#I REALLY AM SO THANKFUL IF YOU READ IT AND I HOPE YOU ENJOYED !!!

[vxnillabxn]

Heya! Could you do headcannons of the LIs overhearing your parents advertising you/someone asking if you are willing to date their child?

I had this situation a few times and it was kinda funny/interesting situation and I couldn't help but wonder how the boys would react as I love reading your headconnons on them <3 keep up the good work!!

𐙚˙⋆.˚ mainfive! x gn!reader ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ fluff! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sfw! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ do not translate/copy/repost! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚HI! i hope i got this request right, and also... i'm truly sorry for the delay ८ ◞ ◟ ⑅ ა i've been so sick these days, it even hurts to get up, istg— and shark week just started, so i am in misery ꒰˵ˊᯅˋ˵꒱ anyway, once i feel a little bit better, i'll go back to my usual posting routine! thank you in advance for the patience, and enjoy! ♡

𐙚˙⋆.˚ caleb! ꒰੭

he took you to your favorite childhood skating rink after years of not going.

he helped you out by putting on your roller skates, but he had to wait for the employee to get a pair in his size.

“have i really grown that much, pips?”

you only giggled, looking at him up and down.

“i mean… yeah? and i doubt grown men come here to roller skate anymore.”

when the employee finally called him, he left your side for a while, and you stood up a bit clumsily, trying to get comfortable and remember how it was to skate, just like when you were a kid.

suddenly, you heard a sweet voice calling out for you, and when you turned around, you saw a wrinkled, familiar face.

“ah! mrs. jiang? what a pleasure!”

the old lady took your hand in hers and softly patted it, looking up at you warmly.

“look at you, dear. all grown up! how is your family doing?”

you answered briefly, yet happily too.

she was such a sweetheart back in the day, and you remembered how she would always bring snacks and water to all the kids who skated around.

“and what about marriage, dear? any plans?”

ah, right. you also remembered how nosy she could be.

“uh, not really, i mean—”

“perfect! my eldest would be perfect for you! you do remember him, right? he's an engineer, very smart!”

you just awkwardly laughed, not wanting to be rude.

“yeah, i… think i do remember him.”

where the heck was caleb?

you wanted to escape the situation as soon as possible, not only because you knew how weird her son was, but because you didn't want to turn her down when she looked so excited.

luckily for you, a tall figure rolled behind you, and you could see caleb reflected in the lady's eyes.

“oh, my goodness! look at you!”

caleb's cheeks were attacked by her hands, and he couldn't help but let her do as she pleased.

after a few minutes of stretching and kneading his skin, she finally pulled back.

“we were just talking! i think my son would be an excellent husband! what do you think, caleb?”

caleb smiled warmly, but his hand found your waist and pulled you closer.

“i don't doubt that for a second, auntie. though… i think he might have to wait a bit longer to get married.”

the lady's smile faltered for a second, but she soon grinned, noticing his gesture.

“ah! i get it! you two sneaky little things… we all knew you would confess eventually! took you long enough, though.”

caleb's grip tightened, and his cheeks turned red.

you muffled a laugh, and soon enough, the lady sent best regards to both your families and left.

“pipsqueak.”

he called out, turning you around gently.

you looked up at him with a cheeky grin on your face.

“jealous?”

he didn't answer, but he did take your hand and guided you to the center of the rink to start skating around.

“do you have to tattoo my name on your forehead for everyone to know we're together?”

he mumbled, and you tried not to stumble as he rolled a bit too intently for your liking.

“you're so dramatic, lebbie! not everyone is going to assume we're together. it's not like i had a wedding ring or anything obvious, you know?”

oh, you just gave him the greatest idea ever.

and just like that, the frown that was on his face turned into a plotting smile.

and he happily lifted you in his arms bridal style to skate by himself, making the kids around you giggle and point.

he could truly be so childish when he wanted to, but he'd do anything just so no one would ever see you as single anymore.

even if that meant rushing a marriage that, after all, was going to happen anyway.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ rafayel! ꒰੭

you invited rafayel over for a family and friends reunion.

…he actually invited himself, since he said it would be fun to get to know another important aspect of your life.

the main problem was that only your close relatives and loved ones knew you two were dating, and you weren't ready for all the questions and gossip that would emerge after showing up with him.

however, he insisted, and it all went quite well, to be honest.

or that was until the rest of your family arrived.

rafayel went for some drinks to calm you down, and relax a bit himself, as the event started to pack up a little.

“hi, love!”

one of your aunts screamed, waving her hand excitedly before walking toward you.

you smiled and hugged her, and just when you were about to look back to see where rafayel was, she dragged you along with her.

“i want you to meet someone!”

you were curious, to say the least, but you were also nervous.

she took you to a friend she invited, and said friend was standing next to a young man —presumably her son.

“this is gemma, and this is her handsome son, finn!”

you smiled politely, outstretching your hand.

gemma shook it with a smile, but finn was a bit awkward when taking it.

was this… what you thought it was?

no, your aunt wouldn't set you up, would she?

“so, finn works for this amazing company, he graduated with honors, and he also helps charities! isn't he amazing?”

poor finn looked away as your aunt talked, and you just nodded.

“well, yeah! that's awesome, but uhm, auntie?”

yet, she kept talking, and eventually, gemma jumped in.

“yes! and dating is such an issue these days. everything is so fast, so superficial… actually, your aunt told me you were single, isn't that a lovely coincidence? my finn is, too!”

you looked around, quietly begging for someone to help you out of this.

and just then, rafayel appeared with two cold lemonades and a charming smile.

“ah, ladies and… gentleman! what a pleasure. do you mind if i steal this cutie right here for a second?”

he handed you a glass, and his other hand gently caressed your cheek.

your aunt was stunned, and both gemma and finn stared quietly at rafayel.

“i'll take that as a no, then. great talk!”

he softly guided you away, and you quickly waved your hand, smiling sweetly and a bit apologetic —but not really.

once you two were away, he crossed his arms.

his charming façade was now replaced by his pouty lips.

“you know, cutie, you should take this as an opportunity to announce we're together. your whole family is here, some close friends of your family are here, friends of the friends of your family too, and—”

“okay, raf, i get it!”

you chuckled, taking a sip from your glass.

“don't get me wrong, i think being with you is awesome! but i know how nosy my family can be, and they might even start asking about the wedding or trying to rush our pace —a pace we're comfortable with.”

you explained, softening your voice so he wouldn't misinterpret your words.

and he didn't, thankfully, because he placed a wet kiss on your lips —one that tasted like sweet lemonade.

“well, you must know that i do not care about gossip or rumors. if anything, i love proving them wrong or… turning them around.”

before he could further clarify, he pulled you toward the rest of your family.

you panicked, but he just smiled.

“what are you doing, raf—?”

“i'll just introduce myself, naturally! let them assume or guess my relationship with you. no one will comment if they don't have the full information, will they?”

he's crazy.

but also, the idea does sound fun, and it will avoid more weird and awkward matchmaking moments if no one knows whether you're fully single or not.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sylus! ꒰੭

he wasn't supposed to hear your private conversation, yet there he was, listening attentively as your parents rambled about potential suitors for you.

he was very amused, with his chin in the palm of his hand, while the other held his mug of coffee.

your parents didn't know about him yet… what would you tell them, anyway?

that you were dating a what?

a ceo of a shady organization?

a mafia boss?

a businessman that occasionally kills people?

it would sound like something out of the short drama series your older aunties watch on social media, and your parents would be literally alarmed about your well-being and how you even met a man like him.

you needed more time to prepare yourself for a long, long conversation, but until that happened…

you just had to hear your parents go on and on about why you should date the son of a close friend of theirs.

“he's such a sweetheart! he just graduated, but he already has a business. it's about, uh… what was the name, honey?”

your mother soon chimes in.

“cryptocurrency! he has a podcast, too!”

oh, yikes.

sylus smirked, leaning in to listen better, and also to enjoy the expression on your face.

“yeah, uh… i think i'm not interested.”

sylus mouths a “you think?” and you throw a cushion his way, trying to keep him out of the conversation.

sylus puts his mug away, and soon pulls you into his lap, making you yelp loudly.

your parents immediately question you about the sound, and sylus grins.

“are you okay, sweetheart?”

they ask, and you push sylus' face away, to once again sit on the sofa properly.

“yes! a pesky bird just entered the living room and won't leave me alone!”

“a bird? ah, that must be a sign! what bird, honey?”

you huff and put your hand up to stop sylus from approaching again.

“an ugly and annoying crow!”

sylus' eyebrow raises, and he's now hovering over you.

“ugly?”

you cover his mouth and turn to the phone again, squirming under his weight.

“well, as i was saying, i'm not really interested, nor… available for dating, sorry!”

“what? what do you mean you're not available?!”

your parents start rambling again, and sylus decides that enough is enough.

“what she said, ma'am. i hope we all meet very soon — it will be my pleasure. until then, take care.”

and he hangs up the call.

you are speechless.

why would he do that?

you finally manage to push him away with narrowed eyes.

“you…”

he doesn't smile. in fact, he looks dangerously calm.

but you're livid.

not only will your parents spam your phone with tons of questions about the male voice they just heard, but you will also have to explain what he is to you —and how long you two have been together.

“sylus, i can't believe you'd—!”

“so, pesky, ugly, annoying, hm? my, what a mix, kitten.”

he flicks your forehead, and your initial anger is replaced by indignation.

“sylus, you literally just—!”

“yet still…” he cups your cheeks a bit tight, enough for your lips to be pouty. “i'm a much better option than said guy, aren't i?”

you frown and try to speak, but he kisses your lips.

“yes, no, maybe? it's simple, sweetie.”

“yesh…”

“mhm. i'll help you talk to them, don't worry. i already thought of what to say —though i hardly ever need a script. they just need to know i'll protect you with my life, and that everything you need for, will be gladly provided.”

you stop resisting, and he finally sets you free.

“right, but… you'll still have to avoid mentioning the guns and killing part of your job.”

“we all have our flaws, don't we, sweetie? now, why don't you invite them over for dinner? they will be delighted. though, we'll have to hide mephisto. i do not want them to think he was the pesky bird you were talking about.”

ah, crap.

how can you deny him when he's literally standing up and organizing everything already?

and even if your parents do question you…

you already have someone to love and come back home to, and not even them could make you change that.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ xavier! ꒰੭

what started as a relaxing morning ended up being the worst day for xavier.

you've been helping this old couple carry their shopping bags, since they live on the floor above yours, and the elevator's been under maintenance for a week.

they are very sweet, and they always give you fruit or a candy bar in exchange for your kindness.

the old lady also gives you veggies from her garden, and both you and xavier have been enjoying the freshest salads ever.

today, though, they needed even more help because their grandkids were coming over and staying for a few days, and they brought a lot of luggage with them.

you called xavier to help them out too, and he obliged —only because you asked him to..

obviously, it wasn't without a fight —or without promising something in return…

which, as he demanded, had to be lots of kisses.

but finally, with a bit of struggling, you two helped the neighbors' little granddaughter bring her stuff up first.

she was very energetic, and she was looking up at xavier as if he were a charming prince, rambling non-stop.

and suddenly, her big brother came up the stairs, carrying some bags.

the old couple seemed really excited to introduce him to you, just as xavier went inside to drop off some of the bags in the living room, the little girl excitedly following him.

“well, darlin'! this is our grandson, keith! we think you're both around the same age, aren't ya?”

you politely smiled, and keith shot a charming smile, taking your hand in his to kiss it.

oh!

you retrieved your hand a bit quickly, and laughed awkwardly.

“isn't he charmin'?” the old lady says, patting keith's arm. “he is also lookin' for love, and who better than our kind and helpful neighbor?”

is she… trying to set you up with him?

keith raises his eyebrows suggestively, and you instantly cringe.

“ah… i'm flattered, really! but i think keith might want to look for love elsewhere. no offense.”

keith is about to talk, when xavier walks out, soon approaching you and leaning you down in his arms.

just then, he steals a long, noisy kiss from your lips.

funnily enough, he is wearing a king's crown, which —most probably— the little girl managed to put on his head.

when xavier pulls away from you, he shoots a glare at keith.

“love has already found us. goodbye.”

and he turns around, dragging you by the hand.

the old man calls out.

“my, we're sorry! we thought you were roommates, as all kids are these days!”

“don't worry!” you smile and wave your hand, still being dragged away downstairs. “we hope you all have a great time!”

once in your shared apartment, he slams the door shut and hugs you tight, completely silent…

or wait, was that mumbling?

was he talking under his breath?

“...mine, and how dare they, and who do they think they are, and if he tries anything—”

“...xavier?”

“and how do they not know we're together? and wh—?”

“xav. hello…? it's not a big deal!”

he stops, and he steps back from the hug.

his blue eyes focus on yours.

“not a big deal?”

oh no.

“not a big deal, you say? i'm not a fan of that family. we must steer clear of them for now.”

“xavier, don't be mean…”

“they won't need our help with their grandkids around.”

“xavier—”

he hugs you again, nuzzling your neck with closed eyes.

“hm, no. shhh, kisses.”

“...what?”

he frowns slightly, kissing your jawline gently.

“kisses... my reward? did you forget?”

right, the king's demands.

you start kissing his head, his forehead, his cheeks, and finally… finally, he relaxes in your arms, forgetting his temporary tantrum.

you just have to avoid seeing your adorable neighbors until their grandkids leave… and maybe, casually let everyone in the building know you and xavier are dating, just for everyone's sake.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ zayne! ꒰੭

a lunchbox in one hand, a coffee in the other, and a polite yet anxious smile on your face.

how obvious could everything be?

you were in a rush —you had to visit your boyfriend so he could eat and get an energy boost after a long shift.

yet, this lady had stopped you, saying you had good genes and other weird things that made your skin crawl.

she was also talking about her two kids, and how amazing they were.

and for some reason, she kept saying how one of them was a doctor here, very handsome, very wealthy… though he still lived with her because “he's mama's boy, isn't that adorable?”

and no.

it isn't, at all.

“uhm, ma'am, that's very lovely, but i really have to—”

“oh, but that isn't all, dearie! he's probably the most important doctor in this entire hospital! yes, yes, you've probably heard of him! he's dr. lynn! very popular among the nurses, too.”

you blinked in confusion and shook your head slowly.

“doesn't ring a bell, sorry…”

the lady seemed surprised; offended, even. she clutched her chest, but soon laughed it off.

“ah! well, it's not unusual for commoners not to know him. but don't worry, dear! once you get to know him…” she winked, before continuing. “you'll be just as well known, too!”

commoner?

well-known?

you wished you could eye roll, but you just smiled and nodded, frantically looking around in case zayne miraculously appeared.

and he actually had, a while ago —but you hadn't noticed until he stood right behind the two of you.

“i presume that's mine?”

he asked, pointing at the lunchbox and coffee you were clutching.

you sighed in relief and approached him, hugging onto his arm.

“hi…”

you handed him his lunch and coffee, smiling sweetly and feeling much more relaxed now that he was here.

he looked between you and the lady, before fixing his glasses.

“is she bothering you?”

he bluntly asks, and the lady gasps, horrified.

“bothering? how dare you! i was giving out the opportunity to date my precious son! i wish to speak to your boss, sir!”

zayne kisses your forehead, then nods to the old lady, still remaining polite.

“very well, then. in that case, you should ask for dr. zayne and see what he can do. good evening.”

“i will, you insolent youngins!”

she frantically says, still making a ruckus even as he guides you to his office, making you suppress a giggle as you two walk hurriedly.

if she only knew she just talked to dr. zayne himself.

once inside his office, though… he asks you to tell him everything.

you knew he could be a bit nosy here and there, even when he preferred to just listen to whatever you chose to share.

however, he was particularly interested in knowing how things started, and what comments she had made.

you recounted from the start —from her praise when she stopped you, saying how stunning you were, something about your structure, your genes, your height…

and then, the rest of the things she also mentioned.

he was just as surprised, yet… he focused on the most uninteresting part of the story.

“dr. lynn, hm? ...he is good-looking. but i doubt he'd be your type. in fact, i know he's not.”

you cocked your head to the side, then smiled knowingly. this sounded more like self-reassurance on his end.

maybe he was jealous of dr. lynn?

“unless he's a tall, smart, handsome cardiologist with the prettiest hazel eyes and a soothing voice, i also know he wouldn't be my type.”

he looks away, but his lips are curled up softly.

“your lunch might be cold by now… at least i hope the warmth of my hand kept your coffee warm when i clutched it. that lady really got on my nerves…”

he finally chuckles, and he pats his lap as he sits down.

“come, bring your genetically-blessed self over here. i truly need to refuel with my love.”

and he emphasizes that “my” a little more than other times.

but you happily sit down, not commenting on it.

after all, he's only stating what's true, maybe to further reassure himself...

or maybe because he wants the universe to know, so it can spread the word and keep you all to himself, as it should be.

[nekoboydreams]

HELLO, first of all I hope you are doing very well today, and secondly I am sorry if my English is not good and cannot be understood very well, I do not speak Portuguese or English so I will use the translator

I was really hesitating about doing this since I'm really shy, but look, it has a fan who comes from Mexico, I found out about your game on a tiktok video and it intrigued me so much so I started watching more of it and now I'm completely obsessed with it and Pierrot, so as soon as I can I'll support the game with Patreon since I really liked it, I even told my friends about the game so they would play it and several of them loved it too, I would like to ask you some questions, only if you want to answer them, maybe you have many others to answer and that's fine, as long as you read me I will be more than satisfied

1. Did you draw inspiration from any other game to create The Freak Circus?

2. I read recently that characters are capable of killing each other out of jealousy. Is that true? I'm sorry if you answered this question before. You can skip it if you want.

3. Can characters change their outfits or are the ones they wear part of their "body" so to speak?

4. Will the name of the fifth character be revealed when Chapter 2 comes out or could it be announced before the update?

If you answer the questions I want to thank you very much, I am really a very shy person and I don't usually do these things, but I am really intrigued, I love your game

Hello! I'm really glad you're enjoying it! Thank you for the kind words and support!

I don’t think there was any specific game that inspired the story, but the idea of drawing the tickets and food came from Mushroom Oasis. In that VN, the yandere character cooks, and the dishes are always shown I found it so cute that I ended up adopting that idea for showing certain things.

Oh yes, they’d definitely kill out of jealousy if the MC doesn’t step in.

Yep! They change outfits and everything, but in public they either wear their circus uniforms or stay completely covered.

I’ll be announcing his name very soon in an image!

I’m really happy you were able to overcome your shyness to come talk to me I know how much effort that must’ve taken!

[sorrowsofsilence]

fanfic writers are nothing without fanfic readers, so thank you to everyone who reads, reblogs, and leaves little comments and tags <3 even if we / i say “we write for ourselves,” deep down it’s your support and love that keep us going. so, to the loyal rebloggers, the blogs that exist just to enjoy stories, and those who write and read; you’re the heart of this community.

readers who put in the work to appreciate us writers don’t always get enough recognition, but i hope you know that you really do make fanfic worth it and even more fun to create, and i am endlessly grateful for you <3

[m3mento-m0rii]

HIYA!!! First of all I am absolutely INLOVE with your writing!!! LIKE HOW IS IT SO GOOD?????? ❤️❤️❤️❤️ IVE SORTA JUST BEEN GOING THROUGH AND READING ALL OF YOUR HEADCANONS, WHAT IFS,ETC.

