#it's messier than usual but i still hope yall like it :)

[soosoosoup]

scrapped john dory and branch

[wellgoslowly]

fic idea: Lockwood comes back early from a job, George and Lucy are out doing whatever so the reader takes this as an opportunity to dance in their underwear (called pants in England) and an oversized button up (which looks shockingly similar to one that disappeared from lockwood’s laundry a while back) while blasting music and singing along. But when she finally notices Lockwood standing at the kitchen door, she goes over and grabs his hands and pulls him into the kitchen to dance with her.

NEARLY WITCHES (EVER SINCE WE MET)

a/n: I am so sorry this took so long to get out- it's been a hectic couple of weeks. however!! for some reason I listened to vices and virtues last night and decided to write and I've been in a frenzy ever since. I hope you enjoy!! also this is my first ×reader so if it's not great, that's why. however, I'm personally really proud of it :))

pairing: anthony lockwood × fem!reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: none :)

tags: @ettadear (ty for the request!!) @givemea-dam-break @slag-for-the-fetch @ikeasupremacy @oblivious-idiot (yall seemed interested hehe)

“here I am, composing a burlesque, out of where they rest their necks…”

It was a quiet day at 35 Portland Row. Lockwood, Lucy and George were all out on a case (you had gotten injured the week before so Lockwood was putting you on time out for the time being while you healed), so you took the opportunity to tidy up the kitchen, which was growing messier and increasingly in need of care as the days went on. it wasn't as if the four of you were unaware of how dirty the house had been getting- you simply just didn't have enough time to address it. You rather liked Lucy's idea if getting an assistant.

“sunken in their splintered cradles, and ramshackle heads, they asked for it…"

Surprisingly, you didn't hate being on the Lockwood equivalent for house arrest. Ok, yes, you itched to get your rapier back into your hand and go back out on cases, but it was also really nice to just have a break once in a while. At a small agency like Lockwood and Co, as much as you loved it, breaks didn't come very often.

Besides, you knew that the second that the trio came home and saw your work in the kitchen, they would be beyond grateful. You didn't do it for the praise, but you knew precisely the type of exhaustion they were feeling and wanted to do something to lessen their stress, even if it was something as simple as washing the dishes.

“You have set your heart on haunting me forever from the start, it's never silent…”

You found you did your best cleaning while you were listening to music, resulting in you singing along to the music blasting out of your speaker, deciding not to worry about any possible noise complaints.

“ever since we met, I only shoot up with your perfume… it's the only thing that makes me feel as good as you do…”

it was because of your loud music that you didn't realize that Anthony Lockwood, your employer and one of your best friends, had returned earlier than expected and was now standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking at you with wide eyes and slightly parted lips.

You turned around as you danced to the music, songs from an album that you knew Lockwood loved filling the air. It was then that you noticed Lockwood standing behind you, the shock on his face mixing with another emotion you couldn't name.

You greet him with a smile and a soft “Hey, Lockwood”, but he doesn't respond- he just stares at you. It takes you a second to realize why- but when you finally understand, you feel your body warming in embarrassment.

You were wearing nothing but undergarments and a shirt- one of Lockwood's button-ups that you had stolen a while ago.

Thankfully, the shirt fell down to your mid- thigh, covering anything that might’ve made your situation worse had it been a little shorter. Still, you couldn't prevent the warmth that filled you as Lockwood took in your choice of outfit, eyes darker and more intense than usual.

“Hi.” He spoke in a whisper, as if he needed to save his energy to survey you. You suppressed a shiver at his tone, and his eyes flitted up to meet yours.

You were burning. You were on fire and Lockwood was the one who had lit the match. You had known your feelings for Lockwood for a while- you had been attracted to him ever since he had practically begged you to quit your business as a freelancer and join his scrappy little agency. You had convinced yourself that there was no way he could feel the same- that his lingering glances and flirting were just characteristics of his charming personality. But now, as he stared at you with something in his eyes that made your hands shake, you weren't so sure.

Either way, you needed to break this trance. It was dangerous, and you could feel yourself slipping away into the “what ifs” that always seemed to fill your mind whenever Lockwood was around.

“Dance with me?” You whispered, giving him your best “I Am Totally Not Attracted To You And I Am Totally Not Wearing Your Shirt” smile. You prayed that it worked.

“What?” Lockwood asked, breaking out of his trance. You held out your right hand as the song finished its second verse. “I know you love this album. Dance with me?” And then Lockwood was smiling and damn, if that didn't do something to your resolve. “If you insist.”

