#it's not more cloudless skies but it's something

[kumkaniudaku]

Requesting sadness 15: “I can’t do this anymore.” w/ Terry Richmond but it could be an unrequited love story that maybe was reciprocated idk

@pocketsizedpanther put NFL!Terry in my mind and this is what came up.

Silence. Unusual, unbearable silence. The kind of silence that hung in the air thick like humidity in Georgia, choking the life out of every living being in its vicinity. 

Silver forks scratched porcelain plates while two lovers sat across from each other trying to salvage a romantic dinner gone awry before it could ever start. Terry sensed the discomfort when he flew into town with no welcoming hug at the end of the tarmac. She left no text, no call, not even an insight into her whereabouts via Instagram stories. Only an empty space where her pretty red BMV usually sat awaiting his return. 

She hadn’t been in the stands lately either. From the cloudless skies of Los Angeles to the bitter chill of Philadelphia, she was a mainstay on the sidelines, wearing his last name on her back like a badge of honor. But tickets had gone unclaimed here and there. Not enough to raise alarms, but enough for him to bring it up as they dug into the night’s dinner. 

“If you wasn’t trynna be in the cold, that’s cool too. It’s just…you know. I wanted you to be there to see us win the conference. It’s kind of a big deal. First time in like six seasons or something like that. I don’t know. I just got here.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry. I’d rather make sure you’re good than get tight over a game. Football isn’t more important than you. You straight?” He shoveled a forkful of branzino into his mouth, looking across the table for a response that she never provided. “Tia, what’s up? You feeling alright?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Did I forget something?” 

“No.” 

“Somebody DM you something crazy? Fans bothering you again? Let me know something.” 

Her distant stare slowly drifted to his face with tears welling in her waterline. “I-Terrence, I can’t do this anymore?” 

“Do what? What you mean?” He knew. He’d seen the text messages and how she rushed out of the room to answer phone calls. The rumor mills and blind item reports never missed a beat. Atlanta wasn’t a city for secrets. But, he prayed that they’d been mistaken. Taking a sip of his water, he took a deep breath and repeated himself. “What can’t you do anymore? Sneak around like I can’t see you? Lie? Cheat? What is it, Tia?” 

Each question came out louder than the one before, making Tia wince in her seat. 

She knew he’d never put his hands on her. Terry was too sweet for that. So sweet that it made life boring. Being a kept trophy wife wasn’t her speed, but she allowed him to woo her in the VIP section of a club in Las Vegas and drag her back to a slow life full of WAG meetings and nosey neighbors. The thrill of being All Star tight end Terrence Richmond’s girlfriend lost its luster the moment engagement rings and wedding dresses became the topic of every conversation. 

One-night stands turned into sneaking around during long road trips until feelings and another life threw a wrench in what was supposed to be a quick fling with someone far too stupid to be a long-term beau. She’d fucked up. 

“It’s not you,” she choked out, trying to offer him some solace. “He was around when you weren’t and I-”

“Bro, don’t explain that shit to me! You don’t think I’m lonely sometimes? That I don’t meet women ready to fill a void if I snap my fingers? C’mon, Tia. This me you talkin’ to right now! Stop playing in my face!” 

He was fuming and fighting to keep his emotions at bay as he paced across the lavish dining room. 

Tia drew in a deep breath to calm the tears forcing a painful lump into her throat. “I’m sorry, Terry. I know I messed up. I embarrassed you and I’m so fucking sorry for that.” 

“Did you fuck him?” Dread attacked their bellies simultaneously. Seconds passed so slowly that he looked over at the wall clock to make sure time wasn’t standing still. Her silence became confirmation. 

She swallowed hard and nodded. “I’m pregnant. Yesterday makes eight weeks. Terry...”

“The Houston game, wasn’t it. When you said you got sick halfway through and had to leave early. You lied in front of my mama and got pregnant while she was worried about you. You fuckin’ sick in the head, Tia, what the fuck!”

Any explanation Tia intended to offer became lost in a swirl of profanity and angry shouting. Betrayed was the prevailing sentiment. All of his hopes for a family smiling back at him before pre-game intros were dashed, leaving him grieving in real-time. He blamed himself for believing that she was ready for something serious and ignoring the warnings. Now, all he had to show for his blind optimism was a broken heart. 

Tia watched Terry dissolve into a near rage with tears ruining her foundation as they poured without ceasing. All of the trust, all of the love they’d built in two years together was washed away by her selfishness. 

“You gotta go,” he finally managed to grit through clenched teeth. “Get the fuck out. Nah, fuck it. I’ll go. You stay until I can get some shit figured out, but you can’t stay here past the weekend.”

“Terrence! I don’t have anywhere to go!” 

“That’s not my fuckin’ problem! Call your sister or that nigga or some shit, I don’t care. All I’ve ever done is take care of you. If you think you can keep makin’ a fool outta me, you got the wrong motherfucka. This shit is over. Forreal this time!”

“But, I can’t -” 

“What the fuck are you fighting for, Tia? You made your decision. Deal with that shit!”

Sobbing and pleas to rethink his decision hit the condo’s walls like bricks, likely fueling a noise complaint that would be slapped on the door come morning. Tia listened to Terry rifle through drawers and closets on the hunt for enough to get him through a few nights at the Four Seasons. 

He just needed to blow off some steam. They’d been in this place before, angry and screaming at the top of their lungs behind her indiscretions, only to come back together and push the pain of the past to the far recesses of their mind. But, as he stomped his way out of the front door and into the night without so much as a second look, the future became more clear. 

He was gone. For good this time.

[totothewolff]

The Lonely Hearts Party

Toto x reader fem!merc!employee, boss|Toto, Valentine's Day | Fluff, romance, and comedy.

Summary: For weeks now, you have been receiving the most gorgeous flowers every Wednesday morning at your desk at the Brackley Headquarters, as a mysterious admirer seems so in love with you. The entire factory, your besties at work, and you all wonder who he is. Could it be the one you truly wish for? Author's note: Happy Valentine's Day to all of you! Send you lots of love. Masterlist: Here

The most beautiful flowers have been arriving at your desk every Wednesday morning for almost a month now. Every week, as you reach your office in the early hours, they are already in place to welcome you. 

You love smelling them; they are always fresh and sweet-scented, and you love to look at them even more.

You feel a rush of excitement to read the handwritten note that always comes attached, filled with a different poem paragraph each time, something along the lines of "She walks in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies; and all that's best of dark and bright."

Every girl in your department finds it so romantic, the mysterious admirer, but you and your besties at work, Rose and Oliver, who work in the same station that you, joke about finding it a bit creepy. 

"The Creepy Flower Guy" is a nickname you came up with to refer to him as an inside joke, being the three of you true crime enthusiasts.

—Maybe it's one of those garden gnomes HR placed outside —Oliver jokes as he finishes eating his scrambled eggs after you told them about the new Lilacs you received that morning at the breakfast quick break. —Perhaps he fell in love with you by watching you walk past —he jokes.

The hilarious idea of a tiny plastic guy sneaking into the headquarters, wearing his little red hat and fast feet to get incognito to your office, and on his tiptoes, placing the flowers on your desk makes you giggle.

You have to give it to HR this time; those gnomes were a great addition to the garden's pond; every time you sit on the benches near it, you enjoy the new scene the mechanics or engineers put together every few days, having fun moving the gnomes around or placing them in the funniest scenes, even someone during winter knitted them Christmas sweaters.

—Or maybe one day we'll find you dead on the floor, poisoned in your desk after inhaling azaleas for too long —Rose adds with the most casual tone as she bites her sandwich.

—Or you go missing! Kidnapped at the parking lot by "The Creep" —Oliver adds. 

—GUYS! —Ava turns around after overhearing the conversation; she is sitting at the same long table in the cafeteria, not getting your usual dark humor, a bit concerned, and creeped out. —You three need to cool it down with those goddamn crime podcasts!

—NEVER! —all of you answer at the same time.

—You freaks!

As you all finish breakfast, in a rush because the "off-season" is always the busiest time at the factory, you ask out loud. —Who do you think it is? 

—It's evident! It's... —Grace from the control room team starts saying.

—Lewis Hamilton! —and she finishes along with the other five people on the table now. 

Oh, the classic joke.

The entire table burst into laughter. It's a common joke to do about Lewis since almost every family member or friend thinks that working in the Mercedes racing team instantly makes you Lewis's best friend and that you always hang out with the guy, which couldn't be further away from reality. 

Most of you only see him in corporate gatherings or pass by from building to building, usually on his way to the simulator or in the hallways on a lucky day. 

He is always sweet and polite with the team and staff but quite distant; he still is Lewis fucking Hamilton. Unless you are part of his immediate team or Toto's, you get that privilege reserved for the key players only. 

Even so, almost everyone has a Lewis or Bottas story, and ALL of you have Niki's anecdotes cause that man is bonkers and a LEGEND. 

Most of them go hilarious as all of you try to act human around them, like the one Oliver has where he bumped into Lewis one day as Oliver was getting out of the bathroom and Lewis was on his way in, offering him a completely wet hand to introduce himself, which Hamilton noticed and sweetly and quickly patted Oliver on the shoulder with a "nice meeting you, man" and quickly got in.

—REAL theories only, guys! —you address the table. —Is my life a joke to you all? —you mess around, getting on your feet and closing the lid of your topper. —Please don't answer that.

-

Another week goes by, and a new stunning bouquet arrives. 

—Oh, how exquisite! That man is so into you. Those blue mophead hydrangeas sure are expensive! —the receptionist points out to you because you are a total flower ignorant who only goes: "Oh, pretty, colorful, smell cute" without giving it much thought. 

Most of the time, you have no idea what you are looking at, but you have fun googling it and trying to decipher; in your defense, no one has pampered you like this before. 

You are brand new at the getting flowers game.

-

The following week, a couple of bets start happening at the building as the word spreads, and many wonder who the mysterious guy is. 

Some think it's not a guy but a girl, as one day after a meeting, as you all are leaving, one of the engineers approaches you and makes the clever remark that the attention to detail about the type of flowers, the color palettes, and the scented notes is too much for a simple guy. —Either he is getting advised, or it's not a guy! Maybe you could obtain a reference from the company that delivers it.

This entire thing feels surreal and truly takes you by surprise since you have always considered yourself the most average girl, especially in looks and more so in the sea of beautiful blondes working at Mercedes.

Which, for some weird reason, reminded you of when you dropped your resume after one of your buddies from college - who still works there at the machine shop - gave you the heads up there was a job opening that suited you perfectly; he even had to insist you a couple of times, because you were almost sure they wouldn't give you a callback. 

To your eyes, Mercedes was one of those companies that cared about looks or looked for a specific ethnic type; it turns out you judged too soon; they care about skills, productivity, and professionalism, too, and it ended up being a bit more diverse than you expected the place to be.

It still has many areas for improvement, but it's become your favorite job ever.

-

By the end of the day, you wait for Rose to come out of her meeting to leave together, standing in the perfectly lit hallway leaning on the impeccable white wall; it's "Cheap Thursday" at your favorite local pub, and you two desperately need fuel to finish the heavy week, so nachos and a couple of pints sound like heaven.

After what feels like an eternity, a group of people comes out of the double doors by the end of the corridor facing you, and you catch a glimpse of a very hurried-up Toto getting out, too, looking handsome and elegant as ever.

You feel his dark eyes looking you up for the briefest moment, making you shiver and blush like a teenager in front of her crush.

Thank god he doesn't stop his pace and gets out of your view within seconds but leaves you distracted enough not to notice Rose approaching you till she is by your side, looking almost pale as a ghost, whispering in your ear. 

—I swear it's Toto's handwriting! I just saw him writing on the board for over an hour, and his calligraphy looks exactly like the one of "Creepy Flower Guy"!

—Come on?! Toto? Shut up! —a crackle comes out of your mouth, thinking it's the most ridiculous idea. —The billionaire smocking-hot boss falls in love with the average employee; what do you think this is? An 80s telenovela? Fuck off...

—Well, his handwriting is the same cursive style, and the "r" and "t" are almost identical —Rose starts to overexplain, trying to justify herself, looking timid and embarrassed now, and you instantly feel awful at your reaction.

—I'm so sorry, Rose, I overreacted; I tend to be too blunt! —you quickly wrap her into a hug.

—It's just that I have been seeing that calligraphy for a while now, and I found it freaky similar.

—Now, how can we make sure, Rose? Any ideas?

She shakes her head. —I'm not friends with his assistants or anyone on Toto's team.

—No one is friends with his assistants. I wouldn't be surprised if they turn out to be ex-MI5 agents or worked for the KGB —Rose starts to laugh hard, agreeing. —I think getting to the Prime Minister is easier than reaching Toto under their hands!

—You are screwed then. 

—Let's rule Toto out for the moment —you add.

—Yeah.

-

That night at your flat, a crazy thought comes to your mind as you brush your teeth; the wackiest thoughts tend to happen to you when you brush your teeth; you need to make yourself with a piece of paper handwritten by Toto to compare it with one of your notes.

You know Toto places sticky notes on the far wall inside his office; you have noticed those on your many and regular trips to the CFO's office as your boss always sends you to deliver the reports in person by the end of every week, always passing in front of Toto's office on you way there, which most of the time it's empty since he spends the year traveling, but you try to do your best when he is in, slowing your steps a little bit more to enjoy the view and fixing your appearance a little bit too before crossing in front of him. 

Still, his assistants are always at their front desk near there, making it impossible to sneak in. 

If only you could make it inside Toto's office without raising questions and with a good excuse. You laugh at the idea; it's wild and ain't going to happen, and if it does, your ass is getting fired. 

As the Mission Impossible cord from the ceiling scene comes to your mind, it's time for you to go to sleep.

-

As you anxiously roll from side to side of the bed, struggling to shut your brain off, you remember that Niki's surprise birthday celebration is scheduled in two weeks; you could volunteer to help organize the event and usher the people around, including Toto.

There is the slightest chance to make it to his office and take a quick photo of the sticky notes on the wall; it's borderline mental, but you really want to find out because Rose sounded so sure!

This is fucking insane. 

-

Two weeks, two new bouquets later.

When you finally reach the upper floor, where the "top-tier people work," almost everyone has left to get to the party on time. 

Being on time in Mercedes is a must, so there are few people you need to usher there.

You got accepted to join the Niki's celebration committee as a helper minion. Weirdly, it will be hosted in the base race of all places instead of the Silver Arrow Lounge, where most celebrations are usually held.

The decor is ready, the cake is at the counter, and the many photo props and snacks inspired by Niki's red cap are in place; even the catering and most of the people invited have arrived.

But Allison and Toto are nowhere to be seen, and the head of HR is on her nerves about it, thinking it could ruin the surprise or that two of the most influential people there are going to miss such an important event.

As you approach the bosses' offices area, you quickly search in the surroundings for them; it helps you that all offices have glass panel walls.

You venture to wander more, but nada, they are not there, and at this point, no one is there. As you return to the stairs, you pass in front of Toto's office once more. 

You just need to snap a quick picture. What could go wrong? No one is near to see you, and there are no cameras around since Toto dislikes that.

"Okay, Y/N, listen, it's just a couple of steps; you have your phone in your hand; it won't take more than a few seconds..."

You feel your body acting on its own and your feet slowly moving ahead. 

You gradually enter the luxurious and immaculate office.

"Okay, like four steps more, and I'm close enough to zoom in the picture." 

When you almost reach his desk and the perfect distance to snap the photo, you sense movement outside, fuck, fuck, fuck. You feel someone standing behind you, right at the door. 

Busted!

—Yes? Can I help you? —Toto's voice comes severe but calm.

You feel your heart in your throat as you slowly turn around. 

—Yes, you can! —you quickly reply, pretending to be looking at the cool helmets and steering wheels at the corner. Is it the best move your mind could come up with? Certainly not —...Sir... —you kind of finish saying, remembering he is the boss.

Toto stares at you, waiting for you to continue as you stand motionless in the middle of the room, looking straight at him. His eyebrows go up a little, and a tiny, amused smile forms on his lips as he moves his hand, gesturing you to continue.

—They are all waiting for you at the race base, sir... to start Niki's surprise reception. He is about to arrive. 

