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1-800-c0sm1c · 1 year

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＃OVERWATCH !! ♡ — LET ME PAINT YOUR SKIES (MOIRA X READER).

#. synopsis! — moira, a frustrated geneticist in the throes of an impossible war against her superiors, meets a despondent young artist drowning sorrows at the bar. as it turns out, the latter is a particularly good listener, and the former is the type of woman you’ve only met in your wildest dreams .

#. characters! — moira .

#. warnings! — light angst, mentions of alcohol consumption, extreme slow-burn .

#. word count! — 11.7k .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — sorry i've been gone so long, got busy w/ school and irl stuff :// feel free to hmu to play overwatch lol (i swear i'm not ass all the time!!) anways, moira kissers, this one's for you!!

This place is as rundown and decrepit as they come these days, —a hole-in-the-wall type of establishment with old, creaky stools and paint that chips off into the drinks from time to time. Fruit flies are more regular than most customers, and they provide little bits of extra protein to those either too wasted to fish them out of their shots or unfortunate enough to not notice them. It's incredible that this place hasn't been permanently shut down, actually, with health and safety hazards galore. . . And yet, despite all its undeniable (and very obvious) flaws, you quite like it here. It's where you come when you're stuck in a rut and need to drink away some sadness.

Sure, it's not the healthiest of habits, but everyone has their vices. This is yours, —but it's an occasional thing, for the most part. You go months at a time without so much as glancing in the direction of any alcohol whatsoever, and most times when you indulge, it's more of a social thing than that of a desire to get plastered. Unfortunately, old habits die hard, as they say, and being an artist has its ups and downs. The highs are more intoxicating than any alcoholic beverage could ever be, but the lows hit you like a semi truck. They claw at your ankles and pull you down into the depths so mercilessly, as if feeding on your sorrow is the feast of a lifetime.

Thus, here you are again for the first time since mid-November of the prior year. It's been roughly five months since you've sat on this stool, ordering shots from the grumpy bartender who never remembers your name and doesn't care much about conversing with his customers. This time, however, a fresh face stands out to you. She'd come in when you were still nursing a whiskey on the rocks, insisting that tonight would be different, that you wouldn't leave with your head all foggy or your balance thrown completely off. You've since changed your stance on that, of course, —as one simply does when they're wrung dry of artistic inspiration and turn to seeking some sort of haven in an unhealthy vice.

Still, the woman at the other end of the bar has your full attention, even if she hasn't realized it yet. Even from her slouched position you can see that she's quite tall, —and equally as thin. She's dressed in more formal attire than yourself, a starkly white button-up and a pair of black dress pants as opposed to your own ill-fitting jeans and a greyish-blue sweater you'd picked up simply because it was seventy-five percent off. It's certainly comfortable, but stylish is most definitely up for debate.

Her foot taps against the bar counter, the toe of her black flats ringing out in little thumps that nobody seems to notice but you. She swirls a shot glass in her elegant hand, —her long, lithe fingers adorned with lengthy nails all painted a uniform shade of violet. Strands of short, ginger hair fall over her forehead, clearly unstyled after a long day. Whatever she's going through, you're sure it isn't pleasant for her to have ended up here alone on a Thursday night. Even so, you silently wonder if she's aware of just how attractive she is. In a sense, she's almost ethereal to you, with her extended limbs and sharp lines. . .

You reach for a napkin and are pleasantly surprised when the rusted dispenser sitting loose just a seat away isn't completely empty as it usually is by this time of night. Digging in your bag for a moment, you find an old ballpoint pen buried at the bottom. You try to take something to write or sketch with wherever you go, —but sometimes you still find yourself wholly unprepared for when inspiration strikes.

It takes a bit of scribbling before the ink begins to flow. Even then, it's rather choppy and doesn't come out in a smooth line. But, it's the best you have on hand, and so you're sure to use it to your advantage in whatever way possible (which isn't many.) Your gaze flickers between the woman at the end of the bar and the napkin you're sketching her likeness on in inconsistent ink. It's certainly rough, but it's the first thing you've drawn all week that you haven't felt the urge to light on fire, so you're considering this a win.

You get a little carried away with the shading and the general environment, adding flowers that aren't there and little markings all around for some additional texture and pizzaz.

"Interesting," a low-toned, curious voice says from just over your shoulder.

You startle at the sudden interruption, nearly scribbling a horrendous line across the center of your sketch. The woman had been so silent in her move, (or perhaps you'd just been too engrossed to hear her make her way over) that you were left flinching under her looming shadow.

She seems fittingly confident for the aura she gives off, —like some kind of CEO.

"Uh. . . Sorry," you apologize, hoping the mood won't become too awkward. "This must seem pretty weird."

This is pretty weird, actually, and you can acknowledge that much. After all, when someone trudges to the bar late at night, it's not as if they go there expecting that some equally as frustrated stranger will see them and be unable to resist the urge to sketch their likeness on a painfully thin napkin.

"I've seen weirder," she replies, —and though you don't ask for examples of that, you're rather curious about what she'd give as some.

She sits next to you now, on the bar stool just to your left. Her knee brushes against yours as she does so.

"You're an artist then, I presume?" She asks without missing a beat.

You nod, letting your pen drop to the bartop, giving her your full attention now. Something about her demands it (not that you're complaining.)

"Yep," you answer, though you can't bring yourself to sound particularly stoked by that admission at the moment.

She takes notice of that much too quickly for having just met you.

"You don't seem very pleased about it," she notes. "Trouble in paradise, perhaps?"

An Irish accent clings to her words; not a heavy one, all things considered, but more than enough to be obvious. It's quite attractive.

"Yeah, something like that," you say with a bitter laugh, —one directed more at yourself than her statement. "Nothing I'd want to bore you with."

She hums in acknowledgement, not trying to pry anything out of you that you aren't readily willing to share. That makes you like her all the more.

"I understand that quite well," she seems to sigh. "I'm a geneticist, —seasoned and well-ingrained in my field."

That makes sense. She speaks with an air of confidence that you assume comes with not only age, but experience, and it's clear she's well-educated.

"Yet here I am, constantly being pestered and questioned by those around me," she complains. "They insist upon checking and checking and checking again for ethical violations, —as if any true scientist has ever been able to examine the fullest potential of life without bending a few rules."

You gather rather quickly that she likely just needs someone to vent to, and a stranger is as good as anyone else. Though you're sure it won't be long before she gets into specifics and you lose the plot entirely, you have no qualms about keeping her company for the time being. In fact. . . This might as well be just as much for you as it is for her.

"They say rules were made to be broken," you quip, hoping it'll be enough to keep her talking.

"I don't know that I'd go quite that far, —but what I will say is that being ethical will do no good if it leaves us plateaued and unable to advance," she says. "Humanity is shackled by so many things. I am searching for the key to those shackles, —searching for the means by which to unlock the true potential of human beings. Just imagine what could be achieved if every individual was consistently performing at their highest levels of functioning. Productivity would skyrocket, advancements that have taken decades in the past would come about in less than half the time. . . There's so much waiting to be discovered, and yet so many seem to want to stand in the way of that."

"I'm sure that's frustrating," you acknowledge. "Obviously I'm not familiar with your field, but it seems a bit counterintuitive to stunt your progress when advancement is such a crucial part of today's society."

At this point, you're just speaking and hoping something sticks. It'd be nice to have someone to share time with, even if all she does is rant about things you're nothing short of completely removed from.

"Exactly," she practically hisses. "Sometimes, I'm utterly convinced that I'm surrounded by fools. Fools who haven't a clue what it means to strive for the betterment of humankind."

Truth be told, she knows you don't get it. She knows you're telling her what you think she wants to hear from you. . . But, at this point, it's enough. She doesn't have the patience to keep it all bottled up anymore, and your vague attempts at encouragement are something she's rather pleased by (for the time being, anyway.)

As a result, she goes on, and on, and on, well into the early hours of the morning. She drinks, but seems to hold her liquor so well that it hardly affects her at all. Or, perhaps you're just a bit sensitive in that department. Either way, she finds you to be a tantalizingly good listener, even if she lost you the moment she started detailing something about stem cell research and the possibility of using the brain's localization to its 'fullest potential.'

By the end of your time with her, you're drunk less on the drinks you've admittedly been nursing, and more on her. A woman of such. . . Confidence and refinement. Perhaps in great contrast to the artist at your core, who craves some semblance of chaos and passion that burns so hot you can feel it course through your veins.

It's only after you've parted ways with her that you realize you never caught her name.

You return to the bar several times after that, though you seldom have the urge to drink any of your problems away. Your long, strange conversation with that enchanting force of a woman weighs heavily on your mind. Her very likeness on its own had helped to chip away at your stunted inspiration, giving birth to new designs and a perhaps pretentious series of paintings in which long, slender fingers with sharpened nails painted a deep violet color held different types of flowers. A part of you wonders if she’d like them. . . After all, they were born only because you’d had the chance to meet her (and spend at least a good two hours staring at her hands.)

Now, however, you’re content with staring at the art displayed at this gallery. It’s clear many of the paintings are uninspired, simply taking the form of references, —which is all well and good, of course. . . But there’s a sense of romanticism missing from most of them that isn’t quite scratching the itch inside your chest.

You stand before one such piece; a beautiful painting of a teacup filled nearly to the brim with amber liquid. It’s accompanied by a few cookies, ones that look delectable in spite of their bland appearance. The scene is nothing revolutionary, but there’s a sense of warmth it exudes that the other works here lack, so you’ve chosen to camp here for a bit, if only to bask in its delight for a while longer.

“I don’t presume this is one of yours.” You’d know that voice anywhere.

Perhaps a bit too quickly, your head whips to the side, eyes immediately scaling upward. You meet the duel-colored stare of the woman you’d met at the bar, and the intensity of her gaze leaves butterflies tickling your stomach. She’s dressed much the same as the night you first crossed paths with her, but her hair is pushed back completely, —not a single strand out of place. She wears some subtle makeup, a bit of color on her lips and liner on her eyes. You couldn’t even begin to picture her in casual clothing.

You blink, clearing your throat as you remember that she was likely looking for a response.

“No, not quite,” you reply.

She hums in acknowledgement. Her hand almost looks empty without a glass in it, you note, but choose to say nothing of it.

“I’m y/n, by the way,” you introduce yourself, hoping that she’ll follow suit. . . Hoping that she’ll take it as a sign that you’d like to see her again at some point, even if just at random.

“Moira.”

You swallow. It’s a name that sounds so elegant, and it suits her completely. Before you can compliment it, she turns her full attention to you, no longer dividing it between the painting. She never seemed particularly interested in that one anyhow.

“Are any of your pieces displayed here?" She asks. "I'd be interested to see them."

You swear the smallest semblance of a smile quirks at the corners of her lips as she speaks now.

"No, unfortunately not," you reply. "The deadline was too tight, and. . . Nothing I'd created recently felt worthy of the spotlight."

Untrue. The few paintings you'd stayed up until ungodly hours to finish were more than suitable; but they were of her. Only her hands, thus far, but. . . You still felt the urge to keep them to yourself. That's why you'd lugged them back to your apartment instead of keeping them at your worn-down studio.

She hums in acknowledgement.

The conversation is running thin, and you feel your chest tighten. She’d gone out of her way to speak to you first, so you assume there’s some semblance of a spark here, even if only a little one. You yearn to keep it safe from anything and everything hellbent on snuffing it out before it even has the chance to burn brightly.

“How’s work been for you, then?” You ask, somewhat desperate to keep her talking.

Moira heaves a heavy sigh, —not so much at you, but at the mention of work. You take that as ‘less than stellar.’

“It could be better,” she replies bitterly.

It’s then that you let impulse take over. Working as an artist is the culmination of your life’s devotion and effort to refining your skills. . . But it can be a bit lonely. Usually, that doesn’t bother you much, —it’s a feeling that rarely bubbles up enough to even cross your mind; but since you’d met Moira, it’d been much more difficult to ignore. In the end, you took a chance, perhaps a bit rashly. And yet, it paid off.

“I’d be willing to listen, if you’d like someone to talk to,” you offer. “There’s a little cafe just down the block. I’ve heard the pecan pie is to die for.”

She stares for a few moments, as if eyeing you down like prey. At the very least, Moira seems to be giving some thought to your offer, and you consider that as good a sign as any. Eventually, she breathes out through her nose just loud enough for you to hear it (and make note of the amusement it carries.) A smirk tugs visibly at the corner of her pretty mouth, and this time, it’s not one you’d have to squint to catch sight of.

“Suppose I am feeling a bit peckish,” she notes, then tells you to lead the way.

You’re almost dumbfounded that you’ve gotten this far. It’s all too easy to abandon the gallery and travel with Moira to the newly opened cafe just a ways off. You’d stopped by a few times since its grand opening just a few months back, but had never ordered anything more than a simple drink. You’d also never taken the time to sit down and enjoy the sweet atmosphere of the establishment, always rushing about too frantically to even consider the possibility.

This time is different. You sit with Moira by a large window, tendrils of sunlight pouring in from above, creating long shadows on the table between the two of you. She orders a simple cup of dark roast, but decides for the both of you that the pecan pie does, in fact, look too heavenly to pass up; so she requests one slice with two forks.

She tells you about her day, —about her work and her ongoing struggles to convince her superiors that she knows exactly what she’s doing and should be permitted to do as such. You still don’t understand most of it, but you make sure she knows she has your full attention nonetheless.

And then she makes the decision to turn the direction of the conversation.

“How has life as an artist been treating you since we last spoke?” She inquires.

You’re almost thrown off by the sudden reciprocation of curiosity. Between the both of you, you’d simply assumed she was leading the more interesting life, and had been completely content to listen to her spew her frustrations while sipping on coffee for an hour or so.