You don't know what you were expecting, but you certainly weren't expecting for Lockwood to grab your outstretched hand and pull you into his embrace.

You very obviously had never danced in this context before. Lockwood smiled, deciding to be the one to teach you. “Here. You put your hands,” He spoke, grabbing your wrists and gently guiding them to wrap around his neck. “… here.” Your breathing became more shallow as you felt the warm solidity of his body beneath your arms. “And I put my hands here.” He whispered. Your breath hitched as you felt his hands find their places holding your hips.

It was too much and not enough at the same time. You turn your head away from him, trying to allow yourself a moment to collect yourself and get your shit together. Lockwood didn't need to know that this was something you had imagined many times- getting to be this close to him, finding comfort on his arms after a long case or feeling his arms wrap around your waist from behind as you cooked breakfast.

“Is this ok?” Lockwood whispered, lessening his hold on your hips before taking his hands away entirely. Your head snapped back to look at him, willing him to please put his hands back. “Yeah, it's ok.” You whispered. You see the side of his mouth quirk up as he returns his hands back to where they were. And then the song was changing and he was pulling you in so your head rested on his chest and you were slow dancing.

“When the world gets too heavy, put it on my back, I'll be your levvy.”

You instantly recognized the song that began playing, and your face heated up even more, thinking about how many times you had thought about being this close to Lockwood while listening to this song.

“Where are Lucy and George?” You ask, trying to keep your voice calm despite the mass amounts of emotions that were plaguing your heart. “Took the source down to the furnaces and then to bring back food. They won't be back for a while.” Lockwood spoke softly, and you hummed in understanding.

“It was always you, falling for me. Now there's always time, calling for me.”

You stayed like this for a little while- his hands on your waist, your head against his chest, swaying softly to the song playing from your light green speaker. You found yourself wishing that you could stay like this forever, happily dancing with your best friend.

And then the song ended and Lockwood broke the spell. “Are you wearing my shirt?” Lockwood asked, his voice huskier than usual. You flushed bright red as you extracted your hands from around his neck, moving to back away but not being able to go far as Lockwood didn't realize your intentions and kept his hands on your hips.

“Uh, yeah.” You admitted, looking away from him out of embarrassment. “I forgot to do the wash and I realized this had gotten thrown into mine a while ago, so it was all I had to wear. I can return it as soon as I finish my laundry-” You were about to profusely apologize for taking his shirt, but within seconds you weren't able to say anything as Lockwood surged forward and pressed his lips to yours.

It was quick, chaste- fleeting and burning and gone far too soon for your liking. Lockwood was the one to end it, his eyes wide once more, but now filled with something like fear.

“I am so sorry. I don't know what came over me-” It was your turn to interrupt him, you decided, as you wrapped a hand around his tie and pulled him back down to kiss him again

His hands went back to your hips as you moved your right hand up to hold his jaw momentarily before slipping into his hair. He let out a low sound, something that sent your brain into a frenzy as he kissed you with increasing fervor, pressing you up against the kitchen counter.

You couldn't tell how long you stayed like that, limbs tangled together as you kissed like it was the last kiss you would ever have, but eventually you had to separate to breathe. You smiled as you took in the sight in front of you: Lockwood was standing there, staring at you, swollen lips and flushed cheeks and messed hair all indications of what you had just been doing. It was the most beautiful you had ever seen him look.

He smiled back at you. “You don't have to give me my shirt back.” was the first thing he said, his voice raspy and way too attractive for his own good. “Do you like me wearing your shirt?” You asked, smiling. “Way too much.” He admitted before kissing you once more.

You lost time again- you practically melted into his arms. You were too caught up in kissing Lockwood- finally- to realize that Lucy and George had returned home until they appeared in the kitchen.

“Finally!!” George yelled, startling you and Lockwood.

“Wait- why aren't you wearing trousers?? Please don't tell me you're having sex on the counter!” You laughed into Lockwood's chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

Much later, after you all had said goodnight to one another, you found yourself creeping downstairs and into Lockwood's room and asking him if he wanted to dance some more, a smile lighting up your face as he said “yes, of course.”

ty for reading!!! I will be writing more requests now that I have time and motivation lol. also in case u were wondering, the two songs referenced in here are nearly witches (ever since we met) and always by panic! at the disco!!! I hate brendan urie but vices and virtues is such a good album.

anywho I hope yall enjoyed!!!