This is my first time asking for a request, so apologies if it sounds kind of awkward? Basically what if the saja boys S/O had a plushie of them but they gave the plushie more attention then them, how would they act??? (I have a very big bias to mystery and baby ❤️)

THANK YOU FOR LISTENING ❤️ LOVE YOUR WRITING AGAINN ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Plush Problems—

2.6k words; Saja Boys x Reader Masterlist | Requests paused!

You can't just replace them with the doll. That's simply incorrect.

A/N: Hi anon!! Thank you so much for your kind words, and I'm sorry it took me so long. It's been a busy week for me, but . . . yeah I'm back. Anyways I love to hear that you've been reading everything!! And your request isn't awkward, it's fine. Also, I interpreted your request initially as them gifting the doll to reader as well, but . . . I think it's still okay? I hope you enjoy!!

Jinu—

You had asked him to go to the store before he came over to get snacks! It was time for another one of your movie nights with him—a tradition that started when you tried to teach Jinu about pop culture. And as any good boyfriend would do, he ended up walking between aisles, hunting down all the snacks you had listed in your last text. 

It had taken him a little longer, though, because in wandering around, he managed to get a little lost in the process. 

Well, ‘lost' is a strong word. Perhaps better is ‘side-tracked’.

In his defense, stores are a lot different than how he remembered them!

Eventually, though, he was walking back to checkout, trying to remember how you said it worked. Passing displays meant to tempt you into last minute buys that you didn’t need—food, toys, plushes.

That’s when his eyes settled on a particularly special display. Small,stuffed, familiar faces that he’d come to see every day, outfits that meant costumes for most and average wear for him. Among them, the only one with dark hair—a plush. Of him.

And who likes plushes?

Jinu easily plucked it off the shelf, placing it carefully in the basket next to the other snacks. He offered a playful grin to the cashier, who looked between the mimicry and him almost gobsmacked.

»                                                      ⊱◈⊰

Your apartment was almost more familiar to him than his own. More homey, too—how could it not be, when you had filled it with things that proved a life lived.

Cute, too, with all the stuffies lying around, and whatnot. His favorite was the lopsided bear one on the couch.

“Did you find everything alright?” You asked, and Jinu rustled through the bags he carried—he flashed you something proud and knowing, pulling the little doll out from its plastic confines.

“Better.”

Gasp. Sparkles. The world lit up, and you pulled the little plush from his hands. “What? I didn’t know they were making this kind of merch for you guys already!”

“I just didn’t think they’d be in the stores so soon,” Jinu tried to say casually, secretly preening as you cooed over him. Just tiny. You beamed, taking him by the hand and pulling him quickly towards the couch. “It reminded me of you when I saw it, silly-!”

“Sit!” You laughed, sitting in the middle of the couch as you reached for the remote. Some classic slasher was on the TV, as it had been for the rest of the month, too. Jinu didn’t really mind—really, there was something fun in complaining about the dumb decisions characters made. 

Except, there was one problem, starting easily about fifteen minutes in.

Why are you cuddling with the plush instead of him? It’s YOUR movie night, not the stuffy.

When someone’s being brutally murdered on screen, you pretended to cover the DOLL’s eyes instead of his. It can’t see. It lacks anything to perceive everything with! And you hold it close to your chest at the tense parts—even if you’ve seen this a hundred times—instead of nestling into his side for the experience. 

He’s right there?

Hello??

Jinu doesn’t think anything of it. You know what? It’s okay. Little him can have you today, because he gets you every other day AND twice on Tuesdays.

Until you start intentionally messing with him about it taking his place.

“Your hand is free?”

“He’s already holding it!”

You couldn’t be serious.

Finally, though, Jinu had enough. A few days of enduring this blasphemous treatment resulted in him taking your hands, a grim expression on his face. He could feel your pulse jump under his fingertips. “We need to talk.”

Talk? What was there to even talk about?? Jinu watched you practically freeze under his gaze. Instant fear.

“About the doll.”

Instant laughter.

“Why are you laughing?? It can’t take my place, (Y/N)!”

“HE, Jinu, HE!”

He glared at you, gently shaking your shoulders. You couldn’t help but laugh at him, holding on to his arms. “What about your very real Jinu . . .”

“Are you jealous of—”

“No.” He quickly cut off. But your smile softened into something more affectionate, and his own expression shifted, too.

“I only love him because it’s you . . . but I guess the real thing is much better.”

Now? The stuffed copy of him lies waiting patiently on your bed, and Jinu did, too; but only one of them got to be in your arms. This time, it wasn’t the doll.

Take that . . .

Abby—

You were having a rough week.

It was just . . . one of those periods that everything seemed to test you. People stressing you out, too many dumb, little things that went wrong, swarming and spiraling into problems that felt impossible.

Lucky for you, you had . . . Abby!

. . .

Is what you would say, if he wasn’t finishing up a tour. Being an idol made him busy. Not because he wanted to be; he was always only a call away, but sometimes that also meant another city. Another country.

Nothing made Abby feel worse than not being there for you physically. What was possibly the point of his size if he couldn’t give you the best hug after the worst day? How could he fix this? What could he do?

Lightbulb.

You crashed into him the moment he stepped into your place, arms tying around his torso as you pressed your face into his chest. Abby laughed at you, pulling you tight, enough to remind you that yes, he was there, and you had him again. “Missed me, huh?”

Even though it was a tease, even though he smirked, he still felt a little guilty. Hopefully, this would solve that. You only hummed, sighing. Your body melted more into his, and Abby’s arms loosened. Just to reach for something.

“Okay, I know you had a rough week. I think I have a solution,” he lifted your head, presenting you with . . .

Little Abby!!

IMMEDIATE game changer.

Abby fell for the way your expression changed into something sweeter, the tired look on your face thawing into something more tender. “When did—where did you get him?”

He carefully dropped the plush into your hands, noting the way you handled it carefully, observing the floral print of his shirt, the small details meant to mimic him.

“A fan was selling them at our last show! Spitting image of me, right?”

You smiled, genuinely, the kind that you can see in your eyes, and he knew that he had done his job properly. “How was your trip, Abby?” And everything was fine again.

At least, up till the point you stopped talking about your day when he couldn’t see you??

He’d wait. Maybe you just forgot. Then, on the next call, you wouldn’t mention it again. You sounded okay . . . but, that didn’t mean he didn’t want to hear from you.

When he got back and you didn’t say anything about it in person, continuing past his slight pout without a thought, Abby gave in.

“Aren’t you gonna tell me about your day?” He raised a brow, watching expectantly.

“Oh, I already told lil’ Abby.”

??

“Okay, but what about me?” He felt like he shouldn’t even have to ask that question! Right?

But you seemed hesitant. Unsure. Your eyes flitted away from him, and he knew that it was more than just ‘forgetting’ to tell him. “. . . Did you still want me to tell you?”

What?

“Of course I do. It’s not to stop you from talking to me,” he gently pushed your head back towards his, but he couldn’t force you to meet his eyes.

“I don’t know . . . sometimes I feel like I complain too much. Or I’m too sensitive.”

How could you be? Abby didn’t think about those things at all. All he really thought was that you’d need some extra love the next time he saw you (which he was always happy to give, even if he teased you about it). Because life could be tough. Gently, he tapped your cheek, your eyes slowly meeting his brown ones.

“Look at me . . . I’m your boyfriend. You’re supposed to complain to me and I’m supposed to make you feel better. Just like you do for me.”

���It doesn’t bother you?”

Abby huffed quietly, shaking his head. “It bothers me that you don’t think I wanna be there for you.” And he meant it. You were never a burden. He liked hearing about everything, even your problems, because it made him feel like he could be there. And if he helped you solve them, well, that was one weight of your shoulders and his. “You can talk to me about anything, alright? Even when I’m gone. Especially when I’m gone.”

Just like always, you found yourself in his arms again. And at the same point, the weight of them settled carefully around you. Real hugs were better than plush hugs, anyway (but don’t let lil’ Abby hear you say that).

Mystery—

Honestly, you didn’t know when the little copy of your boyfriend had become a part of your collection. You were just admiring all the plushes and . . . Oh, look. It’s there.

It felt kind of alive sometimes. You swore you didn’t move it around, but . . .

Though, it quickly became your favorite thing. And Mystery enjoyed seeing you with it, in those subtle ways of his. It might have been a slight source of pride, it made him smile, because . . . it made you happy. Seeing him made you happy.

The only problem? It was with you. ALWAYS.

Oh, Mystery’s come to flop into your lap? Little Mystery. Trying to wrap his arms around you? Little Mystery. He’s lying on your bed, trying to get comfortable against you amongst your sea of stuffies? Take one wild guess who sits atop them, king of them all.

Did you guess? Well, if you said, ‘Little Mystery,’ you’d be correct!

One day, Mystery is just watching you. Staring. His lips quirked into the tiniest frown, but it seemed more sulky than anything. 

“. . . It’s in the way?”

“Huh?”

Mystery pushed the plush out of your reach, pulling you closer to him instead. “That.”

Your gaze flicked to the plush, once sitting harmlessly at your side. Now hunched over in a way actual Mystery could never be. “He’s just vibing.”

“He wants your attention. It’s my attention.”

“It’s still YOU.”

“Not if I can’t feel it,” Mystery insisted. “Put him up. Please.”

You nearly protested. Mystery had long since found a way to bypass that, though. All he had to do was shove those bangs of his out of the way, let you see his eyes, and look at that, little Mystery wasn’t a thought in your head.

Because little Mystery couldn’t compete with his soft, golden puppy eyes. And he couldn’t help but feel triumphant at that.

Romance—

It was a nice day. Just . . . the kind where the sky felt more blue than it usually did, and the sun more present, and the people more happy.

Romance noticed these things. He lived for these types of days. The world didn’t feel so terrible when people smiled and kids laughed, when the air was warm and the wind gentle. A good day!

For you, though . . . he hadn’t talked to you today, honestly. Not yet, he was supposed to see you anyway. But how could he guarantee you would have just as good of a day without having seen you yet?

Something caught his eye. He had to get it. All it took was a little pose, a picture, a simple, cute caption and you were blowing up his phone.

“DIBK YOU BIY IT??”

“WHAT STORE IS THQT?” “IT’S MY BOYFRIEND AOINGSOIN”

He grinned, taking the plush to the checkout.

Romance saw you about an hour later, holding the little (boy)friend up for you to see. And then you were running to him!

Oh, it was like a scene out of a romance movie. Somehow, the lighting seemed to enhance just at the sight of you, had he ever told you that? He playfully opened his arms, prepared to catch you . . . “Hi, love!”

Nothing. And an empty hand. A squeal, but not next to his ear, no gentle weight around his waist, nada.

You were cooing at the PLUSH instead.

Maybe it was more of a comedy.

“WHAT ABOUT YOUR VERY REAL BOYFRIEND??”

“What do you mean, he’s right here?”

Romance glared at you, walking away. Scorned. “. . . I’ll remember this.”

“WAIT it was just a joke. Romance, come back—!”

Baby—

Baby didn’t keep too many things fans gave him. He just . . . didn’t. There wasn’t that much value in some things, and he was gifted too much to keep it all.

There was an art piece, dusty and untouched in the corner by his desk. He kept a few necklaces and bracelets just so no one could say he didn’t wear their stuff. A little clay figure someone had made that Romance and Abby insisted he kept because everyone had got one.

This time, someone had gifted him a plush of himself. Perfect shade of candy blue locks. His little hat, puffy and perfect, overly sweet expression on his features. It was well made. It didn’t look like him, in his opinion (he wasn’t that soft looking, was he?), but it was well done. It would be a shame to just . . . throw it away.

But he didn’t want more things cluttering his shelves . . .

Who WOULD appreciate it?

“A fan gave it to me,” Baby offered up. “I thought maybe you’d want it instead. I mean, I don’t really . . .”

“I’ll take it!!”

You and baby Baby? BEST FRIENDS. He came everywhere with you! He was amazing! But most of all . . . 

You could use him to get on Baby’s nerves.

Baby would reach for a brand new, open chip bag. You smacked his hand away. “That’s Baby’s??”

Baby gave you an incredulous look. “I’m Baby.”

“Baby Baby needs to eat, too!” You huffed, trying to hide the way your lips quirked up.

“HIS MOUTH IS SEWN SHUT.”

That wasn’t even the end of it. He tries to sit next to you on the couch? “That’s Baby’s spot.”

You couldn’t be serious. He stared, you stared back. His eyes flickered to the doll, then back to you. 

“He can sit in the cracks.”

“RUDE.” So you put the plush in your lap. And you refused to let him touch you. Okay. Okay, fine.

The final straw, though? 

How were you going to avoid one of his kisses!

You pushed his face away, ignoring the indignant twitch of his eyes as you stopped him from chasing. “What now?” He already knew you were going to say something dumb.

“Not in front of the baby.”

He only watched. You laughed, keeling over. He had something for you.

The next day, Baby was strangely pleased with himself. Not an annoyance (doll) in sight, nothing to get in the way of him and you; and you seemed to have realized that from the way you had stormed in.

Arms crossed. Expectant brow raised. No Baby in hand. “Why, pray tell, is Baby locked in a glass case screwed to my shelf??”

Baby only shrugged, continuing to scroll through some social app on his phone. “He got tired, but he still wanted to see.”

“You made him a little cellphone and a sign that said ‘positively do not open!’”

He only masked a mischievous grin, staring at you from over his screen. “What? He needed to be able to talk to Annabelle, duh.”

“BABY—!” »                                                      ⊱◈⊰

A/N: Okay, trying to get back into the requests! I hope you enjoyed, and see you soon!

—Captain Morii 🌤️

Morii's Business Class: @kpopmultistans @momentomoribitch @queensnowlake-wof

[orellazalonia]

hello hi hi hello!!!

🐅 anon here!

how are we feeling about doing biker!avenger!bucky x fem!biker!reader? 👀

Reader is the new one in the team, introduced by Steve and Nat! She made some friends, but we know Bucky- he’s antisocial, closeted and need time. So she doesn’t really try to be friends, just gives him open gate- if he want’s to, he will come.

Bucky riders his bike mostly in night when he can’t sleep, so what an incident when he meets another biker, with the same bike , swaying so swiftlt between speeding cars and trucks, but she swiftly escapes him! Next day, in the morning, Bucky is talking all around about it, saying that „HE’S such a poser” and reader is just quietly laughning in the back- cause wow- she doesnt know she is described rn by he/him 👀

In the night they meet again but on the opposait road, and she’s like doing this to him: https://www.instagram.com/reel/DIlU-FjNS6S/?igsh=YmhkeGVyaHoydHcy and Bucky is like „h-how dare you?! first you are making fun of me on the road, and next you are like this?” So Bucky decides it’s time to catch them. When it happens(he can cross her road, he knows they are good rider and she stops on the front wheel). Bucky so sure confronts them, and there she is- she opens her „window” in helmet and Bucky is so flustered that he doesnt even know what to say!

sorry if its kinda chaotic, but its been on my mind quiet a long ❤️

love

-🐅

Hello! Lovely to see you again, sorry for the wait! I must confess that I am not a biker so if any of these terms are incorrect, feel free to correct me! But frustrated Bucky was so much fun to write for and I definitely fell in love seeing him on that motorcycle in Thunderbolts lol. So! I hope you enjoy and thank you for the request. Happy reading!!!

Catch Me If You Can

Summary: You’re the mysterious biker who keeps outrunning Bucky at night—he’s convinced it’s some cocky guy trying to show off, only to find out it’s you, the newest Avenger, and he’s been roasting you to your face for days. (Biker!Bucky Barnes x Biker!reader)

Word Count: 1.6k+

You didn’t expect much when Steve introduced you to the team. A nod here, a handshake there. You kept your tone level and your smile casual. The Avengers weren’t exactly known for warm welcomes, and you weren’t looking for approval anyway. You weren’t trying to make friends, you were here to work.

Still, it wasn’t hard to settle in.

Tony appreciated your sarcasm and mechanical instincts, even if he called you “Grease Girl” more than once. Clint took to you quickly, calling dibs on your bar trivia team. Natasha didn’t say much, but she gave you that quiet nod of respect that meant you’re not useless, which, coming from her, was basically a hug.

Then there was Bucky.

James Buchanan Barnes was a wall. A tall, quiet, closed-off wall of tactical leather, unreadable eyes, and the kind of silence that made people second-guess whether they’d offended him. He lingered in the background of rooms, present but distant. He’d been through too much and trusted too few. Everyone knew it. You didn’t take it personally and you never pressed.

You didn’t try to win him over or wedge yourself into his space. You just existed. Said hi when you passed in the hallway, maybe held the door open, but never asked more than he offered. If he needed space, he could have it. If he wanted to talk, you’d be there. Simple as that.

But you did notice something about him early on, something familiar.

Every night, when the halls were quiet and the lights were low, you’d hear it. That low rumble echoing through the compound’s garage. You didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

Bucky Barnes rode at night.

And not just a bike. It was the same one you had.

Your bike had been a wreck when you found it. A forgotten pile of rust and steel in a junk lot. But you saw something in it, beauty. You rebuilt it with blood and sweat, tuning the engine yourself, tracking down authentic parts from the era, even hand-stitching the damn leather seat. You didn’t just ride it. You resurrected it.

You knew every inch of it better than the back of your hand.

Which was why you couldn’t help yourself.

You waited until the moon was high and the city below was slick with midnight mist. You suited up, helmet down, jacket zipped, and rolled out onto the road. Just you in the open freeway and that perfect old soul of a bike humming beneath you.

You weren’t looking for a race. You were just alive out there.

But then you heard it. Another engine, strong and steady. Another ghost on the road.

You peeked in your mirror and saw the glint of a second headlight. You didn’t need a face to know it was him. The way he held the bike steady, the way he leaned into curves, like the machine was an extension of him. It was how you rode.

For a split second, you felt the grin tug at your lips.

Game on.

You let him get close, almost, then cut a hard line between two semis, weaving between their trailers with inches to spare. You didn’t look back. You knew he’d follow. But by the time he hit the curve, you were already gone, your taillight swallowed by fog, steel, and distance.

The next morning was… priceless.

You were halfway through your coffee when Bucky strolled into the kitchen, more animated than you’d ever seen him.

He dropped into a chair and started ranting, half-bewildered and half-offended.

“I swear to God, the guy was showing off,” He said, shaking his head. “Zipping between trucks like he’s in a damn Fast and Furious movie. Same bike as mine, like exactly the same.”

Steve, who had barely looked up from his newspaper, raised an eyebrow. “Same model?”

“No, I mean same bike,” Bucky said. “Even had the original tank decals. Who even finds those anymore?”