Still. . . It felt nice to know she cared about your own ventures, if only out of politeness. (Though, really, Moira didn’t seem like the type who’d ask a question she didn’t care about receiving a genuine answer to for the sake of saving face.)

“Better,” you smile softly. “I was struggling to find inspiration, —worried that everything I was producing was just bland and uninteresting. But, after speaking with you, I started digging myself out of that rut. Since then, things have steadily been getting back on track, so I suppose I should thank you for that.”

Moira hums in acknowledgement.

“I’m happy to have helped, though I’m not certain I truly know what I did to spur any of your artistic inspiration,” she admits.

“You’re alluring,” you tell her without thinking the compliment through.

You qualify: “Unique. Very visually striking.”

She raises an eyebrow at the sentiment, then offers you a low chuckle in reply.

“Is that why you asked me here?” She questions, though she doesn’t seem perturbed by the idea. “To be your muse of sorts?”

Your heart thumps a little louder in your chest now, though you’re not sure why.

“No,” you answer honestly, shaking your head a bit, “—but I’m sure that’ll be a secondary benefit.”

Will it ever.

“I take it you simply enjoy my company then?” Moira continues.

“Precisely,” you nod. “It’s exactly that.”

She stares at you for a moment longer, her eyes all but boring holes into your own. In a good way.

Finally, she cracks an amused smile, and mumbles: “Likewise.”

At that, you’re certain you’ve won the lottery. You talk with her a bit more about a variety of things; what it’s like to be a full-time artist, about her nails (press-ons, apparently, —you could hardly believe the notion), —about how right everyone was about the pecan pie. She disappeared before you could say a proper goodbye, paying the bill and scribbling her phone number down on a napkin that she left at your seat while you were in the restroom. You grin to yourself the whole way back to your apartment, letting the day’s events wash over you like the evening tide.

Just before you turn in later in the night, you send a quick message to her phone thanking her for paying the tab and telling her that next time is your treat. She responds in almost record time, and you let yourself believe for a moment that maybe she’d been waiting around for you to reach out since she’d left the cafe.

Looking forward to it.

As late spring turned to early summer, you kept in contact with Moira, if only passively. She was a busy woman, unsurprisingly, and despite the continued conflict with her peers and superiors, she remained wholly devoted to her work and ideals. It was easy to recognize that you came second, —if you even made her list at all.

But that was okay. It didn’t weigh heavily on you as it might have if she were anyone else.

You saw her only a few times here and there over the weeks, returning to that same cafe to chat for a bit over coffees, venturing to a steakhouse on the far end of the city for a night of fine dining, and attending an opera performance with her after she’d been given tickets by a work colleague as a regifted-gift when that individual had no interest in attending themself. Each time, you saw a new side of Moira; getting to know her better, getting to experience the many shades of her.

It was mid-June when you heard your phone buzz late at night, vibrating against the oakwood of your bedstand. On the off chance it was Moira contacting you at such a strange time, you shot upright, startling yourself awake in the process. You snatched your phone off the surface, squinting at the brightness only to realize it was a completely unrelated, automatic notification from an app. But you sat there that night, your stomach tied in knots, that device clutched a bit too tightly in your hand, only to realize something all at once.

You were falling for her. For Moira. And you were so certain that that was a terrible idea.

You laid awake, thinking about everything that could possibly go wrong in the face of this newfound revelation. Really, had anyone else had a say in the matter, the more shocking part of it all would have been that it took you so long to put two and two together. —She’s addicted to her work, utterly devoted to her job. That had long been established. Any plans you sought to make with her had to first be run through her hefty work schedule; the one that was so bizarre and so obscure that you’d given up trying to make sense of it a week into your acquaintanceship.

Any relationship you could hope to forge with her would be a lowly affair. Her first love was destined to be science. Still, you rationalized that Moira wasn’t much unlike you, in that sense. You too were deeply devoted to your career, thinking of it often, keeping your art at the forefront of your mind more often than not.

Even that aside, there was so much that could go wrong here. If she were to feel the same way, which seemed so unlikely to you that even considering it felt like something akin to a cruel joke, —it was more likely to be fleeting than anything else. Yet, a part of you still wanted it. . . Wanted the push and pull, the long weeks of her undoubtedly forgetting that you even existed, just to fall back in her arms at the first sign of affection. Foolishly, a part of you still wanted the late nights and early mornings, —wanted to feel your own heart break as you watched her slip out of your bed through hazy eyes, leaving you lonely without a proper goodbye.

Obviously, you were getting miles ahead of yourself.

Still, the fact remained that you liked Moira. . . You just weren’t sure what exactly you were supposed to do about that.

The summer heat became sweltering before long. Moira traded her long-sleeved dress shirts for short-sleeved ones in the same color and style, and you began to stare not only at her hands, but at her arms now when the two of you found time to get together. You’d sit and listen to her frustrations, —always about her working life and how it was so difficult to deal with being stifled, told that she couldn’t do this or that because someone had deemed it inappropriate by their own standards.

Admittedly, you still didn’t get it. Her work was so different to your own, and in the end, she didn’t really get yours either. But, each of you managed well enough. Your relationship was symbiotic. She had someone to vent to, you had someone to lust and desire for, someone to get your inspiration pumping. . . And that was good enough.

Until it wasn’t.

You did your best to drown your feelings out. There was too much at stake, what with Moira being your closest friend in the city, you assumedly being hers (since she often made note that you were the only person she spoke so candidly with,) —and you didn’t want to disrupt the balance the both of you had created together. It worked, and they say what isn’t broken doesn’t need to be fixed.

But it was breaking you, little by little. It was something you could ignore at first, until ignoring it became much more difficult, and you defaulted to stuffing it down on purpose, forcing thoughts about the bow of her lips and the dips of her waist into the back of your mind. If she ever caught sight of your wandering gaze, she never mentioned it. Still, you were prepared to chalk it up to admiring her frame for artistic purposes, and Moira likely would have bought that without much thought otherwise.

And then came the banquet, —the gathering, the party— whatever the hell it was. You didn’t really know what it was about other than that it had to do with Moira’s work, and that in itself was enough to signal to you that you probably wouldn’t have been able to make much sense of it anyway. She’d asked you to attend alongside her, saying that it would go much smoother with someone there to talk to (presumably so she could ignore everyone else that would be lapping at her ankles, vying for her attention.)

Whether her colleagues liked or disliked her and her methods, it was surely undeniable that Moira was intelligent and could provide insight into just about anything (within reason.) Thus, she’d requested that you come along as her so-called “plus one.” It didn’t help that when you mentioned that you’d likely be out of place at such an event, she responded by assuring you that many of the scientists would surely be taking their partners and spouses along with them.

“So, this is your way of asking me on a date?”

It was a joke. You gave a sly smile to project that, and it seemed that she understood the intention. You just hoped she didn’t catch sight of the desperation that lingered in the back of your stare, —desperation born from the desire to cross every line known to man and then some.

The worst part is that she didn’t deny it. She seemed unphased by the proposition even, telling you to “call it what you’d like.” And you would, albeit not to her face again. In your mind, this was a date. Perhaps one of convenience more than anything else, —but a date nonetheless.

When the time comes, you meet Moira just out front of your apartment. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen her sleek, black car in person. She’d made mention of it before, (only when you’d asked first), but your get-togethers with her had been within comfortable walking distance of most things in the city. This time, however, the venue was a bit further out, and because the occasion called for fancier clothes, Moira decided driving there would be the best option.

You watched through the slightly tinted windows as she reached over the passenger seat, her long, slender arm easily reaching the inner handle of the car door. She pushed it open for you, and you got in, feeling like some kind of moviestar. It wasn’t often that you saw a car as expensive and luxurious as hers around your admittedly worn-down apartment complex. It was even less often that you got to ride in one.

“Wow,” you note, slipping your seatbelt on, “I figured you’d drive something nice, but this is really something else.”

She lets an amused tuft of air escape her nostrils.

You turn to look at her now, taking her in as the last rays of dying sunlight spill down from the sky. She’s in a nice suit, as expected of her, —one that compliments her lengthy stature noticeably even in a sitting position. The fabric of her blazer is a deep, crimson red, a few shades darker than the scarlet iris of her right eye, and it’s paired with a black undershirt and black dress pants to match. Her hair is slicked back, and her hands are hidden under a pair of black gloves. She’s almost too stunning to be real, you think as she seems to examine your own attire.

Though Moira pays you no compliments, the light smirk that curves her lips upward ever so slightly says enough.

“I’ll have you home before it gets too late,” she says. “This is more for appearances than anything else. Those matter much more than one might think in the scientific field.”

Unsurprisingly, she seems less than excited about all of this, and you temper your own expectations as a result. It wasn’t so much the event itself you were looking forward to, —it was just getting to spend time with her that really lit your fuse, so to speak.

“I’ve got nothing better to be doing,” you note. “I’m yours for the night.”

Maybe that was a little too forward. As soon as you’ve said it, a part of you wishes you hadn’t. . . But Moira gives you a little hum in reply, throwing you a final glance before fixing her eyes ahead, and that’s the end of it. You like to think she was pleased with that admission, though. The drive is quiet, but in a comfortable sense. She seems to be in neutral spirits in spite of her distaste for the final destination, and you’re glad for it (not that you mention it.)

The venue was about as extravagant as you would expect; chandeliers hanging from the ceiling in the party hall, well-dressed staff members carrying platters of red wine and bubbling champagne, weaving their way through the guests with surprising grace and elegance. You can’t help but think to yourself that you’d never survive a day doing their job.

Moira snags the both of you some wine.

“Can’t help but think this is a bit nostalgic,” she comments as you put the rim of the glass to your lips to take a small sip.

The dark red liquid almost matches her outfit.

“I guess so,” you smile sheepishly. “It’s been a bit since we first met, and that’s the last time we drank together.”

“Indeed.”

She takes her own sip now, her lipstick clinging to the glass. You let yourself stare for a moment, gaze caught on her mouth. . . You let yourself wonder what it’d be like to pull her in, match your hand to the curve of her neck, —kiss her, taste the wine on her lips. It’s a bad idea, of course, but. . .

You just can’t help it.

“I suppose I should give you a proper thanks,” Moira notes after a few moments of silence. “I’m sure this kind of event isn’t much like anything you’d be used to.”

“Not in the slightest,” you shake your head.

She appreciates the candid way you answer, not trying to soften the blow for the sake of saving face. Your honesty is part of your charm.

“Lucky you,” she notes. “These things are practically the bane of my existence. They’re just glorified circle-jerks, —everyone squanders their time meeting here to drink alcohol and grit their teeth while they speak with colleagues they haven’t seen since the last one, even though they promise to keep in touch every single time.”

You get the feeling she’s quite pleased they never actually go through with that. The very prospect seems more like a threat than a broken promise.

“Sounds. . . Fake,” you answer lightly.

“Utterly synthetic,” Moira says, venom lacing her words.

She really isn’t holding back tonight, and there’s a certain luster that comes with it, —the kind that makes your insides twist into pretzels. Though she’s seldom the type to be vulgar for the sake of it, her gloves seem to be off tonight. Metaphorically, anyway. The actual gloves on her pretty hands are still there, tightly fitted to her elegant fingers. You’d be a tad more bitter about the view they steal away from you if not for how nice they look on her.

“Worse off, you may think idle workplace gossip would be less common in a career such as mine, —but you’d be wrong,” she tells you. “The amount of nonsense they spew never ceases to amaze me.”

And here you thought it was an impossible task to impress her. Imagine your shock when you found that a tried and true way of doing so was just to spout off pointless grains from the rumor mill. . .

“Seems hellish,” you remark.

You shiver at the mere thought of it, your eyes surveying the loose crowd now, looking for anyone who seems to be questioning your presence at Moira’s side or making assumptions about whether you really belong here. You don’t, and that just makes the anxiety worse. Another sip of wine down the hatchet, but your worries don’t go down with it the way you’d hoped they would.

“Hellish may be a bit of an understatement,” Moira mumbles sourly.

“Really though, a proper thank you for coming along is in order,” she sighs. “If you have anything you’d like in return, do tell. Money isn’t much of an obstacle, —within reason, of course.”

Unsure of how to say that all you really want is for her to pull you in and let her body meld into your own, you give her a little nod and a polite smile instead.

“I’ll let you know if anything comes to mind.”

She seems pleased enough by your confirmation, swallowing down the rest of her wine in a few ungraceful gulps. The way her throat contracts as she tips the glass back sends a shiver down your spine. Everything she does is so mesmerizing, and at this point, it’s just unfair. No one person should be able to captivate you; mind, body, and soul the way she always has, even from the very start. Sitting at a rundown bar, standing tall before a painting of tea and cookies, —drinking down blood red alcohol under dazzling chandeliers and crystalline lights that dance off her eyes like fireflies in mid-July.

You stand by as the night drags on, going much too slow for Moira, and far too quickly for you. It’s clear she’s not content to just be by your side here, and that hurts a little more than it should. She has another two glasses of wine and leaves a lipstick stain on each of them. . . And she doesn’t know just how much you’d risk for her to leave that same mark anywhere on you.

For the briefest of seconds, you consider asking that of her in return, but you banish that thought to the shadow realm just as quickly.

A few fresh faces greet Moira with varying levels of that synthetic politeness she’d mentioned not long ago. Seeing it in real time is like looking through a kaleidoscope of disgust, and you have to force a scowl off your face. You try your best to zone out when they come around, figuring that you’re not supposed to be privy to whatever information they’re sharing, —and that you wouldn’t understand much of it anyway. Unless they were suddenly struck with the urge to discuss color theory or artistic interpretation, you were pretty certain you wouldn’t be of much help. Moira’s field of expertise was worlds different than your own.