[zensations35]

A Working Cold

Okay, yall voted for it. Here it is. A super indulgent Leo fic. He caretakes Ren and Sasha here, so those two both sneeze as well. Leo gets sick pretty fast in this fic (because I have no self control or concept of time). There's also some kinda heavy family stuff and I touch on some of Leo's trouble with being trans. Hope yall enjoy! I know I did ^_^

Leo

I tap the door, listening for movement within. “Ren?”

“HzzTXN!”

Yep, he’s awake. I read once that you can’t sneeze in your sleep. What a weird thing to Google.

I push the door open, squinting into the dim room. The windows are covered with blackout curtains but they’re sloppily installed. Like Ren just half-assed it in an attempt to get rid of as much sunlight as possible. 

He was probably drunk when he did it.

I balance the bowl of soup I made on a bamboo tray--one of a set of five I got him as a housewarming gift. Apartment warming? Moving in gift!

Ren is in bed, covered in what looks like three separate blankets, two on top of him and one twisted up under his head and around his arm.

“Ren,” I murmur as I park my rear on the edge of the bed. When I sit, a few balled tissues flutter to the floor, joining a pile of them under Ren’s outstretched hand.

“Mmmh,” he shifts, burying his head deeper into the blanket-pillow.

“Come on, you need to eat,”I say. “It’s that bean soup you like!”

That gets his attention. He actually lifts his head and looks at me. When I see his face, it’s hard not to cringe. Ren’s fever broke but he’s clearly still sick. He looks both dried up and too wet at the same time. His eyes are watery but his lips are feathered with chapped skin. 

“Does it have rutabaga substituted for potatoes?” he asks, voice gravelly, like apple seeds in his throat. Somehow his voice sounds sexier than normal?? Hah. What kind of people are sexier when they’re sick?

I nod, “It sure does.” I offer him the bowl.

Ren pulls it toward him, setting it on the bed, nestled right under his cheek. He doesn’t even attempt to sit up as he brings a spoonful sideways to his mouth. It spills and he growls.

“You’re going to have to sit up.”

He huffs, “Then I do not want to eat at the moment.” He shoves the bowl next to his bed and rolls over.

I sigh. “Ren, come on…”

His deltoids flex and he buries his face into the blanket, “Hwf’MMMKSCh!!” His arm swings out, patting the mattress, fumbling blindly. I scoot the tissue box into his hand and he palms one. He blows his nose thickly but it only leads to another, “HR-SCHZZZ!!” He groans and flops back onto the bed, facing away from me.

He’s getting better, but it’s slow-going. If he would just stop drinking.

I’m not feeling so hot myself to be honest. I can feel a constant rawness to my throat, always on the edge of a cough or a sneeze. I bat one away, a quick nose scrub. Subtle, in case Ren sees. I don’t want him getting worried and sending me home. 

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I slip it out and see messages from Cassie.

Sigh. Not again.

I really wish I could just ignore her. I mean, I moved here to escape my family. But I can’t. She holds too much over me. At least, for now. 

“C’mon, Ren,” I nudge the bowl of soup. “Eat. It’ll help.”

“There is no helping me.”

Oh my gods what a drama queen.

I plant a soft kiss on his brow and whisper, “Get some rest, then. I’ll be back.”

Ren blinks woozily. “Who messaged you?”

“Just a random notification,” I stand up.

“You are lying.”

“Got to sleep, Ren.”

I tug on my jacket and hurry to the door. I’m relieved to get outside because I really need to sneeze. 

I take a heaving breath, feeling it deepen my chest. “HgSHK! Aex-TGn!” The first two solidify the pressure in my sinuses and I slip, losing control with the final “H-EXSchh-ieu! Augh…” 

Whoa. I blink away tears. Gods, I sneeze a lot when I’m sick. And those were messier than usual. I can feel the congestion in my chest and coughing does little to clear it.

Press on. Things to do.

I get into my car and stare at my phone screen, willing myself to make the call.

I was hoping to get out from under my sister’s thumb with my modeling job. It’s hard to get gigs though. I used to be a pretty big name in modeling back in Italy. But I wanted to distance myself from that, and for the most part I have. But occasionally my contracts get wind of who I used to be. It either goes one of two ways: they want me to do more, or they dump me. 

I just got back from a job that went south because they wanted me to do a topless shoot, and, well…my surgery didn’t leave me without lingering marks. I plan to see someone about fixing that, but I haven’t gotten around to it.

