himself. Brows narrowing playfully, he adds: “It’ll make it more fun to thoroughly take you apart”. 

You don��t give him more time to prepare. Blades crash onto each other as he masterfully deflects your attacks, and it doesn’t take long for the two of you to get out of breath. Neither of you can land a hit, no matter how feasible it seems. He handles the comparatively bulky sword with enviable ease, and you grow frustrated quickly, unable to break through his defences. In turn, you don’t let him back you into any corner, constantly keeping the playing field level and returning every new strike with your own.

“You know what, I’ve missed this”, Kaeya pants, quick to switch hands as you sidestep him, attempting to land a hit on his blinde side. 

“Huh?” is all you can answer in return, deflecting his counter aimed at your back, and darting aside. 

“Training”. He nearly misses the parry, forced to back up if not to risk a blow to his abdomen. “With you”. He shoots you a brash smile, easily twisting out of your range.

You huff, irritated at the fact that he still has the mind to flirt. “Your silver tongue isn’t getting you out of this one”. 

“I meant it”. And of damn course, his tactic worked, the point of his blade sinking into your shoulder. “Remember when we used to practise together?” 

“Before you became a dick, you mean?” you shoot back, attempting an aggressive strike at his lower thigh. Your body is getting sore, heart pounding against your ribcage, breaths coming out short and strained, but despite it all, you’re enjoying this. In any case, you’d rather die than admit to him that you’re having fun. 

You really needed to get out of your office more.

Kaeya laughs, equally exhausted, before advancing at an alarming speed. “I’ll give you that one, darling”. 

Your blades cross, metal clashing loudly, and you can see an opportunity form as he shortly weakens his hold. Rotating your sword in the opposite direction to try and hook beneath his, you’re so distracted by the possibility of disarming him that you don’t notice the satisfaction that washes over his expression as you do. One swift swipe of his foot and you’re falling backwards, weapon nearly ripped from your hand. 

Your back hits the mat with full force, air knocked out of your lungs, causing you to give a strangled gasp. Kaeya is smirking down at you, but he’s as out of breath as you are and there’s sweat soaking his shoulders. You don’t think before you move, so infuriated by the words you know are about to leave his mouth, fingers tightening around the handle. 

The hit against his shins sends him to the ground, but not sideways as planned, instead straight onto you. You don’t have the time or the mind to roll out of the way, and he tries very hard to catch himself, hands landing on either side of you. You yelp as most of his weight hits you, momentarily forgetting what’s even happening. 

 “Fuck”, Kaeya groans, arms shaking as he tries to brace himself. “You like playing dirty, don’t you?” 

Slowly regaining the ability to breathe after nearly being crushed, your eyes dart to see him dangling over you, legs and lower body resting on your own. If anyone hears of this out of context, you’re moving to the other end of Teyvat. He’s panting, no doubt as shocked as you are, strands of his hair tickling your nose. His face is mere inches away from yours, heat seeping through his clothes onto your skin. 

Decidedly too close.

Your blade kissing his throat is a much better sight. You know you’re technically breaking the rules, but the way his eye widens, corners of his mouth twitching and brows raising to the sky is just too good of a picture. 

“Get off me”. You growl, trying to steady yourself with your other hand. 

His laugh sounds astounded, but contrary to your demand, he does not. Instead, his chin juts forward, pressing the metal into his skin for earnest. There’s no blood, of course, all these swords are dulled to near uselessness, but it does leave you speechless at the amount of reckless pride he seems to possess. 

 Kaeya hums, clearly satisfied at your reaction. “I’ll be honest, this is not how I initially pictured you under me”. 

What a smug son of a-

“Oh, fuck off”. Your knee makes contact with his stomach and he rolls off you with a grunt. You scramble to your feet, grimacing at what you're sure will be a bruised tailbone later. He’s already composed himself, twirling his sword idly as you get a proper grip on your own. Looking you up and down, his grin widens into a smirk.

“Though you do look similar to the imaginary aftermath”. 

“I am going to kill you”, you hiss, red flashing before your eyes as you charge at him. Kaeya begins to laugh once more, but it quickly dies down as your moves become more and more aggressive, driving him out of the ring and towards the wall. The thought of whoever may be around again crosses your mind, but honestly, you can’t care about who may be watching, every last bit of strength you have left is focused on Kaeya and his stupid fucking face and the way he evades your strikes with a precision that only leaves to be desired to every onlooker. It makes you want to actually scream. You finally land two hits on him, arms beginning to shake from exhaustion and overwhelming adrenalin. 

But once more, Kaeya catches you off guard. The switch flips just as his leg hits the wall and you’re just beginning to notice your own smile, sure of your victory. His expression darkens, lip caught in his teeth as his eyes narrow down at you. 

Your blades clash as they did before, and of course he uses your own move against you, managing to perfect it. Your sword goes flying to the ground, and the moment you lose your grip is the moment you’re being slammed against the wall that he was nearly backed up against mere seconds ago. The tip of his sword is digging into the soft skin of your throat, positioned perfectly above your Adam's apple. 

Suddenly, it goes very quiet, the silence only interrupted by your laboured breaths. Maybe it’s the fact that he near literally has a knife to your throat, but you can’t tear your eyes away from him. His hand is pressing on your shoulder, pinning you to the wall, keeping you in place. His leg is slotted between yours, barring you from moving an inch. 

For the first time since you’ve met him, you have nothing to do but to admire him. Sweat is making his hair stick to his skin, an exhausted flush upon his dark cheeks. His body is visibly tense, stare boring into yours with a kind of intensity you’ve only ever seen during active combat. There’s nothing unintentional about the way he’s restraining you, nothing hesitant about the placement of the blade against your skin. His chest is heaving, teeth digging into his lip in constrained effort, fingers digging into your shoulder as if expecting you to fight back.

You don’t. 

Instead, you let out a shaky breath. The adrenalin is still surging through you, but you can’t feel the constant urge to punch him in the gut anymore. Huh. Weird. 

“You won”. Your voice is calmer than it ever has been talking to him, accepting of your defeat. Plus, your body is beginning to realise that whatever just happened hurt, and quite a bit at that. You wince, knowing you’re going to need some ice to get through the rest of the day. 

Kaeya shakes his head determinedly, stare not wavering. “You had me in practically the same position less than a minute ago. You could have flipped me over with ease and won. You didn't. That’s the only reason I got you here”. His grip on your shoulder eases up. “We’re equal”. 

Withdrawing the sword from your neck, he takes a step back, relinquishing his hold on you. You feel strangely dazed, automatically reaching to check for cuts on your neck. “I guess?”

“You okay?” He sounds relatively quiet as well, nearly uneasy, which does not fit the overconfident persona he usually bears. Whatever tension there was before has yielded to something more cautious, like strangers navigating their way across broken ice. 

You nod, reaching to pick up your sword. “Fine”. You pause briefly, debating your words before meeting his eye again. “That was… good exercise. Thanks for fighting me”. 

He laughs a little, and you’re taken aback by how much you don’t feel like reacting. What was going on? At the latest after that laugh you’d usually be back at his throat. 

“Sure”. There’s the typical amusement in his face, but his smile is less egregious and smug. It’s… kind? “I’d have no problem repeating it”. 

You raise your shoulders, unsure of what to do now. “I guess… I wouldn’t either?”

“Good”. He runs a hand through his hair in an effort to fix the mess it’s become. You’re beginning to hear the confidence you’re used to re-enter his words, but it doesn’t appear to bother you. “Friday’s at seven, then. We’ll make it a regular thing”.

“Trying to kill each other?” You surprise yourself with the attempt to ease the tension, and why in the world do you have the urge to smile at the sight of his?

“If that’s how you want to see it”. He shrugs, placing his sword back on the racks. Glancing over his shoulder, he regards you for a long moment. “I think your friend is right”. 

“In what regard?” you ask, in principle fully aware of what that expression means for you. 

Kaeya’s shit-eating grin has made its way back onto his face. “I think this tension needs resolving. Whatever means it takes”. 

You can hear the words in your head before he says them. 

“Be that with swords against each other’s necks or in my bed. You decide”.

[cacoetheswriting]

champagne problems, ch.14

Chapter Fourteen: Sunflower: Things are really looking up. A/N: chapter is titled after this song if you want to listen while reading. Word Count: 2k Warnings: maybe a swear word or two, but really just fluff

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A/N: i know i probably sound like a broken record, but thank you for your continuous love and support! i probably wouldn't have finished this fic series if it wasn't for y’all, and now we are almost at the end! after this chapter, there is only the epilogue left omg!!! also, shout out to @ellesgreenaway​ for the song suggestion that titled this chapter! 

-

Spencer’s arms were wrapped tightly around your frame, reminding you without the use of words that he will never let you go again. His hot breath hit the back of your neck. It sent a gentle shiver down your spine causing you to flutter your eyes open. As you adjusted to the bright morning hues, you could feel his heart beating against you and a sleepy smile circled your lips.

There was no better feeling than waking up next to Spencer.

With him by your side, greeting the day was easy. It came slow and relaxed, as if the universe was commanding you to bask in this comfort for just a little while longer.

This is what harmony really felt like.

The second you stirred in your comfortably warm spot, and turned so you could admire the sleeping man next to you, he also opened his eyes. A smile instantly graced his features.

“Good morning, doctor.” You whispered and leaned over to peck his soft lips.

“Hmm... Good morning, how did you sleep?” The handsome doctor asked, his hand travelling to your face and brushing away any signs of sleep. You swayed into his touch like a magnet before replying; “Would you believe me if I said it was the best sleep I’ve had in months?”.

Spencer chuckled airily, his hand still caressing along your cheek. “I don’t know if I believe you, but I definitely am flattered.”

“As you should be, doctor.”

In a split-second, his lips slanted over yours in one of those open-mouthed kisses, tender yet extremely passionate. His fingers tangled in your hair, as he pulled you in as close as it was humanely possible. It always amazed you how your lips fit so perfectly together like two puzzle pieces.

After what felt like a glorious eternity, the brunette doctor slowly drew away. He placed a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose before rolling onto his back, one arm draped beneath your neck and hand resting on your shoulder.

“What would you like to do today?” Spencer asked, looking up at the ceiling. You contemplated his question for a moment, but before you got a chance to answer, the sound of your phone ringtone caught your attention.

Sitting up, you reached over to the bedside table and quickly answered the incoming call, “Hello?”

“Oh thank god, you’re alive!” Penelope breathed a sigh of relief on the other line. “We were all worried sick! I even stayed with Tara last night just in case you came back here.”

“I’m okay, don't worry guys.” You replied, glancing briefly at Spencer who has since gotten out of bed. He leaned down to kiss your cheek and exited the bedroom to give you some privacy.

“Well, you’ll get a talking to about not calling or texting later. But for now, how did it go? Tell me everything!” She asked and you couldn't help but giggle, “It went well, Pen. Like really well.” You replied.

Garcia squealed. “AHH! I am so happy for you, sugar plum! You and our lovely resident genius are just meant for each other. A match made in heaven!”

The smile gracing your features grew wider by the second. “Yeah, I’m glad it worked out in the end.”

“Like I knew it would! Now, you get back to whatever it is you were doing and I’m going to update Tara with this wonderful news. Should I tell her she needs to start looking for a new roommate?” She teased, and you rolled your eyes.

“Firstly, nothing untoward is happening.” You began, but Garcia was quick to interrupt you,“Riiight... I’m gonna pretend like I believe you, honey. Love you, have a great day and we can catch up on Monday.”

“Love you too, Pen.” You giggled back before the call ended.

Gradually, you scrambled out of bed and with a light bounce to your step, you joined the hazel-eyed doctor in the kitchen - where the smell of freshly brewed coffee overpowered your senses.

“So, how much trouble did you get in?” Spencer teased, as you rested your body weight against the counter next to him.

“Surprisingly, none at all.” You replied with a shrug. “She’s happy for us.”

Spencer glanced at you briefly, a smile circling his lips. “That makes two of us.” He stated in a low tone and you blushed ever so faintly.

“I forgot just how charming you can be, doctor.” You reacted, earning yourself a kind-hearted laugh. The melodic sound caused your heart to flutter, and you proceeded to tilt your head up and attach your lips to his.

The kiss was short and sweet, reminiscent of many you’ve shared previously. When you pulled apart, Spencer handed you a cup of coffee, and the two of you made your way to his couch.

“Have you given any thought as to what you’d like to do today?” He asked before pressing the mug to his mouth and taking a sip.

“Well, we’ve a lot of catching up to do, doctor.” You replied, throwing your legs over his lap. “I honestly wouldn't know where to start.”

“Y/N, we’ve our whole lives to make up for lost time.” He retorted, and you couldn't help but smile at the thought of growing old with him. “Let’s just take today to enjoy each others company. The sun is out, maybe you want to go for a walk? Or we can stay in and watch a movie?” He suggested.

You took a quick sip of your coffee. “We could actually do both of those things today, doctor. And if you’re good, I can even cook us dinner later.”

Spencer smirked. “If I’m good?”

You nodded, a stupid grin plastered across your face.