“Doctor O’Deorain,” a pretty blonde woman greets, her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail and a little black dress clinging to her body in all the right places.

Moira regards her with less hostility than the others, her expression softening a bit.

“I wasn’t expecting you to actually show up,” she continues with a familiar giggle, losing the formal nature of her address. “I’m almost afraid to ask what you were offered in exchange for your attendance.”

If she’s comfortable enough to joke with Moira, you assume she’s known her for long enough to have built that kind of comradery. Maybe it was just a hunch of yours, but you’d have been willing to bet that Moira didn’t ease up to people very quickly. You like to think you were a slight exception to the rule.

“More like what they threatened to take away if I didn’t,” Moira answers, that characteristic bluntness still present in her tone, —but it’s softer with this woman, for one reason or another.

The blonde laughs again, seeming content in the redhead’s presence. Jealousy prickles at your heart, making you feel utterly ridiculous. Her blue eyes finally travel to where you’re standing, as if she’s just now realizing that you’d been standing there the entire time.

“You brought a friend along?” She inquires, her kind smile never fading. “It’s nice to meet you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Moira beats you to the punch.

“Lover, actually,” she corrects, one of her gloved hands sneaking around your waist, pulling you closer and nearly knocking you off-balance in the process.

Your throat goes dry, face falling into an expression of panic, but you gather yourself before the blonde woman can take notice. Though you have no idea why she’d lie about such a thing, you can only assume that Moira has her reasons, and the last thing you’d want to do is correct her in front of a colleague, —even about something like this. You’ll probably never see this woman again anyway, so no harm, no foul. (Well, maybe some harm to your heart, but what else is new.)

The woman seems shocked by even the idea of it.

“It’s nice to meet you as well,” you say with a forced smile.

It’s not that she isn’t kind or easy to talk to. She’s both of those things, actually, and you can admire that (and you do.) But you’re still reeling from Moira’s sudden concession, and making small talk is the last thing on your mind.

The rest of the conversation is a blur. You do your best to fall into the background, hoping that each of them might just forget you even exist. Your heart hammers wildly in your chest, beating something dangerously close to out of control.

The feeling of her hand on your waist all but burns itself into your flesh.

By the time they’ve said their goodbyes, she’s taken it away. But it’s far too late to fix the damage she’s done.

Moira never does explain herself that night, and you don’t have the nerve to ask. Questions are ripe on the tip of your tongue the entire ride back to your apartment, but you sit in silence just as you did before, —albeit much less comfortably.

It’s then that you’re forced to acknowledge the crueler parts of her. . . And yet, you fear, you’re still falling for her anyway.

Communication is brief and inconsistent over the rough week and a half following the event. You send a few messages out of nicety, hoping she might choose to spark up a conversation. . . But she doesn’t, and you chalk it up to her being busy with work. At least, that’s the story your rational mind would like you to believe. The part of you that you’d like to shut out completely warns you only of the possibility that you’re being overbearing, and it’s pushing her further away.

You begin to worry that it’s now or never. If things continue as they are, Moira might as well just be another person who only contacts you when it’s convenient or they’re feeling a little nostalgic and want to hear a whisper from a ghost of their past.

As a means to counteract that possibility, you decide that it’s time to put that favor from Moira to good use. Best of all, —it’s utterly free of charge.

She agrees to meet you at your little painting studio to provide some assistance. Upon arriving, she walks around and gazes long and hard at each of your pieces, —finished and unfinished alike, sparing you the flurry of compliments she’s sure you’ve heard a million times over. If she were anyone else, her silence might have been a bad omen, but you know her well enough to understand that she means well.

“I’m not certain I can really be of any help,” she says, giving you a sidelong glance over her angular shoulder. “I enjoy art, but I haven’t the slightest clue how to create it. I leave that to the lot of you who’ve crafted your skills and put in the time.”

“For many of us, —myself included— inspiration is just as important as skill,” you reply. “These days, it’s been running a bit dry. But I was hoping you could get the wheels turning, if you know what I mean.”

Moira thinks she has a good idea of it.

“And how, pray tell, should I go about that?” She asks. “Do I just need to sit here and pose?”

“Actually,” you say, hoping to rip this off like a bandaid, —because you know it’s bizarre and that she might well say no, but you’re sick of wondering about it.

As it goes, you’ve prepared for the worst, but you’re hoping for the best.

“I’d like to paint on you.”

She looks at you evenly, as if she’s not shocked by the request at all. You’re more surprised by her lack of a visceral reaction than she is by your requisition.

“Interesting,” she notes, though it doesn’t sound like this is particularly intriguing to her, “—where, exactly?”

“Just like that?” You laugh. “No hesitation? You’re just gonna let me do it?”

“That’s dependent on the where,” she replies, an amused smile thinning her lips out. “If I’m right to assume you’re keen on keeping this within a certain boundary, I see no real reason to object. I do owe you, after all.”

Above most things, Moira is practical. She sees this as repayment, not only for your attendance at her working banquet, but also for the many afternoons, evenings, and nights she’s talked your ear off, sharing her own disgruntled feelings over coffee, steak, and whiskey neat respectively.

You offer her an appreciative smile, as if she’s done something so loving for you out of the kindness of her beating heart.

It’s more out of obligation, you fear, but you’re fine to ignore that for now.

“Will an arm suffice?” She asks.

“Maybe two,” you answer cheekily, and she doesn’t object.

You grab her a wooden stool to sit on, one much less rinky-dink than the barstool she’d sat on the night you first met as you go about procuring your materials; paints, brushes, —the necessities for this kind of ordeal.

“Can you roll your sleeves up a bit more for me?” You request.

“Would it be easier to just discard the shirt?” She asks.

Your breath catches in your throat. Yes, she’s probably right in some sense. . . That likely would make this process increasingly easier in a pragmatic sense, —but you’re certain seeing her in such a state would do numbers on your heart that you’re not sure you’re really equipped to handle.

“I. . . I suppose so,” you nod.

You try not to stare as her elegant fingers undo the buttons of her shirt with ease, like she’s a master of the craft. Her back arches ever so slightly as she slips her arms out, long and limber as they fall to her sides and she keeps the mess of white fabric balled in her hands now. Her bra is a stark black, the kind of deep shade that really contrasts with every inch of her pale, porcelain skin. You swallow nervously at the sight of her, taking the shirt from her hands to drape it over an unused easel.

She seems to have no reservations about this. Maybe it’s because she’s simply confident in every aspect of herself, —or maybe it’s because she trusts you enough to remain stoic in the face of it. You don’t ask, and Moira doesn’t tell.

“Any ideas?” She says instead, “—For the artwork.”

“I was considering something floral and nature-themed,” you answer, focusing in on that aspect of the ordeal so as to forget that she’s sitting in front of you like this, so much of her on display for your eyes only.

“Butterflies with carnations,” you add, “—or daisies, perhaps.”

“I’m impartial to hyacinth myself,” she notes.

It’s not so much a suggestion for your art piece as it is something Moira simply wants to share with you. Still, you think it best to run with it, and you give her a slightly lopsided smile.

“Hyacinth it is.”

She watches with curiosity as you go through the motions, —mixing colors, cleaning your brushes between them, dabbing them dry. It’s not often that Moira has the luxury of watching something like this in person. . . In fact, now that she’s thinking of it, she’s not sure she’s ever witnessed an artist work firsthand at all. In her lifetime, she’s seen innumerous things she would personally describe as incredible, —and unbeknownst to you, this is one of them.

“This is actually quite relaxing,” she says. “Like a massage. I don’t fancy those much, I loathe the thought of a stranger touching me so extensively, —but this is nice.”

You offer her a small smile.

“I’m glad,” you reply. “I knew it was a bit of a strange request, and I wouldn’t have blamed you for turning me away, but I’m happy you felt comfortable enough to allow it.”

“Perish the thought,” Moira shakes her head slightly. “If anyone knows about unconventional methods, it would be me. I know better than most that in order to reach one’s full potential, sometimes it’s necessary to step outside the proverbial box.”

That wasn’t quite your mindset going into it, but if she was ready and willing to place a perfectly good excuse for this in your lap, then so be it. Truth be told, you were simply a conduit of passion to your very core, and in a perhaps distorted sense of the word, this was romantic to you.

You hum in acknowledgement.

“While you’re here. . . Can I ask you something?” You inquire.

Though it feels like your heart is in your throat now, you manage to keep your hand steady enough to continue your work with little disruption.

“You can ask,” she says, “though my ability to answer might waver depending on what the question is.”

“At that event. . . You told that blonde woman we were lovers. Why?”

It’s been eating at you since it happened, in more ways than one, and now seems like as good a time as any to get it off your chest. You steal a peak at Moira’s face, noting the way she remains completely composed, even in the face of such an off-color inquiry.

“So I did,” she says plainly, certainly not the type to deny responsibility or deflect accountability for her own actions. “It’s an unfortunate fact for me that my colleagues can be quite. . . Eccentric. And by that, I mean they often poke their noses in the affairs of others with something similar to reckless abandon.”

Her brows furrow now as she thinks about it, clearly agitated.

“It’s not uncommon for them to pry into my personal matters, and I was hoping to quench their overbearing interest in my romantic life by giving them a glimpse into it, —if only a false one. Like I said before, everyone there is in it for themselves. It’s all synthetic. . . An act they put on to please one another a few times a year. That night, it was my turn to do the pleasing.”

“That makes sense,” you acknowledge.

Of course it did. You weren’t expecting anything less from her of all people.

“Did it work?”

A low rumble of brief laughter resounds from her chest, —husky and divine.

“Like a charm,” she tells you. “I’m sure they’ve found another staff member to harass with their incessant yammerings about intimacy and partnership.”

“You’re not a fan of those?” You ask, and the question is punctuated by the quiet ripples of your paintbrush through water as you clean it.

Moira is silent for a few moments, as if pondering on your inquiry.

“I don’t. . . Dislike intimacy,” she replies, —though she doesn’t sound as sure of that response as she normally would have had the two of you been discussing anything else.

“Rather, I don’t dislike the idea of it,” she corrects quickly. “In practice, I suppose that’s a different story. I don’t offer my trust like candy, and for me, intimacy only follows trust.”

“I’d argue this is quite intimate,” you note softly, blending two shades of deeper purples together on her bare skin. “Does that mean I’ve won your trust?”

You fear you’re pushing your luck here, but can’t stop yourself from asking. Eventually, Moira lowers her chin a bit, seeming amused by your line of questioning.

“I suppose so.”

Bingo.

If nothing else, that was your win for the day. If nothing else, —Moira trusted you. . . And that was more than enough for the time being.

You thrive off the high of that evening for the next several days. You don’t even worry when things go silent on Moira’s end. It’s all too easy to simmer yourself down now that you know for certain she trusts you, —and it’s almost elating to hold that information so near and dear to your heart. She invites you for a drink that Saturday night, in the cooling heat of summer, and you jump at the first opportunity to see her in person again.

This time, the bar isn’t quite so run down. It might just be the fanciest one you’ve ever set foot in, and the outfit you wore that you were worried would come off as overdressed now feels like the opposite. Things like this remind you of just how different you live in comparison to Moira. . . It’s easy to forget that she’s quite wealthy, and though you’re well past your struggling artist phase, you’re far from living the way you imagine she does day in and day out.

She’s not keen on discussing work tonight, so you sit around nursing lemon drop martinis with sugar-lined rims, hanging off her every word like the admitted lovesick fool that you are.

It’s nothing profound, nothing inherently important in the grand scheme of it all. . . But it’s nice to know that her favorite season is autumn, and it’s nice to know that she can play a bit of piano. It’s then that you really understand just how much little things really do matter, even within the finite days we’re given. Especially within them.

Just like your drink, it’s slightly bittersweet.

You talk with her well into the night, eventually forgoing the bar to simply walk around under the stars and the city lights. And maybe it’s alcohol or that aforementioned trust she’s placed in you, —but she tells you that she misses her home on nights like these, and when she sees you shiver, she drapes her jacket over your shoulders and walks a little closer to you now. So close that the back of her hand brushes against yours, —once, twice, thrice— but the fourth time never comes.

Instead, she reaches out in between the hum of passing cars and the hollow breeze that swishes by, and takes your hand in her own. You don’t bother to bite back the smile that graces your lips.

That night, you consider telling her all the things you’ve been keeping bottled up inside, —all the time you’ve spent groveling over her and her unfair ability to captivate you like no other. But, a part of you is almost certain she already knows now, as if the poetry written in your heart has all but flowed right into her own from the lines in your palm.

As summer moves both far too slow and much too fast all in a single breath, Moira becomes a semi-frequent guest in your studio. Sometimes she simply watches as you work on canvas, and at others, she becomes the canvas herself. You have a little collection of photographs of her now, —posed according to your will, displaying her painted arms in the process. It must be hours upon hours now that you've spent gracing her skin with your brushes, listening to her tell you about her day; the good and bad parts.

She leaves out the finer details, not wanting to bore you with the intricacies of a job one could only understand through years of training and experience. Still, you know more than you probably should about her research, and you're there when the scientific community at large decides that she's a perfect fit for their next public enemy.

For how harsh the punishment is, you'd think she would have been more upset, —but she remained indifferent to it all, as if taking it in stride was the only way she knew how to cope with it. Moira asked that if you stumbled across any articles of her, you pay them no mind. . . And you didn't. Maybe that was a naive choice, but her work was only your concern to a certain extent, and you were already well aware that she was prone to bending ethical guidelines. At the end of the day, you knew her as a woman rather than a scientist, and that was that.

You have to admit, it’s a little tortuous seeing her so often, being constantly reminded of just how hard you’ve fallen, and yet never having the courage to act on it. You often hype yourself up, readying yourself to shoot your shot, —but as soon as Moira is actually in front of you, all the confidence you’d spent the prior day and night building up all but crumbles to your feet in pathetic little pieces.