You stood by the counter, biting into a piece of toast and trying, trying, not to smile. He was going on about you, and he had no idea.

“Helmet was blacked out,” Bucky continued, gesturing with his coffee. “Just slipping through traffic like they owned the road. Whole thing was a performance.”

“And you’re mad because he outran you?” Sam teased from across the room.

“No,” Bucky snapped. “I’m mad because he was a poser, just riding to be seen.”

You turned your back so he wouldn’t see your shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Maybe,” You said, voice innocent, “they just didn’t want to be caught.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to slice through tension. Bucky looked at you, something unreadable passing through his eyes. You didn’t blink. You just gave him the faintest shrug and walked out.

It became a pattern after that.

Late nights, empty roads, and two bikes with history built into them.

You’d started teasing him more not with words, never directly, but with how you moved. You never let him see your face. Just the same jacket and the same sleek, dark helmet. You gave him glimpses. Glimpses of someone just out of reach.

And it was killing him.

He started preparing for you. He left earlier, tuned his engine twice a week, and tinkered with his suspension like you were going to challenge him to a drag race any minute now. The quiet brooding was still there but under it? Obsession. Grit. Need.

Not to win. To know.

And then came that night.

You’d been riding for about thirty minutes, heading northbound, weaving through sleepy traffic and the occasional street racer who didn't dare keep up. It was just you, the hum of the road, and that peace that came with speed.

Until you saw him.

Southbound, across the divide. A flash of silver and that distinct headlight pattern.

You knew immediately.

You slowed just enough, lined up your path with his, and as you passed him across four lanes and a median, you casually lifted your left hand.

Two fingers up. A lazy little peace sign.

What’s up, Barnes?

Bucky almost missed his exit.

“Was that–did he just–” He sputtered aloud in his helmet, eyes wide, whipping his head around like he might catch another glimpse of you through sheer will.

The nerve. The disrespect. You were taunting him now.

He pulled off the freeway and parked at a gas station, yanking his helmet off and pacing like a man unhinged.

“First he outruns me,” He muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Then he waves at me like we’re old buddies?”

It wasn’t just the wave. It was the timing. The precision. Like you knew he was watching. Like you’d planned it.

And you didn’t even stop. Just flashed that sign and vanished.

“Son of a bitch,” Bucky muttered. “Alright. You wanna play games? Fine.”

He got serious after that.

He mapped out where he’d seen you. Marked timeframes, routes. He adjusted his patterns, even rode slower to bait you out. He didn’t tell anyone or mention it around the compound anymore, especially not with you in the room.

You, of course, noticed immediately.

The way he was quieter. Tighter. How he’d glance at you from across the room when he thought you weren’t looking.

You’d chuckle under your breath whenever you saw him in the garage, hunched over his bike, cursing under his breath at the clutch cable or muttering something about “getting more torque on the turns.”

You never said a word. Just kept showing up and letting him almost catch you.

But tonight? You slipped.

You took a different exit too early and missed a cue. A truck swerved into your lane and forced a wider curve and Bucky was ready. You hadn’t seen him yet, but he’d been tailing you for six blocks with the kind of patience only a supersoldier with a grudge could possess.

He cut across a wide intersection with barely a breath of hesitation and blocked your lane with a sharp, brutal slide of his back wheel.

You braked instinctively, weight shifting forward, the front wheel rising up briefly before kissing the asphalt again in a clean, controlled stop.

Your helmet turned, calm and unrushed.

His boots hit the ground hard as he stalked toward you, helmet already off.

“You think this is funny?” He growled. “Messing with me for weeks?”

You didn’t say anything. Just stared at him and tilted your head slightly like what are you gonna do about it, soldier?

“First you’re weaving through traffic like you’re invincible,” Bucky continued, voice low, intense. “Then you wave at me like it’s some kind of joke–“

Still silent, you reached up, one hand on the latch of your helmet. Slow and deliberate, you popped it open and lifted it off, letting the night air hit your face.

Your eyes met his, amused, playful… and unmistakably you.

“Evening, Barnes.”

His mouth fell open.

“You–?” He stammered. “You?!”

You just smirked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

His expression did something ridiculous then. Confusion, shock, a little betrayal, a little awe. “But you–you were in the compound. I just saw you this morning. How–?”

You shrugged, one gloved hand brushing hair back from your face. “Didn’t think I could multitask?”

Bucky stood there, struggling to reboot his brain. “You… taunted me for weeks.”

“Didn’t taunt, just rode,” You corrected, a hint of laughter in your voice. “You chased.”

His jaw flexed. “You waved at me.”

“You looked like you needed a hug.”

He stared at you. “This isn’t over.”

You leaned forward again, just slightly, a grin tugging at your lips. “Didn’t say it was.”

And before he could say anything else, you tugged your helmet back on, kicked up the stand, and gave him a parting wink.

The bike roared to life and you were gone.

Again.

Taglist: @yasmin12312 @herejustforbuckybarnes @eeveedream @wingstoyourdreams @figtreesandmoonlight @happygalaxymilkshake @hits-different-cause-its-you @the-galaxy-fiend @ordelixx @itsmejen

[mickyschumacher]

Make an Alejandro fanfiction where he is totally whipped for reader that he'll do anything to get her attention but she's just completely clueless & thinking he was just playin w her, make it happy ending pls, thank you!

[CLUELESS!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: as a culer, you have morals and integrity. but your boyfriend is asking you to put them aside for one day. or in which dean begs for you to come to his presentation.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: lots of fluff, slight angst?, reader isn't good with social cues and is a bit clueless, mention of an injury (getting hit with a football), bad spanish, heavy flirting from alejandro = down bad / not really proof-read ._.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: alejandro balde x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3.6k+

𝐀/𝐍: ngl this is me sometime! always, i always love whipped alejandro soooo hope you enjoy!!!

🏎️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⚽️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

There before Alejandro and then there was during Alejandro.

If you had to describe meeting Alejandro, it was like finally seeing the storm after the calm.

Before him, life was content. Not too happy, not particularly sad. The world continued to spin no matter what.

You woke up, looking at the same sun and the same clouds. You continued to begrudgingly get ready for your classes, scarfing down a poorly made breakfast because you had forgotten to set your alarm the night before. You grovelled in the lack of bus etiquette, perpetually squished into the bus window as some man sits like he owns the damn thing. You sighed at the sight of your campus, a sore reminder that you had willingly taken on this stress and were the one paying for it. You went to your part-time, only to serve customers who apparently had lost the ability to think the moment they walked through the door. Then you went home, greeting your two flatmates and making the meal you had scheduled for the day since none of you could make up your mind.

It was always the same routine. Nothing really ever deviated. You thought that was life. Common, typical, and that slight bit boring.

But then one day, everything had changed. It was like the train you were on had suddenly gone off route and changed tracks.

You were at the park. That wasn't unusual. Your flatmate, Linda, she was often there, making her portfolio for her photography class. And you were often joining her, marking it as the only time you came out of your room apart from work and lectures.

You were sitting on a picnic blanket, laying in the evening sun, staring at the sky, drawing over the clouds in your heads, pretending for a moment that nothing in the world was bothering you while each of the earbuds in your and your flatmate's air blasted some idyllic music to match the mood.

You were just tracing over the cloud that looked oddly similar to a dinosaur holding a balloon when all of a sudden - thwack!

You could instantly hear the gasps erupt in the warm air as your face began to heat, head forming a dull ache.

Linda's camera hung around her neck while she ran over to you, aborting the much needed pictures of how oddly symmetric the horizon was with the grass and trees. "___! Are you okay?" She asked, eyes worried, hands on either side of your arm, slowly lifting you up from laying down.

You blinked, leaning up. You squinted, slowly moving your eyes to her. "W-What happened?"

Linda opened her mouth, wincing as you gingerly touched your head. "You were hit by a–"

"Oh my goodness, I am so so so sorry!" A voice yelled a few metres out.

Linda and you slowly looked over to the left of you. Your eyes slightly widened at sight of the familiar figure rushing towards you. Were you mistaken? The piercings... the hair... the eyes... no, you couldn't be.

You seemed to lose your ability to speak as the Alejandro Balde kneeled down, sweat covering his body, hands darting out frantically to your head, checking you ever so gently. "A-Are you alright? Should I call an ambulance?"

Hector, who stood next to him, looked at him blankly. He bent down, putting out his hand. "How many fingers do you see?"

You narrowed your eyes. "Uh... three."

Hector nodded. "Any nausea, dizziness, or headaches?"

You shook your head. "Just a small ache. Nothing crazy," you murmured, awkwardly looking at the panicked expression on Alejandro's face, his hands still holding your face while he stared at his friend.

"Good," Hector smiled tightly. "Lastly. Do you remember your name and where you are?"

"I'm ___ and I'm in the park. Specifically Mas Lluí," you stated.

Hector smiled with satisfaction, turning to Alejandro. "She's not concussed. She'll live."

Alejandro finally seemed to breathe again, shoulders slumping after his long exhale. He looked at you with a regretful smile, removing his hands gently. "I'm sorry. This idiot wasn't in place to receive the ball."

You raised a brow, looking at the football near where your head once was on the picnic blanket then at Ansu and then back to Alejandro. So that's what had happened. You blinked. "Do you guys not practice at the training grounds or did Flick kick you out for being late or something?"

Hector snorted. "Trust me. The last thing we want to do is piss Flick off. We were just having some fun. Unfortunately, you got Alejandro's kick," he winced before getting shoved by his teammate. He yelped, falling on his side, giving Alejandro a small glare.

"Ignore him," Alejandro mumbled with annoyance before turning to you. You swallowed at the soft brown eyes looking back at you. "Are you sure you're okay?"

You nodded slowly, averting your eyes to the grass. "Fine," you said with a tight smile.

Alejandro stared at you, silent for a beat before he grabbed his phone out of his back pocket, swiping up on the screen, and rotating it to you. You mended your eyebrows at the numeric keypad.

"Add your number. That way I can check on you," Alejandro said, still on his knees.

You pressed your lips together. "I think I'll live," you chuckled quietly.

For a moment, you wondered if you had mistaken the way his ears perked up at your laugh or the way his stressed eased, smile softening, shoulders relaxing. Maybe you were concussed.

"Humour me, will you? I just need to know you're alright," Alejandro retorted, lightly shaking his phone in front of you again, eyes firm and determined.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Just like that, Alejandro had become an invading presence in your life. Now there was only during him. If you had to guess, ever since you met him, about almost every living second had become revolved around him.

You weren't sure how it was possible. You thought footballers didn't have any time on their hands. Alejandro, however, seemed to have ample.

"Seriously?" Alexandra, your other flatmate, exclaimed as Linda returned to your apartment, finished running her errands, holding a bouquet of flowers, decorated with a card that had your name on it. The one sent weekly to your door.

Linda sighed, plopping it on the dining table, in front of where you sat. You swallowed your water, eyeing the bouquet carefully. "I think he still feels bad," you murmured with a small shrug.

Alexandra snorted. After six months? Yeah, no. "I think he feels a whole lotta different things," she cackled, leaning on her stomach as she laid on the couch, happy to be distracted from doing her assignment.

"Yeah, no kidding," Linda retorted, taking out the card on the front and unfolding it. "'You must be a flower, because you're blooming lovely,'" she read out aloud, wrinkling her nose.

Even you had to admit that was bad joke. "Remind me to tell him to never do stand-up comedy," you mumbled with a sigh, continuing to eat your lunch as you sorted out your assignments.

Oblivious to you, Linda and Alexandra looked at each other blankly.

"Comedy?" Linda mouthed with mended brows, walking around the dining table.

Alexandra shook her head, shrugging. "She thinks it's a joke," she mouthed back, silently slapping her palm into her forehead.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Alejandro watched you from afar, heart lodged in his throat as he did. You weren't in the park today. It was raining cats. The clouds looked gloomy. So you were an empty part of your campus, a place you had found all to yourself, allowing you to think and breathe fairly and not spend every living second distracted.

You weren't paying attention to the way Alejandro's eyes drifted towards you as you studied. Nor how his lips parted when you rested your cheek on your pen, pouting at your screen. Or how his breath caught when you quietly hummed to the music in your headphones.

Alejandro could feel his body still for a brief second when your head turned and those beautiful eyes looked at him, catching him in the act. He only grinned, noticing the way you blinked rapidly as he, walked towards you, hands shoved inside of the pocket of his hoodie.

You frowned slightly, watching him sit next to you while you took out one earbud. "Don't you have training?" You queried.

Alejandro was always like this. Appearing out of nowhere. You even asked him if he had gotten kicked out or something. The question was so innocent that he couldn't help but laugh at the time.

"Always trying to get rid of me," he teased, sitting so close to you, your arms rested against one another. You could feel his body warmth immediately, engulfing you like it was a disease.

You said nothing, continuing to read the words on your screen. Although, you weren't really reading. For five minutes now, you had been looking over the same words once you realised Alejandro was nearby. He always made you lose focus. It was so annoying.

"What are you listening to?" He asked, voice now quieter, like he was trying to be mindful of what you were doing.

You pursed your lips, fingers gingerly picking the earbud hanging over your work before gesturing him to take it. Your skin warmed upon the feel of his hand brush your as Alejandro took the earbud and placed it in his ear.

Slow and gentle piano chords filled Alejandro's ear. The warm, rich, deep yet sharp voice of Carla Morrison wavered. He took in every word, brown eyes faltering to yours, holding you to his soft gaze.

Disfruto mirarte. I enjoy looking at you. Cada movimiento. Every moment. Un vicio que tengo. A vice of mine.

Un gusto valorarte. It's a pleasure with to cherish you. Nunca olvidarte. To never forget you. Entregarte mis tiempos. To give you my time.

"Es hermosa," he managed to whisper, still not taking his eyes off you. It's beautiful.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to look away. You nodded, staring at your screen, feeling his eyes on you. Your skin felt impossibly hot and he wasn't helping! "Es una buena canción," you agreed with a small mumble, tucking your hair behind your ear. It's a good song.

Alejandro watched that same tress fall back in front of your face. Slightly dazed as though he was in a trance, his hand reached out, pushing it back – gentle and unhurried. He smiled, realising you were holding your breath. He traced your features with his fingertip like you were a sculpture in a museum and he wasn't supposed to touch you, but God, he couldn't help it.

He pressed his lips together, slowly removing his hand, letting you finally take a breath of fresh air. "I'm not talking about the song."

━━━━━━━━━━━

You blinked blankly at the figure who entered the restaurant and then turned to Alexandra. "Why is he here? I thought the five of us were having dinner to celebrate Linda's portfolio?"

That was the plan. The three of you and the girls' partners. Going off routine after Linda's portfolio was nominated for a prestigious competition within the university. You couldn't fathom a single reason why Alejandro was here.

Alexandra only smiled sweetly from across the table, folded arms resting on the table. "Are you actually asking that?"

You stayed silent, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly, watching Alejandro pull out the seat next to you, greeting everyone with his usual bright smile, shaking hands with Alexandra's girlfriend and Linda's boyfriend. "Nice to meet you guys," he said. "Congratulations, Lin, by the way. You so deserve this."

You mended your brows. Lin? When on earth had he got to the point where him and Linda were on a nickname basis? Like he had been in your life for years.

You watched Linda give him a grateful thanks, her boyfriend lightly kissing her forehead, talking about how proud of her he was. You all began to order once the waiter came by.

Alejandro gave you a pointed look when you ordered the same food as him. "Copycat," he mumbled with a small grin, nudging you lightly.

You gasped dramatically. "What if I just like the same things you do? It's just a coincidence," you wiggled your brows before smiling widely, laughing quietly.

Alejandro paused, taking you in at his own pace. He sighed, shaking his head. "You've got to stop smiling like that. It’s distracting."

He pressed his lips together, preventing himself from grinning harder when you closed your mouth and pursed your lips, skin flushing, giving him a small glare before peering over to Alexandra and Linda who just looked at one another knowingly.

The conversation at the table rose easily. Alejandro was getting to know more parts of your life with every sentence and you sat there wondering why he even bothered.

You didn't really understand it. He was a footballer. And not just any footballer. For Barça, for crying out loud!

Linda and Alexandra had been persisting that he was trying to get to know you because he liked you for months now. But you thought he liked you the way you liked anyone. He was your friend. Even if your friendship had begun by hitting you in the head with a football.

To be honest you thought he still felt bad. The first week after he accidentally hit you, Alejandro messaged every day, making sure you were okay and not concussed by asking if you could read the number he sent – to which you responded "You can't check if someone is concussed through text."

And the only reply left from him was: "Well I guess we'll have to see each other in person then. You know... just to make sure."

Alejandro seemed to feel bored when you disappeared to the bathroom. The conversations around him slightly a bit meaningless without you. Call him dramatic, but it was like you had left a void next to him. Any minute longer and he'd be second-guessing where he was and what his name was.

Maybe it was strange, but Alejandro could've sworn he smelled you before he actually saw you. Your fragrance, also routine, was a hint of sweetness, although nothing compared to you, and a refreshing mix of the sea and the wind. Life itself if he had to sum it up in one word.

Linda grinned, glancing at her flatmate as Alejandro visibly perked up in his seat while you returned back to the table. His eyes were already on you, watching you flatten out the wrinkles in your pants. "Thank God you're back," he exhaled, "I missed you."

You mended your brows. "I was gone for five minutes," you retorted despite smiling lightly.

Alejandro simply shrugged. "My points still stands."

━━━━━━━━━━━

After dinner, once you convinced Alejandro the three of you didn't need to be walked back to your apartment, you slowly unwinded, getting ready to sleep.

You were braiding your hair in the bathroom when Linda peeked her head in. "Hey," she greeted.

You smiled back through the mirror in acknowledgement, waiting for to say something because it was clear by the way she twiddled her thumbs and leaned on the doorframe.

She didn't really know what to say, it seemed. Opening and closing her mouth. She sighed, blinking firmly. "Can I show you something?"

You wordlessly nodded – a bit worried at her tone. You followed her out the bathroom as you finished tying your hair. You both walked into the living room, taking a seat together while Linda brought out her laptop.

As she sifted through her photos, she spoke, "You remember that day right? When I was taking a photo of the horizon?"

You nodded again. "Yeah. How could I forget? You were banging on about the 'asymmetry of the trees and the sky,'" you remembered, mimicking her low voice.

Linda chewed her lip, tilting her head. She couldn't believe that was the part you remembered. Now she wasn't sure if you weren't concussed from that day. She sucked in a sharp breath, shaking her head lightly to bring herself out of her trance. "Right, well, apart from that... there was one shot that never made my portfolio."

She leaned in, showing you her laptop. You blinked once. Then twice. And twice more.

It was a picture from that day, like Linda had said. But not of the horizon like you had expected. It was of you and Alejandro, moments after you had gotten hit by his football. One hand on your head, the other on your cheek, worry in his eyes while checked you for injuries. And you looking back at him – in awe or confusion, it was hard to tell.

You couldn't take your eyes off the photo. You murmured to your flatmate, "Why are you showing me this?"