It’s fucking cold in this car. I jam on the heat to chase away the chill creeping into my bones. I gear the car and drive a few blocks away, just in case Ren checks outside for me. I grab a napkin from the glovebox and blow my nose to get rid of any lingering sick voice. It chugs out of me, less clear than normal. Wonderful.

Then I facetime Cassie.

She answers, her face a mirror of mine--or as close as possible.

“Hey Cass.”

She sweeps her rich brown bangs from her eyes. Her hair is similar to my length. That’s one thing I didn’t feel the need to change. I love ponytails and man buns.

Cassie’s lips press into a firm line. “Leo,” my name jangles around in her mouth. “How are you?”

“Surviving. What’s up?”

“Come now,” she flickers a hand, “No details?”

“Do you actually care?”

Her lips twist. I can’t tell what the answer is, nor why she doesn’t want to admit it. 

I pinch the bridge of my nose, a sign of annoyance and also a good cover for chasing away a sneeze. “What do you need?”

She seems to relax a bit. Down to business. Cassie got that from Mom--neither of them care for niceties.

“I need you to call Mom.”

I stiffen. “Why?”

“I…made a mistake. She’s threatening to cut me off.”

“What?” The word bursts from me. “What did you do?”

“It’s not as bad as--” she bites off the sentence and chews. “I just…trusted the wrong person.”

“Cass…”

“I got swindled by some guy. We met a week ago. I invested in his company. He was persuasive.”

“So you slept with him?”

“Don’t slut shame me, Leo.”

“Sorry,” I say. And I mean it. A gut reaction from years of being taught that chastity matters. “How much did you lose?”

“Enough to upset Mom. Enough to make her hit pause on my allowance.”

“So that means…”

“I won’t be able to send you money this month, unless you fix this.”

Of course. I have to fix it. Cassie can’t be bothered to figure it out for herself. Then again, I’m no better, still unable to figure out how to live within my means. 

“Alright, I’ll call.”

“Do it tonight. Tell her you advised me to make the investments. Maybe the guy was a friend of yours--”

“I’ll handle it, Cass.”

She nods. “Okay.”

Yep. As expected: No “thank you”. 

She stares at me, a flicker of something akin to pity in her gold-flecked eyes. “You don’t even look like me anymore.”

I snort, “You miss looking at yourself every time we spoke?”

“We got along once.”

“Yep.”

Cassie frowns. She’s probably reminiscing about ages gone when our mom would dress us in matching outfits and brag about being able to tell us apart. 

“I gotta go, Cass.”

Her lips hover apart, looking on the edge of speaking. She sips a small breath, almost a catch. “I..I’m sorry, Leo.”

“Wow, an actual Cass apology.”

Her face hardens. “You know what, nevermind. Bye.” She ends the call and I slump into myself. I toss the phone angrily onto the passenger seat. Fuck her. I really need to get my shit together. Maybe get another job on the side. 

I press my palm into my nose, scrunching it hard as a shudder runs through me. “Hhh-GSHH!” Eugh. I grab a napkin and wipe my hand before heading to Sasha’s. I’ll call Mom later.

When I pull up to Sasha’s I feel giddy. I haven’t been to Sasha’s new place yet. I have an open invitation though. The entrance leads directly into the open-plan kitchen on the right and living room on the left. Down the hall, her bedroom is on the left. The door is open and even from here, I can feel sickness in the air--a swell of almost humidity. It envelops me as I enter the dim room. She must have a headache too.

I take stock of her room . I can’t help it. Her barely-there desk is sheeted with papers--half drawings, notes, a book called Juliet Takes A Breath. Her walls are lined with posters of beautiful women, artwork from indie creators she’s met from fairs and galleries. On her bed are creased papers with sloppy sketches, cluttered with balled up tissues. A bottle of dayquil lazes against her pillow.

I let my fingers wander along a shelf, mindlessly touching the items--the waxy string of a dreamcatcher still in progress, the fat nubs of a succulent. 

She lays piteously on the bed, her hair pulled back and wrapped in a cloth with little ketchup bottles on it. Her yellow tank top clings to her skin, the grooves of her shoulder blades showing through it. She’s half covered with an anime print blanket--one leg in, one leg out.

I fell for Ren shortly after we met, but it’s always been a pining love. Almost forbidden, both of us lost in our power struggle of being the least ‘needy’ person. Our relationship is always in flux. Even when I’m fucking him, I'm thinking “Yeah but what does this mean??” 

It’s exhausting as hell. 