You sit with her at that cafe again, sipping on lattes together in the early afternoon. She seems more relaxed today than she is most of the time, —like something amazing has happened, though she hasn’t told you what. If anything even happened at all. For a moment, you let yourself believe that she’s just happy to be here with you.

The new employee of the quaint shop slips you a napkin with some scribbled numbers on it, and you feel a sense of deja vu. It wasn’t too long ago that Moira gave you her phone number in much the same way.

“His number, I presume?” Moira inquires.

You nod.

“I was wondering when he’d decide to make a move,” she laughs. “He’s had his eyes on you since you sat down.”

“O-Oh?” You utter, heat rising to your cheeks, “—Has he? I didn’t notice.”

You were a little distracted by the way she held the handle of her cup, though you’re keen on keeping that particular detail to yourself.

“Indeed,” she confirms. “So, any plans to take him up on it?”

“Ah. . . No, I don’t think so,” you shake your head. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered and all, I just. . .”

“He isn’t to your liking?” Moira guesses.

She’s so nonchalant about this that it’s close to driving you wild.

“I don’t know that I’d say it like that,” you mumble.

“He’s not your type, then?” She revises.

“I don’t think I have any specific type,” you answer.

“Perhaps there’s someone else?”

Your face falls and it doesn’t go unnoticed no matter how quickly you right yourself. There’s no hiding that it’s the case now, —but you have a feeling she already knows as much. She’d known it for days, weeks, —maybe months. Maybe she knew you were falling for her before you yourself had the wherewithal to pick up on it.

“Something like that,” you mutter, taking a long, drawn out sip of your drink.

Something like that.

She doesn’t press it any further, letting it drop completely for the time being. You part ways as you exit the cafe, and while she spends the rest of her day in her lab, you meddle about your studio, unable to keep your focus steady enough to get much done.

Perhaps there’s someone else. . .

You sigh deeply, frustrated and overwhelmed. If there was ever a time when you wished she’d be as blunt as she always seems to be, —it’s now. A part of you is certain even rejection would hurt less than this; less than the unknown. You’re sick of sitting in this pit of misty grey indifference, stuck in limbo, always waiting for the right time (that never actually comes.)

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath. “Fuck.”

You feel pathetically underproductive, sitting against the wall in your studio as the sun begins to set. You’ve done so little, but your mind has been racing for hours, and there’s still no sure-fire way you’ve found to reason yourself out of this mess. Telling her how you feel is always an option, but there’s a risk there that you’re just not comfortable with as things stand now. Moira pushes and pulls, and you don’t know what to make of it.

She makes that choice for you, as expected of her.

When your phone buzzes, lighting up with her name on the screen, you’re close to jumping out of your skin. It says so little, but it makes you feel so much.

Dinner?

Though you’re not particularly hungry despite having eaten very little all day, you quickly agree, if for no other reason than to bask in her presence and soak her in for everything she’s worth (which is more than any simple number could ever do justice, no matter how large.) For the sake of having an idea of how to dress, you ask where.

My place.

And so it goes. You get her address and she tells you to swing around by 7:30. You’re there by 7:28, spending the last two minutes outside her door, preparing yourself for whatever is to happen next. This building is incredible, —clearly high-class and unsuitable for the average working person based on price alone. You’d expect nothing less of Moira.

The outside pales in comparison to the inside, however. Her bookshelves are filled to the brim with titles, —some academically inclined, and others more for pleasure (though you’re not certain Moira would see much of a difference between the two.) She greets you in her typical attire, dress pants and a white button-up, although the top two buttons are undone tonight and her hair lacks any form of styling. You’re staring as she sits you down at a table overlooking the city, but you can’t help it, and you can’t bring yourself to look away. There’s something about her tonight that has your heart shivering in your chest.

“Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes,” she tells you. “Feel free to look around. I don’t mind what you touch as long as it isn’t broken.”

There’s a twinge of a smile on her lips and eyeliner slightly smudged beside her eyes. This is probably the closest you’ve come to seeing Moira in her rawest state, topping even the version of her you saw that night at the bar. It seems like that was so long ago now, but also feels like it was just yesterday somehow.

“You’re cooking?” You inquire.

“I dabble,” she replies. “It’s a necessary skill. I’m no Michelin star chef, mind you, but I can manage a proper meal.”

She hasn’t even set the food before you yet, and you already know she’s being far too humble. In the meantime, she pours you a glass of champagne, apologizing for the fact that it’s all she has on hand besides whiskey. You think nothing of it. If you didn’t know better, you’d consider this a date. . . And maybe you will, if only to yourself.

While she’s off in the kitchen, you run your fingers along the many book spines of her collection, imagining what she’d look like just sitting near a window in this place, a cup of tea resting near her, those elegant fingers flipping through pages.

Dinner is mostly quiet, but delicious. As you’d guessed, she was certainly being humble about her own culinary skills. She takes your compliments with lilted smirks. Moira seems more comfortable here, which makes sense. . . This is where she lives, after all, where she sleeps and spends a fair amount of time (you’re assuming) when she’s not in the lab or off doing something with you. She keeps her space impeccably neat.

You ask about the things strewn about her place, —about some of the awards she displays on a shelf all to themselves. It’s pressed into a corner, like she isn’t much proud they’re even there. She doesn’t seem to mind telling the tales, but doesn’t jump at the opportunity; like she’s doing it to quench your curiosity rather than stroke her own ego. She gives you a few book recommendations after gauging your tastes, —offers to let you borrow her copies, and you tell her you might just take her up on the offer, even if you won’t.

“It’s a bit late,” she says at a quarter past ten, “I hadn’t meant to keep you so long.”

But she doesn’t apologize for it, and Moira doesn’t seem sorry at all.

“I can drive you home,” she continues, “—or I could walk with you.”

She leans in a bit closer now, and you swallow nervously. You’re convinced you’re misconstruing something, but her lips are so near to your ear that you can almost feel them ghost against your skin.

“Or you’re welcome to stay,” she says softly, “if you’d like.”

You’re scared she can feel your heart hammering away in your chest. A part of you wants to just do as she’s offering, —stay the night with her, let her crawl under your skin, let her wrap you up in her arms and melt into her. But you’re not certain you’re ready for that yet. It’s a leap, and the both of you know what happens between adults when the lights dim and you stay over.

When you say nothing, she places one of those beautiful, elegant hands on the side of your face, cupping your cheek. You never really knew Moira could be that gentle. She waits, watching as your eyes flicker about for a moment, then leans closer; almost touching, but not. Like she’s waiting for permission or rejection. You meet her gaze, then let it flicker off nervously, and a smirk grows on her face.

Moira’s lips fall just to the side of your own, pressing a light kiss to the corner of your mouth. She leans back, standing to her full height, letting her hand linger on your face before pulling away. You were hesitant, and she could feel it.

“Goodnight,” she says, —as if she already knew how this night was going to end.

She’s not upset, and you let yourself smile up at her.

“Goodnight, Moira.”

This thing with her is intoxicating. It’s like a drug, and it’s getting in the way of everything. You’re finding it difficult to even be in her presence now without your eyes wandering or thoughts sneaking off somewhere they need not be. You fantasize about her more than you’d like to admit.

And now, you know that she must like you to, —at least to a certain extent. There’s plenty you aren’t certain of, plenty you’ll likely overthink in the future, but. . . You want this. You want her. You’ve known that for weeks, and now the only question left is what the hell you’re going to do about it.

You tell yourself the next time she comes onto you, you’ll accept her advances more readily. You’ll ask for the kiss she silently offers, tell her you want to stay the night. . . Maybe you’ll take the initiative, grab her by the ivory button-up and stand on the tips of your toes to press your lips against her mouth, even if it’s somewhat out of your character.

But then what?

What happens after, when the heat has cooled down, when the water’s stopped boiling, —when her dry luster has dimmed and you’re tired of being tossed to the wayside everytime she’s set her mind to something else? What happens when you’ve fallen down the list of her priorities and she has a million and one things to think about before she ever gets to you?

What happens when you run out of excuses to make for her. . . ?

And why doesn’t that seem to matter to you as much as you know it should?

You wonder if that’s what it means to love someone. . . To know that there are parts of her you’ll likely wretch at the sight of, to know that there are facets of her that you’ll find absolutely fucking repulsive, —and you’ll love her in spite of it, just as you do now.

Or maybe you’re just a lovesick fool.

She kissed you a few nights later in your shabby little studio. Your eyes had flickered from the roses you were painting on her arm to the glimmering red and blue of her irises that still shone even in the yellow lighting of the dying bulb above your heads, and then to the bow of her lips. Moira reached out, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear, as if this was how she’d chosen to test the waters. Your stare was so tender, and even she, in all of her romantic ineptness, could see that you were practically begging for her to make the first move so you wouldn’t have to be the one to break the ice.

You felt one of her fingernails trace your jawline from chin to lobe, then back down again. She cupped your cheek that time around, her surprisingly smooth palm sitting warmly against your skin.

You’ll never forget the way she paused just then, or the way she met your gaze just to lean in closer, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips before she asked simply: “May I?”

And even when you were still uncertain of what that really meant, —uncertain of what she’d do in the moments that followed your approval, if only naively, you gave her a nod, because you trusted her.

Her lips were soft and imperfect, and her lipstick wasn’t the type she could kiss with and leave nothing of the remnants behind. The reddish-orange color left an imprint on your mouth, faintly, of course, but it was there. It served as proof that what happened wasn’t just in your imagination anymore. You felt your heart stutter when she pulled away, and your head was swimming.

Since then, you’ve gotten that same feeling more times than you can count. Sometimes, it seems to live in the marrow of your bones. You had it for hours on end the first night you spent with her, all but glistening in afterglow under your worn-out covers. She never complained about the quainter life you lived, even though it often paled in comparison to her own. Moira held you just the same whether on your creaky frame and dreary mattress or on the king-sized bed in her luxury apartment that overlooked the cityscape.

You get that feeling when she takes your hand in her own, —when she traces shapes and cursive letters against your flesh under humble moonlight. You get it when she peels you apart, when she looks inside your chest with a single glance, when she soothes your deepest flaws simply because she can.

And it’s not always perfect. Sometimes she’s snippy, sometimes you’re sensitive, and sometimes you sleep in the spare room of her apartment just to make room for your thoughts. Sometimes she doesn’t call when she knows she’ll be working late, and sometimes you don’t see her for a few days when her workload piles up too high and she shacks up in her laboratory. Sometimes she forgets to make the most of every moment, and sometimes you shut her out when you know deep down that you shouldn’t.

But there’s always love to be found, —no matter where you are. She attends company banquets with you on her arm, just to show you off like a prize. You sit and watch her with stars in your eyes when she cooks, when she reads, when she paints the press-on nails she wears like claws for protection. She makes your coffee for you in the mornings, memorizes the way you like it, and keeps the additives on hand (even when she drinks hers straight from the pot.) You make her your greatest source of inspiration, filling in page after page of her likeness, never tiring of a single thing.

It’s not always easy. Love never really is, —not even in most of the movies these days. But as Moira crawls into her bed, —your bed—, the bed you share now more nights than not, her hair ever so slightly longer now than on the night you first met, she drapes a thin arm over your waist and welcomes your warmth, pulling you closer, smelling faintly of the perfume you gave her for her birthday, —you’re certain some things are not just meant to be, but are meant to be maintained: and this love is one of them.

#✧;;↬ silent reading time.❞┊📚#BABE WAKE UP POCHIPOP POSTED ANOTHER MOIRA FIC

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1-800-c0sm1c · 1 year

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BLESS YOU FOR YOUR WIN IT ALL FIC BLESS YOU THE APEX TAG LET ALONE THE MIRAGE TAG HAS BEEN SO DRY LATELY AND YOU SAVED IT SENDING YOU SO MUCH LOVE <333

OF COURSE ANON !! 🫶🫶 ive been so starved for apex content on tumblr and if you want something done youve gotta do it yourself i suppose LMAOO

thank you for the love !! <3

#✧;;↬ baton pass.❞┊🪄

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1-800-c0sm1c · 1 year

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꒰apex legends masterlist !꒱

TECHNOLOGICAL TRACKER - BLOODHOUND

┊i.

DEFENSIVE CONJURER - CATALYST

┊i.

SURVEILLANCE EXPERT - CRYPTO

┊i. win it all!

COMBAT MEDIC - LIFELINE

┊i.

TRANSLOCATING THIEF - LOBA

┊i.

HOLOGRAPHIC TRICKSTER - MIRAGE

┊i. win it all!

HIGH-SPEED DAREDEVIL - OCTANE

┊i. win it all!

WINGED AVENGER - VALKYRIE

┊i.

STATIC DEFENDER - WATTSON

┊i.

#✧;;↬ navi.❞┊🥤#apex legends #apex legends x reader #apex legends x you #apex legends fanfic

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1-800-c0sm1c · 1 year

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꒰win it all !꒱

to build hype around the new season, your arrival to the games was kept a secret up until it went live, and some legends had more notable reactions than others.

character x legend!reader

includes crypto, octane, and mirage !

a/n : im sorry ive been gone but look i made you some contenttttt daddy made you your favorite open wide 🥳. im noticing a severe lack of apex fanfics rn so here is my contribution 🤲.

warnings : mentions of stalking (average crypto behavior), drugs (average octane behavior), & mentions of hooking up (you guessed it, average mirage behavior).

CRYPTO // TAEJOON PARK:

crypto doesnt like surprises, period. its one thing if its mediocre like a birthday party, but a whole person was hidden under his nose and he had no idea? unacceptable.

in summary, youve shattered his ego simply from your presence. not cool.

hes not really known for looking approachable either, so unless youve got the balls or stupidity to talk to him, hell keep to himself and sulk. this sets back any plans he had in the back of his mind by a whole season.

when you introduce yourself to him on the dropship he practically ignores you, acting as if anything else is more interesting than this small talk.