—And they sent you to get me?

—Yes —you feel the need to explain yourself more, feeling nervous. —Niki has no idea who I am, so I'm not blowing the surprise away if I bump into him on my way here! 

—Interesting... —he lets out gradually.

Oh god, Toto has no clue who I am either, right?

Fuck, I'm such an idiot!

—Oh, I, I'm Y/N —your brain starts working again as you quickly introduce yourself to him, offering him a hand to shake.

He looks even more perplexed at you but grabs it; it's awkward, and you want to crawl into a hole or hide beneath the expensive rug you are stepping on.

—We should get going; I have places to go, and I'm on a schedule today.

—Oh yes, of course, sir —you quickly exit his office as he closes its glass door behind you. Well, you literally pass below his muscular arm. 

Toto doesn't move much, so you squeeze in, almost brushing his body as you out, and he simultaneously closes the door, fuck, he is tall and smells so so so good.

-

It's a quiet walk downstairs; just the sound of your steps and breaths fills the room. You feel intimidated by Toto's presence, not used to having him that near you and being a shy-natured girl.

He seems to slow down his step, prolonging your agony. 

Should I say something? But what about? Work? Something casual? You assume he wonders the same since you feel his eyes on you every few steps, but he dares to break the ice before you can.

—So y..

—I'm To... Oh, sorry, go ahead —he says at the same time.

—Oh, no worries —you nervously place a strand of your hair behind your ear. He follows the movement of your hand with his eyes. —What were you saying? —you look straight at him, Jesus; he is way cuter up close; that's some strong jawline, you can't control your eyes going all over his features.

—That I didn't introduce myself upstairs. I'm Toto, by the way —he offers you a kind and unintentionally sexy smile.

You notice, a bit way too much, how all his traits soften and how relaxed and joyful he looks when he smiles.

It turns out that "The Creepy Employee Girl" should be your nickname now.

After perceiving him as less threatening, you joke around to make the air less awkward. —Really? I had no idea! I thought you were that Lewis guy everyone talks about! But nice to meet you Toto By The Way —you fool around.

He laughs a bit. —You never heard of me before? I guess I'm losing popularity around here nowadays!

—You must hang around more to be part of the "popular squad".

—Who holds the title right now?

—The gnomes.

—Oh, yes, they are quite popular.

—A bit too much, yeah.

As you two reach the entrance to the race base, he rushes his step to hold open the door for you, letting you go first; you feel his intense gaze follow you every step as you pass right across from him, making you feel things he shouldn't. 

Everyone who got invited is already there; the usually squeaky-clean and clear white counters now hold cups, party hats, bottles of champagne and sparkling water, delicacies, and a big red cap-shaped cake.

—Great! The boss is here! Please, bring Niki in —you hear the HR director speak through the intercom as she looks your way, sounding so relieved, and a minute later, all of you start cheering as Niki enters the room.

You expect Toto to instantly leave your side and go near the big names of the company and his precious stylish drivers, but no, he stays right next to you.

As Niki almost reaches you two, getting hugs all his way down, he comes closer to Toto first and says in a low voice, but you are still able to hear him. —Is the cake vegan?! —looking concerned before tightly and roughly hugging him, knowing they would call him to blow out the candles and bite the cake soon.

—No, sir, this time they brought Lewis his own cake —you inform him, getting in the conversation, as the two of them turn to look at you.

—Oh, thank god! I almost spit out last year's "fake" cake! Hi Y/N! I didn't notice you there! This mountain was on the way —he pats Toto's chest a bit too strongly. Niki makes a funny face, eyebrows going up, not sugarcoating around as usual but earnest and light-spirited.

You laugh, exhaling cute sounds; even you have to admit you have a lovely, infectious laugh.

—Hi sir, happy birthday!

How on earth does Niki know my name?! He knows who I am?! WHAT...

-

—...the fuck were you thinking?! —Oliver looks shocked and pale as you update him and Rose about your little adventure today. —You honestly thought it could be Toto?!

—Can a girl have a dream?! —you shrug as you keep typing violently on your computer, wanting to finish that notice as soon as possible to move on to the next task, starting to feel stressed.

—You could have got into serious trouble, like big trouble, like getting fired trouble —Rose says, dead serious. —I feel terrible for enabling you!

—I know it was reckless and stupid, really stupid! —you admit, feeling dumb now about your actions.

God knows what got into you!

-

The next day, on your way to the cafeteria for lunch, you sense something is going on; everyone is acting weird.

Until you enter the room to find Toto having his meal in there, alone at a table, aware of the looks he is getting.

What is he doing here? He usually goes out for lunch or eats inside his office.

The fuck.

He waves a hand at you; you look around to see if he is addressing someone else till he arches an eyebrow, slightly annoyed, so you hurry up to reach him.

—Well, you weren't wrong! By all the looks I received on my way here, and fairly now, it appears I don't hang around much —he invites you to sit, stretching his arm, pointing to the chair in front of his, before continuing. —It wasn't unusual to see me everywhere before; of course, it was the early days, and we were a smaller team back then —he almost looked sad and nostalgic about it.

—Look at you, man of the people!

—Eat your salad —he rolls his eyes at you as you get your lunch out.

—Is that like a boss order, or?

—Maybe, if I'm feeling moody. 

—So, I guess most of the old guard is gone?

—Are you low-hand calling me old?

—Well, how ancient are you?

—I'm almost 70 —he makes you smile and looks all pleased with himself and his dumb humor. —I know, I look good for 70!

—Who would have thought you had a sense of humor? You always look severe and bossy.

—Can you stop low-key insulting me?

—Neva'

-

After two weeks of having lunch with Toto and getting to know each other more every day, you two become friends; some days, a different person joins you; at some point, you can't believe you are sharing quinoa recipes with Lewis and comparing drinking pub stories with Niki.

—Is it me, or have you abandoned us, the peasants? —Oliver says to you when you return to the office.

—Oh, come on! You can join, you know that! He knows who you two are; we talk about you guys a lot, and he greets you daily!

—Now that you are part of the "big farts" table, hanging with the famous, why would you care about two random coworkers? —Rose overdramatizes.

—OH COME ON!

—Apparently, you don't care about the old and wise saying "Bros before hoes," —Oliver adds.

—Of course, I care about you two hoes. Please join us tomorrow. PLEASE?! —you beg them with the biggest smile and puppy eyes ever seen.

—Eating with the boss and talking to him? I'm not risking it! —Oliver says, dead honest, not trusting himself.

—He is trying to reconnect with the team; he isn't going to judge you! Besides, Toto knows you are my besties.

Two long "aw" come your way.

—That's so cute, but NO! —Rose ends the conversation.

-

As you admire the new bouquet of tulips you get delivered the next day, your phone suddenly buzzes on your desk, distracting you from finishing updating the chart with the latest data.

—Lunchtime already? 😩🥙

—Who this? 👀

—Luke, I'm your father.

—He dead 🙏🌫️

—Oh, shit, sorry! Bad joke!

—💀💀💀

—There's no need to be that explicit.

—It means dying of laughter!

—Oh, shit, I'm old, it's Toto By The Way.

—I'm saving you with that name! How did you get my number?

—By boss privilege.

—YES! LET'S LUNCH PLEASE! I'm Hungarian.

—What?

—Typo sorry, hungry!

—HA! See you in five! 🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️

-

—Could going to lunch with someone at the cafeteria be considered a date? —you turn around in your office chair to address Oliver.

—Dreaming is free, bestie!

-

On your way to meet Toto, you bump into the most annoying senior engineer, Mr. Schäfer, in the corridor. 

OH GOD! Please don't talk to me, please don't talk to me, you think as you two cross paths, but sadly, you notice him stop his step after making eye contact with you.

—Miss, Y/LN. A minute?

SHIT!

-

—Sorry I'm late! "Gwen Stefani" got me on my way here!

—Who? —Toto looks at you, amused and confused.

Shit! You burped out.

—Ahem, Mr. Schäfer —you quickly correct, taking your water bottle out of your bag and drinking it after rushing there. Toto stares at the couple of drops that escape your lips and slide down your chin and neck, and he swallows hard.

—What did you call him? —Toto asks, clearing his throat.

—Oh, don't mind me!

—Yes, mind you! It's a pretty accurate nickname, I must admit it, even if I shouldn't, but it fits —Toto shrugs nonchalantly, with a chuckle on his face. 

Schäfer is really pretty, lean, blond, pale, has big bambi's brown eyes, and his voice is so annoying.

And now you feel embarrassed.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, as you two eat, Toto says: —Do I have a nickname?

—Oh, no, no one dares.

—Why? Do people fear me? —his expression changes to one of concern. —Maybe that would explain why people always seem to slow down their pace in the main corridor as soon as they see me inside the elevator. I always try to press the hold button to wait for them.

—This leaves me with a question: How do you fit in there? Your hair sure is touching the ceiling —he looks at you with an "Are you kidding me?" face. —No, for real!

—Don't avoid the actual question!

—Okay, okay, it's more like you intimidate. You look a bit, ahem, stern.

—Really? So, that was your first impression of me?

—Well, not really —you feel your cheeks turning red, fuck. —The first time I saw you, IRL.

—Sorry?

—In real life! You were being interviewed at the reception on that pearl/grey, awful porn movie-esque rug, which is inappropriate to say because the interviewer was a kid; anyway, It was something adorable to see. So that was my first impression of you, sweet and kind —his eyes soften at your answer, and you feel your knees touching beneath the table. —And also well lit —you joke. 

As you do your best at not being honest and admitting to Toto, you fell in love with him the first time you saw him. It was instant.

—Oh. 

-

Another week goes by, February starts, and the most stunning bouquet to this moment arrives. Okay, this one is a lot. 

—Good lord, "Creepy Flower Guy" went full force with this one; what did you do to him?! —Rose asks, jaw on the floor as she stares at that humongous thing.

—I have no fucking clue.

—You think he is about to reveal himself? —Oliver points out. —Maybe this is a "going out with a BANG!".

—Honestly, I don't care much about it anymore —you admit. You feel several heads turning your way, shocked.

"It's not who I would like it to be," you think. You don't need to say more to know that Oliver and Rose get it.

-

That working day was cut short since it was the Monster-sponsored "Spartan Race," a cross-fit competition. 

Many coworkers listed at the contest held outside on the garden grounds where a fancy circuit got built, but not you. You volunteered to help deliver the medals to the participants at the finish line.

In the meantime, you take a good spot with Oliver to watch the competition unfold and cheer for Rose.

—You go, Rambo! —you scream at her as she completes another obstacle course.

You watch Toto pass in those goddamn shorts, looking so hot, all sweaty. Toto's shirt's tight fabric on the skin leaves little to the imagination.

You meet him at the finish line an hour later, as you are now doing your duty. As soon as he notices you, he starts to jog in your direction with the most mischievous smile.

—Oh no, no, no! Don't you even...! —you receive the biggest and tightest hug from a sweaty, wet, and full of dirt and mud Toto.

—OH GOD! Get off! —you pull him away, making yucky faces.

—I was hoping to bump into you at the circuit! —he tells you, still with a lot of energy, as you place his gold medal on his neck, he is bending to your height.

—I'm not that sporty; you would have to drag me to the finish line.

—I would have gladly carried you around in these powerful arms! —he jokes while flexing.

You roll your eyes at him.

-

The next day, at your desk.

As you blast the newest episode of your favorite crime podcast, Rose and Oliver start making eye contact with you, trying to grab your attention, moving their eyes several times to the left as you take out your AirPods.

—WHAT?!

—Sure, those things cancel noise! I have spent about an hour trying to talk to you!

Oh shit, you jump a little at the sound of Toto's voice near your ear.

—Were you listening to a murder podcast? At work?! You are going to hurt your ears; I was able to hear it from here —Toto is leaning on the left side of your desk.

—Maybe... I was... —you look at him with squinted eyes, and he looks back at you the same way.

—What is that thing?! —Toto says, a bit disgusted at the exuberance, pointing to the enormous bouquet beside your computer.

—It's a long story —you try to avoid the subject.

—I want to hear it when I return. I will not join you at lunch today or the rest of the week.

—Bummer, where are you going then? —you turn in your chair to face him.

Everyone looks at you with a "Did you really ask the boss that?" face.

—Austria, It's my mom's birthday.

—Aw, sweet, wish her a happy birthday for me!

—I will —you look at each other tenderly, both wanting to say more. You suddenly feel the desperate need to hug Toto, but a simple: —See you next week, then! —comes out of your mouth, ending the interaction.

-

It's almost Valentine's Day, and Toto has returned from his little adventure in the mountains; he laughs when you text him that. You two talked even more than usual every day during his absence.

So you text him if you could go up to his office.

—Knock, knock —you say as you pop your head in at his door.

He brightens as he sees you, fully smiling at you, making your stomach feel butterflies. 

—Please, come in!

You approach his desk, holding something in your hands; it's an envelope with an invitation in the old-fashioned way. —Hi! —you smile big at him. —I have the obligation to invite you to the traditional "Lonely Hearts Party" on Valentine's Day!

—No one wants the boss at an outside-the-office party —he looks at you a bit taken out.

—Yeah, I know, we know. But still, you are invited. It's for singles only, assuming that you are single, which no one thinks you are, so here —you feel Toto's hand touching yours as you deliver him the envelope, leaving you with a lingering sensation on your fingers, a very Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy moment in your delulu mind.

—I'm going to be in Brazil, but thank you anyway, and yes, I'm single —he pays attention to your reaction to his words, and you pray for him not to notice the little happy smile forming on your lips. —Are you... are you like... seeing someone? —he asks you.

—I'm going to attend the Lonely Hearts Party, you think?! Listen, my neighbor, Miss Tailor, is 80 and has a boyfriend; even that old rag has seen more action than me this year!

Toto's palm goes onto his face, bursting with laughter; he is laughing so hard at your comment that no sound comes out of his throat, just hallows of air, and he goes all red, not believing your words. —You are quite something! —He lets you know and looks at you with adoration, his face resting on his hand and his elbow on the desk. 

—I know —you nod, kidding. —Anyway, have a nice day, and see you later!

-

During that day's lunch break, Toto demands you to explain to him in detail all about that "Creepy Flower Guy," he even ventures to guess who he is after listening to the whole story.

—Milo, Ben, and Ansel all have stared you down when you walk past in front of them, with lust obviously, and I heard Finn once complimenting your good looks to say it nicely —he informs you.

Is that jealousy you detect?

Toto does pay attention.

-

It's Wednesday, and your car is out in maintenance, so you make it extra early on that day at the office; you wanted to avoid risking it being late since you aren't used to using public transport to get there.

You make it just in time to witness Mike walking away from your desk inside your desert office through the glass panel wall from afar. As you walk to your chair, you notice new flowers are already in place. You feel your heartbeat going full speed and a wave of disappointment washing you over; what were you expecting, for it to really be Toto?

That entire day, you remain all moody and quiet, and your friends notice it, but you say nothing about it.

You even ask your boss to leave early, being unable to handle being near Toto today, which leaves him worried, judging by the four texts and two missed phone calls you received from him, wondering where you are and if everything is okay.

-

Four days later, you are like nothing has happened. As you walk your way to enter the building where you work, you notice Toto sitting alone in the distance, having a call; you slowly start to walk toward him, switching paths.

He finally has returned from his trip to Stuggart.

—Well, the "Creepy Flower Guy" saga has come to an end, my friend; I found out who he is —you inform him, unenthusiastic, as you sit on the bench in the pond's garden right next to him.

—You don't seem so excited —Toto's eyes look slightly concerned as he tells you.

—Well, no, to be honest.

—Drumrolls —Toto says, trying to lift your spirits, slapping his thighs, making the sound. —And the creep is?!

—Mike, from financial.

—Magic Mike?! —Toto lets out a bit too loud.

—Yep!

—Are you sure? Like 100%? But how?!

You nod. —I saw Mike near my desk in the early hours a couple of days ago, and the flowers were there as he was walking away from the crime scene! Also, by the drawer full of flower receipts at his office desk. They all match the types of bouquets I received and have the exact dates.

—Are you creeping around in people's offices again?

—WAIT A MINUTE! I wasn't creeping into your office! 