Truth be told, you had forgotten just how effortless everything was with Spencer. Your mind was continuously flooded with memories of your time with him. Even when you were apart, you’d get bombarded with thoughts of how uncomplicated the most menial tasks were with him. Although those memories didn’t compare to the serenity you were experiencing right now. Nothing compared to living in the moment with him, again.

The day you spent with Spencer had an unsurprising natural flow to it.

The brunette doctor first drove you to Tara’s, so that you could shower and change out of the pyjamas he lent you. While he waited for you to get ready, he enjoyed a conversation with Tara and Penelope. A conversation about the diamond ring he still carried with him everywhere - but that wasn't for you to know.

The four of you enjoyed a nice breakfast before the girls waved you off for the day. Spencer took the liberty of choosing the park for your walk. Hand in hand, the two of you looped around the paths for hours. Hours of laughing, chatting, and reminiscing. Hours of pure unfiltered joy.

Next stop on the unspoken agenda was the grocery store. Arguably one of your favourite places to go to, especially with the handsome doctor. While you picked out what you needed, Spencer guessed the ingredients of each item you placed in the metal cart. It was no surprise he was always correct, but honestly, that almost made the game more fun.

Back at his apartment, he helped you unpack the bags and proclaimed himself your sous chef. You wanted to protest, tell him to sit down and to let you cook alone, but Spencer wasn't having any of it - “My kitchen, my rules.”. The statement earned him an eye roll because you were sure the last person to actually cook anything proper in his kitchen was you, years ago.

With his... assistance, it took about three hours to make a simple recipe. And once you were finished, the kitchen looked as if a tornado had passed through it.

“Looks like we’ve an evening activity lined up.” Spencer joked, analysing the mess around, and you couldn't help but let out a laugh.

“Can’t wait.” A detectable hint of sarcasm in your voice.

The two of you ate in congenial silence - the first one of that day. It didn’t bother either of you, however. If anything the moment proved just how comfortable and at home you felt around one another.

The move to the couch after dinner was effortless. Spencer picked a movie, one you’ve both seen before so you could cuddle up to one another and talk about random topics without worrying about missing the plot.

It wasn’t until Spencer’s phone rang that you realised how disconnected from the outside world you’ve both been all afternoon.

“I’ll grab it for you, doctor.” You quickly jumped up on your feet before Spencer could do anything. You briskly shuffled around the sofa until you reached the coat hanger by the front door. As you searched the pockets of his jacket for the phone, your fingers brushed against something else.

The ringing stopped when you retrieved the item.

“Spencer, what’s this?” You asked, brows furrowed together.

The brunette doctor turned around. His gaze travelled to the small box you were holding up and he swallowed his breath. Shit. He completely forgot that was inside his jacket, which was ironic considering his eidetic memory. Not to mention the fact he’d been carrying it everywhere he went.

Spencer immediately jumped up from his seat. He appeared in front of you in a flash, his hand wrapping around yours and the box.

“This is definitely not how I envisioned this moment. But then again, when it comes to us, nothing ever goes as planned.” Spencer began, looking into your eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, but ehm, I’ve known I wanted to be the man you marry since before we even started dating. You’re the most patient, caring, loving, and not to mention beautiful person I’ve ever met. I am extremely lucky to have you in my life.”

Your eyes glossed over with tears as Spencer continued, “I’ve loved you for a very long time, Y/N. The journey you and I have been on so far is more than your average couple goes on. Which proves that together we are extraordinary.”

He took a deep breath before retrieving the box from your grasp. He slowly got down on one knee and proceeded to open the small box, causing a gasp to escape your lips.

“You’ve been through a lot, Y/N. I understand that you may not be ready to take this next step with me yet, therefore this is more of a promise rather than a question.” He licked his lips, fighting back his own happy tears as yours trailed down your face.

“Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me, one day?” Spencer asked and your heart soared at the question.

“Of course, yes. Yes, yes, yes! Yes!” You squealed, holding out your hand. The hazel-eyed doctor didn’t waste any time to put the ring on your finger, a goofy smile visible on his features. He then stood back up and kissed you with all his might, as you wrapped your arms around his neck and melted into his embrace.

“I would marry you in a heartbeat, doctor.” You mumbled against his lips.

Effortlessly lifting you off the ground, Spencer spun you around. The two of you laughing uncontrollably, basking in the love you were both experiencing. Your fingers tangled in his brown hair, as he trailed sloppy kisses across your jaw and down your neck.

“I love you.” Spencer whispered in your ear before pulling back to look at your face, his hazel gaze locking with yours. “I love you too.” You exclaimed in a hushed tone and pecked his lips.

Gently, he lifted your hand to admire how the ring looked on your finger. His lips twirling upwards even more, as if that was even possible. Both of you felt as if you were on cloud nine.

This is what the rest of your life felt like.

I promise I'm the one for you Just let me hold you in these arms tonight

-

A/N: ahhh we’re almost at the very end, i can’t believe it!! as always i’d love to hear your feedback! thank you for your continuous support. with love, mal. x

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story taglist: @girloncorneliastreet, @haylaansmi, @rexorangecouny, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @aperrywilliams, @sassy-hades, @rainsong01, @reverdevivre, @dracomikaelson, @softieekayy, @lunaofcrows, @andrewhoezierbyrne​, @blameitonthenight21, @lyl-26, @do-yr-research, @nazifa94, @stepsofthefbi, @chatterbug2-0, @calm-and-doctor, @halseysunset, @ellesgreenaway, @chipot-lol​

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[thelastpilot]

‘On GOD We Are Going to Get You a Girlfriend’- A Lovesquare Story as suffered by Nino

My last charity fic for @mlbforblm! The prompt was Aged Up College AU lovesquare, in which Adrien is struggling with his love for both Marinette and Ladybug and Nino is put in the position to be the ultimate wingman. I went a little off script with this prompt but I hope it scratches that itch nonetheless. 

The concept itself lent itself much better to 15k than 4 but I did what I could! Hope it gets a laugh out of you. 

It was twilight in Paris, the tail end of sunset slipping away as people all across campus engaged in extremely varied states of productivity. That is to say, at most 20% of the campus’ live-in population was actually getting any work done, while the rest of them were either limping along or had already given up.

It was midterms week, clearly.

In the dim space of a reasonable apartment accommodation were well -intentioned study implements of every kind. The completely average couch and carpet were covered with just enough of a layer of highlighters, pens, and printed pages to give a really studious impression at a glance, but whatever vibe it might have managed was thoroughly ruined by a young man laying face down on the floor, a game console nearly tumbling from his hands. Another, separate, but equally as unfocused young man had his back to plain white wall against which they had been meaning to put like… a chair or something at least for most of the semester now, staring idly out of the sliding glass door to his left that offered only a sliver of a view from his current position. At most he could see two lovely, but neglected, potted plants and a shoddy balcony looking off towards the main body of their college campus.

He watched the small patch of sky he could see succumb to a light coverage of clouds, and as he considered the possibility of rain, he sighed.

“Nino?” he finally spoke, looking away from his strip of sky. He waited for a response for a second or two, before reaching out with his foot and gently prodding his friend’s side to check he was alive, smirking slightly when he received a grunt for his efforts.

“Mm,” Nino answered from his curled up position, the glasses on his face a perfect reflection of his Pokemon team’s stats, which was ironic considering that Stats was exactly the thing Nino was avoiding at the minute. After a beat too long, he realized his friend was still waiting on his response. He lifted his head slightly, his hat falling free to the ground as he said, “Mm? Yeah?” He blinked slowly. “What?”

Adrien smiled down at him, chuckling a little before tossing aside a textbook he had been pretending to take notes from for the last hour. When his lap was free he leaned forward and rolled to the ground, mimicking Nino’s exact positioning on the ground a small distance away from him, sighing again (louder this time).

“What?” Nino repeated himself, laughing when Adrien leveled him with a sour look. He rolled his eyes but dutifully paused his game, shutting his Switch off and putting it on the ground out of their eyeline. “Go for it dude, what’s up.”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Is it a girl thing?” Nino asked flatly, raising an eyebrow when all Adrien managed was a sheepish smile. “Dude.”

“Come on! You’re my friend, you’re contractually obligated. Look don’t make fun of me just help okay; I’m really stuck now.” Adrien pleaded with him, bringing his hands in front of him to cartoonishly beg for his grace. He got another eye roll for his trouble but Nino hadn’t gotten up and left yet so that was a good sign.

It wasn’t that his friend didn’t want to help him, its just that… well.

Adrien always had some kind of girl problem, pretty much off and on for the past five years. He knew it got hard to listen to and Nino had put in way more than his fair share of time into this. Especially since he had made essentially no progress whatsoever in all that time, but boy was he almost on to something here.

Nino said nothing else, making a vague hand gesture for him to continue and Adrien did as he always did.

He hesitated, carefully considering how to phrase something.

“So um, there is this girl. That uh, girl, I always talk about. The one you don’t know. And then there is another girl, one who you do know.”

“Do we HAVE to be so vague man? We’re in our own place, there is no one around. Can’t you just say it? I get so confused when we do it like this.”

Adrien tensed slightly, discomfort crawling up his back. “I uh, I can’t. Just- just listen okay? I can’t explain it.”

“We’re in our house,” Nino complained again. But Adrien ignored him, because he always ignored him when he said that.

“Just listen okay?”

Nino looked at him squarely, or at least as squarely as he could manage while laying on the ground. When Adrien patiently waited for a response Nino finally sighed, rolling on his stomach and laying his face sideways on the floor to match him, nodding stiffly for him to continue.

“It’s just, there is these two girls,” he began, “I’m losing my mind over it, I’m worried man and it’s coming to a head. I know I’ve said that before, but I mean it this time. I have never ONCE in my entire LIFE gotten the timing right Nino, I’m dead serious.” Adrien rolled around a little gripping his hair with both hands. “I get the timing wrong EVERY TIME. I have never been where I’m supposed to be! I’ve never made a move at the right time I have never done it right. I get close with one girl but she doesn’t reciprocate or she tells me to wait or she says that its complicated, then I get close to the other girl but I feel GUILTY because I still care about the first girl. But she says it isn’t right so I work on it I let go but then the other girl is gone or moves on or life gets in the way. I have been in the wrong place EVERY TIME-,”

 Adrien’s ranting continues, rolling around on their carpet as he incredibly vaguely and very stupidly details a problem that he has had for many, many years. Nino can feel himself retreating into his own thoughts, more focused on Adrien’s animated rolling than his actual words. He reaches out once to save a stack of notes from getting creased and ruined, but other than that remains completely still and lets his friend do his thing.

This happened maybe once a week or so, maybe a little less often or more often depending on the status of the girls.

The fact that Adrien literally REFUSED to say their names made this completely incoherent, but where in his love life he was inconsistent, when it came to never talking about work Adrien was true to form.

Nino blinked blearily as Adrien continued, pouring over the reasons he cared so deeply for them both and why that made him feel like a bad person. It left Nino to stew, wondering much like always why they did it like this.

The two of them were superheroes. Spoilers if you didn’t know. He didn’t feel like much of a superhero when he was sprawled out on his shared apartment floor suffering the long run up to failing his Stats midterm like any other student. But the fact remained that he was one, and so was Adrien. The problem was that Adrien was serious about keeping life and work separate. It was pretty much only hard and fast rule about this gig that Nino had picked up on when he first joined. Never talk about work as a civilian, under any circumstances. You only get to talk about work when you’re suited up, and you’re only allowed to talk about life in plain clothes.

Honestly, it was so hard to do it that way, but the rules were clear, not that anyone had actually stopped to explain them to him. Adrien froze up whenever he even so much as mentioned an akuma attack or asked about an injury. Don’t talk about work, but…

They lived together now, this was the first semester where they had done so and Nino was so hyped about it. Like FINALLY, our kwamis can relax and we can be ourselves. He had been so excited about it, but to his profound disappointment Adrien refused to relent on his rule. Their kwamis were never even out in the open except for in their rooms, like he knew Adrien was strict but surely he wasn’t that committed.

Nino understood that it was probably Ladybug’s rule but still, it’s not like she was here. He wouldn’t advocate for disobeying her but… come on man. His brain hurt.

He KNEW Adrien was talking about Ladybug/Marinette. He knew that for a fact, but Adrien would never say her name out loud, because that overlaps with work (even though they hang out with her in person like every single day.) Maybe Nino didn’t know who the heck this second girl he was talking about was, but at the very least he could be clear about one of them.

Whoever the second girl actually was sounded a lot like Marinette, so the for-sure thing was that he had a type. Honestly though he had stopped trying to figure it out years ago. If he wasn’t so exhausted from not studying he would humor him like he always did, but today… man he was kind of tired.

He waited until Adrien was done talking, undoubtably ending by asking for advice as per the usual. Then, like always, Nino said what he always did.

“You need to communicate. If you are not crystal clear with these girls about what they want and what you want nothing with ever happen. You need to bite the bullet and TELL them, at least ONE of them, what you’re thinking.”

And like always, Adrien groaned and covered his face and said, “It’s not that easy!”

They both grumbled dejectedly into the carpet, repeating their years old platitudes until they gave up on each other. Nino usually did this a lot better but he reserved the right to tap out and Adrien usually seemed to accept that.