"hi im y/n, ive heard a lot about you from mirage. nice to meet you!" he rolls his eyes, witt is always one to blabber about others.

you scoff at his response, "dont expect me to be as open and idiotic as elliott." he almost adds you to that list, but holds back on it. if anything lifeline has told him holds weight, you could be useful to get information from the syndicate.

"im crypto by the way." he continues, if he plays his cards right you could almost be worth his time.

getting paired with you and mirage was almost comical, its as if the games were trying to make his life as hard as possible.

you got along annoyingly well with mirage, but you seemed more hesitant when it came to crypto, which was truly bothered him. (it was not jealousy at all. he was not jealous whatsoever. nope, definitely not.)

hes struggling to interact with you, like he does with most of the other legends, but youre a different case due to how useful you could be to him. thats usually the reasoning he uses when he racks his brain for ideas to come across less mean without irreparably ruining his reputation.

as if his prayers had been answered, a few hours after your first game you appear in the doorway to his room with a piece of high tech equipment in your hand. but your expression is different from how it was before. you appear upset, how can you be angry with him already? youve barely interacted!

if you want to be pissy, so can he. "can i help you? he asks, annoyance in his voice. "im almost sure you can, brilliant hacker." you drop the equipment in front of him on his desk, distracting him from his current project. he scowls. "what exactly am i looking at here?" you roll your eyes. "you tell me, this is clearly yours right? found it in my room."

he examines the object, looks like a hidden camera. "ive never seen this before, if you want me to fix it call someone else, im not tech support." he pushes it to the side, but youre not having it. "nuh-uh, you cant brush this off. i know youve created the cameras used to record the games, this has to be your tech!"

so you think hes stalking you? thats a good idea honestly, he wish he had thought of it first. "just because i created those doesnt mean i also designed this. looks like someone else wants to keep an eye on you. got anyone in mind?" you pause for a moment, letting his words sink in. why cant it just be an open and shut case?

"i have no idea, i just got here! is anyone else even knowledgeable enough to design something like this?" he shrugs. "looks can be deceiving." "will you at least help me figure out whos stalking me?" he wants to say no. he knows its bad news, especially for someone like him to get involved in. but its a great opportunity to get closer to you. closer to his end goal, and despite it truly not being the only reason, he decides its good enough for him. "i guess i can make time, tell me about your interactions since youve joined."

from this point on, you and crypto get much closer, it feels like he knows everything about you. (maybe he does honestly 💀.)

but you can tell hes getting frustrated when it comes to the hidden camera, and you cant help but feel like a nuisance.

on the surface, crypto looks like you are whats stressing him out. why hes angrier than usual, why hes drowning himself in his work. and in a way thats true, but not exactly.

in reality, hes more worried for your safety. your arrival was an entire surprise, so how could someone have infiltrated your room to begin with? he cant figure it out, and almost entirely forgets the original reason he wanted to get to know you.

its no longer a matter of getting information, that can wait. he has all season after all. but someone else trying to watch you? he wont tolerate it, and wants it to be the first thing thats fixed, he likes you much better when youre not paranoid, not like him.

OCTANE // OCTAVIO SILVA:

HYPED!!! another legend is always exciting to octane, even more so when he gets lucky enough to be paired with them.

octavio can be a bit much at times, but you match his energy almost perfectly!

dedication to the apex games, and genuinely having a great time, not finding him annoying??? he should ask if youre into hard drugs too at this point.

anyone who goes up against the two of you on a team together should fear for their lives. octane swears hes never had so much fun in a match before. (almost as much fun as id have if kings canyon was in the map rotation this season ☹.)

theres a voice in the back of his head that he cant shake, telling him youre someone sent from the syndicate to mess with him, or maybe something worse.

he doesnt want to risk making you upset with him (like some other legends) so he reluctantly keeps these thoughts to himself, but due to his online personality being so similar to his real self, you almost immediately notice a change.

you decide to confront octane after the match, and originally he completely disregards your questions.

"what are you on about, compadre? im fine, really!" but youre not having it, and octane knows youre not going to drop this so easily.

"i just cant help but think this isnt how you usually act outside of games." you shrug when he asks for your reasoning of pressing on. "well how would you know? you just got here." he chuckles. "which i think is exactly why youre hiding things from me. i understand though, its hard to trust someone you just met. i only had an outsiders perspective up until a few hours ago."

"thats exactly whats so scary about you amigo. you seem like youre some fuckin syndicate spy!" "why? because we get along?" octane sighs. maybe having a legend who understands him is a bad thing. its easier to justify someone who hates him, theres plenty reason to. but like him? enjoy his company? hes confused, to say the least.

hes frantically reaching for one of his stims, if his mind is going to be racing so frantically, the rest of his body might as well do the same. "lets leave this here for now, yeah? ive got some videos to film!" he gets up quickly, but stops dead in his tracks when you offer to help him with his stunts. he whips around back over to you. "you sure?" you nod with a smile that might make him more energetic than any stim could. "alright cmon cmon cmon! i hope you known how to hold a camera, if you miss any good shots im gonna be pissed!"

rumors start about octanes elusive camera operator, all kinds of misinformation spreads too, some of it crazier than others.

you personally find it funny, sometimes tempting the viewers by almost flipping it around to show your face, but youre stopped by octane and his ridiculously fast reflexes everytime.

"hey hey amigo no need to ruin the mystery! plus you totally just didnt film that awesome stunt i just did! what am i paying you for!?"

you try your best to stop yourself from laughing, but at this point youre sure it must be obvious its you behind the camera, youre just going along with the "mystery" because octane asked you to by whispering in your ear that it "increases his interaction" or whatever influencer bullshit. (you were more focused on his voice than what he was saying tbh 🧍.)

the other legends are sick of you two at this point, and are just about ready to expose the "secret" to get octane to shut up 😭. when i say you guys are always together doing stupid shit i mean ALWAYS!!

MIRAGE // ELLIOTT WITT:

a flirt wbk. expect to be invited to lots of yacht parties.

mirage is known to have a very welcoming aura, and you noticed this the second you first interacted on the dropship. (anyone wanna take me out? come find me 🤭.)

you guys are on the same team for tdm, and he is almost constantly by your side.

someone sneaks up behind you? hes already sending a decoy their way so you can get the upper hand.

in case you miss? no worries, hes right behind you with pinpoint accuracy. (talk about a great first impression.)

you guys absolutely crushed the opposite team 50-15, and mirage hurriedly rushes over to you the second the match is concluded to invite you to his celebration party that night.

youre more surprised he has the energy to still keep going after such an intensive match, and you barely get the chance to say maybe before hes walking away excitedly.

uh, actually i might sit this one out-" "cool, cool, cool. ill see you tonight!"

lets just say things get… interesting on the mirage a trois 😀.)

you hooked up on the boat okay, youre not the first (and might not be the last either.)

parties werent necessarily your thing, but after elliott had practically won the game for you today, you figured showing up was the least you could do to return the favor. you were honestly just hoping the yacht didnt blow up like youd heard about his other ones doing…

you arrive way later than everyone else in hopes that you arent the first person there, but your current situation is almost just as awkward as everyone assumes you managed to get lost on your way here. (as if you could miss mirages yacht if you tried…) however, you probably did look just as lost as everyone assumed you were while trying to find mirage in the sea of decoys and other party guests.

when you finally stop getting bamboozled and find the real mirage, you try to explain you were only stopping by out of politeness, but hes not having any of it. "what do you mean youre leaving already? weve gotta make up for all the partying time lost while you werent here!" he hands you a drink and leads you to a table with crypto and wattson, who seem to have just had an… important conversation interrupted with your presence.

"if theres anyone you wanna get to know in the games, other than me of course, these are the legends!" youre almost amazed at how mirage chooses to ignore the awkward atmosphere hes created, and manages to smooth it over in record time as well. crypto looks as annoyed as ever, meanwhile wattson attempts her best at a conversation with the group, and you almost wish you never showed up in the first place.

‘almost’ is the key word here, you knew deep down you didnt really have anywhere else to be, and going along with whatever such an attractive legend says was surely better than staying in your dorm room and missing out on a night of fun. which is exactly why when elliott leaned closer to your ear and said something that definitely wasnt pg-friendly, you downed your drink and made quick goodbyes to his friends before leaving to a secluded area of the yacht with the party host himself.

i think by now the other legends are just waiting for you two to finally announce theres something between you.

everyone, and i mean everyone seems to know, and i swear rampart is one more flirtatious comment away from exposing your corny asses during the next match.

however, youre hesitant. youre still incredibly new to the games, isnt it odd for things to be moving so fast?

sure, elliott is great, but you cant help but have an anxious feeling in your stomach, and making the mistake of looking at comments online surely isnt helping either.

mirage noticed your shift in behavior immediately, hes been around you more than any of the other legends, and he expects to be the first to hear of whats troubling you (if youre okay with it, of course).

he might not seem like it at first glance, but mirage really is a great listener. despite your first impressions of him making him out to be well… a party-loving flirt, he has so many more layers to him than whats on the surface level.

when he gets serious, hes not cracking his usual jokes, although hes still got his awkward charm.

"i just… feel like were moving too fast. its only been a month since ive joined the game after all…"

he thinks for a moment before responding calmly, "well i mean, if you wanna take things slower, all you had to do was ask. besides we have all the time in the world! as long as you dont have some secret plan to leave the games or something, than were fine!" you smile at him.

okay, maybe he does still joke a little bit, put i promise its fine in context 😭😭.

can you tell i like crypto (especially jealous crypto) a totally normal amount 😦 totally not inspired by the mcc song by derivakat 🫶

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1-800-c0sm1c · 1 year

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Hey!! Sorry if I’m doing this wrong I am new to this kinda stuff but do u mind writing headcanons on how the p5 phantom thief boys would take care of the reader when they’re on their period? If not it’s fine!

꒰baby im yours !꒱

p5 boys when their s/o is on their period headcannons !

character x afab!reader

includes joker, ryuji, yusuke, and akechi !

warnings : mentions of periods, obviously lol

a/n : its shark week for yours truly so i thought now is the best time to write this :D i wasnt sure what gendered reader you wanted, so i just decided to leave it as afab, hope thats alright :))

JOKER // REN AMAMIYA

maybe this is biased, but i feel out of everyone on this list hes the most prepared.

like, hes not overbearing but he knows just enough to spare you both any awkward conversations.

he doesnt have any feminine products in his bathroom since its technically shared with leblanc customers and he doesnt want to embarrass you or anyone else, but you know theres always a few of whatever you need in his school bag or his dresser!

hes a very calm person, which can be very relieving, especially when you accidentally bleed on something.

you both were hanging out one day after school, and when you got up off of his bed to go make some food, you noticed a red spot on the sheets.

you were internally freaking out, trying to figure out what to do knowing how some guys tend to find it gross, while ren literally just comments "dont worry about it, i needed motivation to do laundry anyways." and asks if you need anything.

you feel like youve just been given whiplash, no way thats it, hes so cool with it?

he even gives you a pair of his boxers and sweatpants since you bled through your clothes, and when you come out of the bathroom hes got a steaming hot cup of coffee and some chocolates on the counter all ready for you. <3

SKULL // RYUJI SAKAMOTO

confused, embarrassed, and a little bit (a lot) dramatic. he tries to act like its not a big deal, but in reality he doesnt really know anything about periods, and hes convinced youre secretly in a lot of pain. (which i mean, you could be depending on cramps… but you get what i mean.)

hes horribly uneducated on this topic, and definitely the worst person to be stuck with when you start.

hes calling ann asking her to explain what to do with the reddest face youve ever seen. 🧍

ryuji definitely thought it was a little gross at first too, but once he understood it was just a normal thing your body did he felt more okay about it.

hes trying super hard to be a good boyfriend, but hes stuttering over his questions. barely able to ask you if he needs to get you anything.

i swear his eyes almost popped out of his head when you said all you wanted was for him to shut up and cuddle with you. 💀💀

he tries to be there for you as much as possible, but if you tend to get more angry, just note that hell try to stay away a bit.

he has issues keeping his temper under control, even when it comes to you, and he doesnt want to start any unnecessary arguments.

at the end of the day, communication is key when it comes to you guys relationship, he just wants whats best for both of you!

FOX // YUSUKE KITAGAWA

yusuke has probably never felt the touch of another human being before you so hes very… confused to say the least.

what do you mean youre bleeding? and its normal? this happens monthly? his mind is blown.

i dont see him being weird in the way he wants to use your period as inspiration for a painting, but weird in the way that hell track it.

maybe this just a personal thing who finds it weird when a guy wants to track when your on your cycle, but it seems right up yusukes alley 😭.

hes a little strange, and he just wants to help! but he also doesnt really know what hes doing, so his presence can be a bit overwhelming.

gets pouty when you end up snapping at him, but once you explain why hes a lot more aware of how much hes bothering you.

hes also willing to get you whatever you need, as long as youre buying.

one time you had asked him to get you pads/tampons, and he called you 30 minutes later saying that he didnt have any money…

however, unlike someone else on this list, hes not embarrassed about it. more so genuinely curious, as he loves learning about you and he thinks its important to know how your body works!

hell probably draw you something nice as well if it makes you feel better. :)

CROW // GORO AKECHI

oh boy, akechi sure is a character. and i think with him it depends.

usually though hes just a pretty average guy. hes not stupid, but he also isnt the best at understanding your emotions, or his own, for that matter.

youre in public, akechi talking to one of the tv hosts after hes finished appearing on a show, and you gently tug on his jacket to let him know you started your period, and need the restroom.

hes conflicted, whats supposed to come first, you or his reputation? when it comes to him, he makes any simple situation way more complicated in his head.

he makes an eternal sacrifice to shoo away the people talking to him, and he quickly takes off his jacket to wrap it around your waist. you both find a bathroom nearby and he paitently waits for you outside.

when you walk out, he offers to pick up whatever you may need (including some food) and take you home.

at your front door, he kisses your cheek, but cant help but noticed the nervous expression on your face.

its only then when you mention that akechis jacket is, in fact, a light color, and is most definitely stained now with bright red blood. his face goes blank, and youre worried for a second he might be mad.

he only shrugs at that, same detective prince smile as always, and jokes that youre paying for his dry cleaning.