But Sasha…she’s like sunshine during a light drizzle. Where Ren twists my heart, Sasha stretches it. I feel like a goofy teen around her. I want to hold her hand, watch her eat strawberries, make her a mix tape. Or I guess, nowadays, a Spotify playlist? That doesn’t sound as romantic.

“Sasha…” I whisper over her prone form. 

“Hnggg…” I can hear thick congestion in her voice. Ugh. That’s going to be me soon. Not looking forward to that.

“Hey,” I keep my voice cool and soothing, gliding onto her mattress and rubbing her bare shoulder. “I don’t want to bother you, but you need to eat.” I unwrap the cylinder of liquid. “I brought bean soup.”

She pushes herself up, propped on her elbows. Her face turns a millimeter and she pushes thick words out.

“Is…hhh…is it…” her nostrils scrunch, forming a V in the middle of her face. She jerks her head, smothering her cheeks in her pillow. Her body heaves under my fingers, “Hih-ESSHHHH! ESHHH!!” a snarl escapes her lips and a fist slams into the bed. “Dammit!” she lets out a staccato of angry coughs.

I can’t for the life of me understand why she’s so mad. But maybe I’d be if I were this sick. 

She stuffs her splotchy face into a napkin, give it a hearty blow. She moans.

“Hang in there,” I say.

“Ugh,” she drinks in a liquid sniff. She eyes the soup. “Is it Rend’s beand soup?” The n’s sound more like d’s and the p pops her lips.

“It is.”

“With, *snf*, rudabadgha--”

“Instead of potatoes, yes,” I finish for her.

“Mmmb…” she seems to sink back into the mattress, a soft sigh fluttering through her lips. “I love thad soup.”

“Well, I’m leaving you some.” I set the warm soup on her bedside table and give Bailey a head scratch. “Don’t eat her soup, Bailey. Come on, I’ll make you some eggs.”

Bailey tumbles down, her bulk bumping into me with an “oof!” She trots alongside me and I head into the kitchen to scramble some eggs. 

I make sure they’re cool before scraping them into her bowl. I added a little cheese. I can’t help spoiling her a bit, especially when I know she’s worked up about Sasha being sick. I pat her on the head.

“Don’t worry, baby. She’ll be better soon.”

When she’s done, she rewards me with a sloppy kiss, her oil-slicked tongue glazing my chin. I chuckle, a small gust of air slipping through my nose. It’s enough to ignite the bud of an itch, pulling a deeper gasp from me. I snap to the side, my arm flying up to cover, “Hieh-EXSH’TUE!” My forearm bumps my nose, leaving it feeling bruised. “Egkh…”

“Leo?” I hear Sasha’s weak, raspy call.

“All good!” I holler back, feeling my throat close on a hitch. “Aih-HX-NG!!” I pinch that one tightly between my lips, my lungs revolting in the form of dry coughs. But Sasha doesn’t call me again.

I should leave before I start having fits. The further along my cold gets, the more I’ll sneeze. 

I grab my bag and wrap myself in a wool coat, fussing with it as I bite the bag to hold it so I can get my arms into the sleeves. I’m stepping outside, my foot hooking the door when I slam right into a warm body.

We both oof! and my head whips up, meeting her eyes. 

“Skye?” the bag falls from my lips when I speak. She looks terrified, like a deer in headlights. I slide to the side, cautiously, as if moving too fast will spook her. 

She looks physically the same--thick thighs wrapped in sporty jeans, a billowy chocolate blouse showing off ample cleavage. Her hair cascades down her back and shoulders in a waterfall of golden sunlight. 

But her face is threaded with emotion, the weight of burdens stacked upon burdens. She dusted light makeup on--a rose lipstick, touch up cream.

She doesn’t move. I wait a few beats, watching her chest rise and fall. 

“Sasha’s sick,” I say, “I’m sure she’d feel better seeing you.”

Her eyes bulge as if I told her a tiger awaits her inside.

“Or not…”

She wets her lips and breaks eye contact. She bends to pick up my bag. I take it from her with a wary, “Thanks…”

“Is that your bean soup?” she asks, her voice sounding brittle as dried bark. 

“Yeah.”

“With rutabagas instead of potatoes?”

“Yeah,” I laugh. “Seriously, you should see her. You’ll feel better. She misses you.” 

Skye reaches for the knob, resting tentative fingers on the brass. The door is cracked enough to hear the distant, wrenching sound of Sasha’s sneeze tumbling out of the door. 