—Oh no? What were you doing near my desk? Looking for Niki's cake?

—Shut up! I was looking for you. 

—Yes, I love to hide myself in there —Toto playfully and softly pushes you. 

—And NO! I wasn't creeping around in Mike's office; Anita sent me to get the notice she needed, and I went there; it turns out Mike was on holiday, but he left the instruction to collect it from the drawer on his desk, and then I opened the wrong drawer and BAMB! It was full of receipts and bills from the flower company that delivered my flowers. Not to be nosy, but Magic Mike is doing pretty well; I had no idea how expensive they were!

—Wait! But you aren't telling me! Are you into Magic Mike? Do you fancy him?

—No, not him, anyway.

Toto stares intensely at you and wants to say more. If you weren't so in the zone, you would have noticed it and given him a chance, but no, you continue blurting out words.

—But I will go and thank him, I guess. I don't want to hurt him; he is lovely. Everyone told me to go out on a date with him. I don't feel like it right now, but it's not always love at first sight, right? Maybe that doesn't even exist; I was expecting to fall in love, you know, movie style, but that may not be real, or at least not for girls like me. Besides, Valentine's Day is approaching, and I don't feel like spending it alone again —you let out a sigh after talking forever.

—Weren't you going to that Lonely Hearts Party? It sounds fun. It's better than going on a date with someone you don't like just to feel better —Toto tells you a bit moody.

—Oh god, I love you; you are always right; you are so annoying —you add while hugging and kissing him on the cheek. —Is there any chance I can fit in your suitcase for Brazil? I wouldn't mind spending Valentine's Day with a hot Brazilian or at the beach.

Toto laughs while shaking his head.

—I have to go! —you complain, checking the hour on your smartwatch. —Unfortunately, I have work to pretend to do! 

—Sometimes I feel you forget I'm the boss here —he jokes with you as he crosses his arms and watches you walk backward, still facing him, getting further away.

—YES SIR!

-

It's the Wednesday before Valentine's Day, and to everyone's surprise, the flowers stop arriving.

"Did Toto tell Mike I don't like him and to stop sending me flowers?" You take out your phone to text him.

—Apparently, even "Creepy Flower Guy" gave up on me.

—Really?! —Toto replies.

—Yes. No flowers today.

He gives you no further information, no replying text comes your way.

-

It's Valentine's Day, and you are wearing a shiny red mini dress with matching bow heels to the Lonely Hearts Party.

You took your time doing your makeup, which you feel you nailed, and your hair looks sleek. 

As you check yourself in the mirror, you feel confident and hot!

-

After several drinks and enjoying the music and the vibe, you relish the party, but your mind keeps wandering to the anticlimactic ending of the flower guy mystery.

The only crime and murder here was the one of your feelings and heart.

Two hours later, you start to feel bummed out enough after witnessing many hookups and new couples forming, slightly envious of them and feeling lonelier than ever, aching that Toto was here with you instead of Brazil. You decide you've had enough and are about to leave when you feel a soft finger tap on your right shoulder. You turn around to see who it is.

Definitely, you aren't ready for the scene that greets you.

Toto is standing right before you, holding a bouquet in his hands, looking extremely handsome, with a shy smile on his lips.

—What are you doing here?! —you look astonished at him. Am I that drunk?! Thinking you are seeing things now.

—I felt like delivering them to you in person from now on —he offers you the roses.

Your brain takes its time to process his words and what's happening. This is really happening.

—You are? —you try to say and instinctively grab the bouquet.

—The Creepy Flower Guy, yes.

You laugh at the sound of the nickname on his lips.

—Let's call him "flower guy" from now on.

—Yeah, let's call him Toto better, or my love, if you prefer. I hope you aren't as disappointed this time.

—But Mike? —you ask, confused.

—Have you ever heard of the terms invoice and tax returns? He does my accounting, too. Mike helped me deliver the flowers till I felt ready to show myself. He is a long friend of mine.

—That's why he had all the receipts; that makes sense. Wait!

You close the distance between Toto and you and place a kiss on his lips; getting on your tiptoes, he slowly and hungrily starts kissing you more, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer, not letting you move an inch away from him.

—Thank you for the flowers, my love but weren't you supposed to be in Brazil by now? —you ask him as you both catch your breaths.

His lips are so soft and warm.

—Oh, I'm going to be in Brazil soon, but I forgot to mention to you that you would also be there. Happy Valentine's Day, my love! —he gives you another long and delicious kiss.

—Shouldn't I have packed? —you ask against his lips, already overthinking.

Toto shakes his head.

—We aren't going to need much clothes, anyway. -

Would you like to read another Toto fic? Masterlist: Here

Join us at The Wolff Pack Discord Server > https://discord.com/invite/tpgArxqbfd

[sexlapis]

# a snowy morning .·

𝗓𝖹𝗓 🦌 ⎯⎯ &. ♥︎

❤︎ toji x gn!reader

sfw, fluff, christmas season, petnames (‘kid’, ‘sweetie’), playing in the snow, old man toji, he’s a tiny bit mean but … <3

wc: 1.9k

a/n: just wanted some toji winter fluff…<3 merry christmas everyone ᒄ₍⁽ˆ⁰ˆ⁾₎ᒃ♪♬

masterlists

*

toji awakens with a startle at your shout, shooting up and out of bed, swiping his handgun from his bedside drawer and stumbling to where you stand, looking out of the bedroom window.

life away from the city was all toji wanted, along with peace and quiet, which is why you and toji live just on the outskirts of the woods, where your only neighbours are the wild animals that roam the surrounding forest.

and toji likes it that way; no annoying neighbours, no noisy cars, no air pollution and clear, vibrant skies where you can actually see the fucking stars when you look up.

but with you around…peace and quiet are nothing but foreign concepts.

“toji, look!” you exclaim. “it’s snowing! it’s- toji put that away.” you frown at him, referring to his gun.

“what’s with all that yelling?” he grunts, lowering his weapon and instead unsafely using it to scratch his back.

“it’s snowing! it must’ve started when we slept!”

toji huffs, his heart slowing down a little in relief. “alright, let’s jus’-”

“it’s so deep too. and it looks so soft. i’m going outside!”

after your sporadic ramble, you’re flinging out of your pyjamas and into thicker, warmer clothes.

“it’s six in the morning.” toji deadpans, blinking away the sleep in his eyes and ruffled by you shocking him awake. “we can go outside later.”

you were always so spontaneous with your plans, he could hardly keep up with them.

“no! it could be melted by then,” you claim, throwing a large, cream-coloured sweater over your head, “put your clothes on, you're coming with me.”

“now why am i involved?” he asks, rhetorically of course, since he’s already heading to his wardrobe and picking out a black fleece along with a long sleeved shirt.

he should really stand his ground more, show you who’s in charge and who makes the rules around here. after all, it is his house.

but when you look at him so expectantly, hoping for him to agree, he knew that he would only comply with your wishes.

and you know that too.

“someone needs to help me build the snowman!”

*

minutes later, you’re skipping in the sparse forest behind the house, travelling through crunchy snow to the best of your abilities, leaving uneven footprints in your path as toji trails behind you, chiding you to slow down.

frosty, crisp air bites at your exposed face, sure to ache when you get back inside to the warmth. the wintry sky is painted in a pale periwinkle, cloudless and plain lest for the faded crescent moon that follows you on your merry way.

you leave the forest and you are welcomed to the wide, vast and picturesque landscape of the field you and toji commonly frequent. said field is completely blanketed in a white sheet of pure snow, going on for miles and miles, glittering in the morning glow.

“kid, what’d i say.” toji huffs, coming to stand beside you with a hand supporting his back, a little out of breath. “what a view, huh?”

“mhm!” you agree and then you’re plopping right down into the snow, repeatedly spread and closing your arms and legs, more strenuous than you expected, “come make a snow angel, toji! next to me. not too close though or you’ll mess mine up.”

toji sighs, mostly fond, breath leaving his nose and he clambers onto the snowy ground with his knees cracking, something you then proceed to make fun of him for and he flicks snow at you.

“toji, that got in my mouth!” you sputter and spit, glaring at a flailing toji who attempts to make a snow angel. his long, big limbs make the movement look heavy and odd, causing you to snort in his face.

“what’re you laughin’ at?” he grunts, his expression determined like he’s in a competition to make the greatest snow angel of all time. snow splatters all around him from his brash actions.

he looks so cute like this, you think. rosy cheeks, the sweet dimple on his left cheek that appears when he grins, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkled even more as he smiles and entertains you.

“okay, that’s enough!” you stand, brushing the snow away from your body, “get up. i wanna see what they look like.”

toji sticks his hand out, “‘right, help me up.”

“oh toji..” you mutter in faux annoyance before you clasp both of your gloved hands around his one, groaning with the struggle of lifting him up.

“i’m not that heavy, sweetie,” huffs toji, clapping his covered hands, causing snow to powder all around him, “okay, what’d you think?”

you both observe at the snow angels created by your bodies. they are…simply a mess and bundle of piled up mess, shapeless silhouettes dented into the snow, the size difference between them almost comical.

“…yeah it’s looks great ♡,” you smile, looking to toji who nods in agreement, clearly pleased with himself.

*

“okay! toji you make the body and i’ll do the head!” you call out to him from a distance after playing and prancing around in the know. you’ve already begun rolling out a small ball of firm snow along the ground.

meanwhile, toji’s snowball is already up to his knee. he shuffles and rolls his huge globe of snow around the field, leaving swirls and spirals in the sheet of snow behind him.

“how is yours so big already?!” you screech, glancing down at your pitiful snow ball, “we just started!”

“‘cos while i was getting down to business you were doin’ backflips in the fuckin’ snow.”

“hey!” beyond your better judgement, you launch the ball of snow right at toji, striking him square in the chest.

a quiet “ufff” leaves toji’s mouth and he peers at his once black winter coat that is now splattered in snow. then, he slowly raises his head back to you, a malicious glint in his eyes.

“ohhh, you really shouldn’t ‘a done that, kid…”

toji’s lifts what is supposed to be the body of the snowman and stalks towards you in swift strides. you scream, already on your feet and dashing away downhill, squealing and cackling as toji runs after you with the giant snowball in his arms, a sight that would be absurd to onlookers if there were any.

your foot slides off the floor and up into the air, landing on your back onto the pillow of snow, leaving you completely at toji’s mercy.

it took a mere four or five steps for him to keep up with you. quite sad on your part, really.

toji’s looms over you, a wicked grin on his lips as he holds the large snowball in his hands, “i hate to have ’ta do this but…”

“toji, please! have mercy-”

but your words fall on deaf ears. toji’s raises the vast ball of snow, creating a shadow over your vision, and your eyes are bulging, your stomach dropping slightly as he promptly drops the snow onto your awaiting body.

you gasp. luckily, your winter coat protected you from the bite of the snow, the clothing now caked with snow.

toji pats his hand for good measure right over your body, sprinkling snow on your face.

“how’s that, huh?” he smirks before noticing how you’re covering your face with the back of your hands, your shoulders shaking slightly.

shit.

“shit,” he crouched down and going to comfort you, thinking he took this game a little too far, “kid, you okay? ‘m sorry-”

a snowball is smashed into the side of his face.

“ha!” your giggles fill the bitter air and you shove him into the snow, jumping up and scurrying off, “got youuuuuuu!”

“oh, you fucking-” toji springs to his feet, shaking the snow his face, the area now red and flushed, “yeah, you better run!”

you and toji chase each other through the snow, launching snowballs at each other, noses rosy and cheeks aching from smiles and laughter, breaths heaving and hearts running as you both reveal in this newfound peace and joy.

playful, free and happy.

toji tackles you, cupping the back of your head as you fall to the ground softly.

he hovers over you. the hat that previously covered his head is long gone, most likely buried within the surrounding snow. his raven locks point in all directions and droplets of snow seasoned in his hair. tender, rounded eyes decorated with fluttering, thick lashes study you adoringly and you feel like hiding your face as your heart bursts in your chest.

you bite your lip and say, “i think i won.”

“yeah, sure you did.” toji rolls his eyes, shaking his head and kissing your nose, “c’mon, let’s go. it’s just gonna get colder, anyway.”

“i wanted to go ice skating on the lake, though…”

toji rises to his knees, lifting you up with him. he sweeps the snow from your hair and scans your body, his actions instinctual at this point, “yeah, yeah, we’ll go tomorrow, promise.”

you seem satisfied with his answer, allowing him to stand you up.

“i want a piggyback ride, please” you beam at him, and…toji is a weak man. only for you.

seconds later, he is letting you mount him like a horse and he begins the journey back to the cosy home you both created for yourselves.

toji’s large, strong stature makes you feel safe, protected. it always has. and with the smoothness of his steps, you find drifting off into a momentary rest against his broad shoulders.

*

the next time you come to, you’re on the couch of your living room, the fireplace crackling and illuminating the dim room. a fluffy, lengthy blanket protects you from the slight chill in the air which is also permeated with the scent of chocolate. you blink, licking your lips and yawning. you are by yourself, you note as you stretch and sit up on your knees.

shortly after that thought, toji walks in, holding two mugs of what you presume to be hot coco.

“hey, sweetie,” he coos, wishing to keep the quiet atmosphere, “got ya some hot coco,” he hands you the cup, placing his own on the coffee table and taking a seat right next to you, “‘fell asleep on the way back. musta been tired from waking up at ass ‘o clock, huh?”

you pout, gulping some of the chocolatey beverage which has your mouth hot and warming up your insides. you stick your tongue out at him, feeling too drowsy to even refute his snipe.

toji huffs, grinning softly. he licks his thumb and wipes the corner of your mouth to get rid of a chocolate stain.

“ugh, toji.” you grunt, “gross.”

“c’mon i've done worse than that.”

you grumble, sipping on your hot drink and ignoring his short chuckles.

he shifts closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, “c’mere.”

toji is so big and so warm and so soft and just so tender. you’re dropping your mug next to toji’s and snuggling up right beside him, also wrapping your arms around his waist, your cheek pressed up against his firm chest. it’s the perfect fit and you’ve never felt so content.

“hmm..think i’m gonna fall asleep again…”

“that's alright, baby.” toji hums, kissing the top of your head and smoothing your hair down. he loved the feeling of you in his arms, it made him feel like the protector that he is at his core, something he’d forgotten so much about - the true nature of himself.

“go to sleep,” and you are already passed out, fast asleep on toji’s firm body. he nuzzles against the top of your head and closes his eyes, breathing you in and holding you close.

he can stay here, with you in his arms, far away from the rest of the world, forever.

*

a/n: have a very merry christmas everyone! please make sure to rest and stay healthy ^_^🎄💚❤️

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Tempest

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader (third person, no use of y/n) Warnings: Very brief mention of drug use, heavy petting. Word count: ~2k

Summary: Michael provides shelter when they get caught in a downpour, and reveals some uncomfortable truths.

Author's note: Happiest of birthdays to @dreamymoomin // @in-a-mountain-pool - hope you enjoy this little gift! No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

It’s mid June in Oxford, a time when the air hangs thick and humid, the rain showers and storms as frequent as the blazing sunshine and cloudless skies. It’s an odd time of year, the feeling of transition as apparent in the weather as it is in the nearing finality of the end of term.

Exams have descended upon the students of every course, and while everyone studies hard, the need to let off steam is as burgeoning as the pressure in the atmosphere that promises thunder and lightning. The parties get wilder with every weekend that passes, a celebration of the turning in of coursework, completion of written assessments and an undeniable sense of finality; first year is drawing to its close.

She steps out of the wine shop on Turl Street, the nicest bottle she could find for under seven pounds wrapped delicately in navy blue tissue paper. Her friends in this city are of a different breed to what she’s used to back home; turning up to a party with a litre bottle of cider or a four pack of WKD Blue is social suicide. There is an unspoken, but incredibly obvious air of refinement, and if your face doesn’t fit then you’re destined for an incredibly lonely three years.

So, she has learned to play along. Turn up with fancy wine, pretend she’s one of them, until Felix and Farleigh show up with a wrap of cocaine and a bottle of Jägermeister, and things inevitably degenerate. They always degenerate. She makes her excuses and leaves whenever they arrive, she knows better now, having attempted to keep up in her first week, and then waking up the following day with an impending sense of dread and a general feeling of sickness that had continued to outstay its welcome after two days.