Linda pursed her lips. "I'm showing this to you because I don't think you see how much Alejandro cares about you. This is how much he cared when he first met you. And this is today..."

You moved your eyes, watching her bring out her phone, showing you the secret snap of you and Alejandro she had taken during dinner. If you had to guess, it was right after you had returned from the bathroom by the way he was perked up and smiling.

"Do you see the difference?" Linda whispered.

You mended your brows, examining the photo. "Alexandra's not in the photo?" You queried. Your shoulders slumped at the flat look on Linda's face. "I don't know!" You sighed with a grumble, leaning back into the couch. "I'm not good with these things."

Linda breathed slowly, only giving you an encouraging smile as she shuffled closer. She rubbed your shoulder softly – reassuring. "The difference is that you're smiling back."

You blinked, taken aback. You looked at the photo again, closer. She was right. You were smiling. At him. Because of him.

Linda squeezed your shoulder. "He doesn't just like you, hun. You like him too."

━━━━━━━━━━━

For the first time, you had asked to meet with Alejandro. You always left it up to him to find you. But after what you had heard two days ago and therefore forty-eight hours of overthinking, you decided to make a small change.

You thought about life before Alejandro. Your endless routine of same and boring. Of content.

And now.. the world didn't continue spinning. Instead it seemed to slow when Alejandro was around. The same sun and clouds seemed to hold meaning and give you purpose. You still grovelled about bus etiquette, your lectures, and work. But this boy seemed to make it a bit more bearable.

Alejandro had thrown all the routine in your life out and adorned it with his own chaos. Something that at first, you couldn't understand. But now... you had been confronted with your reality.

"Morning," Alejandro's voice greeted you, bringing your attention to him instead of the line of ducklings waddling down the path.

You gave him a small smile, giving him a wave. "Morning," you replied, watching him take a seat next to you on the park bench. It was still early so the sun wasn't exactly blistering. The birds still squawked and chirped.

"So this is a nice surprise," Alejandro commented after a minute of silence, smiling at you. He furrowed his brows when you didn't say anything. The crease on your forehead, the darting eyes... he inched closer, nudging you softly with his shoulder. "Hey, what's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

You pursed your lips, swallowing your nerves. You turned to him slowly. "Linda told me something recently. Well..." you huffed with amusement, "she and Alexandra have been telling me this for months now."

Alejandro stayed silent, carefully listening.

The way you sucked in a sharp breath... God, you were making him nervous. And not in the way you usually did.

"They said..." you chewed your lip cautiously, flickering your eyes between his face and your lap. "They said you liked me."

Alejandro blinked, leaning back slightly. He remained unspoken, brown eyes watching you like he did when he first met you. Like he was scared you were hurt. He breathed out slowly, finally letting you release the breath that you had been holding too.

You weren't clueless anymore.

"Well, you make it really hard to stay just friends," Alejandro told you honestly with a tight smile.

You registered his words, his admission. You mended your eyebrows. "I... I don't really understand. You could have anyone, Alejandro."

He knew what you meant. A footballer came with connotations. Anger. Aggression. Ego. Money. Models. And a player. And while he knew many of that kind, he wasn't like that. Nor did he want to be.

Alejandro looked at you–really looked at you. With all the firmness and seriousness in his eyes. He grabbed your hand, covering it with his own while he gave you a short shrug as if he was fatigued with honesty and reality.

"You're not just anyone. You're you," he whispered.

You blinked at the slight burn in your eyes. You. You were you. And he liked that. You nodded slowly, understanding his answer.

He breathed in, eyes carefully tracing your features, looking for any signal. "I... do you feel..." Alejandro trailed off, mouth drying. God... how was he supposed to say this?

"Would you say I'm reading it wrong if I thought you feel the same way about me?" He slowly exhaled, grip tightening around your hand out of nervousness.

You hesitantly looked up, trying to keep your heart at bay as he watched you. "I would say you're reading it right. But... Alejandro, I'm not really... good at these things," you awkwardly said.

Alejandro smiled softly at your honesty, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "It's okay," he murmured, bringing your hand to his lips. "We'll learn to together."

"Together?" You repeated with a raised brow.

Alejandro nodded, pressing a kiss to your hand. "Together," he affirmed.

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[alexanderlightweight]

Dear Lumine, if you take Wednesday Prompts this week, I would love to read more in the utter delight of a verse that is your eldritch delight verse. Their wedding, perhaps? Or anything at all, really. Thank you for sharing your wonderful stories with us.

it has been a while but finally responding and this is to set the stage for their wedding and i'm very glad you find it a delight! it is incredibly fun to write as well so i hope you enjoy!

last part here

<3 lumine

this eldritch delight

The moon blooms a haunting red as it hangs low in the sky. 

The grove is dark.

The branches of the weeping willows sway in the wind and the sound of the leaves echoes the tears of a mourning widow.

It’s far from what most would consider romantic, Catarina thinks to herself even as she helps hang the last strand of pearl and sea-crystals up to catch the light of the moon.  The pond itself glows with an eerie green light and the fires and torches that have been lit burn silver, not orange nor yellow.

Golden orbs hang in the sky, just out of reach and bobbing in a breeze that smells of lilacs and blood.

The ceremony will be held not on a dais but at an altar. 

Already preparation has been made and the large elk that Alec hunted — with bare hands apparently — has already been properly mounted with a gruesome flair.  The bone white of it’s antlers have been swathed in greenery and gems. 

A gift of providence and opulence.

Yet surely it’s the very least of what Magnus deserves.

Already, Cat knows that Magnus plans to have a coat made from the strange, silvery pelt and a headpiece with the antlers.  No doubt the bone will be turned into jewelry and accessories as well.

Magnus’ offering is that of a wyvern.  A corpse as dark as the void with scales that swallow the light rather than reflect it.  While the elk is perfect for Magnus — a statement piece and something he can wear to stand out, the wyvern is the opposite.  It’s bold but understated and it’s perfect for Magnus’ fiance. Perfect to guard and hide him in the very shadows he hunts in.

The table of the grooms is hidden behind a shimmering dome of violet light.  Two guards stand on either end, ensuring that no one accidentally passes through the safety barrier or drinks or ingests what Magnus and Alec intend to consume. 

It’s far too deadly for a wedding, as Ragnor complained incessantly.  However Cat is not going to be a part of restricting the palette of Magnus and his spouse at their very own wedding.

The sacrilege of the very thought had her voice booming so quietly yet deeply that Ragnor’s very marrow shook in his bones. For once, he’d been more frightened of her than Magnus and he’d wiped away the sweat on his brow with a sigh before agreeing.

And then immediately complaining even as he researched how to fix it.

“I really do blame him.” Ragnor mutters even as he joins her. “I understand why you insist upon it. I even get why I gave in. However Magnus should know better. There is plenty of food he can enjoy that is simply a little less toxic. In fact I would happily make him as much poisonous jam and jellies and even teas as he likes. I just wish I didn't need to research how to create a shield that will ensure the safety of over a dozen different species! I am retired Cat!”

Cat rolls her eyes because this is the sixth time they’ve had this argument. If it can even be called an argument when it’s really just Ragnor bemoaning the fact that he’s had to spend several days researching a solution.

Unfortunately, the delicacies and favorites that Magnus and Alec both enjoy are too strong and potent for guests to be around. And while they may somehow cancel out for each other, it only makes them more deadly to others.

Magnus' treats are more dangerous for faerie and nephilim alike while what Alec enjoys is often worse for those with demonblood. 

Regular shielding doesn’t contain the fumes nearly enough and the very tableware used had to be carefully sourced.  Less the poisons eat through metal or wood or even ceramic. 

Instead they’ve used crystal. 

A smoky quartz in color with rose and amber as well each holding dishes and delights from all over many places in the world.

Or perhaps merely the most deadly.

—

It needs to be a disaster.

That’s what has Magnus' foot tapping as he looks over the too-perfectly manicured appearance of the place where he is to marry Alexander. Magnus does not wish for the first time he shows off his legal claim of Alexander to be somewhere so dull.

Truly, to have snatched a prize like Alexander is a garish delight.

Worthy of horror and envy.

Yet still, Magnus would prefer for the atmosphere to be less peaceful and more macabre.  Alexander will fall asleep on Magnus in the middle of his vows at this rate! Magnus' darling, monstrous boy is far too precious to be forced into such a ridiculous display.

A vicious curl of his fingers sends a fine dust into the air and a few moments later he hears the gentle but sturdy flap of wings.

Moths and bats alike soar through the air like fear through a nightmare.

They ignore each other, focusing on the golden orbs that Magnus tailored exactly to their tastes and the air feels alive again as they dance in the sky. In the pond there is a snap and a splash and he looks over to see Alexander setting down an empty bag.  His husband-to-be is a dreadful delight. Not just in looks but in action.  Even now he’s a treasured blade to the heart. A dagger through the ribs and piercing an organ that already beats only for him.

Magnus croons and nearly steps closer except he might interrupt.

It’s too much of a delight, watching the horror that is Alexander feeding his blood to the river reeds and suddenly the water is awake. The plants bloom into life with a cruel brilliance that will soon fade when the fervor of consuming unholy blood fades.

The red gleam of the moon is absorbed by the petals of lotuses as they float, glowing across the surface and attracting large dragonflies the size of his palm.

“It's hauntingly gorgeous.” He assures his wretchedly beautiful boy.

And Alexander’s ghastly smile a caress to Magnus’ poisoned soul.

AN:

Ragnor is happy to help, he just wants to complain which is fine, but cat has limits and is tired. So first she made it very clear that ragnor was going to listen and do it properly (which he agreed to) and then cat was fine with him complaining because she just wanted to make sure it was done. Now she just ‘mhmss’ and dismisses him while he summons her drinks and snacks.

The drinks and snacks are 1) to make sure she eats something while invested and distracted and 2) a bribery since cat is letting him complain and ragnor understands the privilege that is

Btw ragnor being scared of cat is like. Your very good friend nearly gave you a heart attack accidentally out of startled surprise and now your heart races for a few days when you hear their voice because your brain still is in recovery mode. (say and saeth often startle me and I scream. Especially because if I dont have my glasses I can’t see what surprised me or I can’t recognize it. Which has let to me accidentally thinking there are strangers in the house before.) or like, I have screamed mistaking the cat for things before.

-

cat and ragnor watching magnus and alec 'decorate' while standing out of the way and sharing drinks and a sample wedding cake.

cat: i will trade you one hair care session for a massage after this

ragnor: agreed, however please tell me this sample wasn't made with the same poisoned jam that they used for magnus'?

cat holding out a small shotglass: bottoms up.

ragnor: why is poison so damn delicious. i thought it was the lemon zest and cayenne that had my mouth tingly. not that my skin was melting.

cat: alec sounded like he was having an orgasm when he tried this cake. do you know what kind of flavor it takes to get a slab of marble to sound like that without it involving magnus?

ragnor: yes fine. it was worth it. i truly hate everything sometimes. please tell me at least the tea we're drinking is safe. this really is a lovely blend

cat handing over another antidote shot

ragnor: lilith fucking hell (she's the mother of all demons okay)

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

I just want to say that your brain is huge and I enjoy everything you post. Your sense of humour is top tier. Especially your thoughts on BNHA, omg. If I was a rich bastard, I’d patronage the shit out of you.

Anyways, I’ve been reading through your first possession posts and Izuku’s silly little boot camp specifically made to kill that old man, intermixed with First literally stuck in the suffering matrix is fantastic. That line about how the past users have been stuck in the Disney channel since they got to Ninth had me cackling.

I am curious though, how exactly does Izuku swimming through the past user’s memories affect him in the long term? How does Izuku’s new found maternal feelings towards All Might pan out (does he make sure All Might’s eating 3 balanced meals a day and is getting a full eight hours of sleep?)? How many gray hairs does Aizawa have by the end of this?

Thanks for sharing your ideas and your stellar writing. Hope you’re having a good one! :)

Honestly Izuku’s mostly okay he just needs therapy but he already probably should have been in therapy so it’s not exactly a big change

Izuku’s just got a bunch of the past users mixed in with him now that he can separate out but hasn’t really had a chance to. He remembers doing things he objectively never did. He remembers being people he wasn’t. He remembers having a desire to ruffle all mights hair with a motherly affection and has to go lie down for a bit before the humiliation kills him stone dead.

The effects from First’s memories are the worst because he lived through a lot more of First’s memories than the others’, and also First’s memories are a fucking horror movie. And like. Everyone else has plenty of horror movie shit too, frankly, but Izuku didn’t get lost in their memories nearly as much as he did First’s. He didn’t experience their worst bits and doesn’t remember them.

Izuku has a bit more of a separation from First’s memories than First himself does. He knows it never happened to him. It’s not as visceral as it is to First. He definitely needs therapy because holy fuck but not nearly as bad as First does.

Honestly the most lasting effect is that Izuku is going around having been personally groomed by the past users as their truest successor, which is unfortunate, because the past users are fucking insane. Living with them is like a mix between a frat house and a full immersion survival workshop for the CIA. Izuku has never felt a more profound sense of belonging in his life. Everyone is so locked in here. He is home.

I just really like the idea that all the past users went through life like: *horrified realization* “I am gods strongest soldier.” They were all so uniquely fucked compared to the rest of society. They all had to deal with the shittiest freak that ever was and usually they did it alone. And then they find themselves inside one for all and they’re finally amongst people who understand just how much that guy sucks. They just all ended up feeling very protective of each other. Love is stored in the ghosts in the bones. That also happens to be where they store the violence.

It’s a very collegiate environment and Izuku is In The Group. Whenever he’s out of his own bones he acts like the past user’s bullshit is both common knowledge and the expectation and legitimately Aizawa has no idea what was wrong with those people but whatever it was was significant. He tries to broach with Izuku what they found out about first and Izuku 1) already knew and 2) shares that he, along with the other past users, think it’s fucked up that they looked at that stuff. The past user hive mind seems to have collectively decided it’s the equivalent of purposefully going through someone else’s memories without permission, which, as everyone knows, is a serious breach of personal boundaries. They’re existing under social norms designed for a ghost roommate situation within a child’s bones and Aizawa is so so tired.

[four-toast]

hiii

I am going crazy about your girldad rosekiller au it’s literally consuming me

I read one of your posts that said that Nessa witnessed a few of Barty’s episodes. How do you think Evan would deal with this in the later years?

Also, I just love the idea of this little girl in a princess dress running up to someone and the dads are just. Rosekiller with all their tattoos and piercings and whatnot. The type of people that would make some homophobic old shrew at the supermarket die

-🦝

ANOTHER NEW ANON???? Welcome to the madness, I hope you enjoy your stay lol

Firstly, THANK YOU so much. It's consuming me too, so I'm glad I have people to share it with.

So fun fact, the one shot I'm currently working on actually deals with your question lol. I won't give too much away, but basically Nessa sneaks out, Barty's off his meds, and when she comes home, he loses it. They get into a pretty nasty screaming match, Evan steps in and tells them they need to go to bed, and then he's kind of left to just pick of the pieces (I need to write something happy because I feel like I've put Evan through enough and this whole family just needs a break).

In general, Evan's got conflicted feelings about Barty's episodes. On the one hand, he knows they're not his fault and he knows that Barty's really struggling. At the same time, he hates that Nessa has to see her dad like that, so he's also a wee bit angry at Barty. I think Evan's always put a lot of pressure on himself to be sort of the glue that holds their family together and after a while, that starts to take it's toll. He tries really hard to act like he's fine for Nessa, but I can guarantee you that the minute he's alone, he breaks down. Dude has cried in the shower more times than he'd like to admit. Also, he feels an odd mix of relief and sadness every time they send Nessa off to Hogwarts. He doesn't have to pretend Barty's "situation" doesn't have a huge impact on him but he also misses Nessa immensely, so he falls into a depressive funk for a while.

I don't think Barty realises how much Evan struggles until Nessa goes to school. Like, her first year was ROUGH. Let's just say that Evan decided it was HIS turn to spiral... He stopped wanting to go into work, leaving Barty to run the shop pretty much alone (they had help by this time though), and started drinking. Most days, by the time Barty got home, Evan was either absolutely hammered or passed out. But, as usual, Nessa's the one who snaps him out of it. He doesn't want her to see him like that, especially because he's supposed to be her rock. He's supposed to be the stable one, the reliable one, the one who's there when no one else is.

Nessa is the most important person in their lives, and she knows this. She knows she's loved, but she also knows her dads have a lot of issues and aren't perfect. She's what really made them "grow up" and want to change. They wanted to do something good for a change. (And I personally think they did a very good job, despite their flaws)

And yes, people are ALWAYS shocked when they meet Nessa and then meet her dads. Sort of like "how did this little princess come from those two?" 😂 As for homophobic old shrews, they've definitely put quite a few of them in their place lol. I'd say there's only one interaction with a homophobe that doesn't end well, and it may or may not have something to do with Nessa's bio mom...

Thanks for the ask!! This was a great question!

[honey-on-your-tongue]

We are officially at 8,042 honeys!!!

And I want you all to know that I see you. I really do.

To the people who have been on my blog for a long time and always like my posts, I see you in my notifications and it makes me happy to know you're still with me, that I'm good enough to have you stick around.

To the people who always comment on my posts, I recognize your profile pictures and your usernames, and every comment makes me happy. I always look forward to reading every comment you leave.

To the people who send me asks, no matter how weird you think they are, it makes me happy that you trust me enough with a part of who you are and what you like to request for my writing. I am truly honored, and even though I tend to take a while to get to your requests, I promise I'm working on them!

To the ones who always reblog my work, it makes me happy every time and a little more confident about my writing to see you put my stories on your Tumblrs and spread them.

To those who find my blog and read through a bunch of my work and leave a bunch of notes, I'm glad you enjoy my writing enough to dedicate your time to navigating through my various stories.

To the ones that like my smaller works, the ones that aren't as popular and that take months for me to write, that are still incomplete, that have thousands of words—thank you so much. It means so much to me that even works that feel insignificant in the ocean of other writings have fans. I love you.

All of you, each of you 8,042 mean everything to me. And I can't express it enough, I really don't have the words. I just hope my writing is enough to express my gratitude and love for each of you.

As a thank you, I'm uploading part 14 of corruption kink with Simon Riley tonight <3 I wish it were enough to express how much I love you all.

Take care, honeys 💛

[anniflamma]

hiya!!

your most recent post reminded me to ask:

how are shipping out the keychains going? I preordered late last month (maybe it was the deadline oop) and I was wondering if there's any timeline or predictions you have

(for reference if needed,, I live in Europe and got the bundle)

so! thanks a bunch!! and am hoping you enjoy the rest of your day and weekend and month :DD

(I also would like to say how much I ADORE your daniel/darius stuff hOLY,, and am probably going to watch Some Like it Hot because of that scrumptious video you made some time back,, I think about them often (.///.) ,, and I also started reading Prince's Psalm and imagine at times your david/jonathan eheh --also due to that I learnt it's not said pull-salm but salm :') ,, growing up going to church really helped me there...)

kudos! <3

I’m planning on making a cleaner look and a proper info dump about the pre-orders in a seperate post, but yes, I actually sent the orders out yesterday! I just haven't found the time to sit down and write it down XD However, everyone who pre-ordered should have received an email with info that your order has been shipped. I know a few bundles are going to European countries, so you’re most likely one of them! Again, I’ll make another post soon to explain things more properly.