The only different thing Adrien actually said was when he was standing. He mumbled, “I know, I know. You’re right, as usual but… I’m maybe gonna ask someone else. See what they think.”

“I don’t know what answer you’re hoping for, but that’s all I’ve got.”

“I know,” Adrien sighed, offering a hand to help him off the ground. He smiled gently, but his eyes were sad. Enough of a gesture to explain that he wasn’t actually mad at Nino’s dismissiveness. He had a right to refrain.

 They spent an idle few minutes cleaning up their mess, consolidating their notes and books into two loose piles and neither saying much. It was only about thirty or so minutes later when Adrien announced vaguely, “I’m gonna go for a run.”

“Yeah man,” Nino answered, knowing by heart Adrien’s codeword for ‘patrol’. Didn’t know why he didn’t just say it, but that was a dead horse long beaten.

 Adrien left within a minute or two but Nino stood blearily for awhile in the living room, staring at nothing as he debated just going to bed for the day.

He was just about to head to his room to ask if Wayzz was ready for dinner when the kwami in question came flying into the room, confidently out in the open space now that Adrien was gone.

“You’re getting a call!” Wayzz piped up importantly, waving his little flippers a bit to sell the point. “It’s Cat Noir!”

“I- what?” Nino sputtered, glancing towards the apartment door in confusion. “He literally just- ugh.” Nino groaned as loudly as possible, Wayzz shaking his head a little. “Why is he LIKE THIS, he could have just TOLD ME TO COME.”

“I know he’s odd about it, but he must have his reasons. You should go, he must need you for patrol.”

Nino demanded a few more moments of frustration, which Wayzz indulged, before grabbing his keys and unlocking a window in case he didn’t feel like using them. It was Adrien’s turn tonight but okay whatever.  

 It only took him a minute or two to transform and get out onto their building’s roof, stretching a bit before raising his wrist. He forced himself to take a deep breath and remind himself of the rules while he returned Adrien’s call.

Through the hazy, green, holographic screen he saw the face of Cat Noir answer on the first ring, the feline superhero sighing in relief and smiling widely.

“There you are! I was hoping you were out. Hey, I know this is kind of sudden but… um I was wondering if you were willing to meet up with me. I want to ask you about something.”

He allowed himself to hang his head in frustration just out of the video feeds eyeline, pulling a sharp breath through his teeth before answering, “Yeah bud. Lets meet up.”

“Great!” Cat Noir answered enthusiastically, genuinely happy that he had agreed for whatever reason. “Meet me here when you get a second,” and he sent over his current location. Sure enough he was literally like, one block over.

He hung up without a goodbye, dragging his feet as he started to head that way. He was slow about it sine it was at most five seconds away for him. Adrien was so INTENSE about this charade some days it just drove him completely crazy. But rules are rules.

He waited for about a minute to distance their patterns, then with a short jump and a few corner’s turned he found Cat Noir crouched on top of the Linguistics building.

“Hey, you got here fast,” Cat greeted him happily, a little nervous looking actually. ‘Carapace’ as he was really had to resist the eye roll there, deciding instead to nod.

He went over and sat somewhat heavily, not pretending with an greeting at all and just watching him flatly. For whatever reason this made Cat Noir hesitate a little, but he quickly got over it, pushing through the weirdness and folding his hands in his lap.

“Well, listen I won’t waste your time much. I know we don’t really do this, we only ever talk about work and that’s the safe thing, I get how it is.” Cat Noir looked away, his gaze fixated on the possibility of rain, before he finally sighed.

“I just… I was wondering if I could get some… girl advice?”

Cat Noir looked to his ally, scanning his face and getting even more nervous as he more or less saw a brick wall of an expression on Carapace’s face.

Carapace blinked, saying nothing as Cat Noir began to talk unprompted, persevering despite the lack of reciprocation.

“So um, there is a girl, and you know that.  I always talk about her, and there is another girl, one that you don’t know.”

Carapace blinked.

He softly let out a “Bro…” but Cat Noir was hyping himself up now and he started rolling.

“It’s just, there is these two girls,” he began, “I’m losing my mind over it, I’m worried man and it’s coming to this point where like, I-,”

He kept going, looking down at his gloved hands and missing Carapace’s slowly warping expression. He started rambling, about how he always got the timing wrong, about how he cared about both these girls so much and he just didn’t know what to do. He started and he didn’t stop, completely unaware of Carapace starting to lose touch with reality.

Finally Carapace interrupted, stammering slightly in a tone that was wildly like…

Disbelief?

“Dude I- stop, hang on. Dude I just- I know?” He waited for a beat, watching Cat Noir blink in confusion. He scanned his face, looking for just- literally anything. After another moment that was way too long, he finally braved it. “We- we already, we already talked about this.”

Cat straightened, throwing his head back in exasperation and groaning loudly, “Okay I know I talk about girls sometimes but I honestly never bother you with this much can you humor me please?”

“No I-,” Carapace paused, his voice getting quieter. “We just… literally we-,”.

“Please man I- UGH I’m really having trouble!” He nearly shouted it, looking so genuinely unheard that Carapace was reeling. “You’re one of my only close guy friends I NEED a second opinion, I’m begging now. I already asked my other friend but he always says the exact same thing and he’s RIGHT but I need someone to say something else!” Cat suddenly mimicked his voice saying, “”You need to communicate.” That’s what he says, he’s RIGHT obviously but I just-,”

He kept talking, briefly glossing over how this ‘friend of his’ wasn’t particularly helpful with this line of questioning, so Cat Noir had chosen to seek HIM out instead.

And as he went on with his rant, Carapace slowly brought his hands to his face in intense contemplation.

Suddenly, in the middle of Cat Noir’s over the top love ranting Carapace decided to interrupt him.

“Hold up- hold on now. I need to clarify something, just cause I need to double check alright, just checkin’ something.”

Cat Noir paused, looking to him and slowly saying, “…okay?”

“You KNOW I know you’re Adrien Agreste right?”

 Silence. Cat abruptly went rigid, but Carapace just splayed his hands wide, rapidly searching his face for confirmation of the impossible.

“Like dawg you KNOW that right? You’re aware? You know that right?”

Cat Noir was frozen, holding as still as possible like Carapace was a T-Rex and if he didn’t move this problem was just gonna go away. But Carapace pressed further, getting louder as he said “DUDE you know who I AM RIGHT?!”

The feline superheroes breathing was starting to pick up, his eyes blown wide as he REALLY looked at his friend, before he nearly inaudibly squeaked, “…no?”

“ADRIEN-,”

“Shhh!” Cat Noir leapt forward, trying to grapple him as he went into full panic mode, “Wait shut up shut up!”

“IT’S BEEN FIVE YEARS!”

“SHUT UP!”

They started to wrestle, Cat Noir violently shushing his companion as he had a full melt down, saying things like “All this time-!” and “You’re an idiot!” and “I thought you were just- oh my god!”

“Please!!! This is terrible Carapace shut up!! I don’t know how you found out my identity but I-,”

“WHOSE THE SECOND GIRL-!?”

“Lower your voice!”

“WHOSE THE SECOND GIRL”

“What do you mean?!”

Carapace gripped him hard by the shoulders and threw them both until Cat Noir was flat on his back with a harsh thump against the roof tiles. The turtle hero held him tight and shook his shoulders, his eyes crazed with years of realization colliding together at once. “Who is the second girl in your ridiculous life, what’s her name?!”

Cat Noir looked wild and frightened, finally becoming so flustered that he just hissed in a whisper, “It’s Marinette okay!?”

“And?”

“And WHAT!?”

“AND?” Carapace reiterated, shaking him harder.

“And LADYBUG you MORON!” he hissed as quietly as he possibly could.

Instantly Carapace stopped, holding him in a vice like grip just above the tiles. After an incredibly still moment, he dropped him, closing his eyes and putting his hands over his face.

Cat Noir was flat on his back, panting heavily and staring up at him freaked out, but it was like Carapace had been struck by lightning and he was just sitting there, completely still.

 “Oh,” was all he finally said, curling in on himself slightly. Before suddenly, he pitched to the side and just lay there on the roof tiles, rolling onto his stomach.

“…oh?!” Cat eventually managed, twisting onto his side to look at him just laying there. “That’s all you have to say?! Of COURSE it’s Ladybug! I talk about her EVERY. DAY.”  

“This… explains… so much,” Carapace muttered, not even listening to him. With a huff Cat crawled onto all four and went over to him, his heart racing in what was nearly a panic attack at this point. But all of Carapace’s energy had been spent, and he just mumbled dejectedly with his face smooshed against the tiles.

Cat Noir’s ears twisted forward, trying to make out the words, before he just lost his patience and hissed “What are you saying?!”

“I said YOU’RE STUPID!” the turtle barked out, turning his face back into the filthy roof.

“Why am I- UGH forget it! Just forget it we have a way bigger problem here- If Ladybug finds out my identity has been compromised she’s going to-,”

“Is SHE stupid too!?” Carapace interjected, twisting just enough to look up at him incredulously. “Is everyone stupid but ME?”

“What the hell are you talking about?! Dude there is RULES! No one is allowed to know anyone elses identity!”

Carapace just gaped at him, before his eyes unfocused and he just went limp. He whispered it when he said, “So she IS stupid…”

He waited a beat, and wretchedly mumbled to himself, “Oh god you’re both so stupid.”

 Cat Noir was at a loss, looking all around him like he was desperately trying to make sense of it all, stopping only to try and sort of Carapace’s miserable breakdown.

He was about to give up and just drag Carapace to a lockable room somewhere before his friend propped himself up all at once with the most exasperated expression he had ever seen on a human person.

“So help me- someone has to do some shit about this, listen to me-,” Carapace got to his knees and lunged forward to grab him by the bell. He pulled him forward, and with all the determination of a war general he proclaimed, “On GOD I am going to get you a girlfriend, do you hear me? I am going to make this happen because I can not STAND another DAY of this. Got it?!”

“I- Carapace I-!?”

“GOT IT?!”

  Cat Noir dangled helplessly in his grip, and with his last wits he sputtered out, “Okay, okay!!! I’ll do whatever you say!”

[goldencorecrunches]

Xingchen likes it best like this, all of them together in the middle of the rug, heads on stomachs and ankles hooked around legs and the comforting dome of combined body heat surrounding them, rising and mingling in the air above. On clear days there's also that muscle-deep, spreading warmness from the sun: even in winter. Today it's raining, never continuous but in fits and starts, and the tap-rush-tap of heaven's cup spilling over lulls Xingchen into a kind of a trance. Somebody's hand lands on their shoulder: small, and cold.  Xue Yang. "Better?" He asks, and it's lazy but Xingchen can still hear the sharpness. Xue Yang is always sharp, except when he is not: only for them, for Xingchen and Song Lan. Only when they surprise him with affection so thoroughly he forgets he's covered himself in thorns. Now it means he's noticed what Xingchen has been trying to hide, and they feel themselves blush, curling instinctively around the foot Zichen has kindly lent them to cuddle. Zichen alone is sitting upright, working steadily through the pile of mending that he saves specifically for days like this; inside days, do-nothing days. He’s wearing the fuzzy socks Xingchen got him three years ago, or maybe four. There's a hole in the heel. Next time they go out they'll get him new ones. They've been telling themselves that for the past eight months. "I might fall asleep right here," Xingchen says, because it's an answer and it's not. The carpet scratches their cheek, but they are feeling drowsy, unspooled and softly-jointed in their flannel pajamas. They smile even before Xue Yang is finished with his unimpressed huff, and tilt their head to catch the kiss Xue Yang brushes down their nose, re-discovers on their mouth. "You work too much," Xue Yang grumbles. He tastes like bubblegum toothpaste. He smells like late afternoon, the kind that’s just a long extension of the morning. "You deserve this day off," Zichen adds, careful and slow. His foot twitches. Xingchen pets it, the way they would soothe a spooked kitten. If they listen, they can hear the dragging of the thread against the fabric when Zichen pulls taut another stitch. 

Not really, Xingchen thinks. They swallow the words: some days, they are impossible to push aside, but now, overlapping with the best parts of all their love, they can almost succeed entirely. "It's been a busy couple of weeks," they acknowledge instead, and are quietly, guiltily, proud of themselves. "They don't even make money, what do they need--" "A-Yang," Zichen says. Shhhhh, says the thread. "Whatever." Another bubblegum kiss, there against the bow of their top lip. "Well, you're ours for the next--however many hours until the weekend ends. I have it in writing and everything." "You do," Xingchen agrees, feeling a hint of laughter bubble in the back of their throat. It's pinned to the corkboard in the kitchen, printed in braille and signed in pen's muscle memory, and it crackles every time one of them passes by. "The most solemn and binding of contracts." "Exactly." The rug jolts under them; Xue Yang is wiggling closer, tucking himself up against Xingchen's front. Zichen obligingly adjusts his leg to make room. The rain swells again against the window. Xingchen's back has long since begun to protest the awkward jut of ribs and spine against the unforgiving floorboards. It is good to be home.