The social protocols are something she has perfected to a fine art; turn up, bring a bottle, ensure people see you, talk just enough to ensure you’re invited back next time, and then leave before things get too messy. It’s lonely, exhausting, and utterly unfulfilling, but it’s better than the alternative of being ostracised from her course mates.

As her feet land upon the pavement from the shop doorway, the sky blackens. Thick, grey clouds roll overhead and she looks up just in time to feet the first raindrop splash upon her cheek. Shit.

The sudden downpour makes her gasp, and though Trinity College is only a five minute walk away, she knows she’ll be drenched by the time she makes it back, so she runs in the direction of the Brasenose, seeking shelter beneath the covered entryway as she waits for the rain to pass.

She shivers, hair sticking to her neck, cursing under her breath as she watches the tissue paper that had been covering her wine bottle disintegrate in her hands. She shuffles to the side as she spots someone in her peripheral vision step beneath the entryway, giving them space as they lower the jacket they had been holding over their head.

“You’re not staying at this college.”

The brusque statement isn’t a question, it’s almost accusatory, and she snaps her head up, looking into the face of a person she recognises, but doesn’t know the name of.

“No…sorry,” she utters, awkwardly turning her bottle in her hands as more paper sloughs off of it. “Just waiting for the rain to pass.”

The rectangular glasses, sandy coloured hair and angular features are unforgettable. She had seen this guy hanging around with Oliver Quick towards the start of term and in the lead up to Christmas. When they’d all come back from break, she’d stopped seeing them together. Considering that Oliver now hung around Felix Catton like a shadow, it wasn’t hard to guess what had happened. She felt sorry for him.

“You could be standing here for a while,” he tells her.

She watches as a droplet of rain drips from the cleft of his nose, before her eyes flicker up to his. “Better than getting soaked on the walk back to Trinity.”

He hums under his breath, regarding her warily. “You could make it back in under five hundred steps if you walked quickly.”

“Or you could invite me in until the rain passes,” she replies hopefully, her eyes meeting his.

She watches him carefully as he blinks once, twice, three times, his mouth twisting in a mixture of confusion and apprehension as he considers her proposition. She is certain he’s going to refuse, until he utters a clipped “fine”, before turning to open the door.

Following him in and up the staircase, she wonders why she had been so bold. There is no denying she is curious about him, the maths genius that everyone says had shouted “fucking ask me a sum then!” during the Fresher’s dinner, but she would never ordinarily ask a complete stranger to allow her into their room. He’s not even leading her to the common area.

As the door to his room clicks closed behind her, she takes in her surroundings. It could not be more different to the rooms of other boys she has visited during her time at Oxford. It’s clean, tidy to the point of being orderly, everything has its place. The bedspread is pulled taut against the mattress, pens and pencils are lined up perfectly straight next to the neat pile of notebooks on the desk.

She feels her skin heat up when she sees him standing there staring at her. She hasn’t even introduced herself.

“Sorry,” she says, giving her name with an embarrassed smile, “probably should have told you that before inviting myself up. And you are?”

“Michael,” he says, “Michael Gavey.”

He reaches for her hand to shake it, but withdraws upon seeing the soggy blue tissue paper it’s coated in, and she silently prays for the ground to swallow her up as fresh humiliation burns hotly through her.

“Here,” he says, passing her a towel that had been carefully folded over the back of a chair, “dry yourself off.”

She gives a quiet thanks, setting her bottle down on the bedside table, before toweling her face, hair and hands. It smells faintly of Head and Shoulders shampoo, and it’s oddly comforting.

Passing the towel back, she busies herself with opening the wine as Michael works to dry himself. Using the end of a fork that has been left upon the bedside table, she pushes the cork through into the bottle.

“What are you doing?”

She looks up, watching as he wipes at the lenses of his glasses with a cleaning cloth. He’s actually quite beautiful without them, less severe looking, his eyes are strikingly blue. Forcing herself to avert her gaze, she replies: “well, I can’t see a corkscrew.”

“No, I mean, why are you opening it?”

She gives an easy shrug. “Something to do while we wait for the rain to stop.”

Taking a swig of the cheap chardonnay, she winces slightly and holds it out to him. He hesitates, eyes shifting between the bottle and her, before he tentatively reaches out to take it from her. His own face contorts in disgust as he drinks, causing her to laugh.

���Only the finest for five pounds fifty!”

“Christ,” he winces, passing it back to her. “So, what are you reading?”

“History of art,” she replies, slugging from the wine bottle once more.

“Fucking hell,” he scoffs derisively, mouth turning up into a sneer.

“Oh fuck off,” she shoots back playfully, perching herself on the edge of his bed. “We can’t all be maths geniuses.”

He eyes her curiously. “How do you know I’m reading maths?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Recognition flickers in his eyes for a moment and she sees a tinge of pink flush his cheek, as he averts his gaze in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts hurriedly. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s impressive, really, it is.”

“I don’t need one of Felix Catton’s vapid cunts to validate me,” he retorts, his tone suddenly icy.

Her brows arch, eyes widening as the comment hits her like a slap to the face. “I’m not…I’m not making fun of you,” she says quietly, “and Felix isn’t my friend, not that that’s any of your business.”

He narrows his eyes at her, putting his glasses back on. “Well, go on then.”

“What?”

“Ask me a sum. You’ve been dying to since you first saw me.”

“It’s fine. I wasn’t going–”

“Just do it,” he interrupts with a sigh.

She chews her lip hesitantly, placing the wine bottle on the bedside table, before leaning back on her palms against the bed as she sits on its edge. “Alright. Two hundred and eighty four divided by sixteen?”

“Seventeen and three quarters,” he replies instantaneously. 

It shocks her, he doesn’t really even have to take time to think about it.

“I’ve got no way of verifying if that’s correct,” she says, chuckling nervously.

“Hmm, why don’t we even the playing field then?” He says, coming to sit beside her.

She feels her breath hitch as the mattress dips beside her, his closeness making the humidity of the air seem hotter still.

“What do you mean?”

“You ask me a maths question, I’ll ask you a question, and it’s up to us if we believe each other’s answer.”

“Art history questions?”

“What do you think?” He shoots her a withering look.

“What sort of questions then?”

“Just ones about you. You’re in my room, after all, makes sense for me to get to know you.”

She swallows thickly, nodding. “Okay, that seems fair.”

“So, why aren’t you friends with Felix Catton?”

“I don’t like him,” she says honestly.

“Why not?”

“That’s two questions.”

“Just answer it.”

She wets her lips, considering her answer. It’s not something she’s ever really even admitted to herself before, let alone said aloud to another person. “I–I don’t like how he makes me feel…about myself.”

“Your turn.”

She turns her face towards him, noticing how close they’re sitting together. The smell of Head and Shoulders shampoo is more fragrant on him than it had been on the towel. “Eighty eight times ninety one?”

His skin breaks out into gooseflesh at the feeling of her breath upon it, and she smiles to herself as she watches him shift upon the bed, his answer slower than the first time. “Eight thousand and eight.”

He looks at her, his face so close to hers their noses almost touch. “Why do you hang out with Felix’s friends if you don’t like him?”

Exhaling shakily, she dips her face into the crook of his neck, feeling him tense beneath her touch, the proximity causing her own heartbeat to quicken. “Because I don’t want to be lonely,” she whispers. She ghosts her lips tentatively against the flesh of his neck, delighting in the way he shivers. “Six hundred times three hundred and twenty one?”

When he breathes out, it’s audible, the faintest hint of a whimper carrying alongside the expulsion of air. “One hundred and ninety two thousand, six hundred,” his voice is strained as he replies, an indication that he’s struggling.

He reaches across, long slender fingers gripping her thigh, out of desire to touch her or simply to ground himself, she is unsure, but she takes the initiative, slinging her leg over his lap. She can feel the rapid hardening of him through the fly of his cargo shorts.

“Why did you want to come up today?” He whispers, turning his head, nuzzling into her still damp hair.

“To get out of the rain,” she utters, gripping the front of his t-shirt as though it’s a lifeline.

“Liar, the rain’s stopped now.”

The darkness of his tone causes her core to squeeze involuntarily, excitement making her tummy flutter. “I was curious about you, you seem lonely too.”

“Do you want to stay?”

“That’s two questions,” she chides, pulling back, resting her forehead against his.

“Answer me,” he insists, his grip on her thigh tightening.

As she looks at him, his pupils dilated, full lips parted, she knows she has no intention of going to the party later. From the moment she met Michael, her plans had changed without her ever being aware of it.

“Yes, I want to stay.”

He leans in, lips pressing feverishly against hers, and as she kisses back, savouring the taste of cheap white wine upon his mouth, it feels as though the pressure has finally lifted. She hopes it rains forever.

[tim-shii]

a/n: save me, preppy!bf danheng. save me, please, preppy!bf danheng. im so normal about him its not funny anymore. i need him. i badly need him in my life rn its actually criminal how hes not beside me reading our silly little books together. also consider this my little belated valentines gift <3

bf!danheng who smells of old books, coffee and vanilla flowers.

bf!danheng who writes you little handwritten notes and slips them into the pockets of your coat or jacket.

bf!danheng whose favorite authors are edgar allan poe, albert camus and fyodor dostoevsky.

bf!danheng who’s such a gentle lover, every word of praise that comes from his lips is nothing but sincere and sickeningly enamored.

“you look beautiful. you are beautiful.”

bf!danheng who’s an honor student and tutors you at the library after class hours.

bf!danheng who lets you borrow his sweaters and crewnecks, sometimes even letting you keep them with the reason being ‘they look better on you’.

bf!danheng who casually hands you an annotated book out of nowhere.

“i finished the book. you were talking about it a week ago.”

bf!danheng who recites to you the most romantic poems as you both lay on the grass, under the starry night.

“she walks in beauty, like the night

of cloudless climes and starry skies;

and all that’s best of dark and bright

meet in her aspect and her eyes;

thus mellowed to that tender light

which heaven to gaudy day denies.”

bf!danheng who reads his book beside you on the couch, arm around your shoulders and head leaning to yours.

bf!danheng who always remembers little details about you, whether you mentioned it in passing or he overheard you telling it to your friends.

bf!danheng who notices everything about you.

“you fiddle with your ring when you’re bored.”

bf!danheng who falls in love with you more and more when you randomly blurt out a quote in the hushed nights you two spend together.

“it is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”

“that’s shakespeare. you’ve always loved that quote.” he looks over at you, a fond expression gracing his pretty face.

bf!danheng who greets you with a kiss to your temple everytime without fail.

bf!danheng whose heart jumps a little bit faster when you push his glasses up his nose with a pointed finger and your nose scrunched up cutely at him.

bf!danheng who kisses you passionately and slow, taking his time ‘cause he feels like it’s only a matter of time before something inevitably pull you away cruelly from his hold.

bf!danheng who blinks slowly, blush rushing to his ears, when you smile at him and promise him you’ll be with him for evermore.

likes and reblogs are appreciated! masterlist

[coldxperience]

☾ Lan Wangji's names etymology

Here's a complete post on the etymology of our beloved Lan Wangji's various names. I've always appreciated how authors would give out names that fit their characters so well, which is why I chose to share this.

▷ Lan Wangji Master Profile.

Birth Name - Lan Zhan 藍湛

Lan 藍 (lán) – blue. In Chinese, Lan 藍 is literally blue.

Zhan 湛 (zhàn) – clear, deep. In Chinese, Zhan 湛 from 湛蓝 (zhànlán), azure blu

Lan Zhan’s formal name Zhan 湛 means deep or clear, without impurities. It is often prefixed to the front of the word “blue” to describe the color of sunny cloudless skies, azure. Wangji’s birth name 湛 (zhàn) derives from the 诗经 (Classic of Poetry), one of the Chinese ‘Five Classics’ dating back to the Zhou Dynasty and a core pillar of Confucian thinking, studied by scholars to this day. The common meanings of this word are “deep” or “crystal clear”. The phrase 湛清 (zhànqīng) is often used to describe a transparent personality or state of mind that is in its purest form, with no distractions or obscurities. The name is really perfect for Wangji, as the phrase 湛深 (zhànshēn) can be used to describe a person displaying profound knowledge and/or mastery of skills in a complex field. 精湛 (jingzhàn) also means to be deeply proficient and skilled at something, normally used to address masters and pioneers. Interestingly, 湛 has another pronunciation, dān, which means “happiness” or “indulgence”. A third, rarer way of pronouncing the word is chén, which means “to sink” or “to make extinct”. I think the multifaceted nature of the character 湛 perfectly embodies the deep and complicated being that resides within Wangji.

Birth name is rarely used by anyone other than close family members, teachers, and elders in the family, clan, or sect. Using it implies either a certain type of intimacy or a certain type of seniority over the person being spoken to. Side Note: The fact that Wei Wuxian addresses Lan Wangji as Lan Zhan so early on in their acquaintance would be considered rude.

Courtesy Name - Lan Wangji 忘機

Wangji 忘机 (wàngjī) – to be free of worldly concerns (a Daoist phrase) Wang 忘 means to forget. It may have negative connotations in English because it’s associated with a passive disease and loss of treasured memories. In Chinese, actively forgetting can also be a positive renunciation of worldly troubles, so the character is somewhat more romantic than an English speaker would assume. Ji 機 / 机 is typically used in common speech to refer to machines, mechanical things, opportunities, and worldly things that have many parts intricately connected with each other. In more metaphysical discussions, it implies the intertwined destinies and sophistication of the mundane. To forget the secular calculations and intricacies of the world is to live freely and without distractions; as an antonym of precision, it has heavy Taoist flavors because of its seclusive connotations.

There’s an interesting story behind Lan Wangji’s name. It comes from the last line of a poem by acclaimed Chinese poet Li Bai. The sentence reads “我醉君复乐 陶然共忘机” (wǒ zuì jūn fù lè, táo rán gòng wàng jī), which translates to “I become drunk and you’re merry; in our happiness we forget about all worldly matters”. In my mind, this scene perfectly brings to life Xianxian enjoying a jar of Emperor’s Smile with Wangji in the Cloud Recesses after his resurrection when he is no longer concerned with the vanities of the world. “Wangji” is a Taoist phrase that means “to hold oneself aloof from the world”. The direct translation is “to forget about worldly crafts”. Chinese fans often describe him as “一尘不染” (meaning not be soiled with even a particle of dust) and “不食人间烟火” (a Taoist phrase now used to describe a person who has otherworldly qualities, who does not associate himself with ordinary temporal matters).

The courtesy name, in The Untamed, is given early on. In many wuxia/xianxia novels, characters don’t receive their courtesy name until they are adults. This is a name friends, acquaintances, and peers (those of equal standing) use.

Title - Hanguang Jun 含光君

Hanguang Jun 含光君 (Hánguāng-jūn) 含 (hán) – to hold, to bring 光 (guāng) – light 君 (jūn) – honorific for a gentleman or man or noble character

Hanguang Jun is a title that praises Lan Zhan’s integrity. Jun 君 is a character (literally “lord”) with multiple meanings, but here it is attached to the end of a name to show respect. Wangji’s title directly translates to “noble bearer of light”. 含光 (hánguāng) is also the name of one of three of the most powerful swords in Chinese history/mythology, said to have been under the care of Shang Dynasty emperors. Its blade is described to be invisible, and a mortal cannot see it being wielded with their bare eyes. Later interpretations during the Warring States period described the three swords as symbolic stages of a person’s journey to finding the Taoist path, with Han Guang being the final stage of ‘preparedness to enter the Way’ (入道合体之状). The characters HanGuang 含光 separately and literally mean “hold/envelops light”, and in the novel, it is taken from a widely circulated legend about several of the main characters, which specifically goes like this about Lan Zhan: 景行含光藍忘機 (JingXing HanGuang Lan WangJi). The first two characters are taken from an ancient collection of poems, and describe a person of upright and faultless disposition. The next two characters, Han Guang, refer to a harboring of light. For me, it’s not the light part that’s interesting, but the state of harboring that defines the most significant cultural nuances. It is (or at least was) considered a form of virtue in China if you don’t flaunt your brightness in other people’s eyes; so the polite thing to do, if you’re brilliant as flames, is to shield that light so you aren’t so in-your-face about it.