Hehe, once everything calms down just a little bit and I can settle in to work again, I’ll be making more Daniel/Darius shorts! Most likely, I’ll do another short comic because there are some moments in my head that I couldn’t find good audio to replicate. And of course, it’s about that awkward phase in their relationship, where Daniel can’t deny Darius’s feelings anymore and has to either live with it or pretend everything’s the same as before. You know... Daniel being awkward and Darius feeling hurted.

AND YYYESSS, ANOTHER THE PRINCE’S PSALM READER! >:D Let me know what you think! I’m all for any kind of ramble or discussion!

[darl1ngpearl]

Save A Horse,

Cowgirl!abby x fem!reader

Part 1/?

Warning!!: reader is religious, God, Jesus Christ, religion, cannibalism, flirting, raids, AGE GAP READER 19, ABBY 30, ect.

Please read !!

I really hope you clocked the Ethel Cain reference.

PRE WARNING! I AM NOT HEAVILY RELIGIOUS. I greatly apologise if I have offended anyone, I try my best to be as respectful as can be. I believe in god, I pray from time to time, I have specific beliefs, so please do not come for me if I have not met your beliefs, I apologise. When I was a child I was heavily religious, I am slowly working my way back into my religion also, so I am trying my best to go off of what I learnt in my previous years and now. Thank you 🩷

You wormed in and out of each isle, taking your time to admire the books, all their different shapes and colours, how worn some look and how others look fresh with life.

You ran your fingers along the covers of the book spines that were facing you as you hummed a blues tune quietly to yourself.

You listened to the quiet chatter of school children in the book corner, and the bustle of life from outside. You felt content, happy with your peaceful life. You felt in the moment, and nothing could pull you from it.

You stopped in your tracks and pulled a book from the third row. It had a red velvet hardback cover and the title was displayed in bold, gold lettering. The title read “strangers”. The book look worn from time, but it was still rife with life.

You smiled at the beauty of the cover, and flicked through a few of the pages, reading a random page you landed on to see if the book spiked your interest.

Your eyes scanned over every line, murmering each word to yourself in a hushed tone. You felt as if you were being sucked into the book, each word painting a picture in your head.

“and as you ripped the flesh from my bones, i realised that the only way i could get through to your heart, was through your stomach.”

You smiled and nodded, before closing the book and tucking it under your arm.

You made your way to the counter with your head held high. There was a sway in your hips and a soft smile painted on your rose painted lips.

The soft tap of your kitten heels against the wooden floor caused a few eyes to wander to your figure. You paid no mind to those staring, and placed your book down in front of the old woman sat at the front of the desk, who you had got close with over the years of you visiting this same library over and over.

“I would love to purchase this book Debby”

“Purchase? You haven’t purchased a book in months, what makes this one so special?”

You sent her a loving smile and watched as she rose from her seat, grabbing a large paper envelope to put the book in.

“I can’t explain it, the cover of it is beautiful for one, it will really fit in with my collection, but the wording is truly outstanding. I only read a page and immediately knew I needed it. Everything flows so perfectly, i would hate to leave it behind.”

“It sounds truly beautiful my dear”

She tied a red ribbon around the envelope, before slotting it into a paper bag, and pushing it towards you.

You pulled your small coin purse from the pocket on your dress and hummed,

“How much do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house”

You watched as she sat back down in her cushioned seat, and pulled her own book back in front of her.

“Oh no, no you can’t do that, let me pay Deb”

“Oh quiet you, I don’t want to hear it. Take your book and enjoy it, I’ll see you again next week my treasure.”

You shook your head and sighed, before tucking away your coin purse and grabbing the paper bag from in front of you.

“Have a peaceful afternoon!”

You waved a goodbye to the old woman, before opening the door out, letting the bell above ding, and stepping out from the quiet and cosy environment, out into the bustling and loud environment outside.

You sighed and made your way into the town centre. It was a bright day, making it perfect for you to read outside, and you knew exactly where you wanted to go.

You were sat on the edge of the tall water fountain, listening to the flow of water and watching it glisten in the rays of sunshine.

You felt content, you felt comfortable.

You pulled the book from the paper bag, carefully untying the ribbon and freeing it from the paper envelope.

You smiled at the sight of the crimson hardback, it looked even more outstanding in the summer rays.

You put the book down in your lap, before grabbing the ribbon that you had placed beside you.

You lifted your hair that was resting on your shoulders, and tied it up into a pony tail with the colourful ribbon. The dark red matched perfectly with your long, flowing white dress.

You let out a sigh of content, and gave the book your attention once more.

You flicked through a few pages, before you got to the first official page of the story.

The first chapter of the book was called “Don’t talk to strangers, or you might fall in love.”

You bit down on your bottom lip and started to read along,

“God is telling you and I that there is death, for all of us.”

Every few minutes, you were flicking to the next page. The cursive writing was drawing you in, you didn’t dare lift your head in fear of missing even one word.

“But, then we find that the scriptures also tell us that we have a great promise, that there is a better place for those who believe in the lord Jesus Christ.”

Without paying any mind, your free hand went to play with the petite gold cross that hung from a thin gold chain wrapped around your neck.

“In your basement, i grow cold. Thinking back to what I was always told-“

The book made you feel true and raw emotion, you had never read a book like it. If you could, you would sit by this fountain all day and night until the book was finished.

You had a poor habit, you were unable to read in your head. You could really, but you truly believed that reading a book aloud to yourself gave it more potential, made it sound and flow better, made it more appealing. So, everytime you read you would read to yourself, just like you were doing now.

It made a few children and elderly stop to listen for a few clicks, before they went on the merry way.

“-don’t talk to strangers or you might fall in love.”

You found the book enticing, you were unable to pull your head from the pages to look at the crowd of people in the market, or the small children running past you, or the large caramel horse running directly towards you.

You let out a loud gasp, before falling to your knees and tucking your head in, shielding it with your arms.

The pounding of hooves against the slab floor abruptly stopped right before you.

Slowly, you untucked your head from your arms and craned your neck to stare above you, at the tall, broad shining horse towering over you.

You gasps and stood up, brushing off dust from your knees and picking up the velvet book beside you.

You tucked the book under your arm beforehand, and circled around the horse, admiring its every detail.

“Aren’t you a gorgeous girl”

You ran your hand along her hips, allowing them to dip at her back. She was beautiful.

Her hair was smooth and soft, she was freshly washed, her light caramel colour fitted oh so perfectly with the glimmering orange sun.

You could truly believe she was an angel.

You stopped infront of her, gently pushing her mane from her eyes.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest, where is your owner, girl?”

You spoke to her as if she could speak back. You stared ahead at the horse with true admiration and love in your eyes. You knew she belonged to someone, it was obvious by how well kept she was, but you had half a state of mind to take her home with you and keep her for yourself.

You stared into her deep brown eyes, admiring the colour and her long eyelashes. You couldn’t stop admiring her every feature.

You ran your fingers through her mane, untangling any small knots with your fingers.

“Shall we see if we can find your owner, would you follow me?”

You took a few steps forward into the direction she came and surprisingly, she walked beside you.

You couldn’t help but grin, and continued to take slow steps in the direction of the setting sun.

You continued to talk to her, in hopes it brought her comfort. You had a deep routed care in your heart for all life on earth, and you wished you could care for each and every life.

“I wonder what your name is, I’m sure it’s almost as beautiful as you. And, I wonder if you’re a racer horse, or just a horse used to get around. I hope you’re not a racer, it’s very dangerous sweet girl. If you are a racer, I may have to have a very serious word with your owner.”

The horse snorted, causing a laugh to fall from your lips, truly believing that was her replying to the thought of her being a racer.

You both continued to make your way down the straight path, you admired all the wildlife around you, and the different buildings standing high.

You had no clue where you were going, or where you were. You were getting further and further from town, and you had never ventured this far away before to be frank, yet, you weren’t scared, not a single fear peaked in your mind.

All a sudden, you heard heavy footsteps approaching, you could tell whoever was approaching wss wearing cowboy boots, it was too obvious by the heavy heel tapping against the slabs, and the quiet prang of the metal spike on the back.

You looked up ahead, tearing your attention away from the birds sat high in a tree.

The second your eyes landed on the woman before you, you felt as if all air was ripped from your lungs in an instant.

She was dressed in a brown leather jacket, dark yet faded blue jeans, cowboy boots, a cowboy hat, and a plaid button top. Her long blond hair was tied into a loose braid, with many stands of hair falling from the style.

You and the horse both stopped walking and watched the woman stopped a few steps away.

“Oh my, Jesus Christ thank you! Thank you my lord and my saviour, thank you!”

You watched the woman pray above, her hands clasped together and eyes squeezed shut.

Your mind was drawn to the thick and deep sothern accent she held, finding it shamelessly attractive.

Although, you couldn’t help but giggle at her reaction, before quickly holding a hand over your mouth, hoping she didn’t hear you.

She sighed and walked closer, quickly circling the horse, similar to how you did earlier, and she checked her for any injury.

“I’m going to guess this beautiful girl is yours?”

“Yes, yes she is ma’am”

You watched as she then circled around you, taking you in with her eyes, looking your figure up and down.

“She is truly an angel, I believe she is a real gift from our God himself. Not to mention she has a glowing personality.”

The mysterious woman couldn’t help but chuckle at your reaction to her horse.

“Cookie. Her name is cookie, like a caramel swirl cookie they sell at the market in town.”

You couldn’t help but grin,

“I knew it. What a perfect name for a perfect girl.”

The woman stopped circling you and once again stood in front of you.

“You’ve taken a great interest in my girl, huh?”

“Oh yes, she is magnificent, as soon as my eyes fell on her I could not believe it. The sun rays truly compliment her beauty, it makes her caramel colour stand out so very well. I am sorry if my interest is offending, I just cannot help myself.”

“Do not worry your head doll, I find the interest in her very complimenting, i take great pride in all my horses so you talking about her beauty truly makes me believe I have done a good job. If you please, you may come with me to my farm, see where cookie is livin’, i can get you a cold beverage too”

Without a single thought you harshly nodded your head, the movement loosening the pony tail resting half way on the back of your skull.

She smirked and patted cookie on the thigh, before leading the way forward.

You trailed behind the tall, muscular woman, trying your best to avert your eyes from her broad shoulders and toned arms.

“So…um, what’s your name miss?”

She turned her head to the side to look at you from the corner of her eye. You realised at that moment it would be best if you walked beside her, considering you wanted to make more conversation but didn’t want her to hurt her neck turning it everytime you spoke.

“The names Abby, Abby Anderson. What would your name be doll?”

You sped up your pace for a moment to catch up to her and once you were walking at her side, you slowed your pace.

“My name is Y/N. Your name suites you very well i believe.”

“Well thank you Y/N, very angelic name for an angel like yourself”

You giggled and turned your gaze down to your feet,

“Are you flirting with me Abby?”

She hummed and turned a corner, cookie and you following behind.

“If that is what you make of it.”

You smiled and adjusted the book under your arm, before looking over a Cookie. Her golden hue slowly fading away as the sun set, the sky turning purple and pink, switching from the golden colour it once was. Nevertheless, she still looked ethereal.

“Question. How do you know they sell caramel swirls at the market? They are new in stock, and I thought cowboys were forbidden in our town. Yknow, because of the raids n’ that? And well, I am guessing you are a cowboy, with the way you are dressed, excuse me if I am mistaken however.”

She sighed and took off her hat, she no longer needed it on as the sun was disappearing and it was only needed to block the harsh rays.

“Luckily, because I am a female, I’m not seen as evil or demonic as the male cowboys. I can go through town n’ in the markets, but it doesn’t mean I ain’t frowned upon. It is better if I go early morning, then when I go midday, or nearing the night fall.”

You nodded your head along, paying close attention to what the woman had to say.

“I can understand that. It’s a real shame though. I do not believe any cowboy is evil. There was a reason for the raids, no? The men were hungry, desperate for supplies and food in their stomach. I am in town almost every day of the week, visiting the library. I noticed a few cowboy wondering around, peacefully, before the raids. They were asking around for anything, even asking if there were scraps they could have. Although, they got turned down, and that’s why they chose violence to get what they needed. I do not understand why my village will turn away innocent people, just because they do not look a certain way. If anything, they are the evil, not the cowboys. I believe they lack morals, god taught us not to be greedy, to accept what we have and are given, and to not take advantage. Yet, some people in the town only care for coins, for wealth. They do not care about the needs of other individuals, just some gold in their pockets by sun set.”

Abby was silent. She didn’t reply nor did she avert her gaze towards you. She just kept her head up and her gaze forward, staring off down the long path.

“I am sorry for rambling, I probably do not have much of a say in this situation, I am seen as a town folk, so i maybe should not speak on this.”

The taller woman shook her head. Her hand that held her hat lifted up, before she placed the item ontop of your head.

“You could not have said it any better. I am glad there is still true faith and acceptance within the town, even if it is only from you, that is more than enough.”

You grinned and held your head up high, no longer giving the slab floor and your heels your attention.

When your gaze lifted, you saw a distant stable and farm.

“Is that yours?”

“Why yes it is, sugar.”

“Well thank Mary, my feet are killing me”

Abby looked beside her, at you, with a slight frown in her eyebrows.

“Why did you not mention that sooner? You could have rode on Cookie.”

“Oh no no no, that is too much to ask, I would not want to be greedy.”

Abby stopped in her tracks, causing Cookie and you to abruptly stop beside her.

You looked up at her, quickly holding the hat that was to fall from your head in place, before it was to tip off.

The woman took a step closer, before she took the book that was tucked underneath your arm.

Without a word or even a sound, she took the book from under your arm and placed it on Cookies rump, before she lifted you off the ground.

You let out a squeal as you felt your feet lift from the floor, and dangle in the air.

You were amazed at how easily she could pick you up, acting as if you merely weighed nothing. You believed she must work out on the daily. Although, it was quite obvious by her muscular build.

Abby placed you on top of the horse, and fixed the parts of your dress that rode up or became ruffled.

“Better for you ma’am?”

“Very much so, thank you Abby. I shall have to return the favour.”

She shook her head and started to walk once more.

“This is me returning the favour. You got my girl back to me safe n’ sound.”

You sighed and played with the silk hair falling from the horses mane, running your fingers through and twisting strands through the gaps between your fingers.

The short ride there was quiet, it was a comfortable silence, nothing was needed to be said.

Abby opened up the large gate, making it creak with each movement.

Cookie trotted through the wooden entrance, and stomped her hooves against the soiled floor.

Abby rolled her eyes and shut the gate, to prevent cookie from escaping again.

“She is a sassy lady, please excuse her poor manners”

You giggled and kissed the top of the animals head.

Abby clicked her tongue a few times, indicating the horse to follow her. She led you both into a barn, where multiple horses were camped.

You gasped and admired all 5 of the well groomed animals in front of you, taking in their colours, their mane, their build.

“You can meet my girls if you please, I gotta feed cookie. She missed dinner since she was busy picking up a pretty woman.”

You flush rose upon your cheeks and hopped off the back of the horse with a helping hand from Abby. You then walked off to the first horse without a single word, too distracted at the thought of meeting such a beautiful species of animal.

The horse you stood before was taller than cookie, with broader shoulders and a more chiselled face structure. Her hooves were freshly done, you could tell by the fresh silver reflecting off the yellow lighting within the barn. Her mane was in a long braid, which rested on her left shoulder. She was a dark chocolate colour, with dark black hair.

You ran your hand along her back, before you moved onto admiring the next one.

She was a milky white, with a few black spots on her rump and along her nose, which made them look like large blotchy freckles. Her hair was also braided, both tail and mane. She was the same build as cookie, just with a more slimmed face.

She was gorgeous, but you truly believed no horse could beat cookie.

You hummed a tune quietly to yourself, as you ran your hand up and down the girls back and hips.

“That is my girl tulip.”

You turned your head and looked behind you at Abby, who was leant against a wall with her arms crossed together, your book in her hand.

“Another beautiful name. You are truly great at naming your horses.”

The woman shrugged her shoulders and sighed.

“The tune you were humming, truly beautiful. What song is that?”

You grinned at the cowgirl and walked towards her. You pulled a stray piece of wheat from her braid and discarded it on the floor.

“Made it myself.”

“Do not lie, Y/N”

You shoved her shoulder and snickered,

“I do not lie. I made the tune on my own. It is what I once sung to my grandpa before he passed.”

She let out an awkward cough, before she stood upright. She placed a large, calloused hand on the small of your back, leading you out of the barn.

“My sincere apologies darlin’ “

You shook your head and smiled,

“No need for an apology. He always wanted a farm like this but instead, he was trapped in a small hut just outside of town. Which ironically, is where I live now, dreaming of one day having a farm just like this.”

Abby listened intently. You both stepped outside, standing under the dark sky, the moon and stars illuminating your surroundings.

“You are more than welcome to visit my farm whenever you please. I am more than sure you will get your own place like this in the future doll.”

Abby then led you towards a two story cottage placed in the middle of the gated area. She opened up the door and kicked off her boots, switching on a hall light. She looked at you, who stood at the doorway, watching the well built woman.

“You want a bite to eat? Or a refreshment?”

You smiled and played with a few loose strands that fell from your ponytail.

“I would not want to overstep any boundaries and stay longer than I am wanted.”

She shook her head and pulled you in by your wrist. You giggled and kicked off your heels, after shutting the door behind you.

Abby placed your book on a side table placed beside the door, which held a variety of trinkets.

She made her way into her kitchen, still holding onto your wrist.

She switched on the light in the current room also, and let go of you.

She pointed a finger to the counter before sticking her head in her fridge.

“Sit there.”

You jumped up onto the counter, resting your rump on the cold surface. You watched the woman dig around in the appliance, before she pulled out a jug of water and some cut up fruit.

“I thought I had more than this, my apologies.”

You watched the woman place the items down beside you, and leant over you to grab two glasses that were resting on a shelf above your head.

The close proximity caused your cheeks to flush, even if it was only for a few moments.

“So what about your parents, did they want a farm?”

You untied the ribbon from your hair, letting it fall loosely. You tucked a few stray strands behind your ears and watched the fresh lemons float on top of the water in the jug.

“Oh no, they could not stand even stepping in mud. Very snobby people. They left me with my grandpa when I was age twelve for an offer of gold. I later found out my mother wound up in a cell for robbery, and my father ran away with a lady of the night.”

Abby let out a choked gasp, whilst trying to pour the flavoured water into the two glasses. You couldn’t help but snort and a loud laugh fell from your mouth at her reaction.

She handed you the glass, and you took a sip of the refreshment, before sending her a soft smile.