[rotzaprachim]

Kalimat/كلمات

Yusuf al-Khaysani/Niccolò di Genova, 3.3k, teen, AO3 LINK

Yusuf translates medical texts for Niccolò from Greek and Persian into Arabic, and Niccolò spots the substratum of the ideas of the classical authors that he had once believed the basis of his own civilisation that he would go to the sword to defend, translated and passed down and sewn into a no longer foreign script. There are words Yusuf does not know how to translate. They will never, ever know all of the words. The prospect is thrilling. --- It takes Niccolò lifetimes to learn Arabic.

(I've tried pretty hard to make this at least historically feasible but I'm very sure this is just. Jam packed with mistakes. As is the Arabic langauge stuff- I got booted from the class due to dyslexia. I also hope the representation of Islam and Islamic culture is accurate.) 

Languages drop from Joe’s lips easily. Nicky struggles with survival phrases in lingua francas- What Hurts in Dari and Can you breath- nod yes in Swahili and How can we help in French, but Joe can easily lose himself in the sea of a new language’s words and come up swimming, not just stringing together sentences but swallowing poetry, drama, and music. In Ughyar, Bosnian, Zapotec, Spanish, Tamil, Sylheti, Albanian. The shelves of his books line their lives. That is important to Joe, that people be seen not just as they always seem to be in western news reports - as the bodies in the ruined city- but as poets. As storytellers. As humans who struck fire with language that will survive and burn anew.

Joe recites Khachatur Abovian to calm the fractured nerves of a former schoolteacher ripped from his home while he and Nicky rush to forge passports and visas for the teacher and his wife and his seven children to make new lives in America. In a post war displaced persons camp he speaks Yiddish, reads Sholem Aleichem and Avrom Sutzkever from paperbacks pulled from the fires and then decades later in the dust of Baghdad, Arabic and al-Sayyab. And he listens, listens even more than he speaks. He listens to stories upon stories of war and loss and human suffering with his ears and his eyes and heart and a clasped hand that says, I do not claim to know your pain but I have felt my own.

Nicky sets arms and delivers babies and administers vaccines and sorts endless boxes of quinine tables and bandages. He speaks with his hands, mainly, and his bedside manner is different from Joe’s. He learned long ago to keep lollipops in the right pocket of his jacket. The first language Nicky learned to speak was the sea and the second was the wind, and spoken words come to him slower, with less agility, blending into occasionally archaic jumbles. He means to ask an assistant for an antiseptic wipe at one point, has to dig through his mind through the piles of once vital vocabulary bleached useless by time, military jargon for battles lost nine hundred years ago and colloquial derja words for plants and crops gone extinct under the tides of modern monocropping, and comes up sputtering, asking if anyone, perchance, has a neckerchief?

The linguistic stumbling of an unlettered genovese sailor versus a middle class trader’s son who learned to love the written world on his mother’s lap.

It took Nicky a human life time to master spoken Arabic, in a few of her many varieties, with her tricky mazes of roots, more decades of listening and stumbling through conversations and gentle corrections than the average human mind could take before his own readujsted to the beauty of a world described through roots with all things connected to each other.

It took him another life time again to master fusHa, the complex turns of phrase and imagery and unwritten short vowells, and a brush and then pen always felt far more alien in his hands than a sword did. (Although the precision of a pen prepares him well for the precision of a scalpel, and that, perhaps, is the instrument with which Nicky writes history.)

A thousand years ago, in the same city who’s people Joe and Nicky will die again and again for to try and pull from the ruin, the man then Yusuf wrapped his hand around the hand of the man then Niccolò and guided him through this mysterious world of written letters. Alif-ba-ta-thaa and then nun-qaf-waw-lam-alif,

اسمي نقولا

For the first time, Niccolò wrote himself down.

The script contained other mysteries and hidden trap doors. The disappearing mem that could get swallowed by lam and alif and the mysterious shape-shifting ta marbouta and the categories of sun and moon letters that lent the marks on a page a tangible quality, the burning Mediterranean sole that Niccolò’s people marked their years by and la luna by which Yusuf’s people knew their own time by.

When they had reached their first truce in the battlefield and had to learn how to say things beyond various threats and claims of the name of God, they’d each had to remake the world in a new image, relabel everything they’d thought they’d known. Shams, the enemy man had said over and over again, pointing up, and Niccolò hadn’t known if he meant “sky” or “blue” or “above” or “God” or the color “blue.” Niccolò had drawn a line in the sand, the past running to the future and tried to map out the different tenses of his own language he didn’t fully understand himself, only knew how he’d use them in a sentence. He’d hatched an x in the middle for now, drawn two little stick figures and two blobby horses, us he’d said in zenaize, then future, right of the men, past, left.

“Ahhh,” the man who Niccolò now knew as Ana Ismee Yusuf, nodded. He stood up and pointed right. “Lelshar’.” To the left. “Lel’arb.” He smiled and Niccolò thought it might be worth dying, just to see again. “Si, si. Io capiscooo.” He stretched his syllables out in a deadpan imitation of a puffed-up Genovese noble, and Niccolò laughed himself.

Several lifetimes later and Niccolò tries to label his world anew again in writing. Yusuf writes out words in large, blocky script on pieces of scap paper, marks the harakat around the words carefully in red ink. He tacks باب to the door and سَرِير to their bed and even أنا to himself. He holds up a piece of paper to the sky outside, the sun blinding their eyes momentarily before they repair. الشَّمس, the first word. Yusuf even attempts to stick قِطّ onto Amira, the sharp eyed street cat who’s wormed her wait into their household. The scratches that earns him heal quickly.

It takes Niccolò far longer than he wants anyone to know before his mind properly started to see a word and see it as a word, something more than a collection of letters but a thing that existed, definitively, in God’s world. بَيْت, what he and Yusuf have now had in Basra, Palermu, Fustat. مُحيط, like the Mare Nostrum. فَتاة, a girl like like the sister he left behind.

And then the door was opened, and Niccolò could read, or at least, understand this process of reading for himself, and more than that, he could see this part of Yusuf, so crucial to the soul he nad come to love and this heart he now held in his own. Yusuf loved words, and books, and writing, he loved his Book as the word of God to his prophet and he loved his books as connection to the mother who had first taught him suras and his father who wrote in three languages, and, he had once gold Niccolò in the quiet safety of their bed, in the night, with the first boy he had ever loved, the other star pupil at their madrassa with whom he would lie composing lines of poetry under a lemon tree.

Niccolò thought of Yusuf reading in the small, cool courtyard of the house in Damascus that would for this lifetime be their home, his mouth moving silently in prayer as his fingers followed reverently over the verses. He thought of Yusuf moving elegantly through the world, his speech dry and witty or educated where his own felt blunt, trading jokes and barbs back and forth in the tea house and the market. But mostly, Niccolò thought of Yusuf writing, face still with all the steady focus and silent reverence of prayer, bent over a carved rosewood writing desk, the sunlight streaming in through the windows setting his curls on fire. And his hands, so strong, so reliable, moving unerringly across the page, line after line of the script that Niccolò once feared and mocked because he feared but which he now knew could contain all the beauty of the world.

He practiced by writing to the those he loved but no longer walked the world.

Oum, today sun bright. I see roses in market. I think of you, when I see roses in market.

Abba, in house of God happy I know you are, happy makes it me.

Maria, to read you will love, i know. Your son man now. Good i know. Peace to you.

Niccolò burned the letters in a fire and hoped God would make it so his 'aa'ila could read them. Yusuf and Niccolò were both young in the business of being immortal. They had not learned to shoulder the pain of it yet, so they faced the loneliness, together and alone. Niccolò thought that he saw the appeal of letter writing, then, imagined a world in which he could have written his family from the Holy Land, told them that no matter how many infidels he killed to cleanse this world for the Cross he felt no closer to holiness himself, told them that the one he killed and killed and killed again he had found holiness in, told his parents that their son died and died and did not die. That he missed home, the rocky shores and fishing villages of Liguria, but that he missed them more, because his family was his home, even if there were things about him that he hid in the darker parts of himself because he knew they would never understand.

His sister’s grandchildren- or maybe her great-grandchildren, he wasn’t quite sure- were still alive, probably, but there wasn’t a way they’d respond well to the idea of a relative who’d have been forty years past death even without war sending them letters written in the alphabet they’d been taught to hate, if they could read at all.

With the ashes of his letters, he lets his family go, and prays God looks kindly upon them, and shows them mercy, and grants them peace and understanding. Every century or so, he’ll check in, he vows, even from afar, because he owes Maria that much. He hopes her son or his son or his son has not wasted his life to die in a war on foreign soil like he did, or that her daughter or her daughter or her daughter has not been left a widow.

Yusuf’s family still lived in Tunis. His sister Maryam took over the trading business after his death and made the al-Khaysani family a great name and funded many hospitals and houses of learning. News of her death reached Palermu weeks after the burial, and it was one of the few times in their long, long lives that Yusuf had to walk for months alone, to process a grief as large as the world. He let the waves of the sea and the sand of the desert swallow him again and again, and when he did not die, he rose and lifted his head to the sky and swore he would make the world as good as she wanted it to be. In every city they go to with a cathedral or even a baked mud church Niccolò lights candles for Maria and for Maryam. Santa Maria, madre de dio, they’ll pick up one day, in a language centuries off from existing. You know she is named more times in our book than yours, Yusuf told him in one one of their many cycles of death and coming back, when Niccolò called out for her, bleeding out on the sand.

When Niccolò found Yusuf again they stood with their hands clasped at her grave outside the medina and then they prayed and set off again. New cities, new tongues, new people. To avoid suspicion, they alter the sounds of their names to match the sounds of the city. Yusuf and Naaqid. Giuseppe and Niccolò. Nikolai and Iosef. Every death is shorter.

Yusuf forges the documents and the names, barters and trades, even makes several seperate respectable fortunes as a merchant of cloth and then spices before even claims of pomegranates doing wonders for one’s health start to wear a bit thin and they have to fake their deaths again. He writes, and though home quickly becomes what they can carry, he keeps sheaths of poetry in tiny, perfect script in his saddlebag, recites long poems as they make camp in the desert. Some were written by and for men like them. Others Yusuf tweaks the gender of, chooses inta over inti. Every time they die they leave a generous waqf behind.

Niccolò takes care of the horses, and then he tries to take care of people. He learns as much of these strange healing arts of the east as he can from Yosef, and then from a doctor in Basra and a Jewish apothecary in the city of Fustat. It is not blasphemy to try to know the body, he is deciding, it is not sacrilige to try as hard as one might to save a life. At some point, the knowledge goes beyond what he can remember or what a diagram can tell him, and so it’s in Damascus that Niccolò decides, even with his previous failed attempts at the aliph-baa, to ask Yusuf to teach him how to read.

And he does. It takes time, years, before he can, before he feels more man than child with a pen in his hand and he does not smear ink across the page. And there are limits. He is never a poet. His language is always more practical than- and this is a word that will not exist for centuries but that colors his memories even still- than romantic. For him heart is a thing of muscles and chords that powers a life. He reads and takes notes on Al Razi far more than Abu Nuwwas or al Muttanabi. Ibn Sina’s Canon of Medicine astounds him just as Ferdowsi’s perfect schemes of monorhymes entrance Yusuf. His sentences do not flow into rivers like Yusuf’s do. They build squat, strong houses. They encode information that Niccolò can leave behind when he dies, only to return to a century later and find that have been added on to by scholars after him, the foundations for someone else’s palace. Sometimes, the things he thought were true are completely washed away in the flood of some new discovery, and he prays and begs the forgiveness of all those he caused unnecessary pain in his ignorance.

But even in his clumsiness, the power of words surges through. Yusuf’s words and his love of words surges through to Niccolò in the years of learning, until Niccolò loves words too, just as Niccolò’s love of the sea and her many tempestuous moods and promise of infinite freedoms filters through to Yusuf. Yusuf translates texts for Niccolò from Greek and Persian into Arabic, and just as with Mary and Maryam centuries ago on a battlefield, Niccolò spots the substratum of the ideas of the classical authors that he had once believed the basis of his own civilisation that he would go to the sword to defend, translated and passed down and sewn into a no longer foreign script. There are words Yusuf does not know how to translate. They will never, ever know all of the words. The prospect is thrilling.

And Yusuf’s love of words surges up into Niccolò’s love of Yusuf too. It took him about three weeks after their initial truce to realise the man was soft, which then took him a few decades to find more endearing than annoying. That he liked sweet things and flowers and goddamn useless hobbies like calligraphy and drawing complex borders of tulips and interlocking knots along the borders of his writing papers. And he knew he was a good poet, to his own ears, that he fit words together nicely. But being able to read Yusuf’s poems, even the unwritten snippets he leaves scattered around the house, often unfinished, is something else entirely. A glimpse into being seen, by the person who sees him best. But God above, he doesn’t think anyone alive has had their eyes compared to the beauty of the sea after the desert quite so many times, or wrung as many turns of phrase from the has the double meaning of عَيْن.

“The world,” he says one night as they sit and watch night descend softly upon the City of Jasmine. It’s a city to make even the woman who will come knocking at their door in a matter of decades feel young and insignificant, and even the colloquial name suits Yusuf’s pretensions annoyingly well. Steam from cups of tea curls into the evening air. The smells of horse shit and rosewater both on the air. The calm cradle of the evening after the maghrib prayer. “You see it …” He does not know how to end it.