#✧;;↬ my work.❞┊🍓#✧;;↬ baton pass.❞┊🪄#✧;;↬ 1 more.❞┊🎭#persona 5 #persona 5 x reader #shin megami tensai persona #persona #joker x reader #ryuji sakamoto x reader #joker x you #ryuji sakamoto x you #yusuke kitagawa x reader #yusuke kitagawa x you #goro akechi x reader #goro akechi x you #fox persona 5 #skull persona 5 #crow persona 5 #joker persona 5

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1-800-c0sm1c · 1 year

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꒰bad dracula !꒱

sumire is breaking the bias of vampires, one attractive fluffy haired boy at a time.

character x character ship

includes sumire & joker !

warnings : slight spoilers for p5r (kasumi // sumire) , might be a lil ooc (?)

word count : 1917

a/n : happy halloween ! ive been really busy this week so this is a bit rushed but i really wanted to get something out for spooky season !! definitely not my best work as i havent written char x char in a hot minute but i hope you still enjoy

the month of october is supposed to be the most important to those like sumire. but truthfully, shed rather it just didnt exist entirely. the holiday season was hardly a celebration, and the young vampire found herself leaving the castle much more often than usual.

it started out as just a distraction, albeit a bad one. staring longingly at the civilians below her, living her ideal life always filled with a sense of envy. it was unfair. why was she unable to be normal?

she had begun to memorize the silhouettes of the people who would unsuspectingly walk past the mountain her family estate looked out from. however, one boy in particular would always catch her eye. shed only caught a few glances of his face, but that was more than enough to prove that she wanted to get closer to him, and not just his backside.

maybe october wasnt all bad, at the very least sumire was able to blend in with those around her, just as long as her mouth was covered. but not being able to talk would make her seem rude, wouldnt it? that meant approaching the handsome stranger was out of the question, especially because every solution she could come up with was a dead end. this hadnt been the first time shed try to forcibly remove her sharp fangs, and she felt like a bit of an idiot for even attempting again.

one night while walking through town, she came face to face with the stranger, literally. without looking where she was going, she bumped into his taller frame, being launched backwards onto the ground. you know, when she was pondering whether or not she should come talk to him tonight, this wasnt what she had in mind. “oh, my bad! are you okay?” sumire is brought back to reality and realizes that woah, he is very close to her face and is criminally attractive. she almost entirely forgets the one rule she had set for herself, not to speak to anyone, and grabs his extended hand with the most awkward head nod possible.

“make sure you watch where youre going from now on, some people arent as nice when you bump into them.” he laughs, and there must be literal hearts in the young vampires eyes right now. she covers her mouth, muttering a small “youre right, ill be more careful.” before hes slowly getting closer again. “are you sure youre alright? is your mouth bleeding?” at this point, sumires nerves are on fire, and if this continues hes going to mistake the blush on her face for her running a fever.

“uhm, yeah im totally fine!” the handsome stranger doesnt seem convinced. “i dont think ive ever seen you around before, but then again im not really from here. im ren by the way, a second year.” sumire is about ready to hit herself over how easy it was to actually get to start a conversation with him, but the fact that she cant be normal is enough of a reason for her to lock herself in the castle for another 100 years.

“im uhm… sumire. sumire yoshizawa.” he laughed again, something sumires not sure her heart will ever get used to. “yeah, i know. this is yours by the way.” he holds out the id that fell out of her pocket when they bumped into each other. he looks at it once more before handing it to her. “didnt realize you were older than me, my apologies.” shes correcting him before she even realizes what shes doing. “oh! uhm, its actually a fake. im only a first year.” yeah, that sounded believable enough right? what difference is there really between being 15 and 1500? “is that so? well you surely fooled me, i guess it works.” she scoffs. “oh please, i clearly look way younger than you!”

sumires guard is down, and ren manages a glimpse at what she was so desperately trying to hide in her mouth. “hey thats pretty cool! getting your halloween costume ready?” her heart sinks, but only slightly. how could she be so stupid? of course people wont question it during the holiday season. “well now that you mention it, yeah! pretty realistic right?” “definitely! hey, if youre free, you should come to my friends halloween party!” a party? nobodys ever invited sumire to one of those before. she hasnt even had someone to call a friend before. she cant help herself but excitedly say yes.

they quickly exchange numbers, ren sending both the address and time, before they go their separate ways. those around sumire dont miss her overwhelming excitement for the next week and a half.

its the day before rens friend, ryujis party. hes asked to meet with her before the party so they can arrive together, and sumires heart is on fire. they meet on the hill in front of her familys castle, and calling ren intimidated was an understatement.

it was a silly idea really, he knew hed never be able to top how realistic sumires costume was, but he thought itd be fun to try anyways. he was not expecting sumire to appear in an extravagant dress, (hopefully) fake blood, and those same perfect fangs. “you really went all out, huh?” she nods. “oh, but dont worry, the red thing is just ketchup!” he smiles. “yeah i figured. whyd you choose a vampire?”

sumire was afraid hed ask that question. especially since she didnt have a believable enough answer. “...well, my mom calls me a bad dracula. she tells me to be scarier, but im a bit different!” “i think its clever to take a popular costume and make it different!” oh cool, hes clueless. that surely isnt going to get her anywhere.

the walk to ryujis is horribly awkward, for reasons sumire cant quite put her finger on. shes searching for anything to talk about that hopefully wont scare ren away. “you know, ive never been to party before, but i just wanna have fun dancing! especially under the moon like this.” “well dont be scared, some of my friends are a bit much, but i promise that theyre nice people. and im sure youll crush it on the dance floor, youre already dancing in my heart, after all.” there he goes again with that dreamy smile, the one sumire struggles to find the right words around.

her face reddens, and she finds herself hiding herself in his chest. if she werent undead, sumire swears that ren would be the death of her. he wraps his arms around her, along with his long black coat. “you know, its not necessarily easy to walk with you on me like this, not that im complaining or anything.”

in typical ryuji fashion, his party is a tad bit boring, and further proves you cant leave him in charge of anything. after about two hours straight of dancing, ren had decided to ditch the party, in favor of watching the moon. sumire found him on top of the same hill he had met up with her at. “it looks a little bit like youre stalking me.” “thats bold coming from you, since this is basically right in front of my house.” “i guess you got me there. what do your parents do to be able to afford a creepy place like this, anyways?” “well ive already told you dummy. were vampires.” ren laughs. “its almost as amusing as it was the first time. no, but seriously, are they like, in the mafia or something?” sumire shakes her head. “dont you think even if they were i probably wouldnt tell you?”

ren rolls his eyes light heartedly. “fine then, keep your secrets.” she goes to sit down next to ren on the grass.“its not my fault if you dont believe me. i really shouldnt have even been down in the city that one night we bumped into each other anyways.” sumire shrugs. “and why is that? were you grounded or something up in the big spooky tower?” “i mean sort of. my dad always tells me to be colder to humans, but then ill get a stomachache.” she lays her head on rens shoulder.

“.... if youre really a vampire, why havent you bitten me yet?” sumire sighs. “how many times do i have to tell you? im a bad dracula for a reason! i wont ever hurt you, im a vegetarian after all.” her breath on his neck should have been the warning to run, but he found himself believing her words. “its just a little hard to believe, you know? does that mean other supernatural beings exist?” ren got over his doubts and fears surprising quick, and sumire couldnt help but smile at the way his face lit up.

“i can neither confirm nor deny that. but see? isnt it so much better when you ignore the backend talk thats reflected by the moon?” she pouts. “everybody always paints us out to be so bad. i mean sure, some of us are, but then it makes it just that much harder for vampires like me. like, why do i have to wait until cold october nights every year just to go out? fake id and everything?” ren grabs her hand. “well i guess ive just never really thought about it before. especially since i didnt even know you were being for real until about 2 minutes ago.”

“you can feel my fangs if you want to, for you know, more proof.” she blushes at her own words. did she really just say that? ren nods. sumire moves from laying her head on his shoulder to sitting on rens lap, facing him. his touch is gentle, not like hes afraid of her, but more so that he worries any more pressure and shell break like glass. nobodys ever treated sumire like that before, like she was something that needed to be protected.

his hand rests on her cheek, thumb on her bottom lip. she slowly opens her mouth, attempting to put her fangs on full display. “be careful, theyre sharp.” she mutters. ren mouths an “okay”, before he places his thumb on one of the teeth. he strokes his thumb over it with stars practically in his eyes. “so cool!” he whispers, like anything louder would ruin the moment. sumires face reddens. ren rests his hand on her thigh.

“so.. hypothetically speaking, if you were to bite someone, does the blood go through the fangs like a straw and straight into your body? or do you still have to like… suck it yourself?” sumire blinks slowly. “that sure is… a first. no, theyre not straws…” ren snaps his fingers, a confident smirk on his face. “damn, looks like futaba owes me 20 dollars.” “did you seriously make a bet on that?” she giggles. “well duh, it was the only logical way to solve it.” sumire glares at him playfully. “okay, okay! my bad, dont bite me!”

she gasps, “i would never!” he pats her head. “i know, i know. im just messing with you.” sumire lets out a “hmph!” sound, turning her head away. “oh come on, dont be like that, im sorry.” he gently kisses her cheek, and as soon as its happened its over. ren cant help but smile at how quickly she whips her head back around, face bright red. he was about to apologize until sumire places a soft kiss on his lips.

“there… now were even.”

grrr why are endings so hard :sob: anyways fic is inspired by bad dracula by red velvet teehee im so tired ^^;;

#✧;;↬ my work.❞┊🍓#persona #persona 5 #shin megami tensai persona #sumire yoshizawa #ren amamiya #sumire x ren #violet persona 5 #joker persona 5 #persona 5 royal #violet x joker #kasumi yoshizawa #kasumi x ren

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1-800-c0sm1c · 2 years

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┊i. #✧;;↬ navi.❞┊🥤 - blog navigation !

┊ii. #✧;;↬ my work.❞┊🍓 - all of my writing !

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solar anon

#✧;;↬ navi.❞┊🥤#✧;;↬ my work.❞┊🍓#✧;;↬ baton pass.❞┊🪄#✧;;↬ the counsel.❞┊🎊#✧;;↬ 1 more.❞┊🎭#✧;;↬ silent reading time.❞┊📚#✧;;↬ my little society.❞┊🍡

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1-800-c0sm1c · 2 years

Text

┊i. persona 5 royal

: ̗̀➛ phantom thieves + confidants !

┊ii. marvel cinematic universe

: ̗̀➛ avengers + other cast !

┊iii. genshin impact

: ̗̀➛ all elements !

┊iv. apex legends

: ̗̀➛ assault + skirmisher + recon + controller + support !

#✧;;↬ navi.❞┊🥤

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1-800-c0sm1c · 2 years

Text

꒰you get me so high !꒱

your old best friend (whom you very much still have feelings for) is the last person you were hoping to see when you get into trouble in avidya forest.

character x scholar!gn!reader

includes tighnari !

warnings : none.

word count : 3914

a/n : sorry for being inactive ! i just got back from an mcr concert recently so i wrote the last half of this exhausted, i hope its coherent still ! i am so very normal about this fox boy (lying).

youre not sure whether youre just abnormally clumsy, or dangerously stupid, but tighnaris best guess is a little bit of both.

you should know better than to walk around the rainforest by yourself, its common knowledge, but you were far too stubborn to listen to anyone elses warnings before you set out on your travels this morning. the most embarrassing part was that you didnt even find the items you needed for your latest research project for the akademiya before you wound up in trouble.

you had made the rookie mistake of wandering away from the designated path throughout the deep forest, and before you knew it you had tripped and found yourself caught in some vines. no big deal, at least at first. attempting to free yourself, you found the hold around your body had become tighter instead of loosening up, and at that moment, you had realized youd fucked up.

the thorns had begun pricking into the skin of your arms and legs, and you cursed yourself for wearing a short sleeved shirt and shorts. you finally managed to swallow your pride and call for help, praying that you wouldnt draw attention to any hungry animals in the nearby area.

not too far away, a familiar pair of ears perked up at the sound of your distressed voice, making a quick pace over to where you were, quite literally, screaming from. although tighnari knew it was you the second he heard you, he still couldnt help but feel slightly shocked at seeing you in person again. he cant recall how long its been since you were studying side by side at the akademiya.

"alright y/n you can relax. struggling will only make the vines tighter, as youve clearly already figured out, and your screaming really hurts my ears." your eyes widen at the figure standing in front of you. out of everyone who could have stumbled upon you in the forest, tighnari was the last person you were hoping to see.

"oh.. hi tighnari. uhm, fancy meeting you here, huh?" you awkwardly laugh, hoping he doesnt ask you for an explanation before helping you out of your predicament. he raises an eyebrow at you. "any particular reason youre so far off from the designated trail? i thought something so obvious could get through your thick skull, but i guess i was wrong." you cant help but scoff at his comment, he hadnt changed a bit.