“I will be completely honest, I have no words.”

You laughed even more and had to turn your gaze away from the woman.

“I am full of stories, i must warn you.”

“I am oh so aware now”

You took a few more sips from the glass, before placing it down beside the jug.

You watched Abby sip from her glass, and connect her gaze with yours every moment or so.

“So how come you followed me all the way to my farm? Are you not worried I may harm you?”

You grabbed a few fruits from the bowl, before plopping them into your mouth and chewing. You shook your head at her question and made sure to swallow the contents in your mouth before speaking.

“Beautiful horse.”

She chuckled and eyed you up and down.

“That is all?”

“No that’s not all. I just trusted you straight away is all, you were kind and you are a very loving individual from what I have seen so far. As well as, if you wanted to do something to me, you would have done so by now.”

She nodded her head and placed her glass beside yours. She stood in front of you, placing both of her hands beside your hips and leant in towards you.

“What if I do want to do something to you, but just have not found the right time to do so yet?”

You look directly into the woman’s eyes. You glanced over the freckles painted across her nose, and watched as she licked her chapped lips.

You were outstanded by her actions. Your breathing grew heavier, and you felt hotter by the second.

“So then find the moment.”

note: I’ve only posted this to get it out my drafts…

[hoshiina]

pairing: narumi gen x gn!reader (no prns)

summary: he's always thought that anyone would do if he just wanted to find love but he realizes you're the one he wishes for, inspired by pop song by yonezu kenshi

warnings: some profanities from narumi

wc: 1300

Narumi Gen hated a lot of things, but one of his least favourites of all time was "true love". He despised when people would describe their love for another as "true love". It couldn't possibly be that serious. Just say you loved your partner. That was probably the extent feelings got to anyways— you just so happened to like each other at the same time. To him that was plenty of a feat alone, why would you have to make it sound like more than it is? For the sake of love? Ridiculous.

To him, that was truly all love was. If there was someone who liked him when he happened to like them too, that was enough. No need for years of pining, no need to get attached to some unrequited love. All that noise about love and destiny surely wasn't all that necessary.

Now, this wasn't to say that he didn't wish to find love— because he did. Like any other person, he truly wished to be loved. It was just that what he had in mind wasn't some deep pure love that'd last forever, nor was it a promise for eternity. He just wished for a light-hearted "I love you" here and there with someone he found special.

And for that, anyone would do. He'd find someone who fancied him along the way, and hopefully he'd like them back. That was all there was to it.

This meant his plan for finding his partner was sitting around and waiting. As horribly lame as that sounded, because he was Narumi Gen, this wasn't that hopeless of a plan. So, that's what he did. He'd go around saving people and doing his duties (to the absolute bare minimum) while making sure he was constantly trending, hoping that one day, someone would like him.

Today he was standing around for a solid five extra minutes after he defeated the honju with ease, hoping the media would snap some nice pictures of him, or he'd finally charm someone this time.

"Captain, you ought to stop that," you said. "It's rather embarrassing, you look desperate now."

"Oh, would you shut up," he said. "You're ruining my good name!"

You snorted. "What good name," you scoffed.

"I'm starting to think its your fault I'm not charming anyone. Perhaps if you didn't stop me every time, someone would have found me by now," he said.

"Yeah, right. Captain Ashiro seems to be having no issues charming people and I've never seen her try to," you said.

"You little shit," he said.

"Besides they're going to be utterly disappointed if they think this is what you're like and then they find out what you're… actually like," you said, and he was starting to think you wanted him to fire you. "It's okay. Someone will see how you're actually lovely at times soon."

"What?" he asked, shocked by what you said.

"What?" you replied, confused.

"You— you said lovely," he said quietly. Suddenly he felt flustered.

"Oh," you said, looking away and avoiding eye contact. It wasn't like you didn't mean to say that, but you didn't think it was that big of a deal. Rather, how flustered he sounded took you by surprise. “Well, you’re a little lame but you’re a good guy. Like you pretend you only do it for the media, but I know you’re always checking the alleyways that don’t have as much surveillance just in case, and checking alleyways isn’t something a captain has to do. And we both know the media isn’t writing about anything you do there. Things like that.”

“You never know!” he said, and you snorted.

“Alright then,” you said. “You do you, Captain.”

“I will!” he said back, trying to sound proud.

A week had passed and here he was, doing what he always did after arriving fashionably late to the scene and taking all the kaiju out in a matter of minutes: standing around trying to look good. Because he wanted love, and anyone would do. Anyone who liked him was supposed to do.

...

And yet he wished for you.

He wished that when he woke up, the first thing he would see was you. He wished that you'd smile at him everyday with love and genuine joy the way you did to others, and he wished that you’d smile that way to him alone. He wished that after a long day, he was the one you came home to. He wished from the bottom of his heart that you would always be safe and no harm would ever come your way. He wished that your days were filled with laughter and smiles and he knew he would risk his life to protect that.

It was so unlike him in a way he absolutely hated. True love was supposed to be nonsense and someone being ‘the one’ was supposed to be some dramatic line in a movie. It upset him, that he was so utterly fond of you. Yet, no matter how much it upset him, it didn't change the fact that he was, and he couldn't deny it anymore after trying to ignore it for the full week.

So here he was, acting stupid again, hoping that you’d scold him again or tell him he’s embarrassing himself, because that’s what it’s come down to. He just wanted another reason to talk to you.

But you wouldn’t come to stop him after 10 whole minutes.

“Why aren’t you stopping me?” he asked, irritated.

“Pardon?” you asked, utterly confused.

“Why aren’t you telling me to stop?” he asked again. He was aware how silly he sounded, but he was pissed off that you meant so much to him so he had to take it out on you.

“Because you told me to stop last time??” you replied. “I thought you were going to keep this up until you found yourself a partner.”

“You’re the one who told me to find someone that saw how I was…. lovely…. at times,” he said, but said the lovely very quietly. Remembering that you had described him as lovely made his cheeks burn and he’d rather die than let you see that.

“I mean, yeah. I do think you should,” you said.

“Don’t you notice, though?” he asked quietly, avoiding eye contact. There was a moment of silence.

“I do,” you said, and immediately he looked up to face you. You had a grin on your face and you looked so proud— you looked like you had won a game. Oh, how he hated you.

“You’re so annoying,” he said, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Rich coming from you,” you said.

“So, do you—,” he started to yell before cutting himself off. Carefully, he tried again. “Would you please… uh… be mine…?”

Oh, this is so embarrassing, he thought. Perhaps you’d laugh at him, but he wanted to do this properly, or at the very least try to. He’d be far more than just stupid to mess this up now. He was finally in love.

But your laughter never came. When he looked up your eyes were wide and you looked so flustered, but soon you had the most beautiful smile on your face.

“I would absolutely love to,” you said.

So he kissed you right then and there, because there was nothing he wanted to do more at the moment.

He laughed a little.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“No, nothing,” he said.

There was no way just anyone would do— it had to be you.

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

🌸 !!CHAPTER TWELVE POSTED!! 🌸

Title: Four Walls

Tags: Slow burn, domesticity, friends to lovers, smut, pining post sias/pre am era

Summary: Disillusioned with LA and on the heels of a breakup, Alex goes to stay with Miles in London.

[suddencolds]

duffel bag, packed light (yves/vincent AU fic)

Hello! Happy (definitely-not-late) Valentines day. <3 I hesitated on posting this because it's a little disjointed, but I think I need to kick it out of my drafts (go! leave!) before it gets stuck in there forever.

My kind anonymous prompter dropped some of the most fire prompts known to mankind in their submission 😭🙏 These are the two which I went with:

Write an AU oneshot that is completely different from the current Yvescent setting using a combination of 3 or more of the following emojis: 🏝️🎒🛳️🗓️📓🌧️🍱🌠🎬 + hear me out what if we got um spicy kink!Yves or kink!Vincent au 👀 and flowers or an irritant of your choosing

This whole fic is AU!Yves + AU!Vincent w/ the kink, in which they are not coworkers, but instead meet as strangers on a cruise, and Yves turns out to be allergic to something unexpected 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️. I should apologize for the long exposition; the first half of this reads more like a character study. If you don't care about how they meet, you can scroll down to the section labeled "Firsts"!

—

The stranger breaks the silence first.

“It’s a nice view,” he says.

They’re on one of the rooftop floors. It’s surprisingly crowded out here—apparently Vincent’s idea to take an evening walk was far from original. Vincent looks out at the unending expanse of water before them, the sky dark, the cruise deck high enough that the waves below them are almost too small to make out.

“It is,” Vincent agrees.

“I’m sure you’ve seen the ocean plenty,” the stranger says, leaning out onto the railing. The wind picks up on the strands of his light brown hair. “Assuming you’re a cruise person.”

Vincent contemplates going with the assumption. He is not obligated to tell the truth, of course—that he is terribly out of place here; that, if he’s being honest, it is a little strange and embarrassing to be here alone.

“I am not a cruise person,” Vincent says. “I won the tickets through a work raffle.”

“A work raffle?” The stranger turns to him, perking up.

Vincent nods.

“You’re kidding me,” the stranger says, suddenly animated. “You should’ve bought a lottery ticket right after, with that kind of luck.”

“I think I’ve used up all my luck reserves,” Vincent says. “Out of everyone who could have won, I may be the least suited to be doing this.”

“What does that mean? That you don’t like cruises?” When Vincent shakes his head, the stranger stills, contemplative. “Do you get seasick or something?”

“I am not the kind of person who would pay for a cruise.”

“Huh. Well, I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t have to pay for this one.” 

Vincent supposes that is true. His coworkers had been happy for him when the announcement had come out—are you serious? I’m so jealous! And you’re going to love it! And Take lots of pictures! We’ll definitely be grilling you for them when you get back!—he thinks he probably ought to be happy, too, considering how expensive this kind of thing would be normally, considering how statistically unlikely it had been for him to win.

Instead, he’d felt a sort of blankness, bewilderment veering on apathy—but it would be ungrateful to turn this kind of thing down, or to sell it off to someone else, wouldn’t it? In the end, he’d nodded a little stiffly at them, and smiled, and promised them their pictures.

“And what about you?” Briefly, Vincent entertains the possibility that this stranger is someone who takes ten cruises a year—the exact opposite kind of person that Vincent is, the kind of person who likes being hundred of miles out from the nearest coast, who likes the extravagance of the room service and the on-deck waterslides and the quaint high class diners, who likes talking to strangers. “Is this your hundredth cruise?”

The stranger laughs. “It’s actually my second. I was planning to go with someone. We bought two tickets way back—not company-sponsored, by the way, though I wish they were.”

“Did they decide to call it a night early?” Vincent asks.

The stranger laughs—a short, curt laugh. Vincent cannot tell if it’s genuine. “She’s actually not here. She couldn’t make it.”

It seems strange, to Vincent, that someone might miss something as expensive as a cruise. “Something else came up?”

“To be frank, I was in a relationship with her up until two weeks ago,” the stranger says. Then he laughs again, a little self-deprecatingly. “Sorry, that’s probably too much information.”

“Oh,” Vincent says. “I’m sorry about the breakup.”

The stranger waves a hand. “It’s fine. She left me the tickets, which wasn’t cool, but I found someone to resell hers to, even though it was sort of last minute. Facebook marketplace is the maker of miracles. The guy who bought it is somewhere on this ship, though I don’t think I could point him out to you.” 

“Are you alright?”

The stranger blinks at him. He looks a little caught off guard. “Sorry?”

“With the breakup,” Vincent clarifies. “Two weeks ago is still recent. Are you alright?”

The stranger is quiet for a moment. “That’s very considerate of you to ask,” he says, at last.

Vincent looks away from him. “That’s not an answer.”

The stars are starting to come out. The ocean stretches out, wide and dark, beyond them. The stranger says, after a moment: “With a view like this, who wouldn’t be?”

He reaches up a hand to swipe at his eyes. His sleeve doesn’t linger for very long. If Vincent weren’t looking, he might mistake the motion for something casual, something unassuming.

The stranger squeezes his eyes shut, and takes in a breath. The exhale that follows is carefully, meticulously even. 

Vincent doesn’t know what it is that prompts him to open his mouth. It’s a stupid, impulsive decision, directed towards someone to which he has no allegiance. It’s entirely unlike him.

And yet.

“My cabin number’s 3-75-F.” he says, before he can think better of himself. “If you need company, or if you want to talk about how your ex was the worst person on earth, we can get dinner, or just take a walk. If you don’t, I won’t take it personally.”

He turns, starts off in the direction of the deck entrance—this is preferable, he thinks, to sticking around to hear the stranger’s response. Judging by the size of the cruise ship, there are probably two thousand people on board. Vincent tells himself that it’s statistically unlikely he will run into this particular stranger again, which means his offer doesn’t have to mean anything at all.

“Wait,” the stranger says, falling into step with him.

Vincent turns.

“That actually sounds really nice. I’m glad you offered. Dinner, tomorrow at 6?” The stranger extends a hand. When Vincent looks up, he is surprised to find that he’s smiling. “I’m Yves.”

Vincent takes it. “Vincent.” he tries to keep his surprise out of his voice. “I’ll be free.”   

Yves says: “Great! I hear there’s a restaurant on the third floor which people really like. Do you like seafood?”

“Seafood’s great.”

Yves grins. “I’ll make the reservation tonight. Goodnight, Vincent.”

“Goodnight,” Vincent says, before he can second guess himself into taking it back. He has the distinct sense that he’s just gotten himself into something he’s fundamentally ill-equipped to handle.

—

In truth, the first time Yves meets Vincent is not the first time they meet. Vincent meets Yves for the first time when he’s in line to board. This, like their second meeting, is a coincidence.

— 

Before.

The stranger is smiling.

The girl he’s talking is interested in him. That’s the first thing Vincent notices. It’s not a secret—it’s evident in the way she cranes her entire body towards the stranger as he speaks. Evident in the way she laughs, her shoulders shaking, after he tells her something Vincent can’t quite decipher; evident in the way her eyes snap to his hands as he gesticulates.

Briefly, Vincent wonders how they know each other. A couple? But the more Vincent watches, the more he realizes that that doesn’t make sense. His body language is so deceptively open, as if to dismantle any line upheld between the two of them, but he is careful not to touch her. Likewise, she doesn’t reach for him, even though—from the way her gaze lingers on his arm, too long, loaded—Vincent thinks she probably wants to.

Long-time friends, then? Whatever the stranger is saying is too novel, and the girl is nodding vigorously at him, now, and Vincent can see that she’s trying to make a good impression. Have they just met tonight, then? The girl rummages through her purse for her phone, pauses briefly to type something out. Holds the screen up so he can see it.

The stranger leans in, his face intimately close to her, to peer down at it, too. There is something so confoundingly thoughtless about the gesture. It is almost as though there is a gap in how long they have known each other—as if she is, to him, already a longtime friend. There is no nervousness to the way he regards her, no pointed self-consciousness.

It’s a little interesting, Vincent thinks. He wonders, briefly, if the stranger knows that she likes him.

What strikes him about the arrangement is how open he is. It’s peculiar. It is as if they are not strangers at all. He holds the conversation seamlessly, with such warmth that Vincent marvels at it, as easily as if he has known her for years.

—

Dinner.

It’s around 5:41 when Vincent hears the knock on his cabin door.

The cruise room is more comfortable than he’d expected it to be. The ship is large enough that it feels oddly stationary, and the room—despite its relatively low ceilings and narrow walkways—has an excellent view of the ocean when he pulls back the curtain—the unmoving blue line of it, the inky sky above it, the clouds low on the horizon. 

Vincent, who had been half expecting Yves to not show up at all, puts his book down on the nightstand and heads towards the door.

When he opens it, Yves is dressed in a button-down collared shirt and slacks. He looks boyishly handsome, Vincent thinks—kind of like he could be a movie star, probably someone who would play a childhood-friend-turned-lover. 

“You’re early,” Vincent says. 

Yves checks his watch. “I guess I am. Did I catch you unprepared?”

“No, I’m ready,” Vincent says, nodding towards the hallway. “Lead the way.”

The living quarters on the cruise are ordered in neat rows. They head down a long hallway toward the central elevators. Yves talks about his morning—about how he’d spent his time perusing the second floor shops, how he’d played one game at a casino, won twenty dollars, and now he’s determined to never go back. (“I need to keep the net positive,” he says, “statistically unlikely as it is.” “You’re already doing better than everyone else in the casino,” Vincent says.)

The elevator ride is short. The cruise technically has fifteen floors—more if you count the partial floors at the top: the rooftop bar, the rooftop garden and grill.

“I can’t wait till we get to shore,” Yves says. “Not that the cruise isn’t nice, and all, but whenever I take a walk on deck, it never really feels like I’m stretching my legs.”

It’s Thursday evening. They’ll dock early tomorrow morning at the Amber Cove cruise island, spend a few hours there out on the beach, and then head back onto the cruise for their next stop. Vincent has packed swim trunks, sunglasses, a couple bottles of sunscreen, but the idea of going to the beach on his own feels distinctly out of character. He’s never been the kind of person to seek out experiences like this—sunny and indulgent—on his own, without someone else to pull him into them.

He supposes this isn’t really an exception. The company tickets which landed him on this ship in the first place were the catalyst to everything.

“You haven’t eaten here before,” Yves asks, as they round the corner to the door of the restaurant, “have you?”

“No,” Vincent says. “I’ve only been to the diner on the second floor.”

Yves smiles back at him. “That’s good. I don’t have to cancel my reservation, then.” “I wouldn’t have made you cancel it anyway.”

“You seem too polite to do that sort of thing,” Yves says, with a laugh. “There are too many things to do on deck for me to be dragging you to the same few places.”

Yves relays his reservation name and time to the waiter, who shows them to a table by the window. The restaurant is dimly lit—the majority of the light is coming from a single candle that sits in front of them, next to a vase of tastefully arranged flowers.

“This place is very romantic,” Vincent says.

Yves blinks at him. “I guess it is. Does that bother you?”

Vincent thinks that he can easily imagine another version of this evening—a dinner in which the seat across from Yves is occupied by his ex. An evening where they talk and laugh over a shared bottle of wine and eat the best seafood on the ship.

“I can see why you would have wanted to come here with her,” Vincent says. “I’m sure you had a lot to look forward to. I’m sorry.”

Yves glances back at him, his expression unreadable. Then he looks down. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he says. “You didn’t have any part in it.”

“In your decision?” “In hers.” He shakes his head with a laugh that doesn’t quite show in his eyes.  “It wasn’t mine to decide. She rekindled an old relationship at a bar. It was with this guy who went to the same college as the both of us, though I didn’t know him that well.”

He unfolds his cloth napkin and positions it gingerly on his lap. “I didn’t even know that they were friends, or that she would be meeting up with him. We were still together when it all happened, and then suddenly we weren’t.”

“That must have been painful for you,” Vincent says.