“How, then, do I see the world, hayati?”

“You see the stars above a battlefield. You see the stars and then the fields that will grow again after the ashes are tilled into the soil. You see stars as gems, and the windstorms of the desert is the finest music, if you would believe your poems.

“And you are angry that I have seen the good in the world? I would not call the man who came to a foreign land to kill the infidel and came to spend a hundred years learning best to save their lives a man who does not see beauty in unexpected things either.”

“You are-”

He looks for a word, any word in his mind that has learned so many. Unchanging would not be right for the man who once killed him so many times and learned Greek and Latin to read him the words of the Apostles as they were written, who has accompanied him on pilgrimages to Antioch and the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem. He has changed as much as Niccolò has. No, it’s something-

“You are looking at me as you look at your patients.” Yusuf reaches out and brushes back Niccolò’s hair. He kisses his forehead. A kiss from Yusuf, no matter how chaste or how many, still sends lightning through his body.

“As if you were ill?”

“No. You look with such focus upon the world, with so much kindness about how to help it heal.” For a time whose number has since gone beyond count, their hands interlink. “We cannot save the world, but we can save some, and by saving some, we can save the world. We will work to repair what is broken.”

“I have found the cause of your affliction.”

“What do you consider me afflicted by, Doctor Al-Zenowaizi?”

The word romantic is still more than six centuries out, although they’ll soon wander through Europe during the heyday of the romance, and Yusuf will even write a few himself in Occitan and Provençal. For now, though, the word carries the implications of Roma and the waning Basileion Rhomaion to the north, to the al-Rum rite of the Damascene churches he now celebrates the Eucharist in, the river of his faith turned down a different course. For now, though, the word romantic remains firmly in the future. No, it’s something else he thinks of.

“Hope. You have a most serious case of hope.”

“And what do you suggest as remedy, Doctor Al-Zenowaizi?”

Niccolò pulls him in for a proper kiss, long and deep and hot and sweet and bitter from the tea. He loses himself in the warmth of his body, his hands in the curls of his hair, and he thinks how blessed he has been by God that this is the man he has been destined to spend forever with.

“Albi, I do not think there is one. I think you have been cursed with an incurable case of hope.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Diary of the Writing Raven

Part 3 of the 1000+ follower milestone! A continuation of Raven lore (check out part 1 and part 2 for more context)!

Today, we will peak into the raven’s diary. Shhh, don’t tell anyone. The bulk of the entries are hidden under the cut--because a bird has to keep their secrets under lock and key!

***Warning: Spoilers for the main story campaign, particularly chapter 3 and chapter 4!***

Day 1

I am here. At Night Raven College.

There is a strange man. He calls himself my Uncle. He says that he is so very, very kind...and that he will give me a nest, a place to call home.

Uncle has given me this diary with which to record my thoughts. I will put it to good use.

I am thankful.

Day 32:

Uncle says I cannot stay in the attic writing.

He says I cannot stay in my cage forever.

Uncle says I must go out into the world.

He says it often.

I am scared.

Day 45

Uncle has given me robes.

He smeared things on my face.

There will be a ceremony of sorts, and I must attend.

...I am still scared.

Day 46

The ceremony is over.

I got lost on the way to the Mirror Chamber.

A weirdo chased me.

But...a nice person helped. Then he guided me to the ceremony.

He had very pretty eyes.

His name is Mon-sure Schemer? Mister Jade Leech. I hope I can see him again.

Day 49

I am so fortunate! I have stumbled upon Mister Jade again--this time in the hallway.

There was another Mister Jade with him. His name is actually Mister Floyd. They are brothers--twins, in fact! Eel mermen, too.

They look alike, but their personalities are quite different. It is a curious thing.

Mister Floyd is a little scary. He talks funny, and he is moody--but he promises he does not bite. He has taken to calling me “Black Pearly”.

They say they work at this “Mostro Lounge”, and that I should visit.

I am excited!

P.S. Mister Jade says I do not need to call them misters. I will be doing that!

Day 50

The Mostro Lounge is lovely! It has these glowing jellyfish lights, and seashell decorations. There is cool jazz, and a calming underwater ambiance.

Jade seats me and gives me recommendations. I don’t know what a lot of things on the menu are--Uncle has been feeding me mostly grain and small scraps of meat, trying to get me accustomed to human food.

Jade brings me a thing called Flounder’s Blue. He says it will be easier to hold down than solid food.

Flounder’s Blue comes in a short and stout glass. The liquid itself is actually yellow, with streaks of a blue drip swiped on the inside of the glass, and a blue...circle (?) stuck in, protruding out like a fin.

It tastes...sugary. I do not yet have the words in my vocabulary to properly describe it.

Jade tells me the circle is a “wafer”, the blue is a “syrup”, and the liquid is a “pineapple and cherry juice”.

I am learning many new things today.

Jade is so smart!

Day 54

I almost flopped at giving a presentation to Professor Trein’s class.

Floyd says it’s because I talk strangely, that I stutter and pause too much.

“Why can the Black Pearly write so much, but talk so little?” he asks. “You should tell Jade to tutor you, he’s pretty good with words!”

I have to agree with him. Jade taught me many new words in the Mostro Lounge before. I was embarrassed, but I asked him for help.

He was happy to oblige.

We will meet a few times each week to work on my speaking skills.

Day 59

I tripped and fell in P.E.--I am still no good at running.

Jade was sweet and helped patch me up.

I cried a little.

Okay, a lot.

He stayed with me until I stopped.

Day 71

I have gotten into the habit of visiting the Mostro Lounge every weekend.

The owner, Azul, is friends with the twins. He lets me sit at a table in the corner to do my work and practice speaking.

Jade sits with me and exchanges words.

He has me read stories I have penned aloud.

Sometimes he puts a plate of snacks or a drink in front of me and asks me to taste them, then describe the flavor to him. Other times, he points to people or things in the lounge and asks me to give my thoughts.

Once, he pointed at himself. I told him that he was very patient, that he was someone I trusted.

“Fufu. That is good to hear,” he says.

I also told him that his smile was beautiful.

Day 75

Today, I saw Jade’s true form.

We were swimming today in P.E., but I had to sit out. Ravens cannot swim.

Floyd and Jade were eager to get into the water. Their skin turns blue, and they sprout fins and long eel tails.

...I am not entirely certain why they lack clothing though? It must not be customary for merfolk.

They are having fun in the water.

I am glad.

Day 83

An angry Savanaclaw student came to me in the hallway after Alchemy.

He started to say something about the Leeches and deals, but Floyd told him to stop bothering me. In that moment...Floyd looked like a monster, all teeth and sharp edges.

Jade pulled me away and invited me to go hiking with him.

It sounds fun, but I am concerned about the Savanaclaw student.

Jade says to not fret.

So I listen.

Day 84

There is so much to see in the mountains!

Trees! Streams of water! Rocks! Dirt! Animals! Plants! The sky!

I want to experience everything at once. I am so excitable that I trip over my own two feet a few times--but it’s okay. Jade is always there to help me up.

His favorite thing about nature is mushrooms. He tells me all about them, and the places they like to hide.

I like listening to him talk. His voice is so deep and melodious--and his eyes sparkle when he is excited.

It’s very cute.

Day 86

Jade shows me the mushrooms he is cultivating, and his terrariums.

They are fascinating--each mushroom has its own personality, and each terrarium is like a miniature world.

A thought has wormed its way into my head as of late:

I wonder what it would be like to be a part of his world.

Day 90

It rained.

I shared an umbrella with Jade.

It was a little strange to be squished right next to him.

My heart would not stop pounding, and my cheeks were on fire.

Day 112

The days are growing colder, and shorter.

I wish that time did not fly so fast.

I want to spend more of it with Jade.

I need to return the jacket he lent me.

Day 120

Uncle is worried.

He says I spend too much time with “morally dubious” people.

He questions my ability to judge character.

He does not believe me when I tell him that Jade is a good person.

Uncle warns me to be careful.

I am being careful.

Day 132

Winter has set in.

Jade is kind enough to provide blankets and warm beverages for our study sessions.

At this point, I do not have many issues speaking, but...I do not want to stop. I want to learn more and more. I want to learn more about him.

I enjoy being by his side.

I hope he feels the same.

Day 139

We said our good-byes for the holiday break.

Uncle is taking me with him to a tropical island, and Jade is staying in Octavinelle.

I tell him I will miss him, even if it is just for a few weeks. He looks a bit sad, but he sends me off with a head pat and a smile.

Uncle offers to order me a tropical drink as we board the cruise ship. He tells me not to think of Leeches--those vile, blood-suckers, he calls them.

I say no thank you, but I dream of Flounder’s Blue.

Day 153

The new year has come.

It feels nice to be back on campus, to see Jade again.

We exchanged stories.

Not much happened on my end--I mostly sat indoors and wrote what I could to pass the time. Uncle was often up late into the night, partying and sipping on pina coladas.

Jade says that he helped a few friends and stopped a snake from tearing apart Scarabia. He even shows me a video.

How heroic of him!

I know that I can always count on Jade.

Day 166

I went shopping with Jade.

Floyd was in one of his infamous moods, and Azul is busy with school work--and Jade could not possibly restock ingredients for the Mostro Lounge all by himself.

It was quite busy in town--it made me nervous. I’ve never done well in big crowds of strangers.

Jade said I could hold his hand, if that made me feel any better.

It did.

And it reminded me of the day we first met.

Day 170

I’m still thinking about holding his hand.

Whenever I do, my heart quickens and my forehead begins to bead with sweat.

What is wrong with me?

Have I fallen ill?

Day 185

The students speak excitedly about this holiday known as “Valentime’s Day.” It is a time when you give gifts to the people you care for a lot. A common one is a sweet known as chocolate.

Jade laughed when I told him about it. He said it is actually “Valentine’s Day”, not “Valentime’s Day”. Silly me!

I asked him how many valentines he was expecting.

“None. Oh, woe is me. I appear to be rather unpopular among my peers, fufu.”

How could someone as amazing as him not get any valentines? It boggles my mind.

Day 186

I’ve decided.

I will give him a valentine.

Day 193

I’ve stopped writing stories and devoted most of my free time to researching recipes and designing chocolates.

I think he will like little mushroom-shaped ones. I’ll need to test the flavors out to see what works the best.

I hope the chocolates will bring a smile to his face.

I like his smiles.

Day 195

Oh no, diary.

I’ve realized.

I think I like him.

Day 197

The chocolates came out so well!

I’ve wrapped them up in a box and secured it with blue ribbon. There is an old nursery rhyme...

If you love me, love me true,

Send me a ribbon, a ribbon of blue.

Even if I cannot say those accursed three words...I hope that my feelings are able to come across. The curse cannot punish me for that, yes?

Day 198

I was a fool. I have been tricked. I was being used.

I heard them. I heard everything.

In the Mostro Lounge today...the octopus was speaking to them, the twins with the pretty eyes.

“This is not like you. You are working too slow,” the octopus said to the man I considered my friend.

“I apologize. She was...putting up much resistance. It can be rather difficult to form a connection with such a jittery bird.”

“That is your job,” the octopus sighed. “We need the raven on our side when we approach the headmaster about expanding the Mostro Lounge.”

I understand now--I understand it very well.

Those smiles, that kindness--they were smoke and mirrors.

To begin with, I was always destined to be a prop in someone else’s story. A convenience. Something to be used, then discarded once I am no longer useful.

I have overstepped my boundaries as a storyteller. I...should have remained on the sidelines, where I belong.

I...I know what I must do. I will not allow myself to be tricked a third time. Not by that old storyteller, and not by a slimy eel.

I will steel myself. I will build a wall—and none shall scale it. I will lock myself in a tower, or perhaps even a bird cage, and throw away the key.

To the man with the pretty eyes and the charming smile, farewell.

I’m glad that this raven was, at the very least, able to be a useful footnote in the pages of your story.

Day 201

He feeds me pretty lies and sweet nothings, day in and day out.

He tells me everything I want to hear--that it is a misunderstanding, a mistake. That things are different now. That he cares.

Uncle was right. Leeches are vile blood suckers.

Day 210

I reject his advances every chance I get.

I know they are all with ill intent to begin with.

Even so...no matter what I say or do, he always manages to get the upper hand in the conversation, the interaction.

I hate him.

I hate Jade Leech.

I hate how he is able to take my words away and render me speechless. Words are my only strength, my power as a storyteller. Without them, I am vulnerable. 

I don’t want to be the same weak and naive little bird I once was.

Day 213

It is unfair.

Maybe I am too kind, or too weak, or too gullible, but...I want to believe him.

I must put such thoughts behind me and move on.

Day 226

Uncle tells me that someone has sent a letter and a small package.

Into the trash the package goes--right where it belongs.

But the letter--that, I cannot bring myself to throw away.

It bears his handwriting, the very same gentle curves and slopes that taught me new words and phrases many an evening.

It is silly of me to be this sentimental--and over an eel, of all creatures!

So I stow the letter, unopened, in a drawer. It will remain there as a permanent reminder of my follies.

It is better this way.

I cannot be hurt.

