kitsuga

[kitsuga]

sorry for long time no post!

was busy with life (had a rock festival, sick from the rock festival...., family birthdays+travel, and job interviews) so it was definitely a live-through-the-day/pass-out-at-night period!

i'll get started on requests and other wips as soon as i can ᯓ★

[kitsuga]

Obituary. {Saeran – Mysme} 

Description:  

A fic in which Saeran rids himself of many lifetimes. 

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Tags: angst, mentions of death, death implied, use of saeran/unknown/ray, obituary/name written by western standards, shifting scenes, timeline may not be TOO accurate bc they have fucked up the timeline so many times i dont know anymore, a little hard to read at the end since its disjointed but it adds to the story i promise!!! im sorry!!!!, not betad, not edited, mystic messenger, mysme/mystic messenger saeran  

Word Count: 709 

A/N: Written on: October 7, 2024  

I love putting saeran through pain, after what—8 years? Still hasnt changed. Im sorry bby (im not) 

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CHOI, Saeran, found dead in his family home at the age of 14. 

He’s survived by a sense of freedom; a longing for the warmth of the sun and the lull of the breeze. His brother, who had gained his wings first, would free him on days he had felt his loneliest. The sweetness of it all had left him with sticky hands as a treat he once thought far out of his reach had melted slightly within his grasp. He’d want to be remembered not by the bruises littered along his skin, nor the hard words branded into his being—but by the love that surrounded him, the care that he had extended to the ones closest around him, by the time once spent bonded to his brother. 

CHOI, Saeran, found dead in the abandoned cell at the age of 19. 

He’s survived by a lost soul, one confused and begging to be bathed in relief. He had left this world alone, where he called out for one who never answered—only an echo of his own. He would be left there, forced to obey as he once had in his youth; he would be bathed in faux relief—something blue, something new—and would be accepted to one’s heaven should he behave and do as is asked of him. He would want to be remembered not as a weakling, needing the hand of another to hold and share their warmth—but as someone renewed, born again, willing to stumble and fall so long as he walked on his own two legs rather than another’s. 

CHOI, Saeran, found dead in the garden of an unmarked location at the age of 21. 

He’s survived by a lost soul, one drenched in the light of the divine. He’s survived by a lost soul, one dripping in the shadows of the sinner. He has been saved, though it took him many years to come to terms with his passing. He has been saved, though his passing took many years to come to terms with himself. He had gone down kicking, screaming, burning up from his own passion—and from the flames dosed in a blue saviour, he has risen once more from the ashes. He would want to be remembered as a believer, a seeker of truth, someone who whole-heartedly devotes himself to his saviour and begs for the love of the ruler of his heart. He would want to be remembered as a maker, an enforcer of forgiveness, someone who whole-heartedly devotes himself to his saviour and has others beg for the love of the one who can rid them of sin. 

CHOI, Saeran “RAY”, found dead in a sealed off [ERROR] in the [REDACTED] at the age of 22. 

He’s survived by nothing, no one. He’s void of all things that make him, and replaced by something blue—something new. He had been raised from the trenches of Hell, rinsed off and molded into something useful by the divine—by his saviour. He no longer had need for the name [REDACTED], and no need for those who betrayed him, threw him away, left him abandoned. He died surrounded by the only thing he knew anymore, a soft electric hum playing about the room like a melody as he worked on [REDACTED] so his saviour could S A V [ERROR] E others—protect them, rid them of sin, like [REDACTED] had done to him. He had nothing left to do in his life but D E V O T E himself to his saviour, to [ERR O R] and beg for mercy as he would drop to his knees just for a glimpse, a shimmer, of that cleansing light or the taste of tHA T bl U[ERROR] [REBOOTING...]-- blue dream. He’d like to be remembered [ERROR] [FORGIVEN] by his devotion, by his love and care he’d put into his work and into being of use to his saviour. He’d like to be remembered by the one he had chosen [E RR oR] saved all on his own, one he wanted to hold dearly to his heart and [S A V E] from the FILTH-- [ERROR]-- the SINFUL--[ERROR]--he wanted to be rememBERED--[ERROR]-- PLEASE--[ERROR] [ERROR] [ERROR] 

[BAD END]. 

[kitsuga]

Daily. {March (FOM) x Reader/Farmer} 

Description: 

A fic in which March doesn’t like changes to his daily routine. 

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Tags: fluff, a swear word or two (or three), drinking, alcohol mention, hemlock spotted!!! Being a dad!!!, CLINGY and PATHETIC march agenda, not betad, not edited, gender neutral reader, fields of mistria/fom x reader/farmer, march x reader, march (fields of mistria)/(FOM) x reader/farmer, whatever tag you want i guess go crazy with ur imagination, 

Word Count: 2,879 

A/N: Written on: October 7, 2024  

I wonder if i love march because i usually AM the march. Self-conscious. Angry. Unapproachable. Dyed hair. Likes to hit things with hammers and gets way too happy when drunk. Anyway, LKSJDFHIUE fields of mistria helped me through terrible time recently; i scooped up its early access almost IMMEDIATELY and have been so in love with it since!! 

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He hadn’t realized it, but March grew fairly used to seeing that new farmer pass by the forge day after day. It became almost... routine, to see them from his peripheral and feel the twitch of his brow, ignoring the sudden increase of heat against his face that was surely from the forge he busied himself with.  

Some days they’d stop to annoy him, while he’d spare a few words out of the kindness of his heart, other days they’d simply throw him a smile and a wave, continuing their walk to wherever it was they’d decide to go that time. There were days they even ignored his presence and hurried on by—those were the days March liked the most, he was unbothered and uninterrupted—coincidentally, they were also the days he had the most trouble trying to fall asleep. Whatever. 

It was a constant, something expected, he would see them walk by his forge at least once a day. They’d dance along the path—hopping, skipping—frolicking through flower petals that danced in the wind alongside them in the crisp, spring air. They’d have days where they would practically sprint by and rush their hellos to make it to the beach, and others where they’d drag their feet and loudly bark up the wrong tree about the heat in the harsh summer sun. Fallen leaves would make constant crunching sounds as they’d make sure to find and step on every damn one just to get on March’s nerves with a giant smile on their face when autumn would roll around. He did get a laugh or two in when hidden ice had made them fall as they goofed around during the winter—he'd be oh-so-kind and let them warm up by the forge for a minute before they went about their day.  

Even through the seasons, this daily greeting was a constant. March hadn’t realized just how much of an impact this would have on his day-to-day schedule—or maybe he had and pushed away the thought—regardless of the true reasoning, it only donned on him when he found himself fidgeting and attempting to keep busy one day, to stay outside just a bit longer to catch sight of them, only to be graced by the lonely presence of the moon instead. 

Where were they today? Not that it mattered to him. They were probably out doing God knows what, making everyone in the town love them even more. Gross. March shook his head, trying to dispel the images of the farmer that continued to pop up in his mind. He didn’t want to see them. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t come by to annoy him. It didn’t bother him. 

But where in the world were they? He stepped onto the road, looking as far along the horizon as he could every which way. Had he just missed them? Maybe they snuck by him earlier, deciding that they’d leave him alone—maybe he’d just gotten so good at tuning them out that he never noticed them go by. Did they make it home alright? Whatever, it wasn’t his problem. He’d go inside and wash the day from him, relax, have a nice dinner with his brother, and get some sleep. 

He thought it’d be so simple. March felt as though his night passed him by—like he was looking at it through a stack of different paintings rather than living it first-hand. He couldn’t get that damn newcomer out of his head! Every waking thought was either accompanied by their face, their voice, or events including them replaying in his head. Now he lay in bed, looking up at his ceiling as the moonlight poured through the window, unable to get his mind to stay still. 

Did they go to the mines today? If they did, were they alright? Did something happen? Were they hurt? Had they exhausted themselves and passed out somewhere? Were they home? Had they eaten, washed up, tucked themselves into bed? March held his head in his hands, hoping if he squeezed it hard enough, he’d shut off his brain. It was driving him crazy! Why was he even thinking any of this—he didn’t care about them, he didn’t like them one bit! They were an annoyance, a pain in his ass, some... outsider! Why couldn’t he just go to sleep!  

The break of dawn welcomed him far too quickly, dragging him out of bed without a wink of sleep. Fine, whatever. He’d see them come by today and he’d just ask what their problem was. Maybe they were just home sick yesterday; sucks for them—maybe they should get better. No, not in a caring way! March rubbed at his face, smacking his cheeks lightly to snap himself out of it. He had things to do, he was going to do them. He was going to set his mind straight, focus, and go about his own day. 

Why weren’t they walking by! March held the hammer in his hand so tightly he started to shake, his teeth would shatter if he kept grinding them as hard as he was. The sun was setting and he still hadn’t seen them—not even a glimpse! He only got a fraction of his tasks done today; constantly looking over his shoulder to check if they had gone by, or standing out in the middle of the road to stare in all directions for a while to see if he could catch them coming. That makes two days now, don’t they know they were ruining his schedule? He found himself tossing and turning again that night, hardly getting any sleep as worry started to creep into his chest. 

Another day, then another, and another after that. Each day that had gone by without so much as a glimpse of them had now made his chest heavy—he didn’t like it. He didn’t know why it was bothering him so much. He entertained the thought of going to their home once or twice just to check in on them—yell at them for ruining his work—but something gnawed at him each time. What if they were avoiding him?  

Yeah, he wasn’t the nicest to them. He didn’t care that he wasn’t. Maybe they DID start avoiding him—that was their choice. It’d be good for him, after all! He wouldn’t have to deal with them distracting him, or... trying to be his friend. Maybe it did bother him that he wasn’t very nice to them. Maybe he did care, just a little bit. 

When Friday rolled around, he ended up at the tavern early, and drinking heavy. He just wanted to rid himself of these feelings, these thoughts. If he couldn’t work as a distraction or sleep them away, maybe drinking them away would work instead. It usually didn’t take much for his head to get lighter, to shed all his worries and let himself be all smiles and laughter, but he was desperate to keep his thoughts at bay. What if they were avoiding him so much that they’d even stop showing up to tavern nights? He knocked back another drink and laid his head on the bar’s counter. 

“You doing alright there, March?”  

March turned so he could face the voice, closing his eyes once his cheek touched the cool counter. 

“I’m FINE, Hemlock...” Was that voice coming from him? Which way was the room spinning? “Just fine...” 

“I’m thinking you’ve had enough for tonight,” Hemlock shook his head and tried taking March’s half-empty glass, “but you can talk about what’s wrong if you want. No pressure.” 

“Nooo,” March drew out his protest, not bothering to raise his head as he grabbed onto his glass, “don’t take that.” 

“Fine, alright. It’s the last one though, alright?” 

Hemlock leaned against the counter in front of him, staring at the young disheveled boy in front of him. He cocked an eyebrow, thinking for a moment before his eyes lit up in realization. Mischievously, he leaned even closer to the faux red-head and called out just loud enough for him to hear, while keeping his plan believable. 

“Oh, hey (Y/n)!” 

“WHERE?” 

March sat straight up, unsure if the deep red creeping over his features was from being drunk, thinking about seeing them, or if all the blood rushed to his head at once from how quickly he moved. He did not last very long before laying his head back on the counter, a fist crashing down beside it. 

“Spinning, spinning, should NOT have done that...” 

“Ah, I had a feeling that was the root of your little problem.” Hemlock teased, once he caught his breath after laughing at the poor boy’s expense. “What issue do you have with them now?” 

“No... no issue,” March had to calm his breathing. Was he flustered? Oh, no, just trying not to throw up. Wait, was he sure? “Maybe an issue. I don’t know. Why are they avoiding me?” 

“Could be because you aren’t very nice to them.” 

“I’m sooo super nice to them.” 

“Uh-huh...” Hemlock pushed a glass of water onto the counter, trying to slowly switch out March’s two drinks. “Have you tried going to see them?” 

“...I don’t want to find out it’s because they hate me.” 

“Oh, so that’s the real reason.” 

March lifted his head enough to peek up at the older man before turning his gaze to the hand beside him, now dragging his finger along the counter in circles to distract him. 

“I don’t get it. Why haven’t they been by all week? Why... does it bother me so much in the first place?” March closed his eyes again, trying to steady the room. “I like to come here and have some fun; why am I still all upset?” 

Hemlock pushed the water glass further towards March, slowly bringing his glass of beer closer to the back of the bar counter, stopping whenever March stirred slightly. It was a pity, really; Hemlock was well aware of what (Y/n) had been up to—if they were purposefully avoiding March, then they certainly never expressed it. If he remembered correctly, he questioned why they were walking so painfully slow from the tavern the other night, almost comically dragging out each step as they looked up the road behind them. 

‘Should I book you for your new comedy routine?’ 

‘I’m just... takin’ my time, Hemlock! Nothing odd about it.’ 

He remembered watching as they drug their shoe against the road to make their next step, slow as a snail. 

‘Uh... yup, nothing odd about it all right. Everything alright, (Y/n)?’ 

They had given him a sigh then, their body almost melting to the ground as they voiced their woes—too busy to make it anywhere but their farm and the tavern for some dinner at the end of the day, something about cleaning up the old place. It was almost killing them having to stay there instead of running off—or rather, running by the blacksmith. 

‘Isn’t March always giving you a hard time, anyway?’ He remembered asking, putting the back of his hand on his hip and smiling—he already knew the answer. 

‘That won’t stop me!’ They stood triumphantly then, stomping their foot on the ground. ‘I WILL get that boy to be my friend, whether he likes it or not!’ 

Hemlock remembered the shy heat that crept up their neck, touching their ears first before it reached their smile and they had to turn away from him before getting embarrassed further. 

‘Besides...’ their voice was soft, he thought, ‘when you get into a routine, the withdrawals... suck.’ 

Hemlock was brought back to the present by March blindly dragging his drink back to him, reversing all of his hard, secret work. He sighed, a smile on his face as he gave up and picked up an empty glass to start washing it. 

“Well,” he put on his wise father voice, “’when you get into a routine, the withdrawals... suck.’” 

Silent hung above both men a moment before March lifted his head with a confused glare. 

“Huh?” 

“Huh. I thought that would’ve been much cooler than it was. Context was probably better, in hindsight.” 

Both turned their attention to the opening tavern doors, a familiar figure now gracing the open room. A few others called out to them first, receiving a smile, a wave, and a short conversation in return. March sat up straight, ignoring how light headed it made him feel this time. 

“(Y/N)! Heyyy!" He practically drawled out his greetings. “C’mere, c’mere!” 

The heat from his blush was intermingling with the heat from being drunker than Hell, so he no longer paid it any attention. March eagerly patted the counter next to him, practically begging for them to come sit with him. If he were a dog, his tail would have wagged so intensely as the wide smile on his face mirrored theirs as they made their way over. 

“Uh, hi there March! Had enough to drink already?” 

“You’re here!” March let a genuine, heartfelt giggle bubble up from his chest at how light their presence alone made him feel. 

“I am—oh! Okay--” 

March practically threw himself against them, his head against their shoulder while they tried to hold onto the drink Hemlock has just offered them. His bottom lip jutted out, a very prominent pout, as he started to drag his finger along their extended arm now, drawing little shapes like he had done previously to the counter. 

“...Where were you?” His voice grew oddly quiet. “You haven’t been by in days.” 

“Well, I--” (Y/n) tried to explain. A heavy wave of guilt washed over them, a huge pang of pain shooting through their heart at how March looked up at them—sad, puppy dog eyes, his metaphorical ears and tail drooping as though he were sopping wet from the rain. They had to grip at their heart, almost comically, dramatically, throwing their head back in despair at just how evil they had been! 

“I’m sorry! I had a lot of work on the farm, you know? There’s a lot of cleaning up to do there before I can think about maybe expanding my crops, or working on a barn, you know?” They stuck their lips out into a pout of their own, gently patting March’s exposed cheek with their other hand. “Didn’t mean to make you worry.” 

March looked back down at their arm again, now dragging his finger up and down it, quietly mumbling, hoping that they wouldn’t be able to hear. 

“Wasn’t worried...” he started, mumbling even softer, “Just... missed you.” 

Though he thought it were quiet enough, a drunk person’s reality never seems to match; (Y/n) stared down at him, almost dumbstruck at how loudly he had professed his feelings—they weren’t much, but those words alone proved to (Y/n) that there really WAS some sort of fire in that frozen heart of his! Their gaze softened as they slowly turned their arm over, opening and closing their palm a few times to signal an offer. 

March almost immediately, willingly, took their hand and interlaced their fingers. He kept his eyes trained on their hands, studying the way their fingers seemed to fit perfectly between his. After they gently leaned their head against his, he spoke again—a little more clearly this time. 

“So... you don’t hate me?” It sounded pained. 

“No, I don’t hate you in the slightest, March.” 

“...You weren’t avoiding me?” 

“Not at all.” They gave his hand a little squeeze. “Is that what you thought this whole time? Is that why you’re so clingy tonight?” 

“...No.” March huffed, closing his eyes and turning his face away, though he doesn’t dare take his head off of their shoulder. Their soft laugh surrounded him like a soft melody, and he relished in it a moment before speaking up again. “Don’t ruin my daily schedule. Come by at least once a day.” 

“Alright,” they laughed again, “Demanding, much?” 

“You’re making it difficult to get my work done. To sleep. Just—come by at least once so I can see you and have a good day.” 

(Y/n) nuzzled against the top of his head slightly, a smile hidden from his view as they agreed, choosing to ignore the nervous way March started to fidget, and ignoring the way butterflies flew rampantly in their stomach. With their free hand, they brought the glass of water Hemlock had been trying to push on him all night up to his lips, encouraging him to drink at least a bit. 

At least for the night, tension between them had settled—whatever tension they chose to believe there was. March’s chest felt lighter, a weight lifted off his shoulders, as he basked in their glow rather than the cold, lonely moon’s, just for tonight. A goofy, genuine smile made its way up to his eyes, watching as he messed with (Y/n)’s hand and easily accepted any time they gave him water. 

“You’ll forget all this tomorrow, huh?” 

“Yup.” He smiled, giving their hand a squeeze and slightly cuddling further into their shoulder. 

“You’ll go back to hating me tomorrow too, then?” 

“As long as you remember to come by, absolutely.” 

[kitsuga]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ requests: open˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

hi there anyone, everyone, and those hidden in between!

i've finished posting my backlog of fics (both here and @kitsuani) so i figured i'd open requests if anyone's got some! don't forget to read the rules if you can; you can also take a look at what fandoms i currently accept, or shoot your shot. the worst i can say is no sorry, right???? so feel free to send some in and ill get them done soon as i can! (you can go read stuff here on the masterlist too if you want to see what kind of stuff i've already done!)

i am working on a handful of my own wips as well, so hopefully i get them done soon!

wips in question include: ⟡march x reader/farmer (fields of mistria - fluff) ⟡leona x reader (twst - nsfw) ⟡piers x reader (pokemon - fluff) ⟡saeran character centric (mysme - angst) ⟡sebastian x fortune teller!reader {parts 2 & 3; part 1 is done, just want to get at least part 2 MOSTLY done before posting it} (sdv - fluff)

hope to see you soon!! ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

[kitsuga]

sea salt kisses. {Alex x Reader/Farmer}

Description:

A fic in which Alex gets hit by the realization train. 

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Tags: fluff, kissing, not betad, not edited, gender neutral reader, stardew valley x reader, stardew valley x farmer, alex x reader, alex (stardew valley) x reader, alex (stardew valley) x farmer, whatever tag tickles your fancy at this point

Word Count: 1,587

A/N: Written on: April 22, 2024 

Quick piece to get back into writing after i had another loooooooooong writers block so if its good, great! If its bad, too bad you read it anyway too late now cant take it back, haha, SLKJDFHLKSJD  

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The sand was just warm enough to make him feel weightless, like he was floating on a cloud. Or was it the breeze that tickled his skin, lifting him up and carrying him away softly, gently? Maybe it was the way in which the sun's rays hit his face just right, embracing him like a familiar hug that made him feel like he could take on the skies.  

Or, really, it was the way his company made him feel—the way his heart fluttered and soared and carried him along with it. Alex snuck a look at the person at his side; their face up towards the sun, a smile on their face that could rival it. The sight brought on a smile of his own, warmth in his chest growing stronger than the summer sun.  

Yoba, how beautiful the sun made them look; the light surrounding them hugged them in just the right places, making them look almost ethereal. Well, any light did that to them, in Alex’s eyes. Maybe because they’d hung out for a good while now, he started to actually see them—maybe they’ve always been this beautiful, but he was so absorbed in himself that he couldn’t take notice. Here they sat, however, closer than ever and intertwined in places of his heart that he would have never expected. What was this feeling? 

“Hey Farmer, you’ve gotta move your big head; you’re blocking out the whole sun. How am I supposed to tan?” 

“Uh. Go find your own spot?”  

They were snarky, a faux pout on their lips as they finally turned to look at him. Farmer brought their arms up, waving them in the air and watching as their shadows covered the face of their lounging companion beside them. Alex grumbled, perching himself up with his arms out behind him to get some sun of his own. The Farmer’s laugh was a melody dancing around with the breeze, subconsciously pulling Alex in; he leaned over and bumped into them with his shoulder, playfully. 

“If I go find my own spot, I’ll miss the clown show.” 

“Woooooow.” They drug out the word, feigning hurt. “You’re so mean to me! Why do I even bother calling you my friend?” 

Alex smiled, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, soaking up the sun.  

“Yeah, well.” He laughed a bit to himself, speaking without thinking. “You could probably punch me in the face and I’d still want you, so say what you want.” 

Silence. It felt as though the world itself had stopped moving around him; the waves, the breeze, the Earth itself had stopped moving and froze in time. The air around them suddenly grew so tense it could be cut with a simple piece of paper at this point. Alex snapped his eyes open, whipping his head back up to look at them, completely bewildered. Farmer looked back at him just as shocked, eyes wide yet hiding any emotion from them. 

“What?” 

“What?” 

“Alex, huh?” 

“Huh?” 

There was no way that slipped out, right? What did he even mean by that—did he want them? Oh Yoba, he did, didn’t he? That’s what that feeling was—they weren’t simply just his best friend, they had grown far more than that when he wasn’t looking. Did he already ruin it before anything could have started? What about their friendship? He’d just ruined everything; why didn’t his brain work the right way—like others? Why did he have to have such a hard time watching his mouth!  

His panic was interrupted by Farmer’s voice, Alex’s face never relaxing from his shock and panic. 

“Alex? What did you mean by that?” 

“By what?” 

“By ‘I’d still want you’?” 

“Who said that?” 

“Alex.” 

His curt answers had no effect on the Farmer, nor did his attempts to play it off. He turned to look anywhere but them, but his eyes couldn’t stay in just one spot. His face started to heat up, and it wasn’t from the sun this time. His embarrassment crawled up his neck, burning his ears first; he went from biting his cheek, to scowling, to biting his cheek once again—back and forth—trying to think of something, anything, to get him out of the situation he found himself in. 

“Alex.” They said again, trying to lean into his line of sight as his eyes darted everywhere but on them. “Alex? What did you mean? Do you like me?” 

“Huh?” He started to comically move his head around to follow his line of sight now, trying to blatantly avoid their gaze. 

His eyes shot down to one of his hands that held himself up the second he felt the heat from their own cover it. He could feel as they leaned in, their body now taking up space in his own personal bubble; he could sense that their face had leaned in close to his, but he was far too nervous to look back at them—he kept his eyes on their hands. 

“Alex, do you like me?” They asked again, following up with a soft, feather-light kiss on his cheek bone without giving him a chance to answer. “Do you?”  

Another feather-light kiss, more on his cheek. Another one closer to the corner of his lip. Each peck of their lips left behind a burning mark and an electric shock all the way to his rapidly beating heart. Another. A soft whisper of ‘do you?’ once again by them against his lips, followed by a soft, gentle kiss.  

Their lips, the smell of them, their body heat—all far too fleeting. He turned to finally look at them as they pulled away and sat back up, their smile radiant. He used his other hand to rub at the back of his neck, trying (and failing) to calm himself down. His heart kept leaping out of his throat, out of his chest. His hands were shaking, he’d fall if he wasn’t careful. Alex kept trying to frown, to deny whatever he could and save face, but the corners of his lips had betrayed him as he kept smiling, no matter how hard he attempted to stop. Okay, so, maybe he did. Maybe he did like them a bit.  

“Yoba, you want me so bad.” They joked, trying to clear the air and help ease his embarrassment. 

“What.” His face fell deadpan, too stunned to respond. 

They laughed once again, a hearty one, that had them hunched over; he simply stared at them intensely, leaning into them to stare harder—though all it did was make them laugh even more, until they struggled to catch their breath. Once they did, they turned back to him, finding themselves face to face. They simply kept smiling at him, even as they wiped the tears from their eyes; he started to fail to hide his smile once again, now sharing a small chuckle with them. 

Alex leaned back on his hands again, tilting his head and taking in their entire self, a gentle smile on his lips and soft, loving look in his gaze. Yeah, he did want them, actually. He wasn’t sure why he kept denying it to himself before, but he really did want them—all of them, for the rest of his life, actually. Even if he tried to think of anything else, his brain had fried a bit-- replaying every moment he had experienced clammy hands, rapid heartbeats, or some sort of longing while in their presence; yeah, he did want them, more than he ever thought he would.  

He watched them lean in again, though he let his body do the talking this time. As they got closer, one of his hands moved up to cup their jaw gently, his heartbeat racing through his veins as they leaned into his touch. Alex wanted to leave his eyes open and look at them—how beautiful they were, how ethereal they must have been—but he allowed himself to simply keep them closed, blissfully melting into the feel of their lips interlocking with his own. The feel of their summer-stained lips and the taste of their salty chapstick had lingered as they slowly—reluctantly—pulled away, burning the sensations into his brain for longer than he’d ever know. 

They seemed to mirror him now; nervous, a little awkward, but hopelessly in some sort of love. Farmer looked away, trying to hide just how wide their smile had been now. Alex sat there a moment, trying to let his brain catch up. Oh, so that happened. Oh, so this was happening—with them. He blew air out of his nose, resembling a slight laugh at how dumbfounded he was.  

But, this was where he was meant to be. He hadn’t realized this before, but the world had only seemed to stop earlier because it was time for it to. Time isn’t lost if you’re where you’re meant to be, he believed, because it was time meant to be shared. He was exactly where he was meant to be—exactly who he was meant to be with. It simply took his empty, big ol’ head of his to accidentally spit out words without thinking to get him to realize this; everything made sense the moment the words left his lips—everything made sense the moment their lips touched his own.  

He turned their face back towards him, pulling them gently back down towards them with a large, goofy, happy grin. 

“Yeah, I think I do.” 

[kitsuga]

Windborne Dance. {Venti x Reader}

Description: 

A fic in which Venti and reader dance away their feelings; takes place during Windblume festival. 

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Tags: mostly fluff, slight angst but just in like. one little part i promise, drinking (it is venti after all), takes place during a windblume festival, reader is NOT mc/lumine/aether!, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, genshin impact x reader, venti x reader, genshin impact, venti

Word Count: 1,005

A/N: Written on: May 14, 2021 

I didn’t mean for the slight angst I really didn’t but it came to me as I wrote it at like 2 am and was like ‘hm well damn, toss it IN’ so, my bad, sorry sorry (only slightly) 

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As was natural in Mondstadt, the breeze was gentle and constant, bringing fresh air and freedom along with it. 

With the festivities in full bloom, the flowers joined in as well; petals danced about in the air, spinning and lunging in the most graceful of ways. The entire city was decorated from top to bottom with flowers, pinwheels, and colourful banners while the sounds of the bards' songs and the citizen’s laughter echoed off the building-- all paying homage to the Windblume Festival for a certain archon—the one who happened to be sitting across from (Y/n) at an outside table to one of the taverns. 

“Another glass!” 

“You’ve already had 9, Venti.” 

“Make it 10!” 

His giggle was as airy as the wind he controlled, throwing his arms into the air to stretch against the back of his chair. Aqua green eyes scanned the crowd nearby, a smile plastered to his face. (Y/n) sat back with their arms crossed to their chest, their eyes closed and a small smile on their lips. The two of them enjoyed one another's company in the opposite of silence.  

There was no such thing as quiet in Mondstadt, especially during a festival. As the two of them sat close to the center of town, the music was the loudest among sounds, overpowering the normal hustle and bustle of the locals and those running around enjoying their time. (Y/n) let the music wash over them; an upbeat melody with an undertone of something longing—they felt like it may have been written just for them. They heard Venti call out to them, only minorly interrupting their peace to ask if they’d like another drink as well. They could barely muster enough energy to give him a dismissive wave; they heard him mutter something along the lines of it being their loss.  

Unbeknownst to them, his eyes left the crowd and made their way to their form. They looked so relaxed, serene; the perfect picture of what Venti wanted to provide the world, and what he wanted in the world. He never expected to feel this way in general let alone with one of the most beautiful people he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting; he expected to simply just admire them, enjoy the fact that their soul was so... genuine. However, freedom is as freedom does, and he found himself by their side in no time, easily finding himself unexplainably smitten. 

Venti stood up; his half-finished drink already long forgotten as he made his way closer to them, standing in front of them with a large smile on his face, simply waiting for them to notice—he knew it wouldn’t be long. 

“You’re blocking the light,” they whined, begrudgingly opening one eye to peek at him, “I was enjoying that. Almost took a nap.” 

“You’re like a cat.”  

“Are you gonna start sneezing?” 

“No.” He scrunched his nose, sniffed a little, and lied. “Come on,” Venti held out one of his hands, the smile now returning to his face, “dance with me!” 

“Here?” He had their full attention now as they sat up and looked at him, “In front of all these people?” 

“No one’s paying attention! They’re all dancing with their loved ones too; it’ll be fine!” 

Grabbing onto their wrist, he effortlessly pulled them to their feet, facing them and swiftly moving backwards towards the dancing crowd and upbeat music. His giggle was hardly heard above the sound surrounding them. 

“Loved ones?” Their comment fell on deaf ears. 

Venti was simply enjoying his time; bouncing about, holding (Y/n)’s hands and swinging them around, spinning them in circles only to playfully pull them close and dip them dramatically to get a reaction from them—he only responded in a loud laugh. After a bit of time, (Y/n) loosened up, no longer caring about the people who surrounded them and focused only on the aqua green eyes and bubbly smile in front of them. 

The sun started to dip below the rooftops, eventually making its way past the horizon as well. Normally, time would never really matter to Venti, but with (Y/n) so close to him-- aware of how warm they were within his arms and how tired and sluggish their movements had become—the reality of his situation kicked in. His arms won’t be warm forever. 

Eventually, he’ll lose it all; the sound of their laugh, the shine of their smile, the way they made his heart sing. He lost something special once—though it was a different love—and knowing it was going to happen again was something he always knew would happen, but never made the thought any easier. He simply wanted to stay just like this; his arms around them as they couldn’t help but fall asleep with their head on his shoulder, softly swaying to the music that had carried as gently as the breeze, the odd feeling of his heart getting ready to leap out of his throat. The wind will always die down, but it still had strength behind it; his sign to let go of worries and live in the moment. 

A soft smile and an equally soft kiss to the side of their head, he whispered to the wind he called a friend. 

“I wish we could stay like this forever; you know?” uncharacteristically somber for him, though his tone quickly changed, “But we can’t. So, let me tell you today that I love you.”  

Silence fell upon the two of them again; (Y/n) tightened their grip on his shirt while Venti’s eyes grew wide, not expecting them to have heard him. They moved closer, nuzzling their face against his shoulder to hide their embarrassment, and he let out another giggle that tore through his body. In an attempt to lighten the mood, Venti pulled away, moving his hold to their wrists and swung their arms back and forth, absolutely beaming at them before uttering the words that gained an exasperated sigh and laugh from (Y/n). 

“Time for another drink!” 

[kitsuga]

In the mirror. {June - The Ssum}

Description: 

A fic in which June struggles to paint a self-portrait. 

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Tags: angst, suicidal ideation, panic attack, of sorts; i didnt want to paint too heavy of a picture of one, not betad, not edited, the ssum, the ssum june, june the ssum  

Word Count: 2,197

A/N: Written on: June 8, 2024 

I love june i promise you i swear i can be trusted with june please if you just give me one chance just put him in my pocket just one chance i can be trusted i can be-- 

(i love june but i just couldnt not go angsty first i mean its *right* there) (i also wrote this before his last season i havent played yet shhhhh)

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Monet’s brush brings landscapes to life, lighting capturing the purest of emotions. Colour, composition, breathtaking stories—all of which June had spent most of his life admiring, studying, mimicking. 

June had taken it all-- his knowledge, his studies—made it his own. To be like Monet, he thought, would be one of the best feelings in the world. The release of emotions, the longing for connection, the deep-rooted need to be perceived just to make his life mean something—they all flowed through him, through his brush, through the paint on the canvas. However, June knew he’d never be Monet, nor would his life hold any real meaning to the world around him. 

That wouldn’t stop the brushstrokes.  

A self-portrait, he thought, something new. Monet made a few of his own—he didn’t like them, though. Monet thought them to be limitations, pieces that refused to work with the level of talent he knew he could produce. What could he do, though? There was no time left in his life to do them any justice, to truly show how his talent could grow; time that June also didn’t have. 

He knew his life wouldn’t be very long, with this sick body of his. All he could do is tough it out, do as he was told, and hope for the best—he didn’t even know if he wanted to fight anymore. So today, he will simply paint.  

A self-portrait, he thought, something to leave behind. A mirror sat at the table beside the easel, a layer of paint freshly dried on the canvas, filling the room with a nostalgic smell. To paint his face, he thought, shouldn’t be too hard. He thought he were good looking, it shouldn’t be too difficult of a task—a nice learning curve, he thought. Expand his repertoire, get a change of pace to further develop the skills needed for pieces he liked doing. He’d have to leave something behind, after all. Might as well make it beautiful; might as well give it all he’s got. 

The mirror sat there, waiting for his eyes to fall within it. His gaze travelled over mundane parts of his appearance; the drab hospital wear, loose around his neck. The sharpness of his jaw, the sickly flush of his skin. He swept his gaze over his lips, nose, the lack of luster in his hair and no life in his eyes. He stared at himself, tried to look for the missing sparkle in his eye—staring too long as the rest of his appearance in the corners of his vision were starting to twist and distort. Snapping his eyes shut, shaking his head, he rid himself of the sensation and turned his attention back to the canvas his wrist rested upon.  

He could do it; it was fine—don't overthink it, don’t get hung up on it. The brush dipped into the paint, mixing colours among the palate. Start slow, start easy. The loose collar of his shirt started to take form on the canvas—drab, monotone, familiar. A break, a breath. Carefully, the shape of his neck, head, face started to appear—no details, no features. Then, the individual strands of his hair, all messy and unkempt, no matter how hard he had tried to smooth them out in the mirror. Blonde, bright—not like the sun, encompassing others and providing light and happiness, but gentle, muted—like a distant star, far away and long gone by the time it reaches your eyes. Perhaps that meant his whole life should be considered a star—maybe his paintings would take to the sky and paint their own constellation of his life for someone else to see, since he had nothing else to offer.  

A person with no face, the canvas housed. The details were going to be the hardest part, he thought. Might as well take his time, study hard, give it his best shot. His eyes drifted over to the mirror once again, following the lines of his features while the sound of the scratching of a pencil followed along. A curve here, his beauty mark there, he was a little afraid to look at the penciled results and closed his eyes before turning back to his work. Sitting back, peeking just slightly, he took a look at the level of his skills. Not bad, June thought to himself, it could just be... better. It was fine, he thought, not that it would matter; he wasn’t going to make waves in the world that required a good representation.  

Another break, another breath. His health was starting to slow him down; he’d fight it until he couldn’t. He’d rather finish this portrait, toss it to the back, and try not to think of it again. Slowly, carefully, the brush danced across the surface, his face taking shape. The curve of his nose, the lines of his lips, the dark circles beneath his eyes. Hours had passed, the sun had set, but the eyes made of paint were as lifeless as the ones that looked back at them. June sat back with a sigh, wiped the stray paint from his face, and took a long look at the acrylic mirror in front of him.  

What had happened? His hair seemed far too grey compared to his blonde, his eyes seemed to curve differently; his features seemed too sharp, too sunken, aged. His beauty mark had still been there—maybe he was getting tired and simply made mistakes. June took another look, staring so hard that the paint version of him started to morph further, seemingly looking more and more like his father rather than a portrait of his own likeness.  

Is that who he was? His father? Longing for the freedom of the wind and the sea, wanting a simple life with simple means. A life with a more holistic approach to his illness, a life with less dollar signs attached to material means. Was he his father? Maybe he was meant to be; the need to hate and distance himself from wealth or those who have it, the need to be so organic he couldn’t tell himself from the soil he would be buried in. It was a scary sight, to see his father in place of his own presence; who truly was June? Was this him? 

His heart started to race, a slow panic starting to bubble up. He rubbed his eyes, trying desperately to wipe away whatever fatigue must have been doing to him. The image of his father kept staring back at him, no matter how many times June had tried to rub his eyes, blink it away. He brought his brush back to the canvas, slightly shaking; he started again, painting quickly, a little rougher, over previous lines to attempt his own image again. He worked quickly, his heart starting a slow crescendo into his ears as the world around him began to muffle. The corners of his eyes started to grow a bit blurry, tunnel vision focusing on the acrylic sitting in front of him that fueled an impeding pit in his stomach. A little paint here, a shadow there; a new colour here, a messy line there. June tried to fix his image in record time, not worrying about the sloppiness or potential of drop in his skill. His body temperature started to rise, a bead of sweat dripping down his face; he wiped it away and sat back with a sigh of relief, hoping his work would be correct this time. He turned to look out of the window, a break full of unease. The moon was now shining down on him, reminding him just how small he was in the dark. He turned back to the painting. 

What had happened? His heart truly started to race now, the rapid thumping echoing heavy in his chest and all throughout his veins. His body shook as his eyes darted around the person staring back at him. Dark, longer hair, feminine features, eyes holding no lust for life—a broken image of stage lights and nightlife. June’s panic started to rise, the image in front of him morphing further into his mother, no hint of his own likeness left. 

Is that who he was? His mother? Simply falling into line with what is told to him, what is expected of him. A life full of longing for luxury and status; a demand for respect. A life with a price for everything, without bothering to look at the bill. Was he his mother? Maybe he was meant to be; the need to indebt himself to others, to fight tooth and nail in a harsh world to look good but never be truly happy; the need to be known, recognized, safe in a small box like a puppet on strings. It was a scary sight, to see his mother in place of his own presence; who truly was June? Was this him? 

The air felt far too heavy, a weight on his chest. June started to feel like he couldn’t breathe, taking in and letting out heavy breaths, all rapid to match the speed of his heartbeat. It was a downward spiral, the world had felt like. His body had gotten far too hot—or maybe it was cold? He broke out in a cold sweat, shaking profusely, leading to him dropping his paintbrush onto the floor. What was going on? Why couldn’t he get his portrait to look like him—why was it looking like one parent or the other? The painted mother had seemed to move, turning to look June in the eye and call out to him. 

“June?” He could hear her voice echo in his head, as the painted lips did not move. “Who truly is June?” 

His limbs felt heavy, stiff, tied up in string in a neat little bow. He would dance, nod, open the jaw strings to answer with an unfought agreeance. Who truly was June? Was June anyone? Was June anything? Was June truly real? 

What would June leave behind in this world? Nothing, nothing at all—for he was not June. He was a puppet, a doll, an empty shell for his parents to place pieces of themselves in and silence any portion they didn’t agree with. Any original thoughts, wants, needs, desires—nothing of June’s would be respected or acknowledged. He took up quickly, knocking the stool he sat upon over with a loud bang. He threw his hands into his hair, tugging at it slightly while he tried to hold the pain in his head—to keep the thoughts from spilling out. He could hear his mother, his father, swirling around him and reminding him that he was not his; his life would never be his own, for he was sick, weak, needed to be taken care of and indebted to the world. He was nothing extraordinary or special, let alone something unique—let alone someone free.  

The room started to spin, June’s body in a full-blown reaction. He started crying out, strangled noises, anything that might stop the pain of realization—anything that might stop the pain of subjugation. The painting in front of him mocked him, teased him, berated him—shut it up, shut it up!  

June dipped his fingers into black paint and swiped. He swiped, scratched, carved, lines across the faces in the canvas; covered eyes could no longer scrutinize, covered mouths could no longer command. His chest hurt, his body hurt, his soul hurt. Why? Why had a simple portrait turned out this way? Why had a peaceful night turned out like this? Why did he ever think he could leave a mark behind in this sea of stars? 

Who truly was June? He knocked the easel over, splattered paint creating the portrait’s crime scene. He had never been particularly emotional, certainly never to the point of a spontaneous melt-down; why did it hurt? Why did it hurt so bad to see his parents in place of himself? Why did he only see them in the first place? He held his face in his hands and broke out into a sob, standing in place as the room spun around him. He sobbed, cried, trying to expel the pain from his heart and his head and return to a point where he didn’t reflect on his life, he simply lived as he was told—as he was expected. It was a mistake to try, to even think about following Monet’s footsteps—even worse to create a portrait after Monet himself would shy away from his own. 

Something beside him called out softly, vile. Slowly, cautiously, he let his tears hit the floor as he removed his hands, looking towards the voice that called out to him. 

In the mirror held June—was it June? With black paint smeared across his eyes and teardrops staining his face further, making him unrecognizable. The person in the mirror gave him a wicked smile, putting a finger to their lips and hushing him—telling him to be a good boy and listen, though June himself had not moved. 

Who truly was June? 

[kitsuga]

Rainy Day Friends. {Sebastian x Reader/Farmer}

Description: 

A fic in which Sebastian notices there’s at least something to look forward to in Pelican Town. 

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Tags: fluff, do frogs count as a warning tag?? is that needed?? who knows, reader is referred to as "Farmer"!, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, stardew valley/sdv x reader/farmer, sebastian x reader/farmer, stardew valley/sdv, sebastian

Word Count: 1,871

A/N: Written on: September 2, 2022 

To be fair im afraid of frogs but like, in a normal way. I am not terrified of them but god forbid if one TOUCHES me, you know? they can be so cute but. do not touch me LKJSDF

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If there was one thing Sebastian appreciated about Pelican Town, it was the quiet pitter patter of the rain; once it started down, Sebastian could feel the weight of the world wash off his shoulders. Well, there was another reason this little town was alright—he looked down to find a small amphibian friend hop over his boot. He smiled softly to himself. 

Crouching down, he hugged his knees to his chest, watching closely as another small frog friend hopped along after the other. A third hopped up to him, sitting calmly and staring up at Sebastian without so much as a little thought behind its eyes. He chuckled under his breath and reached out, petting its head carefully with his index finger. Opening his palm, Sebastian stood back up straight once his new travel buddy hopped aboard; the both of them travelled slow, soaking up all the rain had to offer—no destination in mind, simply two storm-bound souls heading through the light fog of the unknown. Sebastian cringed to himself when he thought about it. A bit too edgy even for him. 

Making it down the mountain, he stood around the town’s center for a bit, just simply looking around. Where was he going to go now? The beach? Head back up the mountain? Both options made sure he enjoyed the weather longer, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling a bit of unwelcomed loneliness.  

“Where do you wanna go, little guy?” Sebastian brought the frog to his eye level, making sure the little creature knew he was addressing him. 

Well, he hoped it knew he was addressing him. He brought him back down level to his chest. He looked around again, holding his hand out towards where he was suggesting. 

“Wanna head to the beach?” He spun around and held him out again towards the path back home, “Or do you wanna head back home?” 

After an embarrassingly long pause as he was, after all, talking to a frog—the small amphibian jumped from his hand and down a third, unspoken choice pathway. Sebastian couldn’t stop the smile that broke out across his face, accompanied by a warm blush. He took a few large steps to catch up before snatching his friend back up, heading down the path.  

“A nice choice, I guess.” He put up a front, though his words were weak against his smile. “Wouldn’t have been my first choice. I’m not lying, don’t look at me like that.” 

The frog in his hand sat staring up at him, croaking softly as though it were speaking with him. Maybe Sebastian had been alone a bit too long, or maybe the rain was making him sick and he was delusional. Maybe it was both—he didn’t know. He shook his head and put his hand back down to his side, letting his friend continue hanging out the rest of the way. 

So, Sebastian had lied. There may have been at least one more, third reason why Pelican Town wasn’t so bad—but it was only a fairly recent reason, so it didn’t count. He also wouldn’t say it out loud, so it didn’t count. Things only count if you speak them to the world, right? The collar of his hoodie started to feel a bit too tight the more he thought about it; he cleared his throat. 

The farm was looking great—a much better sight than the overgrown, abandoned lot that it had been before. He was in awe of just how well it was doing, and how hard the farmer had been working day in and day out; he didn’t think he had what it took, if he were honest. His eyes scanned the lot—dozens and dozens of rows of vegetables, a few fruits, some flowers sprinkled here and there. The drenched scarecrows stood tall, protecting their respective crops with pride; the crows hiding from the rain in the nearby trees cawed distastefully at them. Small lanterns had a soft glow piercing the fog to line the walkways the farmer had made to navigate. In the short distance, he could hear the soft moo’s from inside a barn and soft clucks from another. Something about it was very… comforting. Everything was so organized yet so unique that it spoke to the farmer’s personality; his chest started to swell with pride—because he was friends with this new farmer, of course—no other reason. Or, well, it’s what he told himself. He shook off the goofy grin he had and replaced it with his usual disinterested scowl and knocked on the door. 

“Oh—yes? Who is it?” A voice called from behind the door. “Sorry, my hands are a little full to open the door.” 

“It’s… Sebastian,” he hesitated. “Do you need… help?” 

“Sebastian!” Sebastian’s heart skipped a small beat at the excitement in their voice. “You can go ahead and come in! Careful though, it’s a bit messy!” 

He opened the front door and stood in the doorway; they weren’t kidding when they said it was a mess—or that their hands were full. A few broken jars of jam splattered across the floor looking like a horror movie scene—the front of them including their arms were just as messy. If the sweet smell of strawberries hadn’t hit him immediately, Sebastian might have thought differently. 

“Are you alright?” He started to worry with the amount of glass surrounding them. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”  

“Oh no, I’m fine! Just an annoying mess to clean up. What brings you out this way?” 

“Oh…” Sebastian looked around for a moment, avoiding their gaze. 

Why was he here again? Following a frog’s advice? He couldn’t say that. Should he just tell them he was missing them? No, that was a little too straightforward at the moment. ‘I wanted to see you’—too strong. ‘I was bored’—it works, sounds kind of rude though. Through his thoughts, he felt the farmer’s stare linger on him a bit too long; a shiver made its way down his spine, but it wasn’t from the rain. The tips of his ears burned a bit. 

“I…” he thought quickly, covering his amphibian friend with his other hand and held it out. “I found something to show you!” 

“Is… it a frog?” They tilted their head with a slight frown. 

Sebastian read their body language—it was clear they weren’t the biggest fans of his favourite little creature, but they were certainly trying to be nice. Was there a slight fear in their eyes? They stared hard at his hands, it almost felt like they were burning a hole into them. He quickly hid his hands behind his back and stepped out of the doorway onto the front porch. 

“I no longer have something to show you.” 

“Ah!” They threw their hands out in front of them, concern and regret evident on all of their features. “I’m so sorry Seb! You can go ahead and show me!” 

“No no, it’s fine.” He took another step backwards. “Don’t worry about it. There isn’t anything to show.”  

“Seb! Please show me your frog!” 

They quickly navigated through the broken glass, which Sebastian watched with bated breath. They continued making their way towards him before he realized; his eyes widened and he just as quickly jumped from the steps of the porch, making his way towards the nearest bush. 

“It’s nothing! I don’t have one! It wasn’t important, anyway.” He called over his shoulder. “Don’t come over here.” 

“It is important!” The closeness of their voice startled him, though not as much as them jumping onto his back had done. “It’s important to you—you like them! Please show me!”  

Sebastian stood still for a moment, hunched over and holding his hands far out in front of him to keep the frog out of the farmer’s reach. He wasn’t sure what to do—his heartbeat was in his ears and he looked like a deer in the headlights at this point. It was, however, pretty cute to watch them from the corner of his eye, so determined to reach his hands this way rather than trying to get down and around him; he smiled up at them and opened his hands to reveal the small frog—not a care in the world, not a thought in its eyes. It stared up at them both. 

“Oh.” They wheezed. “It’s… certainly… a frog.”  

“Isn’t it kinda cute?” 

“It’s…. certainly… a frog,” they repeated.  

Sebastian laughed this time, their indifference now seeming like a cute quirk rather than something dismissive in his eyes. They slid off his back and he crouched down near the bush, placing his hand close enough to the ground to encourage his little friend to hop off. It disappeared into the shadows of the greenery, and Sebastian stared and smiled after it for a while before he heard the farmer speak behind him again. 

“Thanks for coming to show me your frog,” they started, a smile beaming up at him once he stood again. “I like learning about what interests you.”  

He wasn’t sure what to say to something as sweet as that, so Sebastian stared at them a moment, mumbling out a thanks as he switched between playing with the collar of his hoodie and scratching the back of his neck. It was silent for a beat—the only sound the pitter patter of rain once again, the distance moo’s and clucks of animals sheltering from the weather. 

“Sorry,” the farmer broke the silence, “I forgot about the jam. It’s all over the back of your hoodie now.”  

They sheepishly gestured to their clothes—cleaner, but certainly not clean—and laughed a bit embarrassed. They gestured back to their open front door. 

“I might have an extra one—want to borrow it? I could wash that one for you.” 

“It’s fine,” Sebastian shrugged. “It’ll wash off in the rain.” 

“Oh yeah, the rain’s one of your favourites too—right? You gonna keep roaming around in it?” 

“Until I clean off now, yeah.”  

“Hmm…” they hummed. 

Wordlessly, they ran back to close their front door and return to him.  

“I’ll join you! An easier way to clean this off? I’ll take it.” 

Sebastian bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing, but raised his eyebrow at them. 

“And your floor? What about that—” 

“It’s a problem for a different time. A different me.” They cut him off, holding a hand up as though they jokingly dismissed him. “What would you like to go do?” 

“Normally I just sit on the pier. Take in the atmosphere.”  

“Lead the way!” They grabbed his sleeve and tugged a bit, pulling him down the pathway.  

He sighed in disdain—though it were fake. His smile spoke differently for him, happy in their presence as they started to recount their day and mishap very dramatically. The two of them bumped into each other a few times on accident before they started to do it purposefully—playfully, flirty. After a short pause for breath, the farmer spoke out again. 

“Show me all the good frog hunting spots. I’ll bring you one sometime.” 

[kitsuga]

Lean In. {Kaeya x Reader}

Description:  

A fic where Kaeya teases reader and they decide to “fight” back. 

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Tags: fluff, kissing, flirting, part of me feels like kaeya is ooc but im cutting myself some slack bc it was my first time writing him LKJSDFH, reader is NOT mc/lumine/aether!, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, genshin impact x reader, kaeya x reader, genshin impact, kaeya alberich

Word Count: 730

A/N: Written on: April 2, 2021 

Feels a bit ooc because I cant get the sweet spot of his teasing but writing this made my heart JUMP so that’s good enough for me to post it LMAO kaeya hand in marriage challenge thanks 

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The Cavalry Captain was always a tease. It wasn’t always with bad intentions or to cause a reaction from them, but more often than not, to their dismay, it was. This was one of those instances where they felt it was a grey area; Kaeya was hard to read in general, and even harder to read if he’s being genuine or bluffing. His honeyed words and sly smile caused (Y/n) to squint at him, brushing off the hand he had on their shoulder. 

“Come on now, (Y/n), don’t be shy.” 

“I’m not being shy, and I’m not giving you anything to hold against me.” 

“Hold against you? Now, why would I do that?” 

“You aren’t fooling anyone, Kaeya.” They looked out towards the town, leaning on their arms against the railing in front of them. “I can see right through you. Everything you do makes sure you have something to gain from it.” 

“Is that right?”  

“Don’t be so smug, you know it’s right.” 

“Oh, how you wound me so.” He joined them on leaning against the railing on one elbow, his cheek resting upon the back of his hand.  

(Y/n) ignored his comment and continued looking over the town in front of them. Bundles of people had bustled in front of the taverns and a few stragglers were making their way to or from the same places. The lights around were soft, faint, just a calm flicker only shadowed by the rogue dandelion seed among the equally as soft breeze. It was a quiet night, with not much to do, so they wondered why Kaeya was even bothering to... well, bother them. What did he want? Just to tease them? To annoy them?  

They started to bite the inside of their cheek, involuntarily growing warm under the periwinkle stare that focused on every little move of theirs. With an exasperated sigh and eyebrows laced together, they closed their eyes to avoid the look they knew he would give them. 

“Stop smiling at me like that.” 

“Hm?” 

“If you keep smiling at me like that... nevermind.” 

“Oh no, (Y/n),” Kaeya leaned in closer towards them, his smile now turning to a smirk, “please, continue. What will happen?” 

(Y/n) shook their head, opening their eyes only to shoot him a sideways glare. They ignored the fact he had slowly started to move closer to them, and figured he was still just trying to get a rise out of them. They stuck their lip out in a pout, huffing at the realization that he’d simply keep bugging them, which was normally unlike the man to do so. Why was he so invested in this exchange of theirs? They turned their face to him, ready to give him some half-assed answer—a taste of his own medicine—but stopped short once their eyes met the longing expression in his. 

The air between them felt still, though his eye flickered between theirs and their lips. (Y/n) was dumbstruck, unsure of what their next move should be. Their heart was racing and they were positive he could hear it with just how close he had been. Kaeya looked genuine, for once, and very vulnerable compared to his normal stature. Mindlessly, his tongue flicked over his own lips before his very faint voice filled the air. 

“Show me what will happen.” 

Without a second thought, (Y/n) closed the gap between them, turning his at first gentle kiss into something with more power, more desperation behind it. They could feel him smile during it, and practically feel the chuckle he held back. Kaeya kept his kiss gentle, moving to rest his hand at the base of their head to keep them with him. They took a moment to simply look at each other once they parted; (Y/n) felt a rush of emotions as the corners of his lips turned up to his signature smirk. With one hand still holding their head, the other moved to hold the small of their back and bring them flush against him. They could feel that they were in for a long night of teasing as the words left his mouth, and simply sighed in resignation at the fact that they had fallen for the man. 

“You're right, I do make sure I have something to gain.” His smirk fell once again to a genuine smile, “I guess this time, it’s you.” 

[kitsuga]

Meticulous. {Asmodeus x Reader/MC}

Description: 

A fic in which doing MC’s hair turns into something intimate for Asmo. 

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Tags: fluff, asmo doing readers hair, kissing, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, asmodeus/asmo x reader/mc, obey me!/obm/om, asmodeus/asmo

Word Count: 742

A/N: Written on: May 16, 2021 

I! Just! Wanted some cute Asmo especially since I just keep having only angst ideas for him, the poor boy I promise I love him lmao; short but sweet!

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“Ow!” 

“If you sat still darling, it wouldn’t hurt.” Asmodeus leaned forward close to their ear, the mixture of his smile and his breath tickled their skin. “Would you like me to kiss you better?” 

“Don’t you mean kiss IT better?” 

“I know what I said.” 

Asmo fixed his posture, his delicate hands deftly working, weaving, one bundle of hair over the other into a tight, intricate design. He hummed to himself, a smile on his face, while he ignored their outbursts every now and again that he had pulled their hair a bit too much. It was a calming action, sitting in (mostly) silence with them sitting between his legs; they spent their time scrolling through their D.D.D., stopping now and again to show Asmo some post on Devilgram that caused him to rant and rave about whatever the picture was of. 

It was fun to play with MC, dressing them up as though they were his own personal doll—but this was different, this was something much more... intimate, than that. It was easy being with them, no need to push to be center of attention because MC’s eyes were always only on him. In his room, in relative peacefulness, he can rest easy knowing their energy, time, and anything in between were all for him; their smiles, their touches, all of it was his and it made him feel as though he were the only one in the world. He wanted to be the only one in their world. 

“Asmo, stop—ow!” 

“I warned you to quit moving!”  

Their hair was so fun to play with; it was calming, really. The pattern of the movements he had to make to braid along with the fun of running his fingers through their hair made him feel like he could close his eyes and do it all day long. One strand here, another there, a quick tie off then he gets to go in for another few strands—the mundane actions that normally would frustrate him brought him a lot of joy so long as they were involved.  

He looked over their shoulder at their phone once more, seeing a text from one of his brothers, asking MC for their time. He pouted, hoping to keep them around for the rest of the night. He tugged a bit on their hair again. 

“Okay-- ouch! Asmo!” they waved his hands away from their hair, leaning their head back so that they could look up at him. “No more, we’re done for the night.” 

“Aw, but my love--” 

“Nope. You’re going to yank my hair out at this rate. We can call it a night—Satan wants to watch this show--” 

Asmo jutted his bottom lip out, gently holding the sides of MC’s face before they moved to leave. Looking down at them, upside down, it was hard to read their face but Asmo didn’t mind. He wanted them to stay and that’s what mattered to him. A soft kiss to the tip of their nose, one to their forehead, and a few to their eyelids that fluttered shut as he leaned in; his voice came out like honey, the hushed tone tickling their face. 

“Can’t Satan record it? I was really hoping that you’d stay.” 

“Well--” 

A few more kisses to their face; the apples of their cheeks, underneath their eyes, barely ghosting their lips. He pulled back a bit to look into their eyes, his face screamed pleading more than it did pout anymore. 

“Please?”  

They looked lovestruck; he could feel the heat in their face, their half-lidded eyes drunk with love that screamed ‘kiss me’ focused only on his lips, their teeth just slightly tugging on their own bottom lip. The very look caused Asmo’s heart to race, his pulse growing rapid—he was sure MC would feel it as their hands wrapped around his wrists. The smile on his face grew devilish as they gave a slow, slight, drunken nod.  

“Yeah... okay. I’ll stay.” 

He smirked against their lips, his hands now moving down a bit to ghost over their neck, feeling them shiver a bit as they let themselves relax completely in his lap. He kissed them gently—to tease—and let his fingertips dance just underneath the edge of their shirt. Asmo giggled before kissing them over and over again, speaking softly in between. 

“Oh good--I can show you just how meticulous my hands can be.” 

[kitsuga]

To be, or not to be, ripe. {Elliott x Reader/Farmer}

Description: 

A fic in which Elliott realizes he cannot be good at everything.

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Tags: fluff, is this how you know fruit is ripe? who knows. i dont and neither does elliott, reminder mods have ruined my life idk what is or isnt ooc anymore!, reader is referred to as "Farmer"!, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, stardew valley/sdv x reader/farmer, elliot x reader/farmer, stardew valley/sdv, elliott

Word Count: 2,361

A/N: Written on: October 3, 2022 

look, ive lived in the country a good chunk of my life but I have not even a HINT of a green thumb so I will put my woes on Elliott and have him suffer with me 

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Elliott had a way with words, but he wasn’t quite sure how those same words landed him where he was today—in fact, he was fairly certain he ended up somewhere he was simply not built for.  

The sun had its eyes just barely above the horizon, causing Elliott to shield his own-- peeking ever so slightly through his fingers at the scenery that awaited him. It was serene, beautiful; such a vast change of pace to what he was used to, and it was very welcomed. How he ever got so lucky to find love with the Farmer, he would never know, but waking up after a night stayed at their farm was such a nice, emotional reset. He sighed lovingly when he felt their touch brush across his back.  

“Good morning, my love.”  

“Good morning,” they leaned in for a short kiss before leaning against the porch railing beside him, “you’re up early.”  

“The sun was calling me today.”  

“Funny, it called me too. Only,” they sighed and stood straight, stretching a bit, “it called me in for work. What do you think you’ll do today?”  

It was when they hopped off of the farmhouse porch and stood just a little below him that he noticed them dressed and ready for the day of hard work ahead of them. The dew had only just set, yet, they stood tall and light on their toes as they just barely bounced between the balls of their feet a tad bit antsy. Elliott’s heart skipped a beat and couldn’t help the loving smile that grew on his lips.  

“Hmm, I suppose I’ll work as well. Is there something I can help you with, darling?”  

Their eyes widened with surprise, quickly closing to make way for their reassuring smile. 

“You don’t need to help, it’s alright. I’ve got it.” 

“Oh, come on. Don’t trust me?” 

“It’s not that--” 

“Then?” 

The Farmer sighed and hung their head a bit in shame, an apologetic smile on their lips. Elliott had no time to be upset by their words, though, as a light-hearted laugh bubbled up through his chest. He shook his head to dispel their worries; a kind smile crawled into the creases around his eyes as he spoke again. 

“Worry not. I may not be very versed in the ways of farming, but surely there’s something I can do to ease your workload? Anything at all? I’d really like to help you out, my love.” 

The Farmer’s lips twisted to the side in thought as they looked around at the vast land and various crops growing behind them. It was almost like Elliott could see the exclamation mark appear above their head when an idea came to them; they turned back to him so quickly with a large smile and gestured towards the growing patch of watermelons a bit across the way. 

“Well, some of those should be ready to go, if you’d like to pick them! You can pick the ripe ones and soon as I’m done over in the radishes, I’ll come by with the wheelbarrow.”  

Elliott stared out at the patch of green, appearing zoned out and stoic. The Farmer’s smile waivered a bit as they noticed his indifference and quickly spoke again. 

“Um, if that’s okay with you? You don’t have to, obviously--” 

“Oh,” Elliott snapped out of his trance and shook his head. “Of course it’s okay, I was just admiring, is all. I’ll go ahead and get started then, darling. I’ll see you soon.” 

He quickly left the farmhouse porch, kissing the Farmer’s cheek just as quickly before speeding off towards the patch of watermelons. The Farmer followed him with their eyes, their eyebrows furrowing in confusion before shaking it off and heading towards their own patch of ready to harvest crops.  

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒ 

Elliott was definitely not in his element.  

Standing in the middle of the patch, he had no idea which watermelons were ready to pick, and which had more maturing to do. They all looked green—surely it wasn’t a matter of colour? Or was it? Was he to count the lines on the melon and see if they hit a certain amount? No, that was ridiculous. Regardless, Elliott had never had the pleasure of growing nor harvesting his own watermelon, among other things, and was definitely lost. He could pick a good one out at the market! But harvesting? Certainly, a whole different ball game. They had to be just a bit before being perfectly ripe so they could ripen a bit in the bin before selling, right? But, just how much before they were perfectly ripe should they be pulled? Or, did they have to be pre-ripe at all? He didn’t know! Elliott swallowed and sighed heavily. Why didn’t he simply ask his partner what he was looking for? Why must pride get in his way?  

He looked among the melon patch again, looking for at least one to go based off of. His eyes landed on one melon—a bit on the small size—but it seemed to be the perfect shade of green; the stripes were nice and dark, not too many of them, and the melon was almost so perfectly round. That was it! The perfect melon, he thought. Elliott cut it from the stem and rolled it out into the open and moved to the next nice one a few melons down. He continued going up and down the lines picking the nice, hand-sized, rounder melons and skipping ones he considered too small, and ones he considered too large, not green enough, or oval shaped. 

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he stood up straight with his hands on his hips, chest puffed out in pride. It wasn’t very many melons, he thought to himself, just a handful. Would that be enough for the Farmer? He bit the inside of his cheek as he thought about it a bit more, though his thoughts were cut off once the Farmer walked up behind him with the wheelbarrow and called out to him. 

“Hey! Done already?”  

“Oh, there you are!” Elliott turned to them with a smile so big it threatened to crack his face in half. “You worked fairly quick as well.”  

“Yeah, not a lot of them were very ripe so I didn’t have too many to grab. It’s been a good hour, though, Elliott.” 

“Has it been?” Elliott exclaimed, completely flabbergasted. “I guess the time really flew by. I guess that’s what you mean when you say there really feels like there isn’t enough time in the day.” 

“I told you! The day just flies right on by!” They moved to stand next to him and linked their arm with his. “Let's take a look at the haul today!” 

The Farmer finally looked across the field and grew quiet, a deadpan look on their face, unbeknownst to Elliott. He had puffed his chest out again, every inch of him filling with pride, readying himself for praise from his love; when silence filled the air, he deflated a bit and grew a bit shy, now sweating a bit from nerves. He swallowed a bit and looked at the Farmer’s face, noticing the deadpan expression being contradicted by the way they bit their lip and shook from trying not to do... something. Were they going to cry? Were they going to yell? Did he do it wrong? Elliott started to apologize profusely. 

“I’m so sorry, darling! I ruined it, didn’t I? I messed up and ruined your crops, I’m so very sorry--” 

He was cut off by the Farmer finally cracking; a genuine, hearty laugh bursting from their chest. They had folded over, clutching Elliott’s arm with one hand to keep stable as the other held their stomach so they didn’t bust at the seams with how hard they were laughing. It was Elliott’s turn to stand there with a deadpan expression, unsure of how to react.  

“I’m-- I’m sorry,” they stumbled through laughter as they tried to speak. “It’s just, it’s just so funny.” 

“I’m so glad my incompetence can provide you with entertainment.”  

“Oh, Elliott.” The Farmer took a few deep breaths, working to calm themselves down before patting him lovingly on the chest. “Don’t be like that. You have to admit, it is pretty funny. None of the ones you cut are ripe, what was the thought process?” 

“They were green. They had good looking stripes. They were round. They were reasonably sized.” 

“Elliott...” The Farmer stifled a laugh again. “You were half way there.”  

Elliott turned his chin up away from them; he didn’t want to face them because he was embarrassed, ashamed, and honestly felt fairly bad. He really did ruin a good portion of their crop, didn’t he? He cost them a pretty penny, he was sure; how would he pay them back? How would he make up for it? Why were they laughing rather than getting mad at him—he would be distraught if the roles had been reversed. His false pride completely deflated and he hung his head, sighing once again and mumbling out another apology. 

“I’m genuinely very sorry, dear.” His ears started to burn red with embarrassment. “Truly. Is there a way you’d like me to repay you? How much would it cost to replace them?” 

“Elliott, really, it’s fine.” They cupped his face and gently coaxed him into looking at them, a loving smile greeted him. “It’s okay. It really isn’t that bad—it's just a few of them. No need to keep apologizing.” 

They kissed the tip of his nose, gently nuzzling their own against his until he slowly returned the gesture, loosening the stress he held in his shoulders.  

“Are you sure?” His voice sounded defeated. 

“Absolutely sure.” Another kiss to his nose. “Let me show you which ones to pick. I’ve got some neat tricks up my sleeve to picking the ripe ones!”  

Elliott sighed, but gave an exasperated smile, promising to perk up once he moved past his embarrassment. He followed behind, dragging his feet slightly as they went along, coming to the first watermelon he deemed unpickable. It was fairly large, oval, and definitely lopsided. He rejected it for its size, thinking it was far past the presentable state as it would be too big to carry—at least to his home on the beach. They crouched down and encouraged him to join. 

“See, it’s nice and big, so it doesn’t need to do any extra growing; they don’t keep growing on the shelf, after all.” Another embarrassment struck Elliott in the heart. “The real tell on all ripe watermelons though, is the patch of discoloration here on the bottom.” 

When they lifted the melon, Elliott could see a fairly sized yellow patch, varying in degrees of shades. It looked ugly, imperfect, and not like the ones he had picked at all. He gave them a sideways glare, confused and skeptical. They laughed when they caught a glimpse of it and gave the melon a good pat. 

“See, the patch means it’s been on the ground long enough to be nice and ripe when you crack into it. Too yellow—too ripe—grainy, gross, no flavour. Brown—way too ripe-- rotten, even. No yellow spot—it isn’t up to its full potential, and when it ripens on the shelf, it won’t be as good as it should be. This sweet, sweet middle,” another pat to the watermelon, “gives you the sweet, sweet watermelon.”  

“...This... ugly little spot is the tell for the watermelon?” 

“It’s ugly but it does the job.”  

“...And you’re sure about this?” 

“Elliott, have you never picked a watermelon up at the market?” 

“Now that you mention it, I don’t remember if I have.” 

“Well, if the ‘ugly little spot’ isn’t good enough for you, try tapping it.”  

The Farmer leaned down slightly to get a better ear on it and knocked their knuckles against it. Elliott leaned down as well, listening in to a bit of a hollow sound. 

“See? Just like a door. The best, ripe melons will be hollow sounding. They will also, unfortunately, not be as green. A nice, dull colour; an ugly melon is a good melon on the inside.” 

“An ugly melon.” 

“It has a nice personality.” 

“Does it now?” 

“Well, we can crack this one open and test the theory.”  

The Farmer laughed and leaned into Elliott, stealing a small kiss from his lips as he sat on his heels staring at the melon with pure doubt. They pulled him up by his hand after cutting the melon from its vine and put their hands on their hips. A bright smile thrown his way was enough to perk Elliott up from moping as he leaned in to kiss them this time. 

“There you are! I was wondering when you were going to get out of that head of yours.” 

“It’s a very crowded place. Hard to navigate.” 

“I’m sure it is, oh great writer. Come on, help me pick the rest of the melons and put them in the bin, then we can pick out the best of the bunch just for ourselves, as a treat!” 

“What is a good melon if not fuel for our hard-earned labour?” 

“Okay, maybe I’ll get the watermelon instead and you will have none.” 

“You knew this was a thing before I courted you, my dear. Do not act like it is new.” 

Elliott laughed as the Farmer stuck their tongue out at him in good humour. He leaned in for one more kiss before the Farmer took off down the line of crops playfully running from him, taunting him to catch up or he’d have to push the wheelbarrow.  

He watched for a moment before following after them, a smile on his face the entire time. He was certainly out of his element—and he had no idea how his words brought him here today, but he was beyond thankful to be here with his love, and he was ready and willing to learn everything there was about the farming business if it meant he got to stay.  

[kitsuga]

Playing House. {Albedo x Reader}

Description: 

A fic in which Albedo and reader play a hybrid of house and hide-n-seek with Klee and Albedo teases the reader. Takes place during the summer islands event. 

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Tags: fluff, big brother albedo and reader play with klee, possibly ooc? it was my first attempt at albedo, reader is like an older sibling figure to klee, wrote this during the golden apple archipelago event (or at least in this setting i might have written it after i dont remember), reader is NOT mc/lumine/aether!, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, genshin impact x reader, albedo x reader, genshin impact, albedo

Word Count: 1,164

A/N: Written on: July 9, 2021 

Mmm idk he feels a bit ooc? But I was given this idea and I couldn’t help but run with it because it sounded sooo cute, so, my bad if it is ooc LMAO 

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The sounds of the waves lapping against the sand was relaxing, Albedo thought. There was so much to do—to see—on these islands, who knew the time spent here could also be relaxing from time to time? He wandered along the shoreline with his eyes closed, taking in the environment with the rest of his senses to commit it to memory; he cleared his mind of all unnecessary thoughts and started to feel his shoulders relax for a moment, only for it to be short lived as a foreign sound filled his ears. He slowly opened his eyes. 

Across the impeding horizon, he could make out the silhouette of (Y/n), crouched down and peering into the small opening of one of the peculiar shell structures. He approached them quietly, calling out their name suddenly and keeping a curt laugh to himself when they had fallen forward into the sand. 

“Albedo!” 

“What are you doing down there?” 

“You know exactly what I’m doing down here!” They sat back on their heels and brushed as much sand off of them as they could. 

“I meant before you had your unfortunate accident.” 

“I-- you’re the one who--” they sighed and rose to their feet with the help of his outstretched hand. “Nevermind.” 

“You still haven’t told me what you were doing.” 

“I... well...” 

Albedo hummed and stared at them, knowing that the longer he stared unmoving, the quicker they were to open up; their face started to heat up and they scratched the back of their neck nervously. 

“I... lost the baby.” 

“The... what?” His head tilted to the side, “You were too quiet, I didn’t catch what--”  

“I lost the baby!”  

He was taken back by their shout and looked at them from head to toe; they rubbed their face out of both exasperation and disbelief, and genuinely seemed distraught by their loss... however... 

“What baby?” 

It was their turn to stare at him blankly which, admittedly, made his heart flutter a bit. They blinked once, twice, three times before their features lit back up—this time in a mixture of embarrassment, shock, and realization—they accentuated it with a light smack to their cheeks. 

“You weren’t around for that, that’s right!” 

“Mm, no, I seem to be lost. Care to enlighten me?” 

Triumphantly, they stood tall with their hands on their hips, nose turned upwards—very childish, but he had to admit it was a fairly cute look on them—and they gave an equally as triumphant smirk as well. The breeze was so nicely timed, if they had a cape, it’d fly in the wind; Albedo chuckled to himself. 

They explained it all with that smirk on their face, changing poses every now and again to point or poke his chest as emphasis as they were so proud of their little game with Klee. What started as a simple little play pretend evolved into a complicated game of “house” -- Albedo nodded along and praised their attention to detail and level of creativity—which had turned into an advanced game of hide-n-seek, which was then held within the confines of the game of “house”. Intricate.  

“So tell me, how do I fit into this game again?” 

“Well,” they turned from him and started to scan over the horizon now, more than likely looking for Klee, “Klee said you’re playing the dad role. Klee is our baby--” 

“Which makes you my significant other, yes?” 

Albedo smiled when he heard them grumble a sheepish agreement and moved beside them, offering his hand to them. His chest grew warm when they accepted the gesture; the two of them started off to check high and low on the island, calling out to Klee by name or by precious nicknames as though they took their made-up parental roles seriously. 

“She isn’t over here, darling.” Albedo continuously got a kick out of embarrassing them with pet names. “Have you found her over there?” 

“Oh, my dearest husband,” they dramatically played along, “she isn’t hidden in these trees either. Where could our precious little baby have gone?” 

He looked amused; it was obvious by the way they snickered to themselves that they tried calling him equally as loving names to embarrass him as he had them—it didn’t work. Standing beside them once again, he gently placed his hand on their lower back, reveling in the way they had jumped. 

“Are you certain she isn’t here, love?” 

“Y... yes! I looked in the trees--” 

A soft giggle cut them off and shook the bushes in front of them. (Y/n) and Albedo looked at each other a moment, (Y/n) giving him a deadpan glare while he simply gave an innocent smirk. He gestured to the bushes and put a finger to his lips, effectively convincing (Y/n) to play along with his antics.  

“Oh, I suppose we’ll just have to count our losses and look elsewhere. What a crafty little Klee we’ve got--” 

“Surprise!” Klee jumped from the bushes and shouted, (Y/n) and Albedo feigned surprise gasps. “I’m here, I’m here! Did I get ya?” 

“Oh, there you are!” Albedo pulled her from her hiding spot and placed her back on the ground, “You definitely got (Y/n).” 

“Hey!” They gave him a little pout before picking Klee up and spinning around a bit, laughing along to the melodic sound of her giggles. “He’s right though, you did get me. My darling little Klee!” 

Once (Y/n) put her down, Klee played with the straps of her backpack, a large smile on her face as she also rocked back and forth on her heels. She asked if she really gave them a fright, and wanted to confirm that she won that round of hide-n-seek; after sticking her tongue out at the two of them in her victory, she turned and ran opposite of them, towards the water. (Y/n) responded to her word of thanks with a wave that went unseen, their own word of warning following the younger child as she went off to, more than likely, bomb some poor, unsuspecting fish. Albedo stared at (Y/n) a bit too long for their liking, as they quickly grew nervous and deflected him. 

“What is it?” 

“Nothing. I was just wondering if you’re going to use that kind of language with your own children.” 

“My--” they waved him off, “that’s not anything to think about now; playing around with Klee is enough.” 

“Mm,” he brought his hand to his lips and pondered out loud, “then will you continue calling me those pet names?” 

They turned their head quickly, completely bewildered. With another seemingly innocent smile and not another single word, he started to walk in the direction Klee had taken off in. (Y/n) stood there for a few moments, mulling over his words before they called out to him—he ignored them. As if he were simply telling them what the weather was like, he spoke to them over his shoulder. 

“Let’s keep playing house, (Y/n).”  

[kitsuga]

Loading Screen. {Leviathan x Reader/MC}

Description: 

A fic in which Levi tries to express his feelings but MC makes the move. 

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Tags: fluff, kissing, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, leviathan/levi x reader/mc, obey me!/obm/om, leviathan/levi

Word Count: 1,086

A/N: Written on: June 27, 2021 

I just felt like writing this one day for my best of all friends and I have nothing else to say beyond that, really. Also, nervous levi agenda thank you  

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“Woo-hoo! Another series: done. Hurry up MC, I’m gonna start the next one!” 

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” MC called, rushing over to plop onto the floor-bound makeshift blanket fort with an arm full of snacks to restock their supply. “Don’t hit play yet!” 

“Too late! No time! Gotta play it now!”  

“Levi!” They whined, pushing him over and rewinding the previous 10 seconds they missed just to prove a point while he laughed. 

He bounced back up, pretending to have done it too hard and bumped into their side, causing them to fall over a bit as well. The two of them fought back and forth for a short while, laughing comfortably with each other until their new show’s opening ended—that was when they settled down. MC leaned their head against his shoulder, and Levi suddenly realized the position he was in and stiffened up; he started to get nervous and shy despite being in the same situation time and time again.  

Once the show actually started, it was easy for him to get lost in it and forget the warmth of MC cuddling up beside him, wrapping their arms around his waist and mindlessly feeding him snacks as time went on. As the episode came to an end, however, the cursed black loading screen reminded him once more of his (epic!) predicament. MC nuzzled against him for a bit before sitting up, noticing his nerves plain as day on his face in the very same reflection. 

“I think this one’s going to be good; what did you think about it?” 

“The premise is good but the executions a little slow. If they had used proper elements of a magical girl anime instead of trying to fake it and make their own, it would hold more attention of the viewers but instead they made it seem more like an off-brand mecha and that--” 

He continued on his rant relentlessly, MC wasn’t sure he ever took a breath within it. He spouted off a lot of explanations, most of which they picked up a few words from, but mostly just nodded in silence with a smile on their face. They looked content, happy to listen to him and pretty interested in what he had to say—whenever it was cohesive, at least. Their gentle smile is what caused Levi to pause and stare at them. 

“You know,” he started, “I’m glad you’re here. I’m pretty happy that you’re willing to do this with me.” His face started to heat up, and his face contorted to a pained look as though he were battling with himself to get words out. “I mean, I have no one else to do this with. I’m just--” 

“Aw, Levi,” they teased, a small smirk growing on their lips, “are you trying to compliment me?” 

“No!” A lie. “Let me talk!” 

MC threw their hands up in defense, nonchalantly twisting their lips to the side and eyes following suit as they pretended not to care. Levi took a deep breath before launching back into his speech. 

“I’m just, glad that you like me—and that you like me enough to sit here and do all that gross couple stuff with me, and that you listen to me even if you’re a bit of a normie and don’t understand the golden depth of my reviews, and--” he quickly started to spiral into a nervous, embarrassed fit and fidgeted with his hands, “and you know I just, I... I lo- lov- I lo-” 

The more Levi stuttered, the worse he felt. As his heart started to leap out of his throat, he could feel it breaking into pieces; this wasn’t how he wanted to do it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Now he looks like a complete fool—MC wouldn’t like him back after this! Even if they were already dating—they'd definitely want to leave after this, he certainly did. His eyes shot up from his hands to their own eyes as their hands covered his. Their smile was so gentle, he almost shattered into pieces under the sheer intense pressure he found himself under. 

“Hey,” their teasing tone replaced with something he’d describe as angelic, “if you can’t say it out loud, go ahead and use this.” 

It was only then that he realized they dropped his phone in his hands. They tilted their head and smiled even brighter, knowing just what would make him feel better. His hands shook as he typed out a text message to them at lightning speed, thumb now hovering over the send button; he closed his eyes shut tight as he hit send and groaned, throwing himself backwards and laying on the floor. He complained to MC that they insist on making his life difficult, when all he wanted to do was watch anime.  

‘I love you. I wanted to say it without stuttering, or in some cool like, shojo-style way since it was the first time, but I ruined it.’ 

Levi was almost too afraid to look at his phone whenever it went off. 

‘Sit up.’ 

Reluctantly, he did as he was told and had already opened his mouth to complain, apologize, deflect, anything he had to do to save face but instead of needing to save it, MC held it instead. 

Gently, they cupped their hands around his face and leaned in slowly, only kissing the tip of his nose. The small kiss was so full of affection, Levi wondered if he was going to cry; his body relaxed a bit, his face melting into their hold as he looked at them through his lashes and a pout on his lips to offset the look of love in his eyes and blush on his face.  

Words didn’t need to be said. He didn’t need to say it again, they didn’t need to say it to him. He didn’t need to ask them to kiss him again, they leaned in again and gave him a deep, loving kiss. When they pulled away, he stared at their lips until they leaned in again and again. His heart was racing and he felt as though he were on Cloud 9; he didn’t know what he did to deserve this, but he thanked whatever god may have had a hand in it. 

The anime played through episode after episode, long forgotten in the background; their love reflected on the black background between them. He’d definitely be able to tell them the right way next time. 

[kitsuga]

For What I'm Worth. {Alex x Reader/Farmer}

Description: 

A fic in which Alex realizes just how much love can change a person. 

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Tags: fluff, reminder that ive played sdv with mods for so long i am spoiled yet tainted with possible ooc LOL, reader referred to as "Farmer"!, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, stardew valley/sdv x reader/farmer, alex x reader/farmer, stardew valley/sdv, alex

Word Count: 1,677

A/N: Written on: December 2, 2022 

I went into the game thinking, oh, I won’t like alex very much. I was wrong. Ohhhh I was so wrong  

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The night had grown cold, yet the space between Alex and the Farmer was lovingly warm. 

Alex partially sat up in their bed, leaning on an elbow and letting his head rest on the palm of his hand. His eyes danced around their face, taking in every inch of how beautiful their face looked underneath the slimmer of moonlight that graced their presence through their window. He smiled to himself. 

Their date replayed through his mind; private dinner at the saloon, a nice, slow walk along the beach, a little stargazing, and a lot of good talks all around. To round out the night, they cuddled together in bed and took turns telling each other the silliest story they could think of—he could still hear their voice speaking slow as they gently drifted off to sleep—such a lovely sound.  

He was lucky, he thought. He was lucky to have them—foolish of him to ever turn a blind eye to them when they first moved to Pelican Town—but lucky they had knocked some sense into him and his ego. He could admit, he was less than welcoming—no depth to conversations and talking only about himself—but once he finally looked past his love for gridball, he quickly found other meaning in his life. 

It was sort of scary, he thought. To suddenly care so deeply about someone else and have your whole life flipped upside down. He couldn’t help himself, however, and smiled even more lovingly at his sleeping partner beside him as he softly whispered in the night.  

“It really is scary,” he started, finishing out his thoughts. “How quickly my life changed when you came around. How was I supposed to keep up?”  

Alex carefully brushed stray strands of hair away from the Farmer’s face, keeping the physical contact going by gently running the back of his finger against their cheek before moving to let his fingers dance up and down their arm. Something about the silence in the dead of night makes a man much braver to speak his mind, Alex thought, and quietly cleared his throat to speak again. 

“I’ve been lucky to have you,” the whispers cut the silence again. “I’ve been lucky to have you because you make me a better... me.”  

He thought about the time he spent thinking; about his life, about the Farmer, about his mother. He tried for so long not to think about his past, and tried to escape with something he didn’t need to use his brain for; if he kept his head down and focused on the gridball, there would be no time for him to think about things he had been running from. What Alex hadn’t realized, however, was that it ruined him; he became dull, a jock, thick headed with not much bouncing around in there. When did he become so... uninteresting? So focused? So... scared? 

“Thanks to you, I’ve been working on myself.” He chuckled a bit to himself, pausing when they stirred a bit in their sleep. “I’ve been reading a lot more—books my mom left behind, mostly. I’ve been trying my hand at some handy work too, to make myself a bit more useful to you. You’ve helped me start to learn new things and branch out... I’m going to be better, not just for me, but for you, too.” 

He leaned down and placed a kiss at their temple, nudging them softly before sitting back up to smile down at them once again. 

“I want to give you the world, you know. I want to be great so that your life turns out great.” Alex rubbed their arm a bit to warm them up, and to keep up his morale and keep his speech going. “I want to give you a life that you can love. A loving family. A partner that you wake up next to every morning without a doubt in your mind that I...” 

He paused, his ears growing red as he bit the inside of his cheek. He knew what words came next, but his heart was pounding in his ears and the butterflies in his stomach fluttered up through his chest like flames. He avoided them for now. 

“I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you feel so loved. That our family feels loved. I’ll never be like my father was—never.” 

He moved to hold himself up above them and places another soft kiss to their temple. He let the silence dawn on them once again for a few minutes, trying to work up the courage to say what was sitting heavy on his heart. He was scared—what if saying it ruined everything? What if three little words could cause his world to come crashing down? There was no doubt in his mind that this was how he felt about them—none at all. He took a long look at their face again, thinking about just how ethereal they were, here, with him. Alex swallowed hard and whispered, barely audible. 

“I love you.” 

Alex wasn’t expecting an answer, he really wasn’t. When he noticed the Farmer’s hand start to move, he was confused more than anything. His face started to grow warm and he smiled a bit embarrassed as they gently held his face in their hands. They pulled themselves up a bit and he, though embarrassed, happily leaned down to meet them the rest of the way for a soft, loving, lazy kiss. When they parted after some time, he melted into their hands and kept his eyes closed.  

“Just how long were you awake?” 

“Oh, the whole time.” The Farmer teased, not a hint of sleepiness in their voice. “You might want to get a bit better at telling when someone’s actually asleep.”  

He melted a bit more, this time in more embarrassment; his whole speech he was trusting to the night had never been secret at all. He quickly recovered, however, and opened his eyes wide when the Farmer spoke next. 

“I love you, Alex.” 

All he could do was stare at them in bewilderment—eyes wide and glossy, he took in everything he could about them. The way the corners of their lips turned up, how softly those words fell onto their lips, how much love he could actually see in their eyes. He continued staring at them as they continued their own speech. 

“I love you, and I want to make sure you know exactly what that feels like—day after day. I promise, I won’t let you wander alone anymore.”  

Silence fell on the both of them, but it felt like a warm, comforting blanket. Alex tried to process their words; they played over and over again in his head like a broken record—one that had been so beloved that it developed a skip that caused it to repeat, but it was his favourite so he couldn’t bear to get rid of it. Their words struck deep into his heart, forcing their way through the flames to call it their home. Every inch of his body had grown numb from being so warm and comfortable, and tears started to fall from his wide-open eyes before he could even realize it. 

“Alex?” 

Their voice sounded so quiet and concerned, he couldn’t help but snap back to reality. He broke out into a bright, large smile; the apples of his cheeks quickly started to hurt and tears pooled in the crinkled corners of his eyes. He shook his head slightly, moving to hold himself up on one arm again so that he could hold their hand to his cheek. 

“They’re happy tears, it’s okay.” He turned to kiss the palm of their hand. “I just... don’t know what to say. I don’t think I have the words. I’ll have to learn some.” 

The Farmer lightheartedly laughed a bit, stroking his cheek with their thumb as he continued to place kisses along their palm. Once he finished their palm, he moved down to their wrist, softly moving up their arm before they took it away to wrap it around his neck. They pulled themselves up to him which he took as his cue to fall to his side and wrap his own arms around them and bring them close. 

They nuzzled their face into his neck, leaving small, fleeting kisses up and down the crook until they slowly died down and Alex could hear the soft sounds of their breathing, showing that they actually, truly fell asleep this time. 

“Babe?” He whispered, double checking himself this time.  

He smiled, kissing wherever he could reach until he started to feel his own eyelids grow heavy. He gently rubbed their back until he began falling asleep himself; not before replaying the entire scene in his mind time and time again. As the moonlight finally started to wrap him in his slumber, he closed his eyes and whispered to his love once more. 

“Thank you for saving me from me.”  

With one last, long, chaste kiss to their forehead, Alex fell asleep with his limbs entangled with his new life, his new reality, and had no doubts about accepting it and loving them for all that he was worth. He’d make sure of it. 

[kitsuga]

Study. {Beelzebub x Reader/MC}

Description: 

A fic in which Beel helps MC study. 

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Tags: fluff, reader was up all night which honestly mood, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, beelzebub/beel x reader/mc, obey me!/obm/om

Word Count: 821

A/N: Written on: May 8, 2021 

My sister was stressing about her finals that were creeping up on her so I wrote this to comfort her at the time! I hope it brings you guys at least a lil bit of comfort too ^^ 

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Beelzebub watched as MC sighed once more, like they had been for the past hour as the two of them struggled to study. They were both struggling with the material being taught in class, but the weight of it had been weighing more on MC than it did him. 

“I’ll never be able to understand this. I’m going to fail and if I fail who knows what Lucifer will say—what will Diavolo say? What will Diavolo DO?” 

“I’m having troubles with it too,” Beel said between the bites of his sandwich, “so you won’t be alone--” 

“But you can take them if they get mad at you!” 

“I mean, not really...” his voice dropped off and took another bite, placing his other hand beneath MC’s forehead to stop them from injuring themselves as they continuously smacked their head against the table. 

Another sigh came from them before they laid their head on top of his hand, admitting defeat for the umpteenth time that day. Beel held out the remainder of his sandwich as an offering for a sympathy bite, which they took in a slow, sad manner.  

“It’ll be fine, MC.” 

They responded to him with a grunt; Beel knew they didn’t really believe him. He read through the chapters and notes again quietly, hoping to find something he could understand and help MC with. MC stared off into space the remainder of the night while Beel quietly kept at it, reading and keeping his hand in place as a pillow. 

The next morning, Beel waited for MC at school, surprisingly early for once. MC was surprisingly late, for once. Instead of rushing up to him, Beel watched MC shuffle up to him with their head hanging low, eyes stuck to the floor only to rise slowly once they bumped into his chest. 

“I’m sorry--” 

“Are you alright?” 

“Oh. Good morning, Beel.” 

He frowned, taking notice of the state they were in. After handing them the snack bag he had been eating from, letting them munch a little bit before they had to head to class. Carefully, he tamed pieces of MC’s hair that had been a bit crazy, hoping his silence would nudge them into telling him what had been wrong; instead, they fell forward and bumped into his chest again, staying there for a little bit before standing back up straight. 

“MC, did you get any sleep?” 

They smiled weakly at him, hoping to deflect his question; they stared in a tired disbelief up at him as he gently cupped their face, a disapproving look taking over his features. 

“You didn’t.” 

“I didn’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“I had to keep studying.” They sighed, their body tensing up and their voice growing higher and more distressed as they kept talking, “I had to keep studying because I had to learn it because we have that test today and I couldn’t fail—I can’t fail because then I’ll be in trouble and then--” 

“Shh.” 

Beel was never very good at words, but he always did his best to speak through actions, and now was no different. Holding their face, he carefully wiped away the tears that started to fall from their eyes out of frustration and exhaustion. He frowned and gently rubbed the dark circles beneath their eyes and let them cry a bit more, continuously wiping away the tears as they came up. Leaning down, Beel placed a soft, feathery kiss square between their eyebrows; he moved and continued his barrage of kisses, ever so lightly, across their entire face. Their eyelids, underneath their eyes, their nose, cheeks, forehead-- wherever he could get his lips to comfort the person who mattered to him most.  

Their hands wrapped around his wrists as they allowed their face to melt into his hands and his kisses. Once the tears had stopped, they whispered a faint ‘thank you’ that Beel hummed a response to. After standing together in silence for a moment, Beel moved to run his thumb over their cheekbones before pulling their head closer to his chest, resting his chin on the top of their head. 

“You’ll pass the test,” they felt his voice rumble through his chest, “I’ll ask Satan to help.” 

“You will?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What if he says no?” 

“I’ll offer him lunch.” 

MC laughed, wrapping their arms around him now that they felt comforted. Knowing that Beel cared about them enough to show love in such a gentle and expressive way was enough to expel any negative emotion they’d have all day. Their sigh this time was one of relief as they laid their head against his chest, listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart. The two of them stood together until the bell rang, signaling the beginning of class; they listened to the rumble of Beel’s chest one last time before going on their way. 

“If you still fail, I’ll fail too.” 

“Beel, please don’t do that.”  

[kitsuga]

The Rain Giveth, the Rain Taketh Away. {Artem Wing x Reader/MC}

Description: 

A fic in which Artem finds the warmth he’s been told he (and the rain) could never have. 

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Tags: fluff, power outage, storms, mc/reader is NOT rosa!, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, artem wing x reader/mc, tears of themis/tot, artem wing

Word Count: 2,122

A/N: Written on: November 19, 2021 

I know the title sounds ominous but I promise everything will be alright; i just love artem man idk what else to tell you 

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“Hm?” 

Artem looked up from the papers sprawled out across his desk whenever the lights above him flickered. He thought nothing of it and returned reading for a moment, until it happened once more just a bit longer than the first. Glaring at the lights above, he watched as it did it one more time before he finally turned towards the large windows in his office. He knew it was dark because he’d been working late, but it was much darker than usual as he took a peek through the curtains. 

Heavy downpour and furious winds whipped against the glass as he stood for a moment to take it all in. Such weather would have been nice to sit at home wrapped up in the comfort of blankets or by a small lantern or candle to read a good book, but was bad news for the situation he found himself in; not only would driving in this be extremely dangerous, but the flickering lights could only mean one thing-- 

The room around him went black, as did the small, vague lights of surrounding buildings and streetlamps that he could make out through the drops on the window. A loud groan simultaneously came from the other room. 

A power outage meant automatic shutdown. No Power, no chance of driving—all ways to say Artem wasn’t going home that night late or otherwise, to which, it was his turn to groan. 

“Hey, Artem?” A voice rang out in the dark, clumsily opening his office door. “You’re still here, right?” 

“MC... Yes, I’m still here. Please be careful—wait right there.” 

Artem tried to fumble around his desk as quietly as he could, looking for his phone. Once he found it and turned on the flashlight, he carefully pointed it towards MC, careful not to blind them. They looked exasperated—maybe even a hint of annoyance—at their predicament; he was sure his face closely mirrored theirs. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine; I felt my way over to your office because I thought you were still here—is the emergency generator not going to kick on?” 

Artem stared at them for a moment before slumping down into his chair gently—he knew there was something he was missing; maintenance had cancelled their appointment to fix the backup generator a few days before. Well, it wasn’t like he could exactly drive home anyway, but a cup of coffee would have done wonders for him at the moment; he sighed heavily. 

“It... hasn’t been fixed. There isn’t going to be any power, I’m sorry MC.” 

“Hmm,” they hummed, finding their way to the chair across from him. They leaned back fairly relaxed and shrugged. “It’s not like I could make my way home in a taxi in this weather either, I suppose. At least I’m stuck inside rather than out.” 

He smiled to himself—they thought the same thing he had, and for that, he felt his ears grow a bit warmer; they grew extremely hot whenever he came to realize the two of them were stuck there together, however. He awkwardly cleared his throat and straightened his tie to give his hands something to do. 

“That’s true. Better to be dry and safe than otherwise.” 

“And besides, at least I’m not alone—I've got you!” 

Artem tried his best not to choke on his own nerves. He cleared his throat once more and turned away, hoping the dark of the room would save face for him. Their words played over and over again in his mind, floating softly like a melody while he tried to analyze every hint of emotion that may have been present; over-analyzing it, however, backfired on him. As he took his time thinking, MC took his silence in a way he wished they hadn’t. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sure that was weird to say—I mean, of course, I’m sure you’d rather be alone to get your work done—or, you know, I’m not trying to assume I’m a pleasure to hang out with when you could be at home, or--” 

“No, I’m... I’m glad I’m not alone, too. I’m... very glad that you’re here with me.”  

Artem cut them off, the features of his face being softly illuminated by the flashlight’s glow to add another layer of gentleness to his eyes and the small smile that graced his lips. He could see the shine of their eyes, the phone’s light giving away the subtly to their shock, and certainly not helping them hide the fact they were a little embarrassed by his sudden admission. They turned their head with a false pout—he could tell because though their lips were pursed, the corners of them turned upright—and crossed their arms, looking at him with a sideways glance; he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling any wider. 

“Well, since you’re stuck here with me now, what should we do?” 

“Good question.” Artem picked up his phone and looked at the battery percentage. “We might want to start by finding some sort of lantern, or actual flashlight. This isn’t going to hold out much longer.”  

“I think there’s one in the emergency kit underneath the lounge’s sink?” 

“Then let’s check there, first.” 

He stood up quickly, moving to the other side of his desk before MC could get up and potentially stumble. Pointing the flashlight downwards towards their feet both to give them an idea of where they needed to stand and make sure he wasn’t blinding them, he offered up his hand cautiously, hoping he didn’t look like a fool. 

“Here, take my hand. I don’t want you running into things and possibly hurting yourself,” he cleared his throat of nerves, “it’ll be easier this way than if you try to follow from behind.” 

“Thanks!” 

Artem pushed all thoughts out of his mind; he was working on autopilot now. He would not think about their hand within his own—no—no thoughts about that whatsoever. It’d be ridiculous-- to be so fixated on something so trivial, as if he were in one of those high school romantic drama movies. Instead, he made a beeline for the lounge, careful not to drag MC along carelessly.  

With them manning the flashlight, he managed to find the lantern, as well as fresh batteries. He almost dropped them out of both fear from MC’s sudden shout, but mostly because he tried hard not to laugh at MC yelling ‘SCORE’ so triumphantly. He moved and placed it on the table, flopping down onto the couch and running a hand through his hair. 

“Hmm... this may be enough light to finish a few more documents; or maybe take another look at that case...” 

Artem’s voice dropped off as he looked at the wall across from him. Within the dim light came darker shadows, and this one was shaped like a dog. Then a butterfly. Then a... 

“An alligator.” MC proudly called out, turning to look at Artem. “See?” 

“I was going to say a crocodile.” 

“You obviously don’t know your shadow animals. You should work on that.” 

Artem laughed, the sound ringing out against the chilled air with a soft echo. He decided to wing it, moving to sit on his heels beside them and listen intently to their shadow animal lecture and presentation. He followed along, joining them with half-decent attempts himself just to laugh softly and smile brightly at their praise. Work didn’t need to be finished tonight. They coaxed him into a shadow puppet play— then another, and another. It was quite cute, if he was honest, and judging based on his laughter—anyone could see he was enjoying himself. Creating grand stories of bunny princesses and crocodiles—sorry, alligators—in space, without a shred of thought for their ages nor their status as lawyers, made him feel a type of freedom he hadn’t in years. Watching the way the corner of their eyes crinkled as they laughed along with him, the way their smile seemed to reach from ear to ear and light up the room better than the lantern, or noticing how they leaned in close to him every so often, left his heart racing, but feeling so full of affection. 

The room grew colder as the night went on, the large glass windows not doing much to improve their situation. MC was knees deep into a story about how embarrassed they were tripping the other day at the coffee shop when Artem noticed their shoulders shake momentarily; subtly, he watched as their body shook even between their lively storytelling movements. Swallowing his nerves each time they jumped up, he silently slipped his suit jacket off and gently draped it over their shoulders; pulling it together, engulfing them with the warmth—both the feeling and scent, if you had asked MC at the time—he gave an equally defrosting smile. Subconsciously, he leaned in towards them a bit, his voice lowering to just above a whisper as an apology for interrupting them. 

“You’re cold. Go ahead and take this.” 

“Are you sure? Won’t you be cold too?” 

“I’ll be alright, no need to worry about me.” 

“You say that, but I watched you fight off a shiver just there.” 

The corners of Artem’s lips fought to keep from curving upwards, a defeated sigh escaped him, followed by a smile. The melody of MC’s laugh warmed the air. 

“Let’s find a blanket, then. I know someone has to keep one in here for lunch naps, I’m sure of it.” 

They fought against the darkness to find the throw blanket—MC thought about taking the pillow too but it was put back after they playfully wacked him with it. He brought them to the couch as it got later, and listened to them as they rambled on about this show they had been keeping up on; he listened to every word, making sure to take mental notes about whatever made them particularly excitable—he'd take the time to research key elements later so he’d have something to talk about with them. The time had ticked by—surely it was late into the night, not that he could check anymore, his phone had died as they begged to borrow it to look up various pictures to improve their impromptu presentation. Slowly, he listened as their voice grew softer, softer, their words started to blur together more and more; with a soft thud, their head landed on his shoulder. 

Artem sat there a while, basking in the glow that was MC’s light—enough to light up a powerless room, enough to light up a powerless man—that's what he felt whenever they were around; defenseless against their rays, defenseless in his own love. He studied them, then; the curve of their face, the softness of their expression, the gentleness of their breathing. In, out, in, out, Artem did his best to match their pace with his own breathing to combat the heavy sounds of his heartbeat in his ears. Could they hear it too? What if it woke them? 

What he hadn’t considered, however, was that it may not have been just his own. The wild patter of rain against the glass pane lingered through the stillness of the night, the lantern clicking off to welcome in the darkness; Artem welcomed it as well, hiding the tenderness the two of them were sharing, keeping it to themselves in their own little world. Carefully, he moved to include them in the blanket as well, ensuring they were warm; taking a leap, he wrapped an arm around their shoulders to bring their head to his chest instead. Even the rain couldn’t drown out the way his heart raced, or how rhythmic, soft, and lovely theirs sounded. It filled his ears, coursed through his veins, warmed him up from head to toe. 

His shoulders relaxed, his head bobbing a bit as he struggled to blink away the impeding sleepiness. Accepting his fate—he must give up and remove his eyes from them some time, after all—he tilted his head back and leaned it against the back of the couch. Content right where he was, he felt the wave of exhaustion finally hit him, his adrenaline now wearing off. With a gentle smile on his lips, a silent wish that the night would never end, and a slightly desperate hope the lights would return by morning to wake him so that he could keep their night to themselves-- Artem slowly let sleep overcome him, his breath slowing until it gently matched the pace of his company.  

One last, sleep-filled wish to meet and relive the moment again in their dreams crossed his mind. 

[kitsuga]

PREFECT open the door {Ace Trappola x Reader/MC/Yuu}

Description: 

A fic in which Ace tries to move into the Ramshackle Dorm.

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Tags: fluff, honestly. i feel ace. i too would try to flirt and fail so horribly, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, you can assume reader/mc is yuu!, twisted wonderland x reader/mc/yuu, twst x reader/mc/yuu, twisted wonderland/twst, ace trappola x reader/mc/yuu, ace trappola 

Word Count: 1,899

A/N: Written on: February 12, 2022 

One of my sisters loves him and begged for some ace content so here it is LKJSDFKJSDF 

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“I thought the little punk was getting better—so why the hell is this thing on me again!”  

Ace pushed past the hardly awake MC and flopped down on the dusty couch in the lounge. His long, heavy sigh shook his whole body; he launched into his complaint again, not noticing that MC had barely shuffled into the room behind him. 

“Who told him there was a rule for stepping into the room with your right foot first if it’s past 9 P.M. Who!? I get my head taken for something stupid like that!” 

“Was it that you stepped into the room with the wrong foot, or you argued with him?” 

“How could you accuse me of something like that!” 

MC rubbed their eyes, taking a long sigh before they spoke again. 

“What did you say to him?” 

“...I didn’t SAY anything.” 

“What did you do.” 

Ace’s lips twisted to the side with a huff as he refused to make eye contact with them. Boring a hole in the side of his head, MC sat and waited for him to paint the picture of his own demise.  

“I.... kmcked’m,” he mumbled. 

“You what?” 

“I kicked him!” Ace shouted, throwing his hands up in the air, letting them fall alongside the rest of his body, slouching further into the couch. “He turned around after yelling at me and I just, I kicked the back of his knee—I didn’t kick him that hard!” 

“Ace.” MC held their face in their hands, disappointment completely evident in their voice. 

“It wasn’t even genuinely a kick—it was more of a push!” 

“Ace.” They growled from behind their hands.  

“You know I love hearing my name and all--” 

“Stop talking.”  

The two of them sat in silence for a moment; Ace snuck a few looks over at MC, making sure to retract his gaze if they made a move to look back at him. As though it were their new catchphrase, MC sighed heavily once again and smacked their knees, pushing themselves up off the couch.  

“Well, you dug your own grave, Trappola. Sucks to be you.” 

“Aw, come on, Prefect!” 

“What do you mean ‘aw come on’? What do you expect me to do? You’re lucky there wasn’t a bigger consequence for you—like being kicked from school for violence.” 

“One little kick, really?” 

“You’re talking about Riddle. Yes, one little kick.”  

MC pushed Ace’s head playfully, moving him around on the couch a bit which was met with his protests. They ignored him as he called out to them by name, simply waving their hand to dismiss his words while climbing the stairs. Over their shoulder, they wished him sweet dreams and shut down whatever he was saying by suggesting he sleep by pointing out the extra blanket draped over the armchair in the living room. Ace sat back on the couch with his arms crossed, lips twisted to the side in a heavy pout as he watched them disappear up the stairs, his eyes lingering where they fell out of his sight for a few extra moments. 

The redheaded boy sighed, knowing that MC was probably right—not that he’d tell them, anyway. He made his bed and he had to lie in it—both figuratively and in actuality; dusting off the older couch, he laid on his back and wrapped himself in the blanket all after he had turned off the lights. He lay with his eyes closed, trying his hardest to get comfortable with the bulky collar around his neck. He twisted, turned, and sighed more times than he could count—counting it may have helped him to fall asleep at this point. Ace opened his eyes to stare at the crumbling ceiling above him, his eyes dragging over each piece of the spider's webs that decorated the place. The night would not take him. 

Nor would the shadows. Nor would his mind. Everything fought sleep as his brain constantly moved its gears, but no actual thoughts had come to his mind. Ace was missing something—longing for something. There was a reason Ace had run to the Ramshackle Dorm rather than simply retreating to his room—and that reason had moved to their own bed upstairs. An hour or two had passed since he first laid down, but he was getting too antsy now; he threw the blanket off him and jumped to his feet in a huff. 

Even if he tiptoed, the old wooden stairs creaked and moaned beneath his feet; each one made him wince, so he had given up. He was sure MC would have been up by now anyway with the sounds, so he rushed the rest of the way to their room, throwing open the door. 

A sliver of moonlight illuminated MC. Grim had curled up at the foot of the bed as their back had faced the door; they turned to look over their shoulder at Ace as he stood in the doorway. Their voice had matched their face—emotionless and stoic. 

“What.” 

“Prefect.” 

“Yes, Ace. What.” 

He hurried over to the bed, throwing himself onto his hands and knees on top of it to slightly hover over MC as they turned to their back to meet his eyes. 

“Let me move into your dorm.” 

“...Get out of my room.” 

“MC, please!” 

“No. Good night, Ace.” 

Ace bounced on the bed which was met with groans from both MC and Grim, who was doing his best to ignore Ace.  

“Seriously! Let me move in. I’ll transfer over to your dorm, and I’ll never have to deal with the little tyrant again!” 

“You can’t, Ace. Now go to sleep.” 

“Come on!” 

“No. Now, shut up.” 

“You’re being unreasonable!” Ace shook the bed once again, ignoring Grim’s shout at him to knock it off. 

“Good night, Ace.” 

MC turned to their side to face him and closed their eyes tight in hopes that their friend would take the hint and leave; they smiled slightly to themselves when they felt the weight of his body leave the bed but frowned deeply when they felt a gust of cold hit them. They opened their eyes to find his staring back at them, only a few spare inches between them.  

“Fine, if you won’t let me into your dorm, then let me into your bed!” 

They groaned when he wiggled an arm underneath them and pulled himself even closer; Ace held them close and with a devilish grin, nuzzled his nose against their cheek even as they tried to turn their face away. MC hissed each time the lock of his collar rammed into them. He could almost feel the heat of their blush traveling up their face as he continued getting as close as he could to them, keeping an arm around them to hold his position; they didn’t attempt to free themselves, just drew their eyebrows together and frowned even deeper. 

“You’re already in my bed!” They lightly kicked his shin. “Out.” 

“Okay, then let me into your bed every night.” 

MC was surely paying attention now as it was Ace’s turn to start trying to fight off a blush; unfortunately for him, the sliver of moonlight was showing all his cards. He turned his face away from them and tried his hardest to look annoyed, but it was difficult to turn away as the collar around his neck was pretty bulky.  

It was best to come clean, right? Ace battled with his pride, his confidence, and his now flustered and racing heart. He stammered a bit but tried his best to hold his head up high despite his limited movement and looked down his nose at MC, who was still only inches away from his own face. 

“Well, I mean—yeah. I said what I said. Maybe I want to crawl into your bed every night. It’d be a lot easier to do if you just let me move into your dorm.” 

“Ace--” 

“Look, I came to see you ‘cause I was upset, yeah—but I really like when you comfort me. You’re still so nice under that irritating dismissiveness, and you’re always ready to help me out but still put me in my place. I think you’re kind of dumb but, you know, in a cute way, and I just—arhg!”  

Ace wiped his face with his free hand as though he could wipe off his embarrassment or the crimson colour off of his skin; he felt like the shadows in the room were laughing at him. He opened his eyes back up to find MC’s staring back at him, an unreadable emotion pooling within them. 

“So... how ‘bout now? Will you let me into your dorm?” 

The two of them sat in silence for a bit, the room heavy with emotion; Ace was just thankful Grim was asleep and missed his confession or he’d never hear the end of his embarrassment. He bit his tongue as MC blinked a few times, looking between his eyes and scanning his face for any hint of him messing with them—he knew that look anywhere. He stared at them a bit harder, trying to silently indicate the authenticity of his confession; his eyes started to wander down to their lips, however, and found himself swallowing hard before subconsciously leaning in slowly to bridge the small gap between the two of them. 

“No.” MC pushed his face away gently, playfully. 

Ace groaned and grabbed them by the wrist, moving their hand and returning his face to his previous spot. 

“What do you mean no--” 

“No, you can’t transfer to my dorm. It’s impossible.” 

“Oh, so the no wasn’t for the kiss?” His devilish grin was evident in his voice. His face was pushed away again after another attempt to lean in; he met this action with a repeat of his groan and moving MC’s hand. 

“What you can do, besides move into my dorm, is go apologize to Riddle tomorrow.” 

“Uhg.” 

“I’ll go with you, it’ll be fine.” 

MC brushed a rogue strand of hair out of Ace’s face, softly caressing his cheek a moment before intertwining their fingers with his and placing their hands in the space between their faces. 

“We can go on a date once you get that annoying collar off. Then, you can kiss me the right way.” 

Ace’s eyes went wide before growing hooded, a genuine, loving smile accompanying his gaze on the person in front of him. He knew it was the right choice to come seek comfort in their loving arms, and he was glad he had pushed himself to annoy them; the blanket downstairs wasn’t even a fraction as warm as he was enveloped in the feelings between the two of them, and the couch was certainly not as soft and inviting.  

So, he couldn’t move into their dorm, but he could move into their heart—as cliché as he was to admit it. Ace was thankful for a friend like the Prefect, and even more thankful for a lover like MC. His soft gaze turned back into the person in front of him, watching as they had slowly started to drift back to sleep; Ace knew he shouldn’t open his mouth, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“Hey,” he whispered. “You never answered about that ‘in your bed every night’ thing. That still on?” 

“Shut up, Ace.”