“I probably should’ve known better,” Yves says, tilting his head up to the ceiling. He smiles, a little self-deprecating.“I think there were probably signs that I missed. It’s the sort of thing you dwell on, you know. If everything really came out of left field, or if she’s already been falling out of love for a long time. This is depressing, but I keep thinking about—well, if maybe I could’ve done something to fix things if I’d realized it sooner.”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” Vincent says. 

Yves blinks at him. “What?”

Vincent looks down—at the flowers between them, arranged artfully in a shallow glass vase. “You shouldn’t have had to do anything. You shouldn’t have had to speculate at all.” He doesn’t know why he’s saying this. It is none of his business, he knows, and besides, it’s not as though Yves has asked for his opinion. He finds himself thinking, abruptly, to Yves’s conversation with the girl in line, a couple spots ahead of him—the girl smiling, leaning close; Yves somehow reflecting back her interest with warmth.

It is part of the reason why Vincent is here, right now, if he’s honest with himself. Vincent understands exactly why people would be drawn to that particular sort of warmth. It’s the sort of warmth he doesn’t know how to cultivate, probably wouldn’t be able to cultivate, even if he tried. It is evident even now, in the way Yves seems to so readily offer his ex the benefit of the doubt, in the way his warmth extends towards her still.

“If she was having second thoughts, then she should’ve said something. You shouldn’t have been expected to read her mind,” Vincent says. Perhaps being so honest is overkill, but even if no one else in Yves’s life will say it, Vincent finds he has no such reservations. “At the very least, she should’ve ended things with you before looking for other options. Frankly, your ex sounds like a terrible person.”

Yves blinks at him, a little taken aback. “I’m sure I’m giving you a very biased impression of her. She’s a pretty reasonable person.” 

“Reasonable people can do bad things,” Vincent says, crossing his arms. On some level, he understands—of course Yves, with his proximity to the problem, would not see it this way. “Your ex hooked up with someone behind your back. I find it hard to believe that someone who had your best interests in mind would do that.”

Yves seems to consider this.

“I don’t think I’ll be in the business of forgiveness anytime soon,” he says, as if he is choosing his words carefully. “You’re right to say that what she did was pretty terrible.”

Vincent raises an eyebrow. “But?”

Yves is quiet, for a moment.

“I think it would be easier,” he says, at last, with a small smile. “If I thought about her that way.”

It’s a confession that Vincent has already figured out. “You still think highly of her. It makes sense.”

“She was my best friend for three years.” he shakes his head, smiling. “I thought—I don’t know what I thought. When I thought about a future with her, everything seemed so intuitive. Like all the problems that could come up would be things we’d already know how to work through.”

The waiter stops by their table to ask them for their choice in refreshments. Yves greets him with a polite smile—one that Vincent finds no holes in—and asks for one of the drinks on the cocktail menu. Vincent picks something at random, to match.

“Sorry,” Yves says, after the waiter leaves. “I didn’t mean to get into such a depressing tangent. We don’t have to talk about my ex. I’ll give you time to actually look over the menu.”

Vincent says, “You don’t have to apologize. I won’t take long.” He opens the menu—it is nice, he thinks, that all the food and drink is included in the cruise fare which he didn’t have to pay for—makes a mental list of all the items which look interesting, and stack ranks them in his head. Then he shuts the menu and sets it off to the edge of the table, so the waiter won’t have to lean over to pick it up.

He feels, without looking, that Yves is watching him.

“You weren’t kidding. You’re very efficient.”

Vincent meets his eyes from across the table. Yves has his own menu open, too, but he’s pretty sure Yves has been waiting for him. “You decided more quickly than I did.”

“I cheated and looked up the menu beforehand,” Yves says. “I didn’t want to subject you to my indecisiveness.”

This makes sense to Vincent—as does the early knock on his door. “You were looking forward to eating here.”

“With a hot stranger,” Yves says, with a laugh. “Yes.”  

The compliment is unexpected. It settles something inside of him, something nervous and wanting, though Yves says it offhandedly enough that Vincent thinks he probably shouldn’t take it to heart. He raises an eyebrow. “Am I still a stranger? We’ve exchanged names.”

Yves laughs. “I guess we can be acquaintances, then.”

The waiter arrives with their cocktails—Yves’s has a sprig of lavender near the rim, and Vincent’s has a dried orange slice and a stem of mint—and sets them down in the middle of the table. They place their orders.

After the waiter leaves, Vincent shifts his cocktail a little closer to him. He’s not much of a drinker, but his drink of choice is usually on the sweeter side. 

“Does it live up to your expectations?” Yves asks.

“The drink?”

“The cruise.”

“I don’t know if I had many expectations to begin with,” Vincent says. “The ship is bigger than I thought it would be. I’m still finding my way around.”

“Have you explored everything already?”

“Not everything.” Vincent thinks through his morning. “I walked around the shopping center, and then the fourth floor plaza.” he says. “I stopped by the theater, too, though I didn’t sit down for a show.”

He thinks, distantly, that perhaps the ship’s amenities are getting wasted on him—during his walk through the shopping center, he’d briefly thought about bringing gifts back for his coworkers and ultimately decided that if he’s going to do any shopping, it should probably be on his last day here, not his second. “I went up to the deck to see the pools. There were more distinct pools than I imagined—I had assumed they’d all be connected.”

“Did you go swimming?”

“I didn’t.”

“So you just walked around all twelve of the pools,” Yves says, incredulous, “without ever getting in?”

Vincent can see how this fact could potentially be off-putting. “The pools were all pretty crowded. I decided it’d be more symbolic if the first time I change into a swimsuit is tomorrow, after we dock.”

It isn’t entirely the truth. Truthfully—and he thinks this might be worse—he’d been more preoccupied with taking pictures of everything—nicely framed shots of the different pools, the different entrances of the shopping center, the crowds gathered around the theater for the midday show—half so he can have something to show his coworkers when he gets back to work (and thus, dispel any accusations of his own ungratefulness around winning) and half so he can have something to send back to his family (particularly Ji-Sung, who he thinks will get a kick out of seeing all of the amenities).

“You’re really serious about this,” Yves says, looking strangely amused. “Are the vacations you go on always so structured?”

Vincent says, “something like that. The cruise is not the main attraction, anyway.”

“For some people, it is.”

“For the same people who make it a mission to take a swim in all twelve of the pools, maybe,” Vincent says, and Yves smiles.

Yves, as it turns out, is an easy person to talk to. Vincent finds out that he doesn’t get seasick—or carsick, for that matter—but that he feels a little claustrophobic if he doesn’t go up to the deck (“to remind me that we’re actually still making progress towards some destination,” he says. “That way, I don’t feel as though I’m trapped in some giant feat of human engineering.”) He finds out that Yves has two siblings, both of them younger; that most of his extended family lives in france; that he likes vacationing in warm places; that the next time he steps foot onto a cruise, it will probably be with his younger sister and his younger brother. That he’d been working late for three weeks in a row to make this trip happen; that it feels a little wrong, now, to have nothing pressing to do.

It turns out to be a nice night, after all.

—

Firsts.

The cologne is an offhanded purchase. 

It’s not something Vincent thinks much about when he picks it up. It’s on the third day that he purchases it, after he holds too long of a conversation with the sales assistant—who seems to have an uncanny ability for translating whatever it is he says into one recommendation, and another, and another—to feel like he can walk away unguiltily. In the end, he settles with a tall, sleek bottle with a wooden cap. The cap is lined in gold—to suggest that this is a classy choice, presumably—to match the serif lettering on the front, which says Wood & Flame. 

It’s not something he intends on using, either—that is, until Yves messages him, dinner? And then, a moment later: feeling kind of lazy tonight. Mb we can order in 

Vincent texts back, Sure. Let’s order in. 6:30? 

Yves’s response is immediate. You haven’t been to my room yet, right? I can host :) 

It doesn’t mean anything, Vincent thinks, that the dress shirt he picks out is the newest one he owns, that he spends time ironing the creases out of it. It doesn’t have to mean anything, when he lingers longer than usual in front of the bathroom mirror, suddenly apprehensive. Yves is asking him out of friendly camaraderie, and nothing more. He runs another hand through his hair, catches himself, lowers it. Fixes his tie, straightens his collar, finds himself having to fix it again.

With a hot stranger, Yves had said, as if it was nothing. So offhandedly it seemed almost like it didn’t even matter—a throwaway comment, maybe. 

The cologne is an afterthought—he spritzes some on his wrists, and then, upon further thought, sprays some in behind his ears. It’s probably not going to be noticeable anyways, unless Yves gets close enough, which is unlikely. The scent of it is somewhat mild, understated—that had been one of the factors which had led him to pick it up in the first place—even when he lifts his wrist to his face, it’s not nearly as obvious as he expects it to be.

The bottle is large enough that it seems as though it will never run out—the liquid in it seems to be at the same level as before, even though he feels like he’s been generous enough in his application of it. He’s starting to think he won’t have enough occasions to wear it to.

Perhaps he will get some mileage out of this purchase tonight. Or perhaps, optimistically, this bottle will last him the rest of his life, he’ll never have to shop for cologne again in his lifetime. If he thinks about it that way, it doesn’t seem like such a financially bad investment.

—

Through his walk down the long, narrow hallway, and up two flights of stairs, Vincent prepares himself for the moment when Yves opens the door.

He’s still caught off guard, though, when the door swings open. Yves is dressed in a green button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows—the shirt is loose-fitting, but the way the fabric tightens around his arms does not do a good job of obscuring the muscle definition underneath—and well-fitted khaki chinos. His light brown hair is tied up in its usual low ponytail, but the strands which were too short to secure are tucked behind his ear.

“You made it!” He grins—it’s the kind of charming smile that completely overtakes his features—and steps aside to let Vincent in. “Now you can compare how different the rooms are three floors up.”

Vincent looks past him, at the arrangement of the room. “It looks like the same elements have undergone a few different transformations,” he says. “The wall art in this room looks more like it’s trying to remind you what you’re here for.”

Yves follows his gaze to the large landscape painting which hangs in the living room, to the right of the TV. It’s a watercolor drawing of waves crashing onto a white sand beach, except it’s drawn in a way that the waves closer to shore are saturated and dazzling, and the waves further from the shore fade out in color into the horizon. There’s faint detailing of buildings in the distance, too. Vincent is pretty sure it’s supposed to be the shoreline of Nassau, which they’re set to dock at two days from now.

“Huh,” Yves says. “It’s sort of like it’s taunting me. What’s in yours?”

“Mostly abstract art,” Vincent says. “Aside from that, a photograph of a conch shell, up close. There’s also a photograph of a ship out at sea, with no land in sight.” 

Yves laughs. “That’s pretty ironic. I heard that lower floors are better for seasickness. It would probably suck to be seasick, and then when you look up you’re forced to look at some sailboat in the middle of nowhere. Super on-the-nose.”

Vincent smiles. “It’s probably a good reality check.” he presses closer in to leave his jacket—which he is realizing now that he doesn’t need, but which he brought with him just in case, on the occasion that their evening culminates in a night-time walk on the deck—folded on Yves’s couch. “Were you thinking of ordering room service?”

“Yep,” Yves says. “I think everything on there is complimentary except for the wine. Do you need the room service menu?”

“I took a look at it already,” Vincent says. “I recalled that a certain someone does his research early.”

Yves looks briefly taken aback. Then he laughs. “You caught me. I totally did look at it beforehand. Though I was ready to act indecisive if you needed more time.”

“Very gentlemanly,” Vincent says. “Should we call in?”

Yves ends up calling for room service, on both of their behalf. (“That sounds really good,” he says, when Vincent recites his order to him. “It was probably my second choice.” “You can try some when it comes,” Vincent says.) He orders wine, too, to share, and waves off Vincent’s offer to split the cost.

After that, they settle on the living room couch. Yves says: “I’m thinking we can put something on while we wait for dinner to arrive? But probably not something you care about too much, because I might talk over it.” he passes the remote over to Vincent.

Vincent flips through the channels. There’s some sitcom which is playing which seems somewhat suitable, up until one of the couples gets into a sincere-seeming argument onscreen and Vincent thinks that, considering Yves’s semi-recent breakup, maybe everything with romance should be quietly vetoed. He eventually settles on one of those reality TV shows where people have to partake in increasingly difficult obstacle courses in order to not get eliminated.

“These are always fun,” Yves says. “You know about hysterical strength? I’ve always wondered if being nervous on these kinds of shows helps you or hurts you.” 

He reaches up with a hand to scrub at his eyes. Vincent looks over at him with a frown.

“Are you tired?”

“No,” Yves says. He blinks, and then sniffles—if Vincent isn’t mistaken, his eyes are a little watery. 

“Bored of the competition already?”

“Not at all. I think these kinds of shows are manufactured so that you can’t get bored.”

“There’s probably an optimal amount of nervousness,” Vincent says, “to answer your question. I’ve found that to be true with public speaking.”

“Huh,” Yves says. “Does your work require a lot of public speaking?”

“Not particularly. Mostly internal presentations, occasionally a conference.” He looks over at Yves. “If you weren’t tired before, talking about my work is going to make you tired for sure.” 

Yves laughs. “No way. I love hearing about other people’s work.”

“It’s not very life or death. There are no obstacle courses. Just a lot of regression analysis.”

Yves blinks at him. “Do you work in business, by any chance?”

Vincent nods. “I’m a quantitative analyst.”

“Huh,” Yves says, contemplative. “I heard it’s very competitive.” He sniffles again, quietly enough that it almost goes unheard. “You must be good at math.”

“A small subset of math,” Vincent says. “What do you work in?”

“Wealth management. It’s a little more client-centric, so I had to plan pretty far ahead to take time off for thihh-!” The inhale is sharp, unexpected. They’re sitting close enough to each other that Vincent can feel Yves stiffen beside him, can feel the sharp upwards stutter of his shoulders as his breath hitches again. “hHeh-!” He pivots away from Vincent, burying his face into his elbow—polite, Vincent thinks—and then, after a long, torturous moment, loses the fight to a loud, vocal, “HhHEh-IIDZschH-iEEw!”

Vincent wills himself not to look. “Bless you,” he says, staring straight ahead. Onscreen, a contestant loses her balance on a high mounted totem and drops straight down into the water, much to the dismay of her teammates. It is a wholly ineffective means of distraction.

Yves’s sneeze—like Yves—is painfully Vincent’s type.

“Ugh,” Yves says, sniffling again. He lowers his elbow slowly. “Sorry about that. Where was I?”

“You said you had to plan far ahead to take time off,” Vincent says. It’s no small miracle that he remembers this.

“Right, yeah,” Yves says, and launches into a story about the hoops he’d had to jump through to make sure all the clients he was assigned to would have their needs accounted for.

“That’s a lot of work for a week’s absence,” Vincent says.

Yves laughs. “Yeah. Sometimes the pickier clients really hate the idea of not getting round-the-clock attention. I’m— hh-! hHEH-!” He reaches up with a hand to scrub at his nose, though the look of ticklish irritation doesn’t quite leave his expression—Vincent really shouldn’t have looked. After a moment, he lowers his hand, takes in another uncertain breath, as if he’s still testing the waters. “Ugh, I lost it. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. This must be distracting for you.”

Distracting is an understatement. “Don’t worry about it,” Vincent says. “Is it worse during tax season?”

“Oh, yeah. No one in their right mind really takes off during tax season, snf-! It’s not like, officially against any rules, but it’s pretty openly acknowledged as one of those suggestions that’s not actually very optional. That doesn’t affect you guys as much, does it?”

“No,” Vincent says. “My free time is mostly dependent on project deadlines.”

“The ticket you won happened to not conflict with any of those?”

“I brought my work laptop with me,” Vincent says, a little sheepishly.

Yves’s eyes widen. “No way.”

“It’s not like I’m working long hours,” Vincent says. “Just some catch-up work, here and there. I don’t want there to be any surprises when I get back.”

“Always putting out fires,” Yves says, shaking his head. “It’s probably good that you won the—” He reaches over to lay a hand on Vincent’s arm—presumably as a comforting gesture—only he wrenches away at the last second. “The— Hheh-! Hh… hHEH-!” There’s another brief pause, as though whatever is affecting him has left him stranded again on the precipice of a sneeze. For a moment, Vincent prepares himself mentally for another false start.

But then Yves takes in another sharp, ticklish breath, and it turns out to be enough to set him over the edge. “hh’hEHh’iITSSSCHh-EEw!”

The sneeze snaps him forward at the waist to meet the crook of a hastily-raised arm. It’s just as attractive as the first, if not more—Vincent can hear his voice in the ending syllable, can hear the ticklish desperation in the release. Yves keeps his face buried in his elbow for a moment longer, sniffling wetly.

It takes everything in Vincent to not visibly shiver. What are the chances, really, that the attractive stranger-slash-acquaintance he’s having dinner with—someone who, when this cruise is over, he probably will never see again—just happens to have a sneeze which happens to be perfectly aligned with his tastes?

“Bless you again,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“I feel fine,” Yves says, with another sniffle, his eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t think I’m getting sick. I was fine earlier.” 

“Are you allergic to anything?”

“Not that I know of,” Yves says. “No seasonal allergies. Nothing pet-wise, either.” 

Vincent tries, and fails, to think of what else might be causing this. The cabins seem too clean, too well-ventilated, to be dusty. There are no flowers anywhere in sight. Is Yves coming down with something, then? But he’d said I don’t think I’m getting sick, with the certainty of someone who probably isn’t. 

“Let me know if you start feeling worse,” Vincent says.

Yves smiles at him. “I will. I’m really fine, I promise. It’s just—” he reaches up with a hand to rub his nose. A distant look crosses his expression for a moment—as though he’s warring against the need to do something about it—before his breathing levels off. “—tickish, snf! Not unpleasant.”

The sneezing doesn’t stop. Yves, for the most part, proceeds as though he’s completely unaffected by it—he’s no quieter than usual. It’s as though every time he feels the need to sneeze, he is intent on ignoring it until the need is too pressing to ignore. When that happens, he turns away just in time, except for a couple close calls when he misjudges and instead doubles forward with a sneeze directed into his lap, sniffling afterwards. 

Vincent blesses him intermittently, but otherwise offers up no comment. Yves apologizes sheepishly, after the fourth or fifth sneeze, for interrupting the show. Vincent doesn’t tell him that he probably couldn’t care less about the show. Truthfully, he has no clue what’s going on onscreen anymore—obstacle course shows are interesting, but not that interesting.

Dinner arrives not too long after. Vincent can barely focus on the seafood pasta he’s ordered, though he offers Yves a bite, as promised. Yves unfolds one of the napkins room service leaves for them and blows his nose quietly into it. He sniffles afterwards—as though his nose is properly running, now—and resumes talking as usual.

Vincent crosses his legs, does his best to ignore the heat radiating below his stomach. This is really bad timing. The entire inexplicable setup—the fact that they’re sitting so close to each other; the fact that he can physically feel Yves tense beside him, rigid with anticipation, his shoulders jolting upwards with every inhale—is honestly nothing short of torturous. 