I will not be used.

The curse will not kill me.

I can write stories, forever and ever.

This is...for the best. Isn’t it?

[un-beel-lievable]

I saw you were taking requests! Could I request mammon confessing and some emotional intimate nsfw if you want to do that?? Thatd be cool :)) thank you

So I kinda took this and ran with it. I love this concept of Mammon being horny but sweet at the same time. It kinda went from a scenario ask to a fanfic which is why this took so long! Plus I’m working on a whole bunch of stories at once and also I’m a perfectionist by nature and thus I’m usually never 100% confident in my work and I spend so much time doing rewrites. I apologize for the delay, I just wanted it to be perfect. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy!

Fuck.

Fuck.

Mammon glanced up at the clock. He began to grow more and more restless in his seat. He fidgeted with his pen in his sweaty palms as his last class of the day drew nearer and nearer to an end.

‘Only 8 minutes left,’ he thought to himself. ‘8 more agonizing minutes. You can do this Mammon. It’s just four minutes two times! It’s just two minutes four times!’

Of course this would be the one period he doesn’t have with you. And clearly you knew that. But you said what you said anyway, letting him stew in his overactive thoughts until the final bell at the end of the day. 

“Mammon...hypothetically speaking, what would you think if I told you I had a crush on you? And like, I wanted to start dating you...hypothetically? Cause I mean like, if you think about it that doesn’t seem like that bad of an idea. We have a lot of fun together and get along really well. If you and I were dating I- oh! That’s the bell! We can talk about it after school, okay?”

And that was it. You scampered off to class, leaving Mammon standing in the middle of the hallway, a sputtering mess in a sea of students shoving past him.

What was he supposed to make of all this? Was it really hypothetical after all or were you serious? You must have been if you asked what he thought about it. Did you ACTUALLY like him back? 

It was no secret that Mammon was absolutely in love with you. He was so obvious. Saying he thought you were just some dumb human, but ravenous for the slightest bit of attention you showed him. He would often become frustrated at himself for not being able to admit his own feelings.

“Mammon you’re completely ridiculous,” he remembered hearing Satan say. “That’s something seven-year-olds do. It’s playground romance. Tell them they have cooties, but miss them as soon as they’re gone.”

That’s not true...he never said you had cooties. But he DID miss you when you were gone. Hell, he missed you right now and you’re down the hall! He wanted to confess to you, and there were a few times when he almost did! But the timing was just never right. He was always being interrupted by someone or something and then the moment was gone as soon as it came. Who knew when he’d get another chance? Unless he just went for it. Should he do it today after school? What would he say? What would YOU say? How could he play it cool?

“Roflolol Mammon’s tsundere attitude is just proving that he’s soooo desperate. I’m embarrassed FOR him lololol.” Levi’s voice rang. He became more and more frustrated with each ill-timed memory that popped into his head.

‘Screw that little otaku creep.’ He thought. ‘What does he know? Kid hasn’t gotten laid in centuries! The GREAT MAMMON is NOT desperate.’

Except he was. 

He WAS desperate. The more he thought about dating you the more he saw himself playing with your hair, and taking you on cute dates, and holding you by the waist, and kissing you softly, and unbuttonin-

“Mammon?” Solomon asked, snapping in front of Mammon’s face, bringing him back to reality.

“Whattaya want Solomon? Can’t you see I’m busy thinking?”

“Oh, so you ARE capable of thought!” He said with a wry smile.

“Dick…” Mammon muttered under his breath.

“Well, I just saw you staring into space and I figured I should let you know that the bell rang like almost two minutes ago.”

“WHAT?!” Mammon bolted out the door and down the hall. 

“You’re welcome!” He called after him. Solomon looked at the pen he lent Mammon (of course he was unprepared) left abandoned on the desk.

“School supplies. The one thing he DOESN’T steal.” He chuckled with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh, there you are!” You said smiling as an out-of-breath Mammon caught up to you walking back home from school.

“Jeez would it kill ya to wait for a guy?” He panted. 

“Sorry,” you giggled, “I waited for a bit but I thought you weren’t coming. I thought what I said before scared you off…”

“Pft! ME? Scared? I- uh...” However, it dawned on him that now you were with him again… alone. And now was the time! He was finally gonna confess his feelings! 

‘Just do it now Mammon,’ he thought. ‘Get it over with you pussy! Rip the bandaid of love off!’ 

But how the hell can he say it? He hadn’t gotten to that yet in his daydream… he kinda just skipped to the part where you guys like...touch butts and stuff? Solomon snapped him out of it before he could come up with something super suave and clever to say to you instead of stuttering like an idiot.

But here he was.

Stuttering like an idiot.

“Uh, I… uh.”

“Relax, I was just joking! It’s kinda cute that you're nervous though.” You admitted with a little sway in your step, fiddling with your backpack straps as they dangled tantalizingly by your hands.

“Yeah well-” 

Wait...CUTE? YOU THOUGHT HE WAS CUTE? Damn it, now he’s blushing. Oh god could you see? Of course you could see! He looks like a baboon’s ass! 

‘SAY SOMETHING YOU MORON!’

“At least now you have company in cute-ville. Ha hah, Cute-ville, population: us.”

Fuckin SMOOTH.

Did he have to add the finger guns at the end? He mentally kicked himself for saying the dumbest thing possible. And shortly following his self-loathing came the state of panic he found himself in as you began to laugh. Were you laughing with him? Or at him? 

Shit.

“Oh so you think I’m cute too then? Thank you.” You said, a teasing edge to your words.

Mammon hadn’t meant to call you cute. Well...he HAD but not by saying you lived with him in cute-ville, whatever the fuck THAT meant. He stared down at his feet kicking the dirt around. His mind raced as he tried to think of something to say to reverse the damage he had done already but he came up blank. And then the worst thing that could have possibly happened at that moment, happened.

It got silent.

You said nothing. He said nothing. For like, thirty whole seconds. Why weren’t you saying anything? Did he screw it up? He turned to see if he could get your attention by saying something, ANYTHING, only to find you already looking at him with wide, sparkling eyes. He audibly choked on his breath. You let a small giggle out at his strained sound.

‘Mammon you fucking nerd.’ 

His eyes returned to the road in front of him as you both came up on The House of Lamentation. 

With all the courage he could muster, and all the pride he could swallow, he stopped as soon as the two of you reached the door.

‘It’s now or never.’ He thought. 

You could see that Mammon was visibly tense and blushing a deep crimson. You knew what was coming, you had set it up so perfectly for him. You knew exactly what you were doing when you brought up him hypothetically dating you. You planted the seed of confessing to you in his head right before your last class, knowing you wouldn’t be together. That way he could sit there and think about it without you there. All you had to do was give him that last little nudge.

“Mammon? Are you okay? You know you can tell me anything, right?” You said with fake concern, knowing precisely why he was so uncomfortable. 

“MC… listen up will ya?” He said, voice shaking. “I gotta tell ya something…” he trailed off. You hung on his every word. “MC, I’m only gonna say this once, got it? So ya better be payin’ attention. I...I love you, okay? I love ya, I’m crazy about ya. I can’t stop thinkin’ about ya and it’s drivin’ me nuts! And when you started talking about dating me, I almost lost it right in the hallway. That’s all I’ve wanted, since I met ya. I’m greedy, ya know? I want you to be mine and ONLY mine...”

Woah.

You weren’t expecting THAT. Sure maybe an ‘I like you’ or an ‘I really like you’ or even the coveted ‘I really REALLY like you’. But for him to fully confess his undying affections to you, right here on the doorstep? 

Unprecedented. It shook you, if you were being honest. Of course you loved this moron back but this situation had escalated from 0-60 in 2.2 heartbeats and now it was your turn to be a blushing, speechless, mess. 

“M-Mammon… I…”

This was it. He was about to be humiliated even more wasn’t he? This was the part where you say that you were only joking about dating him and how you never want to speak to him again because he creeped you out. Mammon wanted the ground to swallow him up right there. Why did he just spill his guts out like that? It was diarrhea of the mouth. Absolute word vomit. He couldn’t stop himself! But at the same time he wanted to keep going. To let you know how beautiful he thinks you are, how much he adores you, how he wants to take a bath together and wash your body for you, how he wants to smell the lovely scent of your hair in his face after a night spent in each other’s embrace, or how you’re the only thing that matters more than money and Goldie, how he wants to be a better person for you so you could be proud to call him your boyfriend. But he had to clamp his lips shut before he admitted to more than just wanting a cuddle with you...

“Mammon... I love you too…” You croaked out softly.

Mammon could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears. What? Did he hear that right? You loved him back? Was this a prank? Was it a dream? 

“And… I’d like nothing more than to be yours.” You added. 

Mammon’s heart soared and there was no way to hide the big goofy grin or the tinge of red on his face. He moved instinctively and pulled you toward him, squeezing you against his body.

Your synapses momentarily pulled a cease-fire at his sudden action but after regaining the ability to think for yourself, you quickly returned his affection and wrapped your arms around his waist. You nuzzled into his chest, breathing in his natural scent mixed with his high-end cologne. 

“O-of course you do! Who wouldn’t want The Great Mammon to be their boyfriend? Y-you should be honored.” He said into the crown of your head with a soft fondness and a hint of relief. 

You tilted your head up to capture his lips in a soft, yet needy kiss. Taken slightly aback at your brash actions, he leaned into the kiss, snaking one of his hands up behind your head to steady you and the other down to the curve of your hips to draw you even closer. Now that you had admitted your feelings to him, he had received a boost of confidence. Hearing you say you loved him was an ego stroke and we all know what happens when his ego is stroked...

You gasped at his touch and let out a sigh as he slipped his tongue inside your mouth, letting him take over without much of a fight. He licked into your mouth and gently tugged on your bottom lip to elicit tiny squeaks from you. Months of pent-up sexual tension and frustration between the two of you finally coming to a head. Gazes from across the room, touches that lingered just a moment too long, flirty words and claims of being your first man all lead to this at last. 

Somehow in that moment you had enough consciousness to realize that the two of you still stood outside the door of the house where anyone could see the show you were putting on.

“Mammon...why don’t we take this back to my room?” The question came out far more seductively than you intended but you were breathless from the kiss and your voice presented itself as more of a moan. Mammon shuddered slightly at the way you spoke and couldn’t help but think of the sexual implications behind the innocuous question.

“Babygirl,” he spoke, with a warning tone. “Ya shouldn’t start something you can’t finish…”

Your eyes intuitively dropped just below his belt to get an eyeful of Mammon’s prominent “concern”. The cocky air in your response was unmissable.

“Who said I wasn’t gonna finish it?” 

And that’s how you ended up on your bed in only your underwear, underneath Mammon who was kissing and nibbling at the sweet spot on your neck. You intertwined your fingers through his, your other hand free to travel the vast expanse of his exposed torso. Your skin flushed deeper with each nip he gave to your collarbones.

“Ah~!” Your small hiccupy moans and breathless whines filled what little space was left between you. Mammon sat up and pulled you up to him so he could unlatch your bra, throwing it to the side. He kissed in between your breasts as his hands came up to massage them. He wrapped his lips around one nipple and started suckling while rolling the other one tenderly between his thumb and forefinger. He continued kissing down your stomach until he reached the hem of your panties. He glanced up into your eyes asking for silent permission to take them off. You nodded rather curtly, signaling your wish for him to continue. He hooked his fingers in the sides of your panties and you lifted your hips up ever so slightly so he could slide them off of you. His eyes trailed every inch of your fully naked form.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.” Mammon said between kisses at your hip bones. “I can’t believe I have you here like this, all to myself.” 

“Mammon, please…” You nearly whispered.

“Please what, doll?” He asked coyly.

“Touch me, kiss me, eat me out, fuck me, anything! I need to feel you…” You admitted, shying away from the hunger in his eyes.

“You got it babe.” Mammon spread your legs open and placed a kiss right to your core followed by a few strained licks to your sensitive clit. You gasped at the sensation and your hands flew down into his soft, fluffy hair. You unconsciously pushed his head down, forcing him to lick into you deeper. He groaned softly at your taste on his tongue which only caused him to become more ravenous. He was eating your pussy with fervor now, softly nipping at your clit and drawing circles with his tongue. 

“Ah, fuck!” You cursed out, feeling yourself beginning to let go. At this compliment, he sped up the pace of his ministrations. You noticed how he wrapped his arms around your thighs, drawing you closer so he could fuck you deeper with his skilled tongue. Your praise sparked something primal in him and you wanted to push him a little further.

“Fuck, you’re eating me out so well Mammon! I feel like I’m gonna cum!” You praised. 

At this point Mammon was practically GROWLING into your cunt, eating you out like a man depraved, slurping and sucking and licking.

“Yeah? Then cum for me baby. Hump my face if ya have to. Cum on my tongue. Your pussy is fuckin’ delicious, let me taste how sweet your cum is.” He said between licks and kisses, nibbling gently at your labia. 

You felt the tell-tale pit feeling in your abdomen tightening as he spoke his obscenities. All it took to get you over the edge was Mammon shoving two of his fingers into you and pumping them in and out in time with the flicks of his tongue and you were gone. Your eyes fluttered as you came with a loud sigh. Mammon gave you a couple of pumps while you rode out your orgasm, careful of not overstimulating your pulsing clit.