Skye stills, her lips pressing firmly together like a rose-colored bud. She pulls the door closed and backs away.

“I can’t,” her voice cracks. “I just can’t.”

I feel the pull of her grief, her knotted emotions. I wonder if I should reach out. 

As if there’s any point dwelling on it. Of course I am. 

“It’s okay if you’re not ready. Really.” I gesture to the parking lot, “Would you rather…grab lunch?”

Skye cocks her head at me.

I hold up my hands, “I swear, no guilt talk. Nothing but lunch.”

Her mouth is the size of a penny as she contemplates. Then, a nod. “Sure. Lunch.” She tucks hair behind her ear. “I like bread.”

“Bread?”

“Yes. Take me anywhere with bread.”

I laugh. “You got it.”

I’m Italian. Yes, actual Italian. My mother lives in Italy. My twin sister and I moved to America for…opportunities. I actually moved to get away from my family and Cassie followed me. 

But, I know Italian food. I make sure to take Skye to a good Italian place, not just a fancy pizza parlor. One that has orgasmic garlic bread.

I snag a mask from my bag. I know I’m getting sick, and I always have one with me to go out to public places when I’m feeling ill. Skye gives me a weird look when I put it on. 

We order food--or I do. Skye follows my lead. We titter about the cold weather, which Texans can really drone on about. My gods, can you believe that tiny layer of ice we got that shut down half the state! It fills the time we wait for food.

Eating gives us an excuse to be silent. Skye makes eating bread look effortless--only picking off airy chunks at a time and popping them in her mouth, yet eating half a dozen slices in minutes.

I get it. I know what it’s like to hide guilty pleasures for fear of judgment.  I want to tell her I don’t judge her for eating what she wants but it would sound patronizing coming out of nowhere.

“Ugh,” I massage my temple. A headache is building. That cloudy feeling fogs my face, I feel a sneeze creeping up. It feels like my nose is dizzy. 

I rub knuckles under my nose, hoping my sniffles catch any seepage. “Hg’NjK!” 

“Leo?” Skye’s normally husky voice is soft and shy. “Are you sick?”

I snort, brushing sweat from my brow, “Yeah, sorry. I won’t get too close or anything.”

“How long have you been sick? Was…” she swallows dryly. “Was it from Sasha?”

“Actually I got this from Ren. We both did.”

Her eyes flash. “Sasha? Got sick from…Ren?” she stares into the center of her plate like it’s going to reveal the secret of the garlic bread. 

“Yeah? Why?”

She blinks and shakes her head. She swipes angrily at her eye and I see the glassy fill of tears. 

“Skye, no,” I say, “They weren’t--it wasn’t like that. He was sick, I was out of town. I asked her to stay with him for a bit. They didn’t do anything.”

She looks away. “You don’t understand.”

I bite my lip. There's a lot I don't understand. 

The rest of the meal goes by awkwardly. I try to start conversations. Skye answers questions lethargically. A couple times she tries to dig at the Sasha/Ren thing. I shut it down. I know Sasha, I know Ren. They’re not doing what Skye thinks. Maybe she feels betrayed because Sasha isn’t ignoring Ren like she is? 

I don’t want to interrogate or lecture her. That’s not what I invited her out for. But it’s looking more and more like it was a bad idea.

The server comes over when we’re done and I put on my mask before I ask for the check. A sneeze chooses the perfect time to check into hotel nose. I pinch it through the mask and sniffle. 

Skye pulls out cash but I wave her away. “I got it.”

She thanks me but doesn’t meet my eyes. “I appreciate the lunch, Leo, but I need to head out. I can get an Uber.”

I look put-out but I’m not sure if she can tell because of the mask. “Okay, if you’re sure. I can drive you somewhere--”

“I’ll be fine. Thanks again.” She loops around toward the restroom just as the server returns.

And of course I have to sneeze again. I spider my fingers over my mask to catch the next jaw-wrenching, “Hiat-ishhh! He-iek-TSHuu!” 

“Bless you!” the server laughs. “Are you allergic to me?”

I chuckle and meet his eyes. Oh, he’s cute. I hope my spray hasn’t leaked through my mask. “Oh, no, I’m just feeling a bit off.” I gesture to the (hopefully not soaked) mask.

“Very thoughtful, thank you,” he hands me the check. “I hope you feel better!” 

I thank him back and tip him well. What’s the point of having this much disposable income if you don’t make a server’s day a bit better?