The title is just what it says on the box. It is used to express respect, but also a certain amount of distance.  Side Note: The young disciples of the Gusu Lan call Lan Wangji Hanguang-Jun because it would be disrespectful for them to address him as Lan Wangji, as they are not of equal standing. When Wei Wuxian returns from the Burial Mounds, he addresses Lan Wangji as Hanguang-Jun because he wants to distance himself from their earlier intimacy to prevent being questioned about his methods. 

Extra thought:

I must give props to Lan Wangji’s actor Wang Yibo. Early reactions from the Chinese audience had some unfavorable reviews that criticized his lack of facial expressions, but later retracted their opinions, because they realized that he was actually doing a superb job with his eyes and his body, considering the limitations. The script gives him very few lines in most episodes. You can see how he looks directly at anyone in the eye unless he’s about to kill you, or (later on) if you’re Wei Ying. If you don’t know him well, he seems unconfrontational with those cold shielded eyes, but as soon as you step over the line (sometimes a line named Wei Ying), you’ll feel the sharpness of that fierce light in his eyes like a blade to your throat. Just ask Fairy the spiritual dog...

Author Note: I am not an expert in Chinese at all, English isn't my native language either - I hope everything is correct.

▷ MDZS Home Page

[ completed ; 17/07/2024]

★ ⁺. ໒꒰ྀི｡- ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა ˖⁺‧₊˚

[jannacalendar]

I've fished out a load of old Buffy novels from the attic and have stumbled across a bit of a Calendiles goldmine in How I Survived My Summer Vacation. It's a series of short stories set between the first and second seasons about the gang spending the summer slaying while Buffy is visiting her dad. I don't know how many of you own or have read these books, so the highlights include:

« Giles' heart skipped a beat when Jenny glided into the courtyard. »

Upon seeing Jenny, Giles starts reciting Byron’s She Walks in Beauty to himself. This goes: She walks in beauty, like the night / Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright / Meet in her aspect and her eyes…

Xander and Willow, across the short stories, taking it in turn to make little comments of varying degrees of discreetness about whether something is going on between the two of them. Willow enquires about whether Giles needs two tickets for an event because he's taking Ms. Calendar, while Xander is more blunt: « You two have been busy. Alone. Teacher’s in lust, I think. »

Giles being greatful Jenny hasn't disappeared on her « New Age be-in or whatever they were called these days » because he's enjoying getting closer to her.

« Her nearness was intoxicating and distracting. »

Giles gets injured and Jenny refuses to leave him despite all the vampires and the fire around them: « Her dark eyes were all he saw as thick smoke swirled around them both. ‘I love her… I cannot let her die.' »

Despite the Master's bones being stolen, Jenny's first priority is going to Giles in the hospital. She's also taking care of repairs and insurance claims at his apartment while he's admitted. When he's finally discharged they're holding hands.

Jenny and Giles decide to keep Willow and Xander out of harms way over the summer and take over slaying duties for themselves.

Giles has mixed feelings about this because, for as brave as Jenny may be, she's inexperienced and he is distracted by his feelings towards her. He wants to patrol alone to keep her out of danger, which Jenny does not take kindly too: « The macho look does not become you. »

Something appears. Jenny wants to split up and investigate. Giles doesn't. Jenny does anyway: « His brain said he should go left, complementing her action. His gut said he should protect Jenny at all costs. His brain never even stood a chance. »

They are dealing with a shapeshifter and Jenny, Giles, and Angel cannot trust each other. When a second Angel appears? « Instantly, Giles and Jenny moved closer together. »

Jenny tries (and succeeds) to get Giles to go to a fourth of July celebration with her.

« A corner of Jenny’s mouth lifted in a pretty smile, and despite himself, Rupert felt his resolve weakening. »

Giles is being cranky but is simultaneously unable to hide how happy he is to be spending the day with her.

Giles is so used to the Scoobies not caring about his research and ramblings that he is shocked that Jenny actually cares to listen to him.

« She was just so… delightful that sometimes he actually became speechless. »

Jenny calls Giles a stick in the mud then kisses him on the cheek. She later calls him handsome and kisses him.

Also the final story focuses on a travelling theatre troupe that go on murder sprees to match the plays they are putting on and I love that concept, what a fun idea to play with.

[dozenssporks]

*the video opens with Vash collapsed in the sand looking dry and withered. The camera is at ground level, indicating that the cameraman is probably also on the ground*

Vash speaks, his voice raspy: is this it, Wolfgang? is this how it all ends?

Wolfwood: it ends for you if you keep calling me by made-up names.

Vash: oh, Lobo Arbor, I think I can see the light . . .

Wolfwood: listen here you little brat I told you not to use my name in your little home movies but I didn't say you could just pick me a new one!

Vash: Ulf of the Jungle . . .

Wolfwood: okay that is it--

*the camera shakes as Wolfwood starts crawling toward Vash. Abruptly the image only shows sand, having been dropped mid-journey. Shrieking from off-screen can be heard*

*the video cuts to a new scene*

*Vash is still on the ground, somewhat more sandy, holding the phone above his face. Next to Vash's head Wolfwood's feet can be seen, his shoes also encrusted with sand*

Vash: guys, we're lost in the desert

Wolfwood: we sure are

Vash: this might be our last video, dear viewers

Wolfwood: I want to be cremated and have my ashes portioned up and dumped over the heads of all the people I hate

Vash: I'm not one of those, right?

Wolfwood: you're not that significant to me

Vash gasps: if the desert hadn't dried up my tears I would weep, Wolfgang. We're so horribly dried up . . . like raisins or sun-dried tomatoes . . . if only there were some landmark

Wolfwood: look again, one more time, spiky

*the camera raises up and slowly pans a wobbly path back and forth, showing empty blue skies and yellow sand. It flashes past something triangular, stops, and turns back. The blurred image focuses until the pyramids of Giza are clearly visible*

Vash: no way

Wolfwood: is that--?

Vash: it can't be! it's--!

*disregarding the pyramids the camera whips around and swiftly zooms in on a modern highway and clearly populated and thriving city. Everything blurs again when Vash staggers to his feet*

Vash: It's a pizza hut!

Wolfwood, simultaneously: It's a KFC!

*the camera turns back around to show Vash's overjoyed face and lingers there for a few seconds. Vash's face twists up and after a brief struggle he bursts into laughter*

Vash: just foolin'!

Wolfwood, also laughing: gotcha!

Vash: this video is for everyone who doesn't know that the best view of the pyramids is from a KFC and that even I couldn't get lost between the pyramids and the city!

Wolfwood, breathlessly: pfft, okay let's get some chicken

Vash: no? we're getting pizza hut?

Wolfwood: nooo we agreed on KFC

Vash: we did not, I never did

Wolfwood: yes we did, we're going to get some extra crispy

Vash: nuh uh

Wolfwood: mashed potatoes. biscuits.

Vash: pizza with everything on it!

Wolfwood: Bucket! Of! Chicken!

Vash: ranch-pineapple-BBQ-anchovie-jalapeno-mushroom-green onion-feta-asiago-buffalo--

Wolfwood: whoa jeez is that a pizza order or a curse?! K.F.C.

*Vash screeches and lunges at Wolfwood*

Wolfwood: Oh LORD!

*the camera, again abandoned, shows a beautifully clear image of the cloudless blue sky before the video cuts to black silence*

[windyboi101]

GOT AN IDEA!!!

Could you pretty pls write about reader who LOVES stargazing and they convinced V to come with them to stargaze?

and maybe v could fall asleep on reader too??

Sorry for the delay on this one. Also may or may not snuck some non-subtle Nuzi in there. Love this idea though. It got a lot longer than I expected, so I'm gonna post it on AO3 as well.

Wrote this as taking place post-episode 8, and reader is ambiguous in both gender and identity.

The sky was clear for the first time in weeks on Copper-9. Between the near ceaseless blizzards and recent confrontation with the Absolute Solver, the sky above the outpost was typically one filled with grey clouds that made the only light bouncing off the snow all the more dim. But tonight, it was the clearest you had ever seen. The ringed planet that reflected most of the light back down to Copper-9 was the most visible it had ever been, and the countless stars that peppered the sky shone down in a radiant display. It was beautiful, to put it simply. Peaceful. That peace was interrupted by the electronic cacophony of Sparky's shrieking, followed by V's annoyed yelling. "UGH! Forget it!" You looked down from your position on the secondary level of the roof. Lizzy was preoccupied with her phone (as per usual) and V was walking from her seat across from Sparky. She had just lost a match of chess to it, based on the flipped table and scattered pawns across the floor. Sparky let out another loud screech of triumph towards V as she walked away, only to be met with the tip of one of her bladed limbs. It recoiled and sat in silence, the message clear: "Shut up or I'll make you shut up."

You turned away to not be staring at V as she climbed the short distance between the raised flooring and where she had been seated, her peg-like legs 'clacking' with each step of the way. With a frustrated sigh, she sat herself next to you, legs curled (or rather arched) up against her frame as she looked up with you. "You alright?" you asked V, breaking a short moment of silence between you both as she seemed to be alerted back into reality, her eyes changing from their blank circles to one of brief surprise, then back to her usual half-lidded snarkiness.

"Totally. Definitely. Completely fine losing a game of chess to a brain-damaged DINOSAUR!" V shouted the last bit, leaning over the ledge towards Sparky, her let out a chuff of sounds in taunting. V looked about ready to pounce on it. "Hey! It's okay, he probably ate the pieces or something." you tried to joke, hoping to calm V down. Luckily, it seemed to work. V scoffed lightly, returning to her previous position as she looked up with you. "Yeah, probably."

The sky was still cloudless, and the only thing in the air other than the stars and planets were Uzi and N, flipping and dancing through the air with each other, hand-in-hand with one another. As they rose up from a deep dive towards the ground, you could've sworn you saw them kiss, but Uzi's organic wings shielded them both. "The lovebirds make you gag as much as me?" V asked, her tone one of joking, but you felt as if there was a hint of jealousy behind it.

"Not really." you replied. "I'm happy for them. It must be nice to have someone to lean against after all they went through." V's gaze shifted slightly downward. "Whatever." You felt a hint of guilt. She didn't exactly have the same leisure as the two drones in the sky did. J was still mostly absent since The Solver's defeat, but you and others at the colony had seen a singular Winged Drone flying through the skies around the outpost in the past few weeks. Uzi and N were basically tied at the hip, and Lizzy seemed more interested in texting on her phone than interacting with anyone.

"You know any of the constellations?" You asked her, trying to break up her negative train of thought. You pointed up at one particular cluster, and she shifted her gaze upward. V adjusted her position to be able to see where exactly you were pointing.

She squinted, the lights of her eyes narrowing to almost singular lines. "Um... not really. Most of the time I'm looking down from the sky, not up at it." She took the moment to bare one of her clawed hands, a villainous smile spread across her visage. "Prey doesn't go that high~"

Your expression shifted to one of nervousness, but V laughed, and her hand quickly changed back to the silicone digits she possessed. "Relax, I'm not gonna eat you. For now." She smirked, and you only shot back a sheepish smile.

You pointed back up at the same constellation, drawing invisible lines with your finger as V leaned against you once more. You pointed out all of the ones you could see. Lacerta, Draco, Ursa Minor and Major, Leo, and everything else you could make out between the skyscrapers of Copper-9. V had gone silent, and whenever you glanced over at her, she seemed transfixed on what you were saying. Her expression shifted at some point, you noticed, and it held a soft smile.

As you noticed another cluster of stars to point out, the slightest sound of breath stopped you from speaking. V was asleep, not the deep kind where it ran a program over their visor, but still one where she was unconscious. Her head lay against your shoulder, her eyes thin lines of light as you let her rest. It was a beautiful night, even if you didn't include the stars.

[kisses-soft-like-sunshine]

Acolytes - Part I;

Angst, Chan x fem!reader, Arcane AU, 2k words. Content warning: mention of alcohol/alcoholism. Hello~ this is my second fanfic, this time for Bang Chan! Hope you like it, it was fun writing on the Arcane universe :)

The first time you met was a mournful day. It was Summer, but the sky was low and pale over Piltover, grazing the highest skyscrapers with a quiet shroud. You were 11, the both of you. Your fathers were merchants who had built a name for themselves decades ago; one at the sail of a shipping company in Wharfside, the other conducting the clogs of Hexgates. They were brothers both in vigor and appetite, but time and work had drawn a bridge between them. If it weren’t for his mother’s death, you would have never met the heir to the Bang clan. His face was wet with tears when you were first introduced. Flushed and soft and awkward. You begged yourself to blink but your eyes could not bear to part with his. There was something so quietly sincere about his expression that took you all in. You held him in your arms before he had even said your name once. You became friends instantly. While you both committed to your duties as the son and daughter of big houses, it was those moments spent together in the stillness of your empty houses, tormenting nannies and butlers, laughing and screaming til your insides ached, free from everything but your true selves, that you held onto the most.

The first time you lost him was a cloudless day. It was winter, but the sun was beating in the sky like a beacon of hope, a reminder of the spring to come. You were 16, the both of you. You were desperately in love with him. Your father had rushed home with the burden of unrest when the massive clock in the hallway rang 12. The Bang Clan was no more. An arrest was made at the Docks with his father’s name in bold letters. Authorities were made aware of illicit deals made by his father and Zaunian chem-barons, in detriment of the Piltover Council. The man was to be sent to Stillwater Hold immediately. Your father said he knew nothing. You remember begging him to take in the boy but he would have none of it. A name that is soiled has no value in this home. This sentence would ring in your mind for years. You then made sure your value was always up to your name. You never saw or heard of the boy again. You had dreamt of him though. Of the late afternoons you would spend together laying in the grass, gazing at the clouds, musing about the future. But the sky always turned black in these dreams. You kept your head low and your parents proud. You graduated from the University at 24 and your father gained a seat at the Council shortly after. As your father’s reputation grew, so did your mother’s dependency on gin. A simple, lethal rhythm installed itself between the three of you, slowly but surely tearing your family apart. But the pristine facade stayed the same, your father made sure of it.

The second time you met, you were nothing of the children you once were. Your work at the Horological Institute was millions of years away from what you once dreamt, out there laying on the grass. All of your dreams had long turned to mud, stamped on by your hereditary obligations. But it allowed you to save up for your grand escape. Someday. Maybe… It had already been three years and a large sum of your savings had gone into bashfully covering up your mother’s expenses so your father wouldn’t find out. You still dreamt of the boy sometimes, but the blue skies were long gone. The grass was burnt and gray. The ground was cold and consuming. You could barely make out his face. All that was left was those eyes from 16 years ago. So quietly sincere. You would reach for him in these nightmares, but there was nothing but dirt where he laid.

The brightness of the sun brought you back to reality as the doors of the Institute closed behind you. Another day gone. The laughter of your coworkers faded as you joined a less busy road. The street was more of a back alley for the joint shops than an actual street, but the walk home was often the only time you had to yourself, to be truly yourself. You were lost in thoughts when a group of young men, 7 total, ran out of a jewelry store your mother was well accustomed with. Thieves. They were common, unfortunately. The undercity offered little options on which its inhabitants could survive. You heard a scream inside the store when one last robber made his way out, bumping into you on his way. A bag of shiny trinkets spilled on the floor in between you both. The thief leaned down to pick up his bounty. You did not move a finger, scared a knife would stroke your neck if you made yourself noticed. He was about your age but the years had worn him differently. His hair was a tousled mess of dark curls with a few blood red strikes. A scar cut through the softness of his full lips. His eyes met yours as he got up. So quietly sincere. You both froze at the realization. You could feel your heart shattering into millions of particles.

“Are you real?” you said.

“You saw nothing,” he answered.