He barely let you get a few good breaths in before crashing his lips into your own. You could taste yourself on him, not that you minded, really. Something so lewd only helped in refueling your arousal. 

“Fuck baby, that was amazing.” You moaned into his mouth, as he continued kissing you through your words.

“Yeah? Well I couldn’t have stopped even if I wanted to. Ya taste real fuckin’ good.” He said as he climbed off the bed to take his pants off. He was about to unbuckle his belt when you stopped him. 

“Wait…”

“Somethin’ wrong, babe?” He asked with a look of concern. Now he was starting to panic again. Did you not want him to fuck you? 

“Allow me.” You said, quelling his fears as you sauntered over. You stood in front of him and he placed his forehead against yours as you began to work on his belt, the clanging sound and your combined heavy breathing the only noise in the room. You then undid the button of his jeans and slid them down to his ankles, while dropping to your knees. His erection was trapped still behind his boxers. You grabbed his clothed member and Mammon squeaked at the solid grip you now held. You gazed lazily up to his glassy, hooded eyes and began to mouth over his cock gently, leaving wet patches on his boxers wherever your sinful tongue lay. He inhaled sharply, head already reeling from that hot, wet, little mouth of yours. You had your fill of teasing and finally freed him from his boxers, feeling the weight of his rather large cock in your hands. You gripped him with one hand around the base the other on the shaft, the soft skin juxtaposed by it’s hardness. You kissed the tip lightly and lapped at it with kittenish licks. Mammon suddenly grabbed your hair and pulled you off. You looked at him with confusion.

“Sorry babe, as much as I’d love to fuck that pretty mouth a’ yours, I just can’t wait any longer. I wanna fuck that pretty pussy of yours instead.” He walked back towards the edge of the bed and sat with his legs spread, palming and slowly stroking his stiff cock as he took in the sight of you. 

“C’mere hun, why don’t ya have a seat?” A chill ran through you and straight to your exposed nipples, stiffening the little buds and this did not go unnoticed by Mammon. “So turned on you can’t even answer babygirl?”

All you could get out was a dry little  “Mhm~” Mammon chuckled at how cute you were.

You straddled him as you lowered yourself onto his throbbing cock feeling every inch pushing deeper inside your quivering little hole, feeling the delectable stretch as he entered.

“Fuck,” Mammon cursed, “you’re so tight…” You let out a small huff as the back of your thighs met the top of his and he fully seated himself inside you. Now with you connected, he laid on his back, leaving his hips off the edge, giving him enough leverage to begin slowly thrusting into you.

“Ohhh fuck.” You cursed out in bliss. His hands gripped your waist as he rocked into you creating a steady rhythm.

“Fuck, you’re so big Mammon.” Upon hearing this compliment he began to push into your tight, wet heat faster, making your tits bounce with each thrust. He wasn’t sure how long he was going to be able to keep this up, not only because of the challenging position, but because he felt like he could burst with every passing second. 

“How ‘bout we try another position, hm? Whattaya say babe? Missionary? Kinda boring, I know, but-” He paused. His expression shifted slightly. Gone was the lust from before as he looked into your eyes and in its place was something more endearing.

“But what?” You inquired. 

“I-I want to look into your eyes when you cum… I want to see how beautiful you look when I make you cum...I wanna see that look of ecstasy on your face...all cause a’ me...” He began to blush which seemed odd to you because he was literally fucking you seconds ago and yet still had the ability to be embarrassed while telling you something sweet. 

‘He’s too adorable.’ You thought as you laid your head on the pillows. Mammon followed suit, climbing on top of you and kissing you tenderly. He guided himself to your entrance while gripping your hips. Once fully sheathed in you he leaned down for another kiss. 

This kiss was different from the last few. It was certainly passionate, but it was almost desperate. He didn’t just want you, he NEEDED you. 

He loved you.

You grasped for his hand amid his thrusts interlacing your fingers and he squeezed your palm earnestly. No words had to be spoken for you to both understand this intimate declaration of devotion.

Mammon began to pound into you harder, the sound of your lovemaking most likely audible from down the hall. Wanton moans and pants and skin slapping echoing through the room.

“Fuck you feel so good Mammon! Fuck, I love you! Ah~! I’m-I’m cumming!” You cried. Your walls clenched and pulsed around his cock with the intense wave of your orgasm.  Mammon looked directly into your eyes with such adoration as you came, you could almost cry. 

“Babe… fuck...I’m g-gonna cum-”

“Come inside me Mammon, I want to feel your love inside me.” You said not breaking away from your eye contact with his blue orbs, hazy from sex. He screwed his eyes shut with a shout of your name as he came into you, resting his head on your as his hips stuttered into you, releasing his load. You kissed the back of the hand you were holding as he came down from his high, slipping out of you and plopping down next to you. The two of you laid in silence, regaining your composure. You curled up into Mammon’s side, resting your head in the dip of his shoulder.

“I love ya so much MC...and I’m so happy I could die.” He said with a laugh and a sigh, wrapping his arms around his girl.

“I know Mammon...I love you too.”

He tilted your chin up to kiss you once more before drifting off into sleep. He awoke the next morning with the sweet smell of your hair tickling his nose, just like he always imagined it would after a night spent in each other’s embrace.

[robron1609]

Robron Week 2021 - Day 1

Meet-Ugly + "That's not an explanation."

New Beginnings

(ao3 link)

Aaron’s eyelids fluttered like a candle in the wind, the hustle and bustle of the city pecking away at his head with a sledgehammer. The bitter taste of ale, the fruity taste of wine and all the combined spices of every spirit known to man were stagnant on his tongue as he peeled his damp limbs off the leather sofa beneath him.

He let out a dry cough and it felt like someone had shot him in the brain during his sleep. But other than that, he was as right as rain.

It took him longer than he would care to admit to remember that he did, in fact, not own a single item of furniture that had even an inch of leather on it, and he lived in the in the middle of bloody nowhere where the only thing (apart from his mother) that made him shake a leg in the morning was the bellows of Moira’s cows when their troughs were being topped up.

So, there’s that.

His brain caught up and he bolted upright, his whole face moulding into a sculpture of what, where, when, how and why. He took in his brand-spanking-new surroundings; a lavish penthouse overlooking London’s skyline, decked out from head to toe in a fusion of ultra modern and industrial pieces. Not really his style, to put it nicely. It looked like something straight off the front page of one of those overpriced interior design magazines on the top shelf of David’s shop that no one ever bought.

Aaron could only hope that whoever lived here was some bloke he’d pulled in the haze of last night, if it wasn’t then… what the actual fuck was he doing here?

When the room had stopped spinning on all its axis and Aaron was eighty-nine percent sure that he would be able to hold his vomit in if necessary, he braved the hallways in search of other life. He detoured to stand in front of a back-lit mirror that had beckoned him over, and he was introduced to his reflection. It gawked right back at him, dressed in nothing but a pair of neon yellow boxers and a Scottish flag that he was wearing as a cape. The flag was fastened loosely around his neck with a frayed shoelace and there was a big tear down the centre of it.

Jesus fucking shit. Absurd didn’t even begin to cover it.

Sweat dripped down his top lip when he heard a deep voice through the wall. He teetered around the corner until he was close enough to pick up most of the words.

“I won’t be in today.” There was a pause. “Does it fucking matter?” Nice manners, then. “Look, unless you want me hurling all over the new contact, I suggest you grow a pair and attend the meeting without me.”

Aaron gripped the glossed door frame, his clammy hands squeaking on the wood as he snuck a look at who the voice was coming from. The man was stunning. He was all sun-kissed skin, choppy blond hair, and a gorgeous mouth that dipped dramatically in the corner.

“Shit!” With a jolt, the blond dropped his phone and it landed on his face with a mocking smack.

“Sorry-”

“Why are you in my house?!”

“I’m Aaron.” No shit, Aaron.

“That’s not an explanation!”

“Sorry.”

Aaron cringed. All of a sudden he was big on apologies, apparently. Blondie was now sitting up, scratching the fluff on the nape of his neck as he shuffled out of bed and adjusted his duvet accordingly whenever it slipped below his waistline. He just glared at Aaron, waiting to hear something that made sense.

“I was kinda hoping you could tell me,” Aaron said, using all of his self-control to stop his eyes from drifting downwards. “My head’s mashed. I remember being on the train with Adam and Vic, and then-”

“Vic as in my sister Vic?”

Aaron just stood there, catching flies. “I- I dunno, I think so. Sugden?”

“Uh-huh.”

Ohhhh, Robert Sugden. Aaron finally put a name to the face and felt like giving himself a pat on the back.

…..

“Here you go. Extra strong.”

"Ta."

Aaron warmly accepted the cup of coffee, the steam flying off it and dissolving in his pores. He used the piping hot liquid to swamp down some paracetamol before tightening the strap on the dressing gown that Robert had lent him a little earlier with a side-eye and a grumbled, “Make sure you give it back.”

With the current cycle rumbling the machine into the ground, Aaron glanced at the digital timer displayed on the appliance. Just forty-eight minutes until he could grab his screwed up clothes, slap them on, and leg it to the underground with his tail between his legs. The longest forty-eight minutes of his life, no doubt.

Hoping to make a crack in the ice, Robert led Aaron to the scene of last night’s crime. Through the sliding doors, across the patio and up the spiral stairs, secluded in the corner and illuminated by the steady flicker of the firepit. Robert was surprised that it hadn’t burnt out in the early morning under the April showers.

The rooftop terrace was what sold this place for Robert. It was his haven, complete with everything that made his superficial heart weep. This morning, however, it looked how he felt.

He absorbed the aftershocks of his party (shards of glass littering the outdoor table, remains of finger foods welded to the deck, and a pair of nude stilettos abandoned on the bar) and sagged. Turning thirty was dismal enough without having to clean up after his colleagues. Or, as he liked to call them, a bunch of wound up, hoity-toity pen pushers who didn’t even know his middle name—just a sniff of free booze and they were squeezing into a Ralph Laurent polo that still had the label on, and patting him on back with a bout of boisterous laughter as if they were best mates.

Wow, he was in dire need of some proper friends.

Aaron propped himself up on the bar. “Bet you don’t get tired of this,” he said, looking out at the sparkling city.

“It’s a great hangover cure,” Robert said, nursing his Americano and watching the ripples dance over the surface as he lightly blew it. “It can be lonely, though,” he admitted, unsure as to why. This handsome and hungover stranger was just waiting for his ticket out of here, he didn’t want or need to become Robert’s agony uncle to fill the time, that was for sure.

“Why’s that?”

Oh. Perhaps Aaron, for one reason or another, cared. Or he’s got nowhere else he needs to be and Robert’s left him with no choice but to sit and listen because it's the polite thing to do. Aaron looked at Robert all doe-eyed and Robert wanted to stay here until he’d told Aaron every single intricate detail of his life up until this point. But that seemed a little crass.

“Don’t know, really. I just… don’t like to be alone with my thoughts, I suppose. And being up here, well, it’s a whole lot of that.”

“I know what you mean,” Aaron said. “How long have you lived here?”

"Nearly two years on the whole." Robert calculated, Aaron giving him an amicable nod in response. Robert licked the coffee froth off his lips, clearing his throat. "I've lived in London a while, though. Since I left the village, pretty much."

"And you never thought about going back?"

"I couldn't." That would mean looking back. And after the trail of destruction he'd left in his wake, that was never going to happen. They were better off without him. Or at least his Dad and Andy were. Vic and Dianne never stopped reaching out, however, offering their support through texts and unanswered voicemails.

Aaron changed the topic, sensing that Robert's internal trip down memory lane wasn't a smooth ride. "You heard anything from Vic and Adam?"

"They were both flat out in the spare room last time I checked," Robert answered. He'd been less than pleased to find them entwined together on top of the duvet, dead to the world as Adam slobbered away on the satin pillowcase like an excited dog, and Vic let out a mishmash of unconscious sounds from sniffles to whistles, her makeup crusty and her outfit dishevelled by a night's sleep in it.

"Vic had a whole itinerary planned. Some museum, Leicester Square, and then this ridiculous hipster coffee shop near the station," Aaron said with a dreary eye roll. "Even though our train leaves just after two."

"She's just excited. She doesn't come here often."

"'Suppose not."

"Anyway, I recommended that coffee shop so you better not miss it," Robert said. Aaron snorted because of course he did. "Come on."

Robert rose, perking up a bit as he stretched his arms until they clicked with satisfaction. Aaron followed in his footsteps, literally, but they stopped in their tracks, coming face to face with a rumbled Victoria.

She looked dead and alive all at the same time as she swung her phone about. "There they are, the newly engaged couple."

Robert choked on air and Aaron gave him a splash of side-eye before snatching Vic’s phone. "What are you on about?" And Aaron had to check that the digital date displayed in the top left corner of the screen wasn't April the 1st. Nope, it was indeed the 23rd. And under that was a Facebook post on his profile; a blurry, backlit photo of him and Robert flashing the camera with two rings that didn’t even match, accompanied by a slurred caption.

yayy ENGAAAAAGED! whoop whoop!! hears to many many many many many year <3

Aaron groaned, throwing his head back in sheer embarrassment when Vic grabbed a hold of his and Robert’s left hands. Sure enough, the rings were still there. “Oh my God,” she cackled, her voice like a siren in the middle of the night. “This is brilliant. A few more of those cocktails and you’d be halfway to vegas, ey?”