"you can lecture me all you want, but can you at least help me out of here first?" he sighs before examining the root of the vines, presumably figuring out how to free you while damaging the least amount of the forest possible. he looks at you for a moment, silently asking if its alright for him to touch you, and when you nod your head you feel his gloved hand firmly wrap around your upper arm. "your muscles are too tense, relax them." he states. you try to let go off all the tension in your body, but when you do you only feel the thorns dig deeper into your skin. you can begin to feel blood drip down your limbs.

tighnari gently unwraps the vines from around your arms, being careful to not rip the thorns from out of your skin. he places them on the ground next to you, before kneeling in front to unwrap the ones around your legs as well. youre not sure why, but something about the position change makes this whole situation just that more flustering, and you try your best to hide your red face from him. of course he notices it, but he simply assumes its just from embarrassment and continues his work.

after all the vines have been unwrapped from your body, tighnari grabs your hand and leads you back towards the path. he mentioned something along the lines of "not trusting you to walk behind him without getting into more trouble" under his breath as you walked back to the ranger station.

you cant stand the awkward air between you two, and casually ask "what were you doing all the way out here, anyway?" without even looking back at you tighnari quickly responds with "its my job as a forest ranger to patrol these areas, is it not?" ah right, you probably could have guessed that. you mentally beat yourself up for that one. but although tighnari seemed uninterested, hell never grow tired of your seemingly stupid questions, despite yourself being a scholar, he finds it amusing. a cute smile is secretly on his face the rest of the journey.

upon arriving, tighnari leads you to his workshop, and instructs you to sit on the lone bed while he fetches the remedies for your wounds. you glance around the room, there isnt much personality in the decor but you suppose theres only so much you can do while in the middle of avidya forest.

not long after tighnari has returned with supplies in hand, and silently begins work on patching you up. you feel small under his stern gaze, and eventually opt to staring at the floor like its the most interesting thing in the room. both of you can sense the tension, but whether its not commented on because of fear or stubbornness is a question that may never be answered, no matter how many knowledge capsules one may use.

you hiss when tighnari applies ointment to some of the deeper cuts, and he fights back the urge to apologize. of course its going to hurt, its stupid to even try to comment on it, he thinks. but he still finds himself muttering a soft "sorry" under his breath as his cheeks grow slightly red. he tries his best to ignore it, the awkwardness is all in his head anyways, after all.

"how humiliating to be made of flesh, am i right?" you notice tighnaris ears slightly twitch at your statement. "what do you mean?" he refuses to meet your gaze, for fear his face will end up warmer. you hesitate before answering, "well, for starters, you finding me like that in the forest was not how i expected us to meet again" you both feel your body slightly tense up again, talking about how you felt was never really a common occurrence between you two even when you were close. feelings only get in the way, its the research that matters at the end of the day. a bit of a stupid rhyme but you and tighnari were even more foolish to believe it.

tighnari debates on if what you said is even worth commenting on. nobody necessarily wants to be found like that, but hes not sure how he feels about it being you of all people that he stumbled upon. he refuses to ponder about it any longer and instead, he silently nods his head, before entirely ignoring what you said and letting out a forced laugh. "you know, that other line you said is probably the smartest thing ive heard from you." you pout slightly at his words.

hes not the easiest person to talk to when its not about botany, you know this, but you cant help but feel that maybe your time apart had finally changed that aspect of tighnari, especially since its what you hated the most about him.

he was so incredibly observant, his ears definitely helping with that, but yet he had an awful time reading the room, specifically when it came to you. or, more accurately, he chose to ignore any lingering thoughts, for reasons youre unsure youd be able to understand.

tighnari, on the other hand, disliked your stubbornness. he wishes you would at least listen to all his warnings about the forest, since its what he knows most about, but yet you would (and still do, apparently) wave off his words, invalidating not only his knowledge, but him. hes not sure how you havent gotten yourself killed yet, but deep down hes glad youre managing to stay alive somehow, even if its off of spite alone.

that, and of course he wishes you would just ignore the tense atmosphere like he does, so you can both save your breath. many were surprised you had managed to find a friend in tighnari, as not many were able to say the same. they claim that opposites attract, and that couldnt be more and less true at the same time.

back then you both knew that something had grown between you, and yet you both refused to let it blossom for reasons the other cant comprehend. tighnari pretended the feeling wasnt there, inevitably drowing himself in research instead, and you werent going to be the person to say something first, so instead of something more, you had both ended up silently resenting each other. the longer this continued the more strain was put on your rocky relationship. when tighnari had announced he was leaving the akademiya, you had hit a stalemate.

you assumed that the first night he was gone youd sleep better than you had in the entire time youd known him, but unfortunately you had found yourself unable to sleep. tighnari was usually there to the rescue when your insomnia was at its worst. but he was long gone now, and that was when you regretted holding in your thoughts before he left.

you swore the next time youd see him, youd either have finally moved past your emotions, or have the guts to tell him the truth. now that you had finally meet again, you wanted to scream at yourself for accomplishing neither.

shortly after, tighnari finished dressing your wounds, and mumbled a "finished" under his breath. he takes a seat on the bed next to you, silently stretching his back and neck. before you even notice what youre doing your hand finds itself stroking the base of one of tighnaris ears. your brain is on autopilot at this point, and you wish you could blame your actions on the medicine.

tighnari was hyper aware the second you touched him, and he almost pushed you off the bed and yelled at you with how sudden your actions were. almost. he noticed the glazed look in your eyes, and he feels a little guilty for not connecting the dots earlier. youre exhausted, the stress from today seeming to be almost too much for you. so tighnari decides hell let you continue, since its so very obvious that you need it and he absolutely doesnt.

by the time you realize what youre doing tighnari is a flustered mess, a deep blush all across his face and neck. you can see his tail swishing behind him and him holding back any noises he might accidentally make like his life depended on it. you immediately retract your hand and he puts a hand over his mouth to muffle the whine that leaves him after you pull away. hes not sure if hes ever been this embarrassed in his life.

"s-sorry. force of habit, i guess." you apologize, and tighnari refuses to meet your gaze. "its…. fine. you already know i dont mind if its you." he almost dies on the spot after his own words process in his head. hes immediately sputtering out "because we were close friends and all! and… i dont mind if its…ugh…" he facepalms, this is exactly what he was trying to avoid. you know he didnt mean to, but those words made you feel a pain in your heart nonetheless. were close friends, but not anymore. you knew it was true, but it felt taboo to even mention it.

what were his feelings toward you the entire time tighnari had been helping you? sure, you hadnt ended on good terms but he certainly wouldnt have come to your aid if he hated you, would he? he was all the more hard to read when hed trip over his words like this, tall ears falling flat.

desperate to change the subject, he glanced outside to see the setting sun, and swallowed his pride to ask you to stay for the night. "its late, you know. i think its best you stay here until morning if youre comfortable with that." you were now sure that the plant from earlier had killed you, there was no way he was seriously asking that, was he? you squeak out an "okay", surely the akademiya will understand why your research was a day late.

"i will… leave you to rest now. goodnight." tighnari stands up awkwardly, before beginning to walk out of his workshop. you quickly grab his hand to stop him and he looks back, confused. "why are you in such a rush? we havent caught up in ages, you know. surely im not boring you that much, am i?" he stares at you for a moment, before silently sitting back down next to you on the bed.

he sighs. "you should also know then, that im not the most interesting person to talk to." "oh im more than aware." you snicker when he glares at you. "so what is it then?" tighnaris not dumb, hes known you had something on your mind since the moment you met eyes in the forest. but now that youve been the one to further push the conversation, he doesnt feel as scared about continuing it.

he cant help but roll his eyes when you respond with "oh, i have no idea." he refuses to let you back down. "dont give me that. if you have something to say, you should just say it now and get it over with." you laugh sarcastically at his comment. "thats rich coming from you… but yeah, i suppose youre right. nothing good is going to come from keeping it in."

you take a deep breath in, and look towards him. "i just want to apologize." okay, now hes confused. "youre sorry? sorry about what?" "im sorry for the way i acted when you left. for just… completely brushing off our entire friendship simply because…. forget it, it doesnt matter."

out of everything you could have said, an apology was not on tighnaris bingo card. it was scarily uncharacteristic of you to apologize, especially to him. plus, this had happened who knows how long ago, so did it really even still matter? "i dont understand why youre bringing this up now. if youve felt guilty this entire time… than perhaps it is me who should be sorry."

you shake your head. "no, its because of my own dumb ego that i couldnt be honest with you. truthfully, even just admitting to that makes me feel a little sick, but i dont want it to plague my mind anymore, and hopefully it hasnt been bothering you." tighnari almost cant believe what hes hearing. your attitude has changed drastically since when you had first arrived, and your words are giving him whiplash.

he ponders for a momemt before responding. "well, to be quite honest, i cant say ive thought about it much in recent years." ouch. "but i know its far out of your comfort zone to admit youre wrong, so… even though i dont find it to be a big issue, i accept your apology." silence fills the air, and none of the tension from earlier has dissipated. its thick enough to be cut with the dullest of knives. you feel defeated.

"was there… anything else you wanted to tell me?" yes, but the words die in your throat. tighnari decides to take a leap of faith. "well, im sure youve noticed it too, but… i can sense some… lingering feelings." you sigh. "of course ive noticed. but youre insane if you thought i was going to bring that up." he plans his next words carefully. "is that because it had something to do with… the reason why we ended on bad terms?" he sees your body tense up again, and nows the first time hes realized how intense your heartbeat is.

you turn away from him before answering. "what are you implying?" "oh, i dont know.. maybe resentment? or perhaps… infatuation?... no, actually. id assume a little bit of both." you whip your head back towards him. "...what makes you say that?" he casually shrugs, despite the blush on his face becoming increasingly noticeable again. "lucky guess? obviously i was just assuming the feeling was mutual. you dont think were that different, do you?" he retorts. you sigh. "no, i suppose not." finally, some progress. the path up to this point was rocky, but this was something you both could work with.

“well, your assumption was… correct.” you mumble under your breath, almost completely forgetting about the fox ears decorating tighnaris head. “hmm… are you sure? you didnt sound too sure of yourself there. perhaps this hypothesis needs further testing before we can draw a conclusion, what do you say?” you roll your eyes at him. “how very amusing it is to use my work against me, it makes me want to puke.” there was an unfamiliar glint in tighnaris eyes. youre not completely sure when it first appeared, and perhaps that was a mistake on your part for giving him the upperhand in the single handedly most important conversation you two have ever had. however you both had already come so far, so you decided to let him keep up his act. after all, you know hes never been much of a charmer, so why not see how far hell take it?

“oh? youre feeling sick now? are you sure this isnt just a ploy for me to stay longer? youre at least clever enough to know you dont have to lie to me to get me to pay attention to you.” however, who said tighnari was going to have all the fun? “now we both know thats not true. after all youre the one who agreed to stay to begin with, so why would i pull a stunt to further it? you clearly have no intention of leaving now.”

the atmosphere was slowly starting to become more bearable, even if only by a little bit. youre 99% sure that its the homemade medications alone that are fueling the fire in you right now, that and the cute fox boy in front of you and… hold up what are you even saying? this however, is completely unlike tighnari, to be so forward, and you can only assume its because hes finally let his guard down enough for the first time since he stumbled across you this morning. its dangerous, the way youre making him feel right now. it all feels too sudden and not quick enough at the same time. was he growing impatient? or falling farther and farther behind?

he was a fool to ever be honest with you, is what he would have said only hours ago. but now, for the first time in forever, tighnari doesnt know what to think. hes saying and acting in a way he never would, especially in front of a friend- if he was even still allowed to call you that. but the best part about no longer being friends is there is no worry of ruining the relationship if it didnt exist to begin with. that was how he justified himself, nothing to lose and everything to gain, it was all going almost too perfect. his body was on fire, and if he werent inside he would have assumed he was (somehow) overheating.

“you are right about one thing.” tighnari starts, hes staring directly at you, his intense gaze leaving you feeling unfairly flustered. “that im not going anywhere this time.” you raise an eyebrow. “this time? are you suggesting that… you dont want to go back to being strangers?” he almost wants to laugh at your question, but one look at the scared look on your face and he drops any hints of a smirk immediately. “oh come on y/n, does this erase your doubts?” before you even realize whats happening, tighnaris hand is gently holding your face, caressing your cheek. he glances at your lips, then back towards your eyes. before he gets the chance to ask first, you quickly stutter out, “c-could you kiss me?” tighnari leans in closer, until your lips are directly on his. as soon as its begun, its over, and he is yet again staring drunkenly into your eyes that you notice have been glossed over for the majority of the time hes been sitting closely next to you.

“are you positive youre really tighnari and im not just asleep right now? because this is exactly how i had pictured this going in a dream, not just your casual weekday… or weeknight, i guess i should say.” he shakes his head with a sly smile on his face. “if it were a dream i bet wed both be way less nervous.” “good point. but do you have to keep staring at me like that?” you hide your flustered face in your hands. “like what?” tighnari asks, back to his completely unaware self. “like… like youre in love or something!” he lets out a laugh that was unreasonably cute. “confidence. dare i say its even more valuable to me right now than a knowledge capsule is to… well you. it just took something to finally ignite it i suppose.” “well im glad thats all it was, for a second there i was thinking you were secretly taking shots while i wasnt looking.” you laugh. “that could have worked too, ill have collei remind me to pick up some alcohol the next time i head into sumeru city.” “make sure you stop by the akademiya to share a glass with me if you do!” “oooh, drinking on the jobs not a very good look for a scholar now, dont you think?” you playfully slap his shoulder. “thats not what i meant! just come by during a break!”

the silence that fell over you two was different this time, it was comfortable. you found yourself resting your head on tighnaris shoulder. hes the first to break the silence. “so i guess this means we can start talking again?” “more than just that. dont you think we owe it to ourselves at this point? think about it, this whole time we were both living with this regret and just… chose not to acknowledge it! im no doctor, but i dont think thats good for our health.” he chuckles. “well i cant argue with that. although i will mention i didnt hear an actual confession of undying love from you yet.” “oh, is that what you were expecting? good luck with that. lets just be glad we got this far.” he pouts at your words. “you mean i went through all of this and i cant even get an “i like you, tighnari”?”

you sigh extra dramatically, and lift your head off his shoulder. holding his face in between both your hands, staring at him the same way he did to you earlier. “i like you, tighnari. a lot, way more than younger me would ever admit to. and im thankful for whatever force of nature that brought us together again.” you place a gentle kiss to his nose, and he stops you from pulling away to kiss you properly.

tighnaris been unsure about many things today, but one thing for certain is you get him higher than any psychedelic mushroom he could stumble upon in avidya forest.

inspired by you get me so high by the neighbourhood , give it a listen if you havent before !