His eyes hardened with gravity, but the flush on his cheeks was telling. It was him. The boy who haunted your nights. Christopher Bang. You didn’t even have time to answer before he was gone, the boots of officers strutting in your back signaling the urgency of his predicament. You spined around, not yet sure what to do. You had to help him this time. You rushed to a pile of beer cases and swinged in on the ground in a big, loud splatter. You bolted out of the alley as fast as you could, joining with the buzzing shopping district. Your breath was heavy in your throat and you could barely make out your surroundings. You prayed to the Gloriously Evolved your friend was safe. Your friend. He was alive. All this time, he was alive. The memories all came rushing in when you finally barged through the gates of your family estate. You let yourself drop on the sofa like a lifeless doll and fell asleep for what felt like hours when your father returned home, the familiar chime of his golden regalia waking you up. You dashed out of your seat, cleaning any dirt or wrinkle from your work uniform, and made your way to the living room. Your mother was yet again pouring herself a glass of gin. Her dizziness did not stop her from throwing a razor-sharp grin at your father. He did not even flicker and picked up his journal as he sat down at the table.

“Father,” you said, politely, although your mind was swirling like a storm.

“Ah, darling dearest! How was the Institute today?” he said as he opened the paper, not even looking at his obedient girl.

“Good, father. Same as usual.”

“Excellent!” he expected nothing less.

“May I speak with you?” you coily asked.

“Speak.” he said, with a calm but assertive tone.

“I would rather do so in your office, if you don’t mind,” you added.

“Speak, here,” he said, his eyes firing at yours.

“I… have a question.” Silence sat at the table along the three of you. Deadly silence. “You see, it’s about my friend… Christopher.”

Your father dropped his journal on the marbled top as an answer. You knew the lines not to cross and yet you carried on.

“I was wondering… what happened to him exactly? You said he left Piltover after what happened but –”

“I did. Isn’t that enough for you, child?” You could feel your inside curling.

“it’s just –” your mouth was dry with every word.

“Just what?” He kept on staring at you, daring you to defy his authority.

“I… I was wondering if you knew anything else about what happened back then with his father –”

“Anything else?” he said, standing up straight. “Why would I know anything else and keep it from you?” He was mad. Your mother chuckled at the ice cubes in her glass.

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” You were shrinking on yourself at every word he said.

“Well, you should know this.” He sat back and picked up his paper again. “I don’t have time for such silly, wistful questions, Y/N.” Your mother got up best she could to supply herself another drink.

“I know. I’m sorry.” You held back your tears and excused yourself to your room but discreetly made your way up to your father’s office instead.

He was hiding something from you and your mother knew what. You couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the eerie hunch that whatever it was, it was the very source of your family’s fractured state. Something always felt off about this whole affair, but you were young when everything happened and there is nothing you could have done. Nothing your father would have let you do.You started opening random file drawers, not sure exactly what to look for. You moved to his desk and found a small drawer with a lock. You knew your father kept the key in plain sight as his control on your mother and you was usually enough to keep you out of his business. You went to fetch it out of a vase of dry flowers your mother had placed on the cheminee mantle when footsteps slowly crept up. You hid behind the door as it opened on you. Your parents made their way in, still fighting over a conversation your curiosity had provoked.

“If it wasn’t for you, none of this would have happened,” your father scolded your mother but it felt as if it was you on the receiving end.

“I never asked for this,” she answered, her voice stinging with the blade of alcohol.

“Oh, did you?” Your father’s teeth were locked with rage as he rummaged through the vase. You stopped breathing while you were still in his field of view. You heard him open the small drawer and pull out something.

“You kept the letter?” Your mother giggled.

“I did. As a reminder. To you and me both, my dear.”

You heard what seemed like paper being unfolded.

“Stop it,” your mother pleaded.

Your father started reading the letter. It was addressed to your mother in flowery words of love you had never heard out of your father’s mouth.

“– signed, yours forever, Bang.” your father finished.

“Are you happy now?” your mother asked the both of you.

You heard your father tearing the letter to pieces.

“I’ve had enough of this… story of yours.”

He bolted out of the room. Your mother waited for his footsteps to fade to finally talk to you directly. She did not even pull the door away from you.

“Now you know what happened, my sweet girl.” She said. “Whatever you do, do not make the same mistake as I did.” You wondered if she meant crossing your father or getting caught. She was once a bold young thing, or so you had heard.

She left and you let yourself breathe at last. You swiftly climbed up to your bedroom and locked the door behind you. You cried and cried and cried until your body was too tired to stay awake. You woke with the morning birds, still wearing your uniform. You got up and took a brief shower. Your mind was foggy. Everything you once knew had shifted. You had no idea what to do, but one thing was certain: you had to leave this place. You had to find Christopher.

[iii-of-ender]

and I don't wanna go home (please, hurry, leave me)

a lil smth for the riptide oc pirate crews!!! a little backstory piece for my oc rue and @unkandily’s naiya :]

(mild gore warning for some imagery i use!!!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The woods are as it always is at night. The crickets chirp and the night-birds coo, mice darting through the underbrush. The clink of his armor and the crunch of leaves under his boots joins the chorus, sending the little creatures beneath her feet skittering away.

The moonlight pours through the trees soon enough, sparkling across the sea. Rue steps from the treeline, breathing in the salty sea breeze, and lowers their gaze to the ledge that overhangs the rolling blue waves. And - there she is.

She sits hunched against a fallen log, legs lowering from their chest as she shifts. Her gaze stays forward, as always, and Rue mulls over the words on their tongue. He moves his hand to his hip, fingers brushing over the wilting petals of a hydrangea. She should announce herself first, as proper, before they approach, even though he knows they have already heard him. He opens his mouth, but snaps it shut just as quick at the sound of a sniffle.

Naiya jerks her head down, fist swiping across her eyes far too aggressively to be subtle. Rue’s step falters, and they stop just behind her. She watches Naiya breathe slow and long, the stuffy inhale and exhale, over and over and over, until—

“Why?” Her voice is quiet, nothing more than a whisper. Rue doesn’t know what they’re asking. Naiya’s fingers curl, nails scraping up the grass under their hands. He considers the safety of normalcy, of a diversion, of I found out what that flower was, but then her head turns to them.

Their eyes are blue like cloudless skies and forget-me-nots, pale and foggy over the iris. She blinks fast, as if to see around the forming tears, and presses their fisted knuckles to ground. Her voice is rough, and it’s loud, louder than usual, “Why?”

Rue bites her tongue until she tastes blood and swallows it down. Naiya’s gaze settles directly on their face, empty and accusing, and it makes his skin itchy. She picks at her fingers until they’re covered in strips of dead skin, but the crawling beneath rests steady with the heavy silence. 

Naiya stares and stares and stares, shoulders trembling, and then it breaks. Her head tilts away and their breath comes wet and gasping, hands scrubbing and clawing at their face. Beside her, Jett circles her in laps, body pressed to her side. His dark eyes dart to the side, with something like expectation, and Rue’s legs feel shaky as she takes a step closer.

“Why do you do this to me?” Naiya asks, watery and wavering and rising, throat catching on the words as she yells, “Every fucking time. You come here and-and-”

Her voice cracks and she gasps around a hiccup, pausing to rub her eyes. She’s still pretty when she cries, with skin glowing and her expression pleasing even when twisted and scrunched. Rue wishes that she wasn’t, wishes that they would be blotchy and snotty and unpleasant, because ugly things are something he doesn’t have to worry about breaking, about keeping safe, about taking home to the glass case.

“Why do you pretend to care?” Their voice is lower now, but there’s something so angry and burning in it that it makes Rue falter. “Why even tell me there's good in the world if you can't show me it?”

 “Why do this for them?” Her breathing is getting shakier, heavy and whistling through her teeth around the inhale. Rue swallows hard and watches the shadows bend and writhe, gray mass twisting until it's something with a face and hands. It settles before Naiya and stretches, fingers ghosting over her arms and shoulders, and they gasp in response, wheezing over a hiccup. “W-what have they ever done for you?"

Rue breathes and lowers themself to sit and stares as Naiya chokes out a sob and presses her forehead to her knees. “Why do you act like the only friend I've ever had and then drag me back to the one, the one fucking place I never want to see again?”

Dark eyes bore into him from over their shoulder, its gray figure shifting and fuzzy. It snarls at him with his own face. Fuck you, it mouths, I hate you I hate you I hate you. Rue closes her eyes and tangles her fingers in the grass, pressing down until the rocks scrape their knuckles and there is dirt under their fingernails. 

“Please,” Rue whispers. Please don’t ask me. Please don’t look at me. Please, I don’t know. Their heart stutters in their chest, and they press two fingers against it and consider finally ripping the damn thing out. She could dig it out from under her ribs, place it pulsing and bloody on a platter. He could hand it over with the fluid and membrane and say I’m sorry. I don’t have the thing you want. Can this fix it? 

Naiya whines some sad little sound, and Rue can’t bring himself to look at her as her cries get louder and harsher, tearing themselves from her throat. He waits, and waits and waits and waits, until, finally, Naiya wipes their eyes and lowers their knees, shoulders sinking and hunching with something like defeat. 

Jett crawls into their lap, curling against her stomach, and he purrs as she runs her fingers across his back. She doesn’t look Rue’s way when they look at her, but they see the tears still trickling down, even as her lips press together and she goes silent.

It takes a long moment for Rue to find their words, scraping away the desperation from their tongue to force out a sentence. “Can I take you back?”

Naiya’s breath hitches, but they nod, tucking their hands under Jett’s belly as they stand. The catfish bumps his head to the underside of her chin, and Rue swallows hard and turns away. He drums his palm against the belt at his hip, a steady thump thump thump, and they don’t bother glancing back until they reach the looming silhouette of her father’s estate.

Naiya says nothing as they brush past her through the door, letting Jett jump from their arms so he can lead her into the house. Rue skims his fingers over dying petals, and she waits until they are out of sight before she shuts the door and pulls the stem from her belt.

They twirl it between their fingers as they walk through the streets, watching the brown and purple spin and spin. The stem leaks as it breaks, but he holds it steady and breathes it in. She imagines speaking earlier, turning around and grabbing her wrist, spitting out the words that had lodged in her throat - It’s hydrangea. They say it means understanding, and the purple is for royalty. 

But he hates fantasizing, and it doesn’t matter what they would have said, because the past is the past and it is how it is, and they never will turn back. So she lowers her hand and drops the flower in the grass, and she doesn’t look back as she walks home.

[personaje-fics]

For @merlinmicrofic. Prompt "Sunlight."

Arthur/Lancelot, Gen, No Warnings. AO3.

---

“Report,” his Lady commands, her voice severe.

Lancelot had his head down in a bow, but even when he looks up, he does not meet her eyes. Instead, he focuses on the way her black hair cascades messily over her shoulders, her dark dress, the way her skin glints even paler under the moonlight. She is so different from her brother.

Report. Lancelot tells her everything she had tasked him to investigate. Schedules, guard rotations, supplies, numbers. All he has learned in his few months as a knight of King Arthur.

He doesn’t mention the late nights spent at the King’s chambers, though. The wine they have drank together in front of the hearth, a fuzzy feeling in their limbs. The conversations about the past, about the future. The way his eyes would linger on the King’s lips just one moment too long, and the King would notice, and do the same, and neither of them would say anything about it.

He tells her the King had made alliances with the northern bordering kingdoms. They had all offered a marriage to strengthen their ties. He had rejected them all.

He doesn’t mention how the King would always choose him for training when he needed to demonstrate something. That he would often praise Lancelot for his abilities in front of the other knights, and that made something flutter in his stomach every time. When they parried and fought, face to face, body against body, that flutter would come back intensified. Lancelot always loses to him, every single time, but it never feels like a defeat.

He tells her on his last mission the King fractured his sword arm. He started training himself and his knights to fight with the left one. But he is still recovering, disadvantaged in battle.

He doesn’t mention the times they have gone out to the forest together, just the two of them, when the weather allowed and the skies were clear. They would hunt for something, the thrill of the track and the chase pulling them towards each other. Or, at least, that’s how he has grown to justify their closeness on those occasions. Afterwards, they would sit under a tree or swim in a river, cooling off on the outside but not on the inside.

He tells her the King is still looking for her. He keeps giving the same reasons, but Lancelot suspects there might be something else to the incessant hunt.

He doesn’t tell her the way the sunlight hits his hair, it makes it glow as if the sun itself was crowning him the rightful king of the land. The way his eyes shine the colour of a cloudless summer sky. The way his skin is always warm, and whenever they touch Lancelot keeps craving for more. The emotions that surge in his stomach when he kneels in front of him. The certainty with which he knows he was born to serve him.

No, she didn’t ask, she doesn’t need to know.

[lilacliquors]

pairing: bi-han (mk1) x reader

word count: 1092

notes: on the fourth day of ficmas, lilacliquors gave to me ... bi-han giving his partner what they've always dreamed!

it had been years since your last white christmas. in fact, you couldn't remember the last time there was snow on the holiday. the past few years, it had been too warm for snow, and while you still enjoyed the holiday, it was pretty clear you missed the chill and the beauty of snow.

you missed the way lights twinkled as snowflakes drifted down, the way the world felt quiet and still. You longed for the days where you could go out and walk, the snowflakes catching in your hair while you felt like you were in a perfectly timed music video or scene from a christmas movie. it was the little things, and your husband knew this.

bi-han had always been an attentive lover. he knew every little thing about you, and even when you swore he wasn’t paying attention, he was listening. but this time, you didn’t need to say a word. he saw the way you gazed up at the blue cloudless skies, a brief look of disappointment on your face, or how your eyes lit up on chilly, gray days, when the air smelled like it could snow any minute, but it never came. and this year, he didn’t want to see the hope flicker from your face again. he didn’t think he could stand it. he loved to see your smile, hear your laugh, see that sparkle in your eye.

he was going to bring you a white christmas.

you knew he had control over ice, and you knew he was a master cryomancer. but never did you ask him to try anything. you didn’t want to be selfish, or make him think you saw his abilities as something to take advantage of. sure, if you had a fever, he was right beside you, using a hand to keep your face cool, but he did that on his own. he was already generous enough, you never wanted to push it.

on christmas eve, you were busy making sure everything was set for the next day. you would be hosting his brothers and their families, a new tradition since their reconciliation, and you couldn’t wait to see everyone. just like the previous year, the skies were gray, and there was a smell of snow in the air, but you didn’t dare get your hopes up. as you were washing your nice dishes, bi-han came into the kitchen, and he wrapped his arms around you from behind.

“you should take a break,” he murmured, his deep voice comforting to your ears.

“in a little bit. i have a few more plates to clean. i can’t wait to see everyone again. we haven’t seen kauai liang and harumi since their daughter was born,” you replied.

“and i hear she’s doing well. finally sleeping through the night.”

you laughed and leaned against him, tilting your head to kiss his jaw gently. he smiled, a sight you had always adored, and you felt him squeeze you as he kissed the back of your head.

“don’t stay up too late, my love. i miss you when you’re not beside me,” he mumbled against your hair. then he let go, and you heard him retreat to your bedroom. you felt warmer than ever, and the smile on your face was radiant. he had always been so affectionate with you, the exact opposite of the chilly demeanor he held with almost everyone else. and you felt honored to see this side of him.

not long after, you were soon settled in bed beside him, the room dark aside from the faint glow of the lights that decked your home. you were in his arms, gazing outside, and he heard a soft sigh leave your lips.

“is everything all right?” you heard him whisper.

“mhm. i just wish it would snow, that’s all. i’d love to have just one more white christmas, like the ones i used to know,” you whispered back.

“perhaps one day, my love. the world is full of surprises.”

“that it is. well, i won’t hold my breath. anyways, good night, my darling,” you murmured, closing your eyes with a hum. you felt his lips on the top of your head, and you smiled softly, hearing him whisper a ‘good night’ back before you dozed off.

the following morning, you woke up alone in your bed. and something felt … different. you blinked a few times as you sat up, rubbing your eyes, and you noticed that the window was strangely fogged up. you got up from bed and felt a chill in the air, so you grabbed your robe and slipped it on. you walked to the window, and when you peered outside, you gasped audibly and covered your mouth with your hand.

outside was covered in a blanket of pure white snow, with some still falling gently as your lights outside glimmered. it was white as far as the eye could see, and you felt tears welling in your eyes. this was no work of nature, it couldn’t have been. everything was just too perfect. it was only when you felt a pair of cold hands on your shoulders did it finally all connect in your mind.