Robert massaged his temples, kneading roughly at his dry skin. “Whatever’s in them is lethal,” he grumbled, peering over Aaron’s shoulder as he watched him scroll through the comments and squeeze his eyes shut in disbelief at each one.

“It’s your bar, mate. You should know what it’s serving,” Aaron said. He had a point. “Let’s just pray we left it at cheap rings.”

(Aaron couldn’t even begin to fathom at what point during the party he and Robert had fled the penthouse and ended up at a jewellers of all places. Who’d thought a proposal was the perfect end to a not-so-perfect night? Who’d taken that photo? And who in their right mind was selling giant fabric flags in the early hours of the morning? It would be a miracle if he becomes sober enough to answer at least one of those questions.)

Robert pouted. “That’s a shame. I’ll cancel the tickets to Vegas, then,” he teased.

“I dunno, I could do with a holiday just to get over the shame.” Robert grinned at the younger man’s flirty tone.

“Cheers,” Robert scoffed. Aaron handed the phone back to Vic who watched the pair with a knowing glint in her eye, her head bouncing back and forth between them.

“Only joking,” Aaron said. “Could be worse.”

Vic pocketed her mobile with a yawn and tightened her ponytail. “Right, I’m gonna drag my lump of a boyfriend out of bed and start gathering our stuff. I’ll leave you two to plan the wedding of the century, shall I?”

Vic left the rooftop, her flats scuffing all the way down the metal staircase. Robert gulped down the remains of his coffee and turned to Aaron with a smirk.

“So, fiancé,”–Aaron shot Robert a fiery glare which, if Robert didn’t know any better, would leave a bruise on his ego–“I know a great place where we can get some brunch. Why don’t we ditch Vic and Adam and I’ll drop you off at King’s Cross after.”

Aaron pulled a face. “ Brunch? I’m not paying £8.99 for a plain scone.”

“My treat.” Robert offered, hoping that would seal the deal.

“Like a date?”

“If you want it to be.” Aaron paused for a beat, not that there was ever much to contemplate.

“Fine.” Robert didn’t miss the bashful smile taking over Aaron’s face. Robert bit the inside of his cheek when Aaron began to descend the stairs. He crammed his hands in his pockets, his heart going into overdrive as he kicked his feet into gear.

[anystalker707]

I’m always yours

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader Genre: Fluff Word count: 2 338 Requested by @thunderpurple (who apparently got their account deactivated, but I hope they read it anyways) Summary: Reader is a famous singer who dates Gerard and writes a song about their relationship.

"What are you smiling about?" The sudden question pulls me away from my thoughts. I hum questioningly at first – Gerard's curious face is the first thing I process, eyes flickering over me in an attempt of understanding what's in my mind. He sits on the couch across from mine, his elbow over the couch's arm while he supports his chin on his palm.

"Oh," I say when finally understanding the question, adjusting my position – with the motion, my pen almost falls from my lap, but I'm able to catch it. "Erm, nothing," I answer with a smirk, raising my eyebrows lightly, demonstrating I'm just not telling him about it. Certain frustration hits me as I look down at my notebook – it seems like half of the ideas I believed to have written down didn't even leave my mind.

Gerard doesn't seem like he's giving up soon, furrowing his eyebrows as pouting lightly. "Is it about me? You've been observing me way too much." He stands up from the couch to sit down beside me, but I close the notebook and set it between me and the armrest before he does so. "That's not fair," he complains, eyeing the notebook with furrowed eyebrows.

"Yes, it is," I chuckle and place a kiss on his cheek. "I love it when you're sulky, you get all cute. Not like you're not cute normally, but you get it," I smile, watching him try to put on an angry look, but he ends up blushing. I can't help but to chuckle again, pulling him for a kiss.

"Agh, ew, no fucking on the couch." A sudden voice says and we pull away to see Frank opening the fridge – and most likely having entered the bus without us having noticed.

I roll my eyes with a small lazy smirk, deciding to joke, "you don't even know what happens when you're not around."

"And I'll be happy if it continues this way." He takes a bottle of water in hand, shooting us a playfully reprehending look as making his way out of the bus again; Gerard and I laugh at him.

"Aren't you going to tell me what're you doing?" His head rests on my shoulder as Gerard looks at me from under his lashes. Grinning, I shake my head. He sighs, defeated, and adjusts his posture. "Okay then," Gerard shrugs nonchalantly before leaning in for another kiss.

He must think he's very smart, doesn't he? I can feel the exact moment his hand reaches for the notebook, but I immediately slap it away, shooting him a look once breaking the kiss. "The more you try to see it," I tell him, narrowing my eyes, "the less I'm convinced to show it to you. You'll find out soon enough." With last peck is pressed to his lips, I grabbing the notebook, planning to leave it back in my bus.

"You're no fun," Gerard presses a kiss to my cheek.

"I'm not supposed to be," I tease, standing up and reaching for his hand. "C'mon, I changed my mind, I was just gonna leave this in the bus and come back, but we're not continuing inside here. I want to stretch my legs and I'm tired of staring at a TV or at the wall, the bus makes me feel suffocated." I chuckle seeing him roll his eyes, though agreeing. Maybe some time together will help me having an inspiration.

We grab a coffee from the café of the gas station and take a seat on the concrete step in front of the convenience store, observing the cars passing by. It's quite peaceful – the sun already set itself, so the sky has this golden shade in the horizon, slowly fading into a grayish blue which contrasts perfectly with the clouds, which still have a pink tinge. A stronger breeze hits once in a while, making a few of Gerard's strands cover his face – he hooks them behind his ear just for another breeze to send them flying again. The frustrated grunt he releases makes me chuckle.

"Wait, don't move," I say as getting my phone off my pocket. Doing as said, he hums questioningly. "You look beautiful, all aesthetic," I saw as opening the camera app, taking a few pictures of him. He furrows his eyebrows a bit in a wordless complain, but doesn't do anything to stop me either. Once I lower my phone, he nods towards it as if asking to see the pics.

"Ah, no, wait a minute," I say, changing the camera to the frontal one and moving closer to him – leans in, his cheek brushing mine as I snap another couple of photos. "Imma post these of us later," I hand him the phone to see the pics like he asked earlier, leaning a bit closer to him to see it too.

"Not the others too?" He asks curiously, returning the phone.

"Nah," I shake my head, "these are for personal archive." His scoff makes me grin. "I don't share every pic I take of you, Gee," I let my cup on the ground to be able to hug Gerard, pecking the side of his face. "I can't expose too much what's mine, even more with so many people wanting too," I mutter against his skin, the corners of my lips curling up into a smile seeing him blush – knowing I can make him blush is just amazing.

He hums softly in a mockingly judging tone, turning his face so his lips meet mine. "You do a great job," Gerard mutters on my lips before locking them in a short, sweet kiss. "But don't worry, whether near or far, I'm always yours."

~

Besides blood, lot of thoughts flood my head as sit upside down on the couch, looking at the nothing. Gerard needed to do whatever, so, with him away, it's the best time to try to write this song. I just want it to be a surprise.

Ray approaches, eyeing me curiously before taking a seat too, about a foot away from me and my guitar – which's actually Frank's, one he lent me earlier. "Why are you sitting like this, kid? For how long have you been like this? You'll pass out." Certain concern is mixed with his confusion, though most of his attention is turned to the phone in his hand.

"'Waiting for inspiration to come." I say as sitting upright again. The room spins under my gaze for a second, but it quickly goes back to normal since it hadn't been long since I had decided to sit like that. "I'm writing a new song," I explain, taking the guitar back on my lap again. "It feels like all my ideas slip away just because I need one then, when I notice, I'm just staring at a white paper waiting for the ideas to show up, y'know?"

Ray chuckles a bit as glancing at me, his curls moving as he nods. "I understand completely. Good luck, tho," he shoots me a smile.

"Thanks," I smile back, playing on the guitar what I've written until now. Turns out I end up finally finding an idea and, getting too engaged on writing the song, I just notice how late it is when the Gerard and Mikey are walking back inside the bus.

"Don't you have your own bus?" Mikey asks playfully, nudging my foot with his before sitting down across from Ray and I.

"Ah, sometimes I forget I do," I set my guitar laying on my lap as throwing my arms over my head to stretch myself. "But I wasn't supposed to be here yet, I just got too carried away..." Seeing Gerard's hand furtively reaching for my notes again makes me interrupt myself, slapping his hand away. "You're so stubborn!" I furrow my eyebrows at him, shooting him a look as standing up.

The guitar is left in a corner, against the wall, and I sigh dramatically, my notebook safely hugged close to myself, "how Mikey's being so rude, I'm already leaving. 'Hope y'all have fun without my illustrious presence, then." My words make Mikey and Ray hum or scoff sarcastically – I throw my nose in the air while walking away, stopping in the last moment to look back and laugh with them.

"Let me go with you," Gerard says as following me, taking my hand in his. He blushes lightly at the peck I give him before we continue walking.

By the time the tour is over, the song is completely perfected – with a little fixing here and there in the lyrics, melody and adding a few other instruments. I smile as listening to the final result, all happy about it. Today completes exact five years since I met Gerard – I remember clearly internally freaking out when meeting him and the calls until four in the morning we started having not long later – so it's obviously the best day to release the song.

I'm anxious about posting it, mostly about Gerard's reaction; I never told him what was the song about and when I was releasing it. Breathing in deeply and exhaling to make myself calmer, I decide to finally post the announcement of the single. First on Twitter, then on Instagram, both with the same caption – I've been working on this song for a long time; it was difficult summing up in five minutes everything (or almost everything) between me and the love of my life, but here it is.

I bite back a grin as placing the phone inside the pocket of my hoodie – that's actually Gerard's, but I'll just return it when it doesn't smell like him anymore and grab another, maybe one of his green jackets – and look for Gerard around the house.

Gerard's in the kitchen when I find him, preparing himself a mug of coffee. Not saying anything, I simply observe, quietly moving to the counter, leaning forward with my hands on the cold surface. He takes a quick glance at first before looking at me properly, humming quietly in acknowledge to my presence. Grabbing his mug, he gives me a peck on the lips in his way out of the kitchen.

He's most likely returning to his office, since there's where he was when I last checked, not long ago. I wait for a moment before following him, but I find him in the living room and wait until he goes up the stairs. Again, after a moment, I'm already after him, however, I almost jump three feet in the air when turning around the corner and seeing Gerard there – he eyes me unamused, sipping on his coffee.

"Why are you following me?" He asks, narrowing his eyes.

I blush, playing with the hem of the hoodie's sleeve. "Ah, um," I think for a moment. "It's a big house," I shrug, remembering the excuse he gives when following me around my house or his own – he always walks in the room about a minute later and blushes, getting all fidgety, when finding me staring at the doorway, waiting for him with a knowing look. "I feel alone...?" It ends up sounding more like a question and I try to crack a convincing grin in the end.

He chuckles softly as stepping closer, pressing a peck to my lips, leaving behind the bitter taste of coffee. "You can stay in the office too, y'know," he raises an eyebrow at me, nodding towards the said room. "I also enjoy your company."

I'm about to agree when it suddenly comes to my mind – maybe he'll check his phone when getting back there and I don't want to be around, watching his reaction to the song. "Ah," I look away, stepping back again, "no, actually, I'm fine," I force a grin, ignoring his questioning gaze. "I'll go watch something on the TV."

Before Gerard can question me, I'm already turning around and going down the stairs, throwing myself on the couch once in the living room. The TV ends up turning into just another detail in the background, losing my attention to my phone as I read the comments on the new song.

There are these hate comments as always – most of them are attacking me about for just wanting to use Gerard and MCR, which simply doesn't make sense since I was already famous before meeting them and our relationship didn't come out to the public until about a year ago.

People started suspecting about it and the media was also annoying a lot, trying to figure out the truth. So, in an interview to MCR and I before a concert I was opening for them, when the interviewer asked us about it, I just kissed Gerard in front of the camera and walked away. I remember how Gerard just shrugged at the guy and followed me while Frank watched with a grin – he had already figured out about us by himself – and Mikey and Ray stood there containing amused smiles.

The comments do make me feel bad sometimes, but I believe people would like it to be in my place, so I try to not bother too much. There are the people who actually like me, above all, and who support us together. Not like we need their approval, but that's it.

Arms being wrapped around me suddenly pull me away from my thoughts – I blush as coming back to reality and remembering everything, shrinking a bit while Gerard covers my face with kisses. "Gerard!" I say through a chuckle, in a reprehending tone, interrupted when a last kiss is pressed to my lips.

"You're the best," he says, kissing me deeply before giving me a chance to answer. "I love you so much, you make me feel so special, you're literally the best thing that ever happened to me." Once again, he kisses me.

As much as the kiss is good, I pull away a few seconds later to answer. I grin sheepishly, "you too, Gee, I love you too."