It’s worse, too, that Vincent can see the ticklish irritation in Yves’s features—the crease of his eyebrows, the fluttering eyelashes, the sharp, uncontrolled gasp—before he wrenches forward with another desperate sneeze. It’s always a full-body endeavor—something that snaps him forward at the waist, leaves him bent over, a little breathless, sniffling wetly.

It absolutely doesn’t help that the underside of Yves’s nose is slightly flushed red, now, from the unusual attention—perhaps this is to be expected, seeing as Yves keeps rubbing it. More than once, Vincent contemplates asking to use Yves’s bathroom, and subsequently, well, getting rid of the problem at hand. Yves has no idea what this is all doing to him. After all, how would he know?

It’s only when they’re almost done with dinner that it clicks.

“Hold on,” Vincent says. Yves had said he wasn’t allergic to anything, but there’s a first time for everything, right? Particularly, there’s always a first time exposure to allergens. That first time might come later in life for those that are less commonplace.

It seems glaringly obvious, in hindsight. Yves hadn’t been sniffling when he’d opened the door for Vincent, had he? From the way he’d reacted to the first sneeze, it didn’t seem like this has been going on for long.

But of course. He’d been so focused on the environment that he hadn’t considered it. There’s only one thing Vincent did tonight which was pointedly out of the ordinary.

The realization leaves him feeling suddenly cold.

“Yves.” Vincent flinches away. “I think I know what’s causing this.”

Yves pauses. “What is it?”

“I’m wearing new cologne,” he says. “I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it earlier. I didn’t think much of it when I was applying it.” He feels a little like an asshole, now that they’re discussing it. It wasn’t his intention to leave Yves suffering. He hadn’t known. But still, the fact that they’ve been sitting in such close proximity this whole time definitely hasn’t helped.

The last thing he wants to do right now is look at Yves, but he forces himself to, anyway—wrenches his gaze upwards until he meets Yves’s eyes. “I’m really sorry. I should’ve made the connection earlier.”

Yves blinks at him. He doesn’t seem as upset about this as Vincent thinks he should be—strangely, he doesn’t seem upset at all. “Are you saying you think I’m allergic?”

“Allergic, or sensitive, yes,” Vincent says, frowning. “In any case, I take full responsibility. I should probably just—”

“Wait,” Yves says, reaching out with a hand to latch onto Vincent’s wrist. “I haven’t been allergic to anything before.” 

“It’s probably not something common,” Vincent says, wondering if he should pull away.

“You applied it to your wrists?” Yves asks.

Vincent nods, a little stiffly. He doesn’t quite trust himself to speak. It feels like Yves’s fingertips are burning holes into his arm.

Everything that happens after happens in a flash. Yves tightens his grip around Vincent’s wrist, pulls it gently towards him, and leans down to take a long, indulgent inhale.

Vincent feels all of the blood drain from his face. He rounds on Yves, wide-eyed. “What are you—?”

The reaction is almost immediate. Yves drops Vincent’s arm as if he’s been scalded. He shuts his eyes, barely turns to the side in time for a harsh, “hhEHH’iiDZZSHH-iEW!”

The sneeze is so forceful he coughs a little afterwards, his eyes watering. His shoulders jerk upwards again, his nose twitching. “hHEH… HEHH… hehH’IITSSCHh-EEW! Ugh… coughcough, you’re right, it’s defidetely… hHEH—!!”

Vincent can only watch, frozen in place, as Yves jerks forward again, burying his nose into his sleeve. “IHHHh’DZschH-IIEW! Snf-!” He lowers his arm slightly—Vincent can see him scrunching his nose up, trying to rid himself of what must be the worst tickle he’s been faced with all night. That thought sends a wave of electricity down Vincent’s spine. “Hh-hHeh-! Definitely the cologne that’s… hh-! that’s… hEHH… setting me… hh… HhEH’IDDzShHH-IIEW!! —off, snf, f-fuck… hh-Hehh-hhEHH’IITTSHhh-IIEEW!” The sneeze explodes from him, barely contained, snapping his entire body forward with the sheer intensity. Yves barely manages a breath in between before he’s doubling over with another: “IIIiDDDzSCHHh-YyiEW!”

Vincent swallows hard. He’s, well, so turned on that he can barely speak. It feels a little like the heat he feels—more of a full-body-flush, at this point—might actually melt the clothes off of his arms. “Bless you.” It’s remarkable that his voice manages to come out as evenly as it does.

He stands, heads over to the coffee table to retrieve a small box of tissues. Takes in a deep breath.

When he gets back to the couch, Yves has cupped both his hands over his nose and mouth. Vincent tilts the opening of the tissue box towards him without comment. 

“Thadks,” Yves says, with a laugh. He takes a handful and blows his nose. “I needed those. That was probably ndot the best idea, in hindsight.”

Understatement of the fucking century. Vincent stares at him, disbelieving. “Your first idea after learning you’re allergic to something is to test it out?”

“Scientific rigor, and whatnot,” Yves says. “I had to be sure. Like I said, I’ve never actually been allergic to something before. This was quite the… hHeh-!” He raises the handful of tissues back up to his face, his gaze going unfocused. “Just a sec—hh… hH… hHEH’IIDZSCHh-IIEW! snf!”

“Bless you,” Vincent says. “I guess this answered your question, then.” Yves laughs. “It definitely did.”

“I think you—” Vincent places the tissue box—which is at risk of falling off the edge of the couch—directly into Yves’s lap. “—should take this.” He takes a cautious step backwards. “And I should go take a long shower back in my room.”

Yves looks up at him, still a little teary-eyed. “It doesn’t bother me that much,” he says earnestly. “It’s just sneezing. I don’t mind it.” Just sneezing. Vincent shakes his head.

Yves stills, his expression probing. “Unless…” His voice comes out a little softer, now. Uncertain. “...Unless it bothers you?” 

That couldn’t be further from the truth. Not in the sense that Yves means it, at least.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Vincent says. “But I’ve been in your situation before, so I know what it feels like. I… know it isn’t pleasant.”

This information seems to surprise Yves. “You’ve experienced this before too?”

Vincent nods. “Every spring, more or less. I’m allergic to tree pollen.” His face feels hot from the admission—it feels strangely inappropriate to be admitting this, but then again, it’s not as though he’s bringing it up out of nowhere. “You can imagine that’s harder to avoid than a singular kind of cologne.”

Yves’s eyes widen. “That sounds terribly - hhEH-! hH… HEHh’iITSHH-iIEWW! snf-! terribly incodvenient. I can’t imagine having to deal with this feeling for an edtire season.”

“It is. That’s why I don’t want to subject you to this for longer than I have to.” He steps past Yves to grab his jacket from the couch, which he ties around his waist. It will be better for both of them if he leaves now. “I really should shower and get changed. Your symptoms are not going to get better if I stick around.” 

Yves seems to be coming around to this. “Sorry to have to end things off early,” he says, frowning. “You came all the way here.”

“It was barely a walk,” Vincent says. “And this wouldn’t have happened if not for me. I should be the one saying sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Yves says, with a laugh. “It was an illuminating experience. I’ll see you, then?”

The possibility is so fleeting that Vincent almost dismisses it. Could Yves really be disappointed?

“I have some Claritin back in my room,” Vincent says, trying his luck, though a part of him recognizes that this kind of confidence is categorically unlike him. “We can resume our night when you can get through two sentences without having to sneeze.” And after Vincent takes care of something else, and preferably spends enough time in his room flipping through boring travel pamphlets and sensational catalogues to get his mind out of the gutter, so he can face Yves again with some semblance of normalcy. “...If you still want to.”

Yves brightens.

“Of course,” he says, with sincerity. “I’ll look forward to it.”

[snkyou]

Drabble Prompt: Post-canon Levi, struggling with chronic pain and mourning his dead loved ones, being visited by his still alive loved ones

Anon, you knew how to talk pretty to me <3

hihi requests are still open btw

I feel like I gotta put a disclaimer or something lmao. So, the length of my drabble requests is usually something between 100-400 words. This request is just an incredibly unexpected exception. it just happened to fit into this idea I already had been thinking of, which was how the remaining 104th would ask Levi to be part of important events in their lives because well, they like the dude lmao, so expect that sort of one-shot soon. Additionally, since I kept reminding myself that this was supposed to be a drabble, I might have glossed over the chronic pain and mourning bits so I'm sorry about that ;;

that being said, 2.4k words of Levi and Gabi be upon ye <3

Now on Ao3!

The angry hissing of the kettle makes him flinch. It brings a loud ringing to his right ear. Instinctively, he places his right hand over it, and gives his ear a couple of gentle taps; it's more of a grounding gesture, a distraction from the buzzing. He usually keeps watch over the kettle, so that he can lower the heat just right before it gets a chance to scream at him. 

He realises then that he must have spaced out while waiting. It’s alright, he thinks. It’s been like that a lot, recently. He’s been like that. Lost in thought-- lost in time, if he allowed himself to be precise. The last days, weeks even, as the temperatures started to drop, blended into each other. There’s a little calendar on his bedside table, it had been a birthday gift from Armin – or had that been Mikasa’s? He isn’t sure, he had received an absurd number of presents from the kids last year, it had been hard to keep track of who gave him what and now the fact escaped him. Turning the pages of the little calendar, with its delicate botanical illustrations on each day, quickly became part of his morning routine, and so he was sure that time was passing at all. The stillness of the routine, he guesses, made him like this.

His vision blurs momentarily while he scoops the tea leaves into the teapot. He squints, trying to will his good eye to focus, but all he gets in return is a throb in his right eye. After putting the tea canister away, he presses the inner sides of his wrists to both eyes, placing just enough pressure to relieve the discomfort. When he opens his eyes again, he is pleased to find he can read the small print on the canister an arm’s length away. 

There’s a loud slam coming from the front of the house, followed by footsteps coming further into the house.

He quickly recognizes the heavy stomping as Gabi’s gait. She’s always been so loud.

Gabi crosses the arch into the small kitchen and dining area. 

“Don’t slam my doors,” he says as a greeting, slowly turning his head to his left side, trying to catch a glimpse of her in his periphery.

“Aye, aye,” the kid waves her hand, shoots him a teasing grin, “someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Levi hums in response but doesn’t say anything else. He busies himself with placing everything they need for their morning tea and coffee on a metal tray on the counter, which Gabi takes from him as soon as it’s ready and sets it on the table.

He grabs his cane from where he had hooked it on one of the kitchen drawers. He has been leaning against the counter, his right leg supporting most of his weight all this time. He braces himself for the sharp pain that will surely surge from his bad knee, through his left hip and up his spine. Cold mornings like this one and being still in one place for long will do that to him. It’s not so bad. It could be worse.

It takes 4 steps to get from the stove to his chair, which Gabi has already pulled out for him. It sits at an angle that allows him to easily slide down on it and rest his right elbow on top of the table, leaning back and against his good side.

“I have something that will cheer you up,” she holds a couple of envelopes in her hand and waves them at him, “You’ve got mail!”

He nods at her in acknowledgement but does not take his attention away from preparing his first batch of tea of the day. There’s a ritual to it, it almost feels like, and he doesn’t want to mess it up. Not when the ringing in his ear is still there, the building pressure in the upper back part of his eyeballs, and the cold air seeping into his bones through his thick jumper. Oh, how he needs a good cup of tea right now.

While Levi waits for it to steep, he grabs the papers that she had shoved in his face, squints his eyes at the first envelope and finds that he is unable to make out much of the handwriting. He brings it closer to his face, squints harder, steals a quick glance across the table and hopes Gabi isn’t paying him any mind, too preoccupied with choosing from the bag of pastries she brought with her. It is with an impassive expression that he hands the stack of envelopes back. 

“Read it for me.” A beat and then he adds, a little reluctant: “Please.”

He knows Gabi prefers coffee in the mornings, and black tea in the evenings, so he makes sure to have a fresh brew of the former whenever he knows she’s coming over; so, with shaky hands, Levi gets to prepare her cup of coffee. While he enjoys the aroma of it, he remains faithful to tea; at first, he thought he didn’t like it because he had butchered his first attempts at brewing it. But even after Onyankopon had taught him how to do it properly and he had enjoyed his cup, it didn’t bring the same comfort as tea. It just never hit the spot.

She shoots him a mischievous grin, “Oh, you sure? What if I read something personal, hm?” 

Levi just shakes his head, scoffing at the idea of Gabi finding his junk mail fascinating.

“Is this how I find out you have a secret lover you’re exchanging raunchy love letters with?” Gabi teases, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

He lets out a tired sigh and rolls his eyes, “just wanna be done with it, ” he stirs the milk into Gabi’s coffee, which now has turned into a cup of milk with coffee. “We have a lot to prepare for tonight.”

She clicks her tongue at him, but still rips the first envelope open, “Mr. Levi, your reading won’t improve if you keep doing that,” she jokingly scolds him.

Although Levi mentally recognises handing her and Falco stuff he couldn’t be bothered reading before, that’s not the case this time. He’ll let her think that for now, though, because he doesn’t want to mention the pressure building in the back of his bad eye, it’s not important and she, a kid, doesn’t need to know his newly found ailment of the week. He can see just fine around him right now. He can see Gabi’s big eyes and playful smile at the other side of the table, and that’s good enough; smaller details, he doesn’t feel he can do them, not without making himself go dizzy with a migraine.

Levi slides the cup of coffee to her and is pleased with himself when she approves of the colour of her drink.

“It’s from Armin,” she announces as she scans the letter. 

From this angle, the soft morning light illuminating her face and thanks to his faulty vision, Gabi’s image stirs his memory. His heart faintly constricts as he is reminded of the many times Hange read their research reports to him during breakfast in the mess hall before presenting them to Erwin. Levi always wondered how they could read so fast, sometimes he even doubted they were actually reading at all, their words barely being able to catch up with her eyes; he never asked about it, maybe reading came easy to them as numbers did to him.

A high-pitched squeal from Gabi startles him, bringing him back to the here and now.

“Oh… ohh, Mr. Levi,” she starts, her smile widening by the second “This is good news!”

Gabi makes a show of clearing her throat and then starts reading “Dear Captain, I hope this letter finds you well and in good health.” 

Levi can’t help but let a sardonic huff at the irony of the greetings but doesn’t let himself be bothered by it. He has written only a handful of personal letters throughout his life, and by now he knows it’s just something you’re supposed to say because jumping straight to the point isn’t acceptable, or so that’s what he had been told. 

Gabi continues reading Armin’s words to him. For the most part, it’s a standard letter coming from him: he asks Levi how he’s dealing with the changing of the seasons, how Gabi and Falco are faring, if business at the tea shop has been good, if there’s anything Levi needs that he can’t get in town so that Armin or the others can get it for him. He tells him a little about the country he’s writing from, he even includes a photograph. Then, after the expected pleasantries, Gabi can barely hold her excitement and starts reading faster, trying so hard not to trip over her words.

“If I’m being sincere, we would prefer to ask you in person,” Gabi stops for a second to look up at him from the paper, gauging for a reaction and finding nothing, she continues. 

Armin apologises for not being able to visit him before the holidays, Annie included, and so it is implied that he won’t be attending tonight’s reunion. 

Sometime during the last five years, the Alliance brats had decided to make showing up at Levi’s doorstep together once a year a sort of custom; the first time it happened was during an early winter, a blizzard had stopped them from leaving Levi’s until the next morning. It had been a really nice evening despite the awful weather, Levi remembers, after everyone pitched in one way or another, they all shared a simple but hearty meal together. It was Connie who jokingly said they should do it every year. The following year, Onyankopon, Gabi and Falco joined them. 

This year would be their fourth, and the first someone wouldn’t make it. That fact sits heavily in Levi’s chest, stealing the spotlight from his throbbing eye.

“...Annie and I have decided to get married. The both of us would like you to officiate our ceremony!” unable to contain her excitement, she tears her eyes away from the paper and looks at Levi. “Huh?! This is good news! What’s with the constipated face?!”

That doesn’t sound right. It figures that Annie and Armin would be the first to marry; in a way, he is happy for them, they clearly care for each other. No, that part is easy to understand. Their union is logical to anyone who knows the couple. What Levi can’t figure out is why they are asking him such a thing.

He clears his throat, assumes it’s been 3 minutes and his tea is ready to be poured and so he distracts himself with that.

When he doesn’t answer Gabi, she picks up where she left off. 

He isn’t… well, he isn’t that close to either of them. He’s sure Annie must have other relatives that could step in his stead. Maybe a brother, a cousin. Even Jean or Reiner would be better options than Levi. He isn’t good with words or people like they are, he couldn’t possibly give them a speech about something foreign to him as it is that kind of love, that’s what people expect, right? His title of Captain is obsolete in this new world, so it can’t be that either. Hell, he has never been to a fucking wedding. 

Just… why him?

As expected, Armin doesn’t really go into the details of their choice but does let Levi know they do not expect a fast answer and that they do not want him to feel pressured to accept it, despite how much it would mean to them if he did. Armin asks if there’s anything in particular that he would like for his birthday, as it is a month away, and closes the letter by saying he looks forward to seeing him and everyone then.

When the letter is closed and put back into its envelope, silence falls around them. For a moment the only sound that can be heard is the clinking of tableware as Levi places the teacup back on its saucer.

It bothers him, that he knows he will be letting Armin down by refusing something that any other well-adapted person would consider an honour. But the thought of embarrassing him and himself, because he gave an awkward, most likely insensitive, speech, mortifies him. No, he can’t put them and their guests through that. He will find a way to make it up to the couple, maybe he can… he doesn’t know yet, but he will come up with something.

As he finishes his first cup, Levi realises that at some point while he was lost in thought, the ringing in his ear has subsided and now it’s back to that muffled, cotton-in-ear sensation he’s used to and he doesn’t feel his eyeball pulsating anymore. Glancing at Gabi, he notices she is trying really hard not to say something, her brow furrowed as she takes a sip of her own drink, followed by a big bite of her pastry. Flakes stick to the corner of her mouth and for once it doesn’t disgust him. Instead, it makes his lips twitch as if going into a smile.

“I can help you... if you want,” she says eventually, sounding uncharacteristically careful and small of her.

Levi quirks an eyebrow “Help? with what?” 

She shrugs, “How to… tell them you don’t want to,” she avoids looking at him for the first time, finding the flakes on her plate more interesting. She shrugs again and tilts her head to the side, a thin line of a smile appearing on her face. “...or prepare for the ceremony.”

Not unlike many times before, Gabi’s words render him speechless, if only for a moment. He spares his tea a glance and he thinks: it’s bold of her to be so upfront about offering her help to him, and had it been any other morning, one where he couldn’t think past the constant ache in his body, he would’ve chewed her head off for simply trying to help him because he himself doesn’t know how to accept that kindness.

This kid is trying her best and he can’t help but feel somewhat proud of that.

“You have shit on your face. Here,” he points to where the flakes would sit on his own face and picks his refilled teacup back up.

Gabi quickly wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, getting most of the flakes off. Levi gives her a thumbs-up with his free hand.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally concedes and tries to ignore the little happy dance she does in her seat.

This time, when the amber liquid touches his lips, it’s remarkably sweeter than before.