“merry christmas, angel,” bi-han whispered, and you turned to face him, a smile on your lips, though your bottom lip trembled.

“bi-han, did you—?”

“of course. you’ve been deprived of a simple pleasure for far too long. so why wouldn’t i provide it for you?”

you wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug, and you felt him squeeze you back, holding you close to his body. you sniffled quietly, and his hand rubbed soothing circles into your back.

“you have no idea how much this means to me,” you whispered, and you felt his chest vibrate as he hummed.

“perhaps not. but i know it makes you happy, and that’s what makes it all worth it. shall we go and enjoy it for a bit before we exchange gifts?” he asked, and you looked up at him with a warm smile.

“nothing would make me happier. but this is a gift enough. nothing i give you could ever compare,” you said softly.

“my love, you are the greatest gift i could ever receive, and i would move mountains to see you this happy. now, let’s go enjoy ourselves before the day gets away from us.”

he took your hand, and you followed him out into the winter wonderland you’d been dreaming of for so long, feeling lighter than you ever had.

[areyoudreaminof]

ACOTAR GIFT EXCHANGE

Beyond: a Helion x LoA fic for @spell-cleavers

For the @acotargiftexchange I was thrilled to write this fic for @spell-cleavers who just so happens to be one of my very favorite people. Getting to know her over the course of this year has been such a joy, so I wanted to writer her something special. And by special, I mean I wrote my first ever smut scene. Can you believe?? Special thanks to @iambutmortal and @rosanna-writer for the beta help, and @separatist-apologist for allowing me to have a fun little cameo.

The Lady of Autumn has agreed to come live at the Autumn Court, though seems hesitant. Can Helion convince her that she belongs at his side?

And here's a little playlist!

She shines me up like gold on my arm I wanna take it slow but it's so hard I love to see her face in daylight It's more than just our bodies at night

Do you think I'm being foolish if I don't rush in?

Beyond-Leon Bridges

MORNING: 

Helion Spell-Cleaver was feeling a bit unhinged. It wasn’t a surprise, since he had been looking forward to this for centuries. But still, he was teetering on the edge of his sanity. 

It couldn’t have been a more perfect day, though. The sun rose over the Day Court, cloudless skies stretching from the far valleys and hills in the east to the rocky coast and the city of Naxopolis. Groves of orange and fig trees surrounded the sandstone palace, brushing up against its white pillars and walls. The smells of citrus and trees were deepened by the warmth from the sun and a cool breeze from the turquoise sea. From the balcony, Helion watched the early morning sunlight reflect off the waves like small golden flecks. The room was peacefully quiet and open. Helion was certain when he had chosen the large and spacious suite, she would love it. 

Now, he wasn’t so sure. 

She had never seen the sea, she had told him once, many, many years ago, when they had only met under cover of darkness in the far corners of the Autumn lands. He chose the large wing of rooms as soon as she had agreed to move to the Day Court. Helion wanted a fresh start for them both. 

They had each other again. They had their son, Lucien, who had agreed to stay too. Though, Helion would admit only to himself that he wasn’t letting his son and his mate out of his sight again. Never again would Thérèse be stuck in Autumn, never again would she be under anyone’s control. The members of his court were thrilled when he had found Lucien, and they were equally as thrilled when Helion announced his mate would finally come home. 

But as he heard the soft cries of morning gulls, and the city coming to life below him, Helion’s doubts slithered back into his mind. 

Will she even like it here? Will she ask Eris to take her back? She left once. 

Yes, but that was to save us, and to save our son.  Helion reminded himself as he took steadying breaths to calm his speeding heart. And I am not that monster. I will never force her. I am at her service. 

A soft knock at the door brought him back to the morning. Costis, his butler, entered with a soft robe of linen in his arms. The satyr’s hooves clicked sharply on the tile, as he draped the ivory fabric chiton across a chair. 

“Good Morning, my Lord. We’ve received word from Velaris, and the Lady Thérèse will be arriving with your son and his mate promptly at eleven o’clock.” Costis announced, crossing the room to bow. “Her personal items will be sent here. 

Helion nodded once, quickly attempting to clear his mind. “Is everything else in order?” 

“Yes, your Grace. The food is being prepared as well as the smaller dining balcony in the northwest wing. Nothing much is happening in the city, and The Magus has predicted fine weather for today. Perfect to show Lady Thérèse her new home,” the satyr said as he removed the sleeping robe from Helion’s shoulders. “I can send up for breakfast, unless you prefer to wait.” 

“I’ll wait, thank you,” Helion said. He hardly had an appetite anyway. 

Costis began to dress Helion, expertly wrapping the toga around him. The soft mix of linen and cotton promised a warmer day, the fabric hitting just above his knees. Enough to tempt, but not enough to scandalize. As Costis fetched his sandals, Helion removed the silk wrap from his head, satisfied that his hair still looked perfect. He had removed the ornaments from his locs for the occasion, instead opting for a small golden thread woven throughout his hair, tying it back with a leather strap. Helion placed a golden sun band on each bicep, cuffs on his wrists, and the small bronze ring Thérèse had given him five centuries ago. Striding to the mirror, Helion took in his reflection. He wore no crown, his toga was simple, and he was unadorned. He looked like the same male that went to the Equinox ball all those centuries ago. 

The sharp clang of steel and bronze bells from the Magus’s tower rang, indicating it was half past ten. Helion straightened and took a deep breath. He had been planning this day for weeks, no, centuries. He was ready. “Costis, remind me of the possible itinerary I had drawn up.” 

READ THE REST ON AO3

[kenphobia]

Hey hey neighbour!

Can I request a angst/comfort howdy or Frank/Eddie x reader?

Kinda want to sob over this puppets.

The reader is from our world and such, but sometimes reader can feel someone staring at their back. But once the reader is left alone Home decides to drag reader in and lock them up? Maybe some also decides to Injure the readeralot

But thank u for writing this! (If u do-)

DISCO DISSOCIATION!

"let the maze of my design carry you on."

summary. frank decides to take his two beloveds on a picnic date! what could go wrong? (oneshot / 1.9k wc / read end notes)

contents. unreality, mentions of dissociation, implied mind-control, accidental gaslighting, local gay entomologist and butterfly enthusiast gets fucked over by a living house. ( n//fw blogs dni )

"(Name), hold on!"

"Try and catch me, sucker!"

Eddie huffed, panting as he fell on the grass, his knees hit the ground with a soft thud. Atop the hill, (Name) stood proudly and grinning before taking a moment to blow a raspberry at the poor and tired mailman.

Frank smiled at the sight, their gaze diverting from their book and to their two lovers as they got closer and closer to them. It was a strange situation they had gotten into, but they were happy with what they got.

(Name) wasn't exactly like them, not like Eddie or anyone in town in fact. Though, they look similar to Wally and Julie, they oozed red substance instead of stuffing and their skin wasn't as soft and fuzzy as the rest. Various parts of them still continue to grow despite being an adult and their way of eating is ... strange to say the least.

But Frank doesn't mind it all. Sure, it was weird, seeing someone who looks like them but is more alike with a banana than anything, but they loved (Name) and couldn't resist falling for them. Eddie couldn't help it too, so they're not the only one.

Right now, they were having a picnic. Or at least, Frank's setting one up whilst Eddie get his revenge on (Name) with a tickle fight and (Name) was very much losing.

"Okay, okay! You win, I'm done so ple, he— PLEASE!" (Name) coughed, heaving as they try to swat away Eddie's wiggling fingers. "LET ME GO!!"

"Not after I did this!" Eddie laughed. He (Name) by their waist and pulled them down on his lap before attacking their face with kisses. Subtle orange smudges covered their face like a glaze over a masterpiece of a painting.

(Name) whined, "You got your kisses, let me go now! I might have flatten your legs."

Eddie planted a final kiss on the lips and buried his face in the crook of their neck. He held their hand within his and left a kiss of orange on an obvious spot, it looked brighter than the light pecks on (Name)'s face.

"Eddie!" (Name) shouted, catching Frank's attention who had been adjusting how the basket sits in the middle of the plaid red blanket.

The puppet only laughed in response, unwrapping his arms around (Name)'s waist. They got up, brushed their clothing off and clear of any dust and turned. Eddie's legs were, yes, flattened, but he easily shaped them back to normal and only wobbled slightly when he stood up.

"See? I'm perfectly fine! Nothing to worry about, love." Eddie ruffled their hair, smiling without a care in the world.

'But still though..."

Frank rolled their eyes playfully and beckoned Eddie and (Name) to come close with his hand. "Come on, you two. Let's eat, so you two can get back to goofing around."

(Name) and Eddie hurriedly ran to where Frank stood and finally start their picnic. Just before the hills were long, drawled out fields of plain grass and the blue, cloudless skies made their picnic more peaceful than ever.

Still, no matter how relaxing and wonderful the entire situation is, Frank couldn't shake off a weird, jittery feeling. Like something was wrong and that picnic was only the calm before the storm. In truth, they had planned this picnic because something was wrong with their lovers, especially (Name), though they hid under the impression of 'needing some bonding time together'.

Frank turned to look at Eddie who seemed well enough, even smiling more widely than usual and enjoying himself in general. Yet, when they turned to (Name), they were ... distracted. Their face held a look of lost, confusion, of distortion, and their eyes were blank and heavily clouded with an unknown feeling.

They always been liked this, always dissociating suddenly on the spot. Frank would understand, they do it too but not like the way (Name) does it. They sit there blankly, as if they just stopped working, living and was nothing more than a husk of they were before. The lights in their head had switched off that very moment and no one was there to respond.

Frank tried their best to listen throughout Eddie's long, tall tales, but they couldn't help looking over to (Name). They seemed to be somewhat listening too, nodding or shaking his head whenever Eddie asked them a question. The larger puppet didn't seem to notice the distant look in their eyes.

When grey took over the sky, they immediately packed up and ran back to the neighborhood as fast they could. And ran they did, arriving at Frank's place dry and safe from the curling thunders and the pouring rain.

As Eddie flopped down on the sofa, feeling awfully tired and parched from all of his long rambling, Frank quickly went to the kitchen to fetch him a glass.

They leaned down, placing a gentle hand on Eddie's shoulder and kissing his forehead. "You stay here and rest up while I get you something to drink, okay?" Frank whispered to his ear, to which Eddie mumbled a 'Thanks, Frankie' and smiled lazily.

"Do you need anything, (Name)?" Frank turned to their other lover who stood closely by the window, a little too close form how they were pressing their forehead on the glass. Frank furrowed their brows at this, worry rattling their mind once again. "...(Name)?"

Something in (Name) snapped, like a rubber band being let loose after being stretched for so long. They turned, still distracted as ever but now they look more alive than they were back at the picnic. "Y-Yes?"

"Do you want anything? Water? Something to eat?" Frank asked, walking up to them and reaching out for their hands, yet (Name) hid them behind their back and stepped back.

The human (as they like to call themself) shook their head, almost violently before offering a gentle, reassuring smile to Frank. "No... No, I'm fine. Thank you, Frank."

Depsite their words, Frank remained unsure but they didn't want to make them uncomfortable, so they nodded and smiled back in hopes to smooth out the strange tensity in the air. "Right, um, I'll be in the kitchen if you need me. Rest up, (Name)."

And so, Frank went to the kitchen, fixing up a glass of water for Eddie and coming back just as quick as they came in. But when they did, (Name) was gone and only Eddie remained on the couch, unmoving from the position Frank and left him in.

Frank frowned and handed Eddie his water. "Hey, Eds?"

The tired puppet hummed, taking a sip from his glass and glanced up to Frank. "Yeah?"

"Where's..." Frank looked around, checking for any sign of (Name) going to the bathroom or to their shared bedroom but uncovered nothing. They took a deep breath in. "Where's (Name)? They were here a while ago."

"(Name)? I thought they were with you?" Eddie raised his brow. He had completely drank all up the water and put it down on the coffee table, seemingly alarmed at Frank's sudden question.

"No, they weren't." Frank turned to the front door, walked up to it in a matter of seconds and went to unlock it. But it always been unlocked, from the moment Frank had touched the knob and the door opened with little to no difficulty, they knew something was wrong.

"...Frank?" Eddie called out from the living room. "Frank, what's wrong?" He had called out again, his tone growing persistently worried and sick.

Through the darkness of the night and storm, Frank could see a familiar silhouette stuck out in the middle of it all. A silhouette so familiar but so strange at the same time that Frank felt a strange feeling of falling, of dizziness, of vertigo.

And it felt sick.

"Frank? Frank! W-Where are you? Where's (N-Name)?" Eddie's voice grew farther and farther, and the warmth, the lights of Frank's home suddenly went out on itself. All they could see, feel and hear was nothing but a cold, bleak darkness and a buzzing noise that Frank soon learned to be TV static.

They also learned the figure was no other than (Name). Drenched in rain water, from head to toe, and looked more rugged than usual. They moved, walked and turned like a broken down marionette being dragged through the streets.

Frank couldn't move nor speak, they could only stand there as their beloved (Name), the bright and always sunny (Name) Eddie and they love, walk towards the very center of the neighborhood: Wally's home. Just Home.

They got closer and closer, and of course, Home opened a door for them. Frank wanted to scream, to shout and warn their lover to stay away from the wretched home that always looked and smelled too off for their liking, the very home that (Name) kept looking and staring each and every night.

But they can't, so they watched as (Name) went in and the door very, very slowly closed on them. Home looked at Frank with an almost mocking, hungry glint in its eyes before the lights finally reached Frank and warmth flooded their senses once again.

"Frankie, is there anything wrong?" Frank flinched slightly under Eddie's sudden hug, feeling his arms firmly but gently over their shoulders and the sudden weight of Eddie's head. "You suddenly got up and left..."

"G-Got up what now-?" Frank looked down, seeing they were dressed up in their sleeping gown and held a small, lit candle in their hands, providing as the only light within the dim hallway. "I— I saw (Name)! They went inside home a-and—!"

"Frank, calm down." Eddie squeezed their shoulders. His forehead creased as he frowned, Frank could sense worry and confusion all over their husband's face. "You're not making sense, what you do mean—?"

"(Name), Our lover! They went out into the rain, a-and Home got them. Don't you remember them?!" Frank hurriedly cut off Eddie, a sudden urge of energy spiked through them as the cold brushes against their soft, fleece skin.

Eddie's brows only furrowed further, the confusion in his eyes intensified. "Frank, I don't think we had another lover. I— Frank, are you okay? Have you been getting enough sleep?"

"Wha— Eddie, you know (Name). They were the new neighbor, we've been dating them for months already, don't you know?" Frank tried again, the accursed seeds of dread and fear began spreading through their gut as they prayed to any and every listening god out there for this entire night not to be true. That everything was just a bad dream.

Eddie shook Frank in his arms, his hold tighter and firmer than before. And though, Eddie had tried to still be gentle with the shorter puppet, Frank couldn't help but feel trapped, suffocated from just being in Eddie's hold. "Frank, we never had a new neighbor named (Name), we never had another lover. I— Are you sure you're okay? Are you sure that you're getting enough sleep?"

"Eddie, I—"

"Come on. Let's go to bed, okay? We can... We can talk about this tomorrow morning, does that sound okay with you?" Eddie smiled, his gaze has softened. The front door closed on them as Eddie led Frank to their bedroom, his grasp was less firm and his hand kneaded and rubbed circles on their back.

Frank simply nodded, exhaustion hitting them faster than they realized. They sluggishly nodded, their arms dropping to their sides in an instant. "Yeah, let's... Let's go to sleep." They agreed tiredly, looking back for a final time to only see a large, dark eye staring at them from the window.

notes. so uh i did not see the hurt/comfort part but have this anon. i am sorry but no sorry because this is now one of my favorite fics.... hh kind of, i hated how i writed the first part of the fic and the end hshshshs AAA

but yeah, i love stealing characters' loved ones from them and writing their soul-crushing, nerve-popping, silly-goosing angst and trauma <333 (i am self projecting)

again, my inbox are always open for any requests or mindless chatter!! and any support is appreciated :]]

[ddarker-dreams]

Meet The Parents II. 🎀

Giorno x F Reader / Narancia x F Reader. Commissioned piece.