#✧;;↬ my work.❞┊🍓#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #tighnari #tighnari x reader #tighnari x you

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1-800-c0sm1c · 2 years

Text

꒰dendro masterlist !꒱

VULPES ZERDA - TIGHNARI

┊i. you get me so high !

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1-800-c0sm1c · 2 years

Note

So good as always!! Thank you for doing my request and i cannot wait to see more of your work <3 Remember to take care of yourself :)

-Solar

oh thank you so much solar ! im glad you enjoyed it and please remember to take care of yourself too <33

im also highly anticipating any of your future requests 👀

#✧;;↬ baton pass.❞┊🪄#✧;;↬ 'till we meet again solar anon.❞┊🤍

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1-800-c0sm1c · 2 years

Note

I recently saw a suggestive gif with an ice lolly, before quickly stumbling upon a post with Ryuji.. You can probably see where I'm going with this.

Could you perhaps write about a gn reader and Ryuji on a super hot day grabbing some ice lollys, the two enjoying the other's presence before Ryuji looks over and sees reader unintentionally deep throating it? (Like it looks suggestive) Ryuji gets really flustered, and now it's even hotter...

I hope this doesnt overstep into more heavier nsfw, if it does please remove what you arent comfortable with or feel free to delete the request :) Also you can add more characters if you want! Though I only really know Persona 5 Strikers, so if you can add characters from that! Anyway enough rambling, hope you have fun with this!!

-Solar/⭐ (If I can claim either or that'd be great!)

꒰blue lemonade !꒱

eating popsicles with everyones fav electro boy !

character x gn!reader

includes ryuji !

warnings : suggestive content !

word count : 2273

beta read by : @cagethefrenchfuck

a/n : solar anon youre a genius ,,, im here to make it even better with a friends to lovers prompt added into the chaos mwahahaha >:) i hope you enjoy this !

this summer heatwave was reaching record high temperatures, you were sure if you stayed out in the sun for too long youd melt into a puddle and evaporate almost immediately. you wanted nothing more than to feel the cool ocean breeze on your face and soak up rays in the sun. however, just like the rest of the phantom thieves, you and ryuji were broke and had decided to stay inside for most of summer vacation. whenever you werent grouped up together at rens house for mementos business, chances are ryuji was laying on your couch, complaining about the heat with a bag of frozen vegetables on his forehead, but you dont mind. if youre together, everything becomes colored by him. if you were into aura reading you swear everyone around the blonde would be a bright and sunny yellow, but yours turned blue the moment you met him. if he was the sun, youd be the ever changing sky, never one without the other, the tide and the sand.

despite the random movie playing on the tv, your attention was focused solely on your dramatic friend sitting next to you. ever since youve joined the phantom thieves, you and ryuji have been inseparable. ren and ann have called you the dynamic duo on multiple occasions, meanwhile morgana is simply just jealous that someone likes ryuji enough to want to hang out with him that often.

“oh come on ryuji, the fans are running on overdrive, theres no way you can still be that hot.” you rolled your eyes as he complains for the nth time this hour. “thats what you think, but i swear im gonna die if this heatwave lasts another day, man.” he sighs, sinking further into the couch. “if the heat doesnt kill you, then i will.” you mutter under your breath, but ryuji hears you loud and clear. “oh so you want a fight, is that it? lets take it to the metaverse right here, right now!” ryuji yells back with more energy than youve seen him with since school let out for the break. he puts his fists up pretending to swing punches at you across the couch, proceeding to drop the entire bag of (not really frozen anymore) peas on the hard floor of your living room. the bag breaks open, littering the vegetables all over the place. “oh shit. how thin is the materials of those frickin bags?” he quickly says, panic obvious in his voice. you sigh, quickly getting up to grab the broom to sweep up the mess ryuji had made.

he follows you to the kitchen like a lost puppy, offering to clean everything up *plus* scrubbing your whole house before you quickly reassure him its not a big deal. “i doubt we were ever going to cook those up anyways, dont worry about it ryuji!” “but still! i feel bad for making a mess of your house. i dont want to give your mom any reason to hate me.” you raise an eyebrow at that. “oh? why do you want to be on my moms good side so bad? you planning on moving in or something?” he shrugs. “with how much weve been hanging out i might as well. last thing i need is to be banned from seeing you over some bags of frozen vegetables.”

theres a mysterious feeling inside of you, and you feel heat rising to your cheeks over that. hed go through all the trouble of deep cleaning your house just so he can still hang out with you? itd obviously never need to come to that, but the fact that its the first thought he has cant help but make you feel special, despite how silly it is. of course he wants to be able to hang out with you, hes your best friend. if he didnt, that would be more of an issue than anything else. “you could always just sneak through the window, you know.” you mutter without realizing. he snickers. “i dont think i play the role of knight in shining armor very well, but what the hell? im always willing to try new things.” he laughs at his own remark, completely oblivious to how much redder your face has gotten in the small amount of time youve been sweeping up the peas from the floor. it may be hot outside, but surely not that hot, right?

“well how about you go make yourself useful and get something less likely to… explode for us to cool off?” you quickly respond to change the subject. ryuji thinks for a second before grabbing his shoes, stating hell be right back. you feel a weight be lifted off your shoulders you were unaware of as soon as the door shuts behind him.

theres never been any kind of tension that youve noticed before between you and ryuji, so where did this random feeling come from? you cant help but feel different around him, has he always looked at you with such admiration and you just never noticed? with how hot your body is now you might as well shove yourself into the freezer.

putting the broom back you sit back on the couch noticing how empty the room really feels without ryuji there anymore. where had he even run off to anyways? you groan, noticing that the temperature had gone up another 2 degrees, before instantly feeling bad for sending ryuji out into town during the hottest part of the day. that was definitely a lapse in your judgement, but surely hed be fine with how quick he was to go along with it. unless he just wanted to get away from you? wait where did that thought come from? you cant help but internally sigh at how youve managed to make the situation even more awkward without him even being there.

after about another 5 minutes of sitting alone with your thoughts (terrifying, isnt it?) ryuji bursts through the front door with a grocery bag in his hands. “i dont know about you but i think some ice cream is the perfect thing right now!” your face drops the second you realize its dripping, presumably already melted from the trip back in the scorching sun. ryuji notices a second later, quickly dropping it outside by the front porch. you cant help but find his slightly pouting face adorable, and also totally heart wrenching. “you know, i think youre on the right track there with ice cream. how about we just go down to the convenience store together? im pretty sure ren is working there right now anyways. then we dont have to worry about anything melting!”

ryuji was just about ready to give up on going anywhere else today, especially if it meant having to walk around again in the heat, but he couldnt resist the sweet smile on your face. hed do anything for you in a heartbeat if youd always look at him so sweetly. he was so caught up in his staring that he completely forgot to answer you, you having to snap your fingers in his face just to get him to come back down to earth, because surely when he was with you he was in heaven. “huh? oh! yeah, lets get going!”

you both ran to the train station, out of breath and sweaty by the time youd have reached shibuya. you almost gave ren a heart attack with the amount of noise caused by you and ryuji walking in to the convenience store. after almost getting him fired for talking way longer than he should have been, you and ryuji walk back to the station in no rush, eating your popsicles quietly.

“what flavor did you get?” you ask ryuji as you stand waiting by the station. “cherry limeade, you wanna try?” he brings the popsicle closer to your face, assuming youd simply grab it in your own hand. what ryuji was not expecting, however, was for you to lean yourself closer to him, taking a lick of the popsicle while it was still held in his hand. his eyes turn wide like a rabbit would, incredibly surprised as you get closer to him, he swears he can feel the tingling electricity throughout his entire body. where did this boldness come from, and why are you so nonchalant about it? he can fell his ego deflating when his whole arm shakes after you pull away and lick your lips, the artificial fruit flavoring tasting cold yet electrifying. “ooh that ones super tasty!” you exclaim, and ryuji swears he sees your eyes shining.

your icy treat smells of the sweet ocean, like someones squeezed a freshly picked lemon into it. “do you wanna try mine? its blue lemonade.” you hold the popsicle up to him in the same way, but ryujis too nervous to even grab it out of your hand, let alone lean in like you had. “oh uhm… no thanks, im allergic to uh…. lemons?” he stammers out, leaning back a bit. you shrug. “more for me then!”

ryuji was sure it was getting even hotter outside, even though it was painfully obvious the sun would be setting soon. he tried not to make eye contact with you again, but the image of you staring at him so excitedly a moment ago was still fresh on his mind.

he regrets when he gives in and looks over at you again, as youve gotten down to the bottom of the popsicle by now. hes even more surprised to see the way you take almost the whole stick into your mouth, and suck on the remaining of the icy treat. he feels his eyes travel down to your adams apple, watching it move as you swallow. he notices the mixture of sweat and fruit juice dripping down from your chin, which in any other situation he might have made fun of you for. suddenly hes more flustered than hes been all day, and cant help but look away suspiciously quick.

as soon as you turn to look at him, he feels much smaller under your gaze, unable to hide how much you affected him, without you even realizing. now you know its not just you whos been feeling the tension thicken more as today has dragged on. youre not sure what to say, or if you should even say anything. clearly theres something going on between the two of you, but neither of you are able to muster up enough courage to address it.

youre about ready to just say your goodbyes and make your way back home, but ryuji decides to speak up before you can act out your walk of shame. “hey y/n, have you noticed anything uhm, you know, weird between us recently?” he asks, you cant tell if youve ever heard ryuji sound so unsure before. you pretend to think for a moment before responding. “now that you mention it the air seems much hotter today, and thicker too.” you dont miss the way you see ryujis face heat up at that remark. he mentally curses for not having a way to hide the way the blush creeps up his neck and ears.

“yeah i think ive noticed that too. but i havent been able to put my finger on what exactly has been bugging me.” you, unlike some would say about ryuji, arent stupid. you both know that he knows whats going on here, but hes going to make you say it first. you hold back a sigh, something youve been doing a lot recently, and finally find the right words. “i think that theres… something going on between us, ryuji.” you dont dare raise your eyes from their look on the ground. you can see ryuji let out a breath of relief, he wasnt sure if you were actually going to go along with this. “yeah, i see what you mean… i uh, i mean i see it too.” he drags his foot against the pavement of the station square. your heart that points to him is a deep blue, like the sky before the storm clouds build, or the ocean on a late night stroll.

even if you swallow, your words fill up on the tip of your tongue, feeling so close to overflowing. “have you ever thought of us as more than friends?” you ask in such a low voice you werent sure if he would hear it, and ryuji almost didnt over the loud beating of his heartbeat. now what is he supposed to do? there was so hint in your tone of voice that you thought of him the same way. he wasnt even sure if you were nervous, for all he knew you were more uncomfortable than anything else. he struggles to think of an answer that wont totally humiliate himself and also not hurt your feelings. “well… i guess so, yeah.” he responds. he doesnt miss the way you tense up at his answer, and he feels his heart sink.

you finally look up at him, that same sweet look in your eyes from earlier, and suddenly he thinks that maybe its so bad he decided to be honest. “oh my god really? wow.. im so relieved!” you sigh out. ryuji thinks he likes that tone of your voice. “i honestly thought i was going crazy! like i never noticed just how… close we are until today! everything just seemed to click and i swear i dont even know where it came from but im starting to really like-” ryuji leans in closer to you, effectively shutting you up with a nervous kiss to you lips. you can feel him smirk against you when you melt into the kiss. you feel yourself return to the original soft blue youve grown to love the moment he embraces you.

reluctantly pulling away, ryuji wipes the excess popsicle off of his lips with the same stupid smile on his face. you stick your tongue out at him, showing now that your tongue is purple instead of blue, and that immediately wipes the confident expression on his face. youre starting to get used to seeing ryuji flustered and different shades of pink or red. you grab his hand, dragging him off to go catch your train.

as the doors close behind you, youre suddenly reminded of what he said earlier. “wait a minute, i thought you said you were allergic to lemons!” he rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. “well i only said that because i was too nervous to.. you know, grab the popsicle out of your hand.” you cant help but laugh at him. “whats so funny? you act like if you were in my shoes you wouldn't have reacted the same way!” you shrug your shoulders. “summer isnt over yet, i guess well just have to wait and see until next time.” he sighs, exasperated, before whispering under his breath “youre gonna be the death of me.” you smile at him. this is perfect, youd wish for nothing more, just the two of you. like this summer, it melts in your mouth like your feeling of love.

inspired by blue lemonade by red velvet , give it a listen if you havent before !

#✧;;↬ my work.❞┊🍓#✧;;↬ 1 more.❞┊🎭#✧;;↬ 'till we meet again solar anon.❞┊🤍#persona #persona 5 #shin megami tensai persona #persona 5 royal #ryuji sakamoto x reader #ryuji sakamoto #ryuji sakamoto x you #skull persona 5

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