I sigh as I exit. I stretch out my back. It’s already starting to ache--a sure sign I’m getting sick. I feel bad about Skye, but that lunch was awkward. I get why she wants to go. Besides, I need to call Mom, and I’d rather do that before I can’t speak normally.

I’m back to my car, heat drizzling through the vents. 

I do not facetime her. She doesn’t want to see me and I don’t want to see her look at me with derision. 

“Hi mom.”

She addresses me with the wrong name. “I assume you are calling me about your sister.”

“Look,” I gear myself up, “I told Cass to give him the money. I knew the guy. He delt in legit business. I’m sorry. I had no idea he’d ghost her with the funds.”

“And that is the truth? She was duped by you and this ‘Con man’?”

I know she can tell I’m lying. I may be smooth, but this isn’t the first mistake I’ve called in for Cass. Mom can tell. But she will believe me because she wants to. Because she wants to cling to at least one daughter, and I am the perfect scapegoat.

“Very well,” she says. Crisp. Astute. “Have her call me. Tell her we can discuss repayment, and I will not discontinue her allowance.”

“Thanks Mom.”

She makes a disdainful sound. “I do not expect another call like this.”

Did she mean a call about money? About Cassie’s troublemaking? Or just a call from me in general? I’m afraid to ask. So, “Yes ma’am.”

“Mh. Good day, Leo.”

She hangs up and I slump forward, head resting on the steering wheel. Tears leak from my eyes and I hate that she can pull this much emotion out of me without actually insulting me. I hate that I’m still dependent on Cassie and through her, Mom. I hate that I still want to please her. Beg her to love me. Knowing she never will. 

A pathetic sob wraps my throat. I need to get home. Push through this. I wish I didn’t have to be alone though. 

Is it so much to fucking ask that my mother care about me?

A knock on the window makes me jump so hard, I bang my head on something. Skye stands at the car, peering in at me with clouds of worry puckering her soft dewy cheeks.

I grab a handful of napkins and press them to my face. I’m still visibly crying, fluids running over my face. I’m sure I look like hell.

When I roll down the window, her lips press together. “What happened?” she asks.

I let out an obviously fake laugh. “Nothing, I just--” I stop when I see her hooded gaze. Skye doesn’t appreciate me lying to her. I let my shoulders drop. “I just…had to call my mom.”

“Rough talk?”

“I was definitely not drunk enough for it.”

Skye clicks the back door open and slides in. “Let’s go get some booze, get wasted, and bitch about our families.”

I don’t normally get wasted. But with all the crap going on, I want to. Besides, Ren’s doing it every damn day. What would one bender possibly do?

We go to Spec's. I grab a decent tequila and a beer I've never heard of. Skye sticks with wine, as usual. Then we go.

I take Skye to my place. She seems less awed by my house than most of my other friends. When we get inside, she sticks to the shelves along the walls, eyes drinking in my taste in art. In decor. In random cute shit I find at craft fairs. She’s absorbing it all, seeing this new glimpse of me--just as I had with Sasha.

“Did you grow up with money?” I ask.

Skye laughs. “Why? Because I’m not dropping my jaw or my panties upon seeing your huge mansion?"

I snort. “No, just…well, yeah.”

Skye’s fingers trail over a clay wolf. “I did grow up well off. My mom wants me to finish school and get the same degree as her. Do what she did. Take over her business.”

“And you don’t want to.”

She flashes me a smirk over her shoulder. “Not even a little bit.”

“Don’t stray from the path,” I let the sarcasm seep into my tone. “You’ll become a problem child.”

“Too late.”

I prep our drinks, grabbing a cocktail for me in a glass goblet and wine for Skye. I’m rounding the corner to the sitting room, but I barely get a step inside when the sharp ping of an incoming sneeze lights up my face--like a text: OTW! 

I feel my nostrils widen preemptively and I bite down to stretch the itch, hoping to get a little further so I can set down the drinks before I--

“Hhiegh--S-Skhhh--” I’m leaking tears, my teeth chitting together. “I’m gonna drop thahhh--I’b godda drop thehhh-ih!” I manage to get the glasses into Skye’s hands before my entire face revolts, firing sneezes out of me as revenge for stalling their great entrance. 

“Hieg-SHHHK! EX’SHH-iehhh--HG-Eshhh-ieuu! Eughh…” 

I hear the glasses thunk down on the table. I cast bleary eyes to Skye. Her face is a blank mask. She stares at me like she’s mad. Did I spill wine on her blouse? That would suck--it’s a really nice blouse.

“Sorry,” I say, hoping that covers everything I could have done. She just sits and curls herself up, sipping her wine. Okay.

I’m excited to try the new beer from this place. It’s citrusy and a bit sharp. When I sip it, it starbursts in my mouth, a surprise cough bubbling it into my nose. It stings. 

I slam out a few curse words before doubling over into my elbow, “Hg’dsh! Tsh-IEHhh…ehh…” Ughhh, it’s becoming exhausting to sneeze. I feel my energy drain with each one. 

Skye gulps the rest of her glass and quickly pours another. Damn, she’s thirsty.

 I focus on the lingering itch just above my nostrils. It keeps gliding up and down inside my nose, like tiny fibers dusting the edge of my…

“Hgk…” I squeeze my eyes shut and rub, palm chasing circles around my nose. But it won’t come. “Hih-eh!” another peak and then I sag into a sigh.

“False start?” Skye says.

“Huh? Is that what they’re called?”

“Uh…” she flushes pink and takes a gulp of her drink.

“O-kay, well this ‘false start’ keeps happening. And it’s getting annoying.” I take another scrub at my nose.

Skye sidles closer to me. “Hm.” She looks glazed. I realize the wine bottle is almost gone. 

“There’s something you can do…”

I unscrunch my nose. “What? To sneeze?”

She nods, a strained hum escaping her lips, like an untuned violin. “Look into the light.”

Interesting. “Where did you hear that?”

She coughs, “Google.”

Hah, she recently researched sneezing facts too? What are the odds?

I do what she advised though. I peer into the sunlight clawing through the window. It works almost instantly. 

“Wh-hoa--XXST’NN! Holy--Hiex-TShhIEU!” I catch them both in my hands and use my fingers to sweep the lingering itch away. “Sorry,” I sniff, “I can’t believe that worked!” I wipe my hands on my pants. “Gross.”

She titters a single giggle. “I don’t think you’re gross.” She’s giving me a look I know well, but not one I’m used to seeing from Skye. The heat filling her eyes looks foreign to me.

Is she…flirting with me?? I feel my throat close over a cough. I strangle the words out, hoping they sound confident. 

“Skye…is this about Ren?”

Her cheeks dimple, lips pursed. She’s flushed with a mixture of alcohol and embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “You don’t deserve that. I--I suck.”

I place a hand on her arm. “I get it, Skye. I’ve done worse.”

She eyes me with suspicion. “You? No way.”

I laugh, “You have no idea the stupid, asinine shit I’ve done.” I say. As if to prove it, I follow up with the question. “Skye, why…”

“Am I avoiding everyone?” her lips are dark, wine-stained, pursed into a determined puff. She sighs and it feathers down her shoulders. “I don’t want anyone to tell me what to do.”

My brow crinkles.

“Like,” she fidgets with a loose string on her sweater, “my friends will all have opinions on what happened. Literally everyone I know also knows Ren. I don’t want to talk about it--at all. I don’t want anyone’s thoughts in my head but my own.”

That is a very Skye response. And I guess it makes some sense, but I wish there were another way. I’ll respect her. I definitely won’t give my two cents. 

“So,” I pick up my drink, “What’s it like at your mom’s?”

“Sasha told you where I was?”

“Or I assumed because of our earlier convo.”

“Hm,” she ticks her lips up, “Good save.” She tucks a leg under her and pulls the other up so she can rest her chin on her knee. Skye has a large frame but she is quite flexible. 

“Well, I have a temp job at a Game’s Workshop. Mom’s not happy about that.”

“I bet not.”

“I’m paying rent though, so she’s not making demands. Just lecturing me every other day about how my life will never get any better and that I’ll be poor and destitute forever. And it won’t be her fault because she gave me ‘every opportunity’.”

“Meaning, opportunities to take over her business.”

“Yep.”

I lean back and take a sip. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

“Well,” she shrugs.

“Does she know why you came back?”

Skye takes a swallow of wine. “Yeah. She’s…pretty much the reason I don’t want to hear anyone else ‘on my side’ or otherwise.”

I feel my insides ice. “What did she say?”

Skye lifts her other leg and tucks it under her chin too, wrapping her arms around them. “She said he’s an addict who…” her voice cracks, “deserves what’s coming to him. That I should call the police and have him locked up to ‘straighten him out’.”

“Jesus fuck.”

“Yeah,” she rights herself and rubs her pant legs. “