Word count: 3.3k. Note: Dialogue in italics is meant to represent words spoken in English !! [Scarlet Ribbons Index]

It’s the type of day a tourist couldn’t be happier with. Cloudless baby blue skies, nonexistent humidity, and a light northern breeze to cool the skin.

Giorno Giovanna thinks that the timing for such weather couldn’t have been better. Given your current frazzled condition, entertaining your two special guests from overseas is made easier by the outdoors' availability. The young Don fears you’d stress yourself into an early grave otherwise. You said you’re going to dazzle and distract your parents with Napoli’s beauty, so as not to allow any downtime.

Downtime means more intimate conversations. Apparently, this is a risk you don’t want to take, hence your current tour guide persona.

“Is she still looking out the window?” Giorno queries your Stand, who has taken to floating around dejectedly. In an attempt to soothe your nerves, Scarlet Ribbons tried braiding your hair, an effort met with reproach. While you normally let your Stand amuse itself by fashioning your hair into innumerable styles, you claimed ‘you have a strict image to maintain and can’t go around looking like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz.’

Your Stand nods in affirmation at Giorno’s question.

“Did she at least put the binoculars down?”

This time, a shake of the head.

Hurried footsteps echo against the tile of Giorno’s villa, footsteps that can only belong to you, as he’s dismissed the few employees trusted with the home’s upkeep for the day. Your Stand fades away, apparently still in low spirits from your earlier altercation. You round the corner and sigh in relief upon spotting Giorno.

“They’re returning from their walk,” you have a distinct pleasure in confirming. “We’ve almost made it through this harrowing trial.”

Giorno disguises a chuckle by clearing his throat. “Has it been that cumbersome? You look like you’re in your element to me.”

“Yeah, if my element is ‘ungodly distress’. I think I’ll need a therapist when this is all said and done.”

“I’ll see that it’s arranged.”

Giorno’s attempts at soothing your nerves are fruitful. It’s strange, this switch in roles. You were usually the one who made a point of uplifting the spirits of others. While Giorno’s more reserved nature doesn’t lend well to making you burst into hysterics like Mista or Narancia can, he fills another role. One that is specially carved out in his shape, unable to be occupied by another.

He is the best at getting a read on you. Though he’d never admit it aloud, he takes pride in the fact. The others may have known you longer, but he catches the nuances they’re blind to.

For instance, he sees the genuine sprouts of concern hiding beneath your typical display of theatrics. You’ve gone to great lengths to hide your involvement with Italy’s underbelly. This false impression, meticulously crafted, could shatter like glass at the slightest pressure. Doing so would undoubtedly break something inside you too.

Giorno refuses to let that happen. Not when you’ve become so integral in his life, that he can scarcely remember a time when you weren’t around.

He trails not far behind as you run to greet your parents. Their faces light up the second they spot you — he can’t blame them. Before he enters the conversation, he recalls the words spoken by Bucciarati many years ago on his first trip to Libeccio.

“The others might give you a hard time at first, but try not to hold it against them. That’s just their way of getting to know you,” Bruno trailed off. Then his lips quirked into a fond smile. “However, you don’t need to worry about that with [First]. She’ll make you feel like you’ve known one another your entire lives within minutes.”

It was exactly as Bruno foretold.

“GioGio, my mom and dad want to thank you for your ‘cousin’s’ hospitality,” you call over to him.

Giorno wasn’t sure if he should be concerned or impressed by how quickly you crafted a lie to explain away his opulent residence. For safety’s sake, Giorno thought it best if he met your parents privately, away from the prying eyes that came as a consequence of being Passione’s boss. Thus came the tale that his Posillipo estate actually belonged to some rich cousin who felt gracious enough to lend it to him for a few hours.

Your worldbuilding went beyond that, but that captures the essence of things. He admires your tenacity.

His appearance in the backyard where your family unit has huddled together is met with a chorus of accented ‘grazies’.

“Woah, that was pretty solid,” you give an approving look. “Have you been practicing that?”

“I read on a pamphlet that we should know how to at least say hi, yes, no, and thank you,” your mom confirms.

“Still can’t roll my r’s if my life counted on it, though,” is your dad’s contribution.

“Well, one year of high school Spanish can only do so much,” you give your dad a conciliatory pat on the shoulder for good measure.

He shakes his head. “I took French.”

You make a face of faux sympathy. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

Giorno feels a stirring within the recesses of his soul. This close-knit bond is unfamiliar to him, a long-forgotten desire he chased after futility as a child. He knows of the hardships you endured, and how you were brought into Passione’s fold for the lack of a better alternative. This is what you fought to preserve. What you shed blood, sweat, and tears for, hiding the damning trifecta behind a seemingly carefree smile.

He resolves himself to fight for it too.

“It’s been my pleasure,” Giorno responds in kind. He might not be as English savvy as Fugo, but he can roughly follow a conversation and chime in on the occasion.

The young Don then turns his attention to you. “I’ve prepared a small gift for them, if that’s alright.”

You gnaw on your bottom lip, contemplative. “Is it… proletariat friendly? No Giorgio Armani or Gucci, right?”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing like that. You can look it over first if you’d prefer.”

“Nah, I trust you. I’m just on high alert. Mista wanted to give them a vintage bottle of Chateau Cheval Blanc and I almost died. I can’t keep giving everyone rich cousins…”

Giorno can’t say he didn’t expect such shenanigans. Everyone is doing what they can to land themselves in your parent’s good graces, for if you hold their opinion in such high regard, it might be the key to claiming your hand one day. This appears to be an unspoken yet universally understood truth. While Giorno would find it unbecoming to consider your parents a means to an end, he isn’t going to pass on this rare opportunity.

It isn’t just about winning them over either. Your approval factors into the equation as well.

After a brief departure, Giorno returns with two wrapped boxes in tow. He hands them to your mother and father respectively. You look as curious as they do, inspecting the present’s outward appearance for any hints. He takes a deep breath. It isn’t often he’s nervous, since his position doesn’t permit such weakness, yet he can’t deny the fluttering in his stomach. He moves on to the next stage of his plan.

“Please tell them I wanted to show a small token of my appreciation, for having raised such a kind and thoughtful daughter,” Giorno isn’t surprised to see your face morph into embarrassment. Still, he continues, a touch of mischief underlying his tone, “I’ll know if you mistranslate, [First]. English was my foreign language class.”

You give an exaggerated sigh and resign yourself to your fate. You repeat what Giorno said to them, uncharacteristically sheepish as you do so. His heart soars at how endearing the sight is. A devious side of himself tempts him to tease you more, but his polite tendencies win out, advising that now isn’t the time.

True to his word, the gifts are nothing that showcase his exuberant bank account. It’s a simple tie for your father and a brooch shaped like a ribbon for your mother — both a recognizable shade of scarlet. You look at the gift, then him, your mouth agape and your eyes glossy. He can decipher the depths of your gratitude without you needing to utter a word.

“Well, look at that,” your father holds the tie up for closer inspection. “You’re always wearing this color anymore, [First]. I guess it’ll be a family thing now.”

Your mother expresses her appreciation next. “What a thoughtful gift. I have an outfit that’ll match this perfectly! Tell your friend he has such good taste…”

Giorno decides the evening couldn’t have ended on a more positive note.

Your parents don’t depart long after that, jet lag still weighing them down. You offer to accompany them in the taxi back to their hotel, but they say they don’t want to take up any more of your time than they already have. So you settle for staring out the window until the cab leaves your line of sight. This time, you’re noticeably missing your binoculars, which Giorno believes your Stand hid in a vengeful act.

Once you’re certain they’re long gone, you run at Giorno with open arms.

He lets out an ‘oof’ at the unexpected impact, his cheeks flushing and hands uncertain where to settle themselves. Eventually, he reciprocates your embrace, ignoring the knowing thumbs up Scarlet Ribbons gives from behind your shoulder.

“I can’t thank you enough, GioGio,” you pull back, much to his disappointment. The bright smile lighting up your face instantly makes up for it. “I really… wow. This might sound kinda silly, but whenever I get homesick, I think I’ll feel better knowing they have a reminder of me like that near them.”

A wistful yearning fills him then. This wish to pull you back to his chest, reassure you that he’d do anything to appease whatever negative emotions you may harbor — homesickness or otherwise — but he keeps himself in check.

It wouldn’t be appropriate for him to do that yet.

Still, he’ll see to it that a day will come when he can.

“It’s the least I could do. I consider your family to be my family.”

And so they will be, if his next dream is to be fulfilled.

-

It doesn’t take much to excite Narancia.

He’s always brimming with energy — too much energy, according to Fugo, but who cares what that guy thinks — ready for anything and everything. His infinite enthusiasm somehow doubles whenever you’re involved. Anyone with a set of functioning eyes could see how utterly lovesick he is for you. Well, except for you, apparently, who finds it presumptuous to assume others’ feelings.

When you still came back to visit him at the hospital, despite the way he snapped at you for what he considered ‘pity’, he swore an oath to himself. No matter the cost, he would see to it that you’re happy and never cause you distress again. If presented with the choice between having you or the world, he’d pick you every time, without hesitation.

You’re precious to him, living proof that not everyone will cast him aside at the first opportunity.

Convincing himself of this has been an uphill battle. He’s been left behind too many times to count, made into nothing but a stepping stone for others to advance forward. Distrust cultivated throughout an entire lifetime is not so easily dissipated. They linger, like sediment that’s fallen to the bottom of a pond, waiting to rise at the slightest stir.

Narancia rattles off the gelato order you gave him, barely comprehending the fact he needs to pay once the employee confirms it. His head is elsewhere. He hands over more cash than necessary, grumbles something about keeping the change, then scurries to the side. In the background, he catches the melodic sound of your laughter. He sees you clutching your stomach, your eyes crinkling with mirth, and both your parents smiling as well.

Narancia has always wanted to secure your happiness… so why is it this sight unsettles him so?

Feeling the way he does now is nothing short of aggravating. He doesn’t understand it or know how to make it go away.

Regardless, he knows he needs to try. It would put a damper on the mood if he comes back over and sulks. He likes your parents and wants them to like him too. He might not be super smart the way Fugo is, or as charismatic as Giorno, but he still wants to showcase his strong points. That’s why he’s been mentally preparing for this day. Practicing English (by listening to rap music, but he still counts it), fixing his posture, and even acting all gentlemanly. He can’t recall a time he’s held open so many doors and pulled out so many chairs.

“Nara, need some help carrying all that?”

Your abrupt appearance nearly has him yelping in shock. Narancia steadies himself, preparing to ask what you mean when he recalls the tray in his hands. He can’t recall a time when he crawled so deep into his head.

His skin flushes when you poke his cheek. “Hello? Earth to Narancia? Did looking at the gelato give you some sort of existential crisis?”

“N-No! There’s, uh, no crisis here.”

You give him a quick glance over, as if not entirely convinced, yet ultimately relent. Narancia sighs in relief. Had you decided to keep pressing the subject, he isn’t sure if he would’ve been able to deflect your attempts. Lying hasn’t ever been his forte.

The gelato is dispersed among the four of you. You’ve settled at a quaint picnic table, rustling branches overhead granting refuge from the Mediterranean sun. Although Narancia can’t understand whatever conversation is taking place, he nods along, his eyes never leaving your animated form. He admires how your hair billows in the breeze, pulled up in a high ponytail and strung into place with a ribbon.

He’s always thought your hallmark color suits you. It’s warm, bold, and passionate. He couldn’t see a shade of scarlet without his thoughts instantly drifting to you.

“My parents were wondering if you’ve ever thought about visiting the States.”

Narancia does what he can to shake the shackles of uncertainty off of him so he can respond. “I kicked the idea around when I was younger, yeah. It might be kinda hard now. Lotta work to do.”

“I can’t blame you for developing an aversion to flying after Sardegna,” you nudge him with your elbow. “Maybe we can revisit the idea when things settle down. There’s so much I’d want to show you. I just know you’d love it! In Times Square, grown men walk around dressed as Elmo and harass people if they don’t give ‘em money after you take a picture together. It’s hilarious.”

Your dad throws something in, which you translate with unrivaled excitement. “I almost forgot! You’d get to try New York pizza… it apparently descends from a Napoli immigrant, what’re the chances of that. I know you fiercely defend your Neapolitan pizza’s honor, but I’m confident I can convert you.”

He scrunches up his nose. “No way. That shit sounds—”

Remembering his company, he slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Pff, Nara, it’s fine, they can’t understand you,” you wave off his concern. “They wanted to let you know you’re welcome anytime. There’s no need to rush an answer, though. I’ll just say that you’re thinking about it.”

Narancia pushes his melting gelato around with a spoon. “Hey, [First]?”

“Mhm?”

“Have you ever…” The words die on his tongue, for the mere possibility submerges him in grief, “Have you ever thought about moving back? To your home, I mean. Cause… Giorno would let you. Then you could pursue your dreams again and be happy.”

He can’t bring himself to face you. Guilt weighs down on him like an anchor — here you are, trying to enjoy an outing with your parents you haven’t seen face to face in years, and he’s bringing down the mood. The fear of this future manifesting into reality hurts. It isn’t a brief, weak pang, it’s a heavy ache that reverberates throughout his entire being.

You’re his best friend, his first love, his everything.

Would seeing your parents — a reminder that you have a home elsewhere — threaten to take that away from him? And could he ever be selfish enough to stop it?

You rattle off something, causing both your parents to stand. They send a friendly wave Narancia’s way, which he returns with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, given the tempest brewing in his heart. Then they’re off to overlook the Golfo di Napoli, fitting in perfectly with another cluster of tourists.

“Is this what’s been bothering you, Narancia?”

He can’t bring himself to speak, so he nods his head.

You rest your hand over his. Your skin is soft and warm, a combination that serves as a balm to his malaise. He recalls when he’d been forced to live in the streets, after serving time in a detention center for a crime he didn’t commit. He remembers how his former ‘friends’ abandoned him, spreading rumors that the eye disease he’d contracted was contagious, his isolation seemingly set in stone. No one looked at him, came near him, much less touched him.

When you visited him in the hospital for the first time, you practically tripped over yourself to hug him. His heart monitor had gone through the roof — he couldn’t believe a pretty girl like you would willingly come into contact with him.

You intrinsically knew how to comfort him then, and you know how to comfort him now.

“Well, I guess it’s natural to wonder that. I won’t lie and say I’ve never considered it. For the longest time, I tried to push it to the back of my mind, because there was a lot of work to do before my debt would be paid off. What you said about GioGio is right. It’s one of the first things he asked me after overtaking Passione.”

Narancia swallows thickly, the silence following your last statement deafeningly loud.

“That being said,” you squeeze his hand then, “I made up my mind. Dreams are fluid, Nara. At least to me. They change shape over time as we grow, experience new things, and meet new people. I don’t want anyone else to experience what I did. By doing some wrong, we can bring about good. I want to keep Passione strong so a worse entity doesn’t take its place.”

You give him a wink. “That means you’re stuck with me.”

To further emphasize the point, you use your Stand’s ability to manifest a ribbon, tying your wrist to his.

“Will that make you happy?” Narancia asks.

“Not always, but life’s about more than being happy,” you reply without hesitation. He can tell you’ve given this some thought, far before he broached the subject. “That’s why we need each other. Gotta keep things bearable, y’know.”

A beat passes. Then he grins, wide enough that it almost hurts, but he pays it no mind. He squeezes your hand back. Sensing his lifted spirits, you mimic his smile, allowing the ribbon to fade away for it served its purpose. You never fail to amaze Narancia with how utterly lovable you are, he swears it’s almost supernatural.

“You’re right. You’re always right, [First].”

At this, you put your hands up, a laugh leaving your lips. “Oh, far from it. Now let’s go get my parents back before the crowd gets any worse.”

Narancia springs into action, the usual pep in his step making a triumphant return.

“If we’re making plans to head to the States, there is one place I really wanna visit.”

You raise an eyebrow as he helps you up. “Oh? And where might that be?”

“The mouse’s home turf. Disneyworld.”

“You know that means we’d have to go to Florida, right?”

“What’s wrong with this ‘Florida’ place?”

You place your hand on his shoulder. “That, my dear Narancia, is a long tale, full of mystery, intrigue, and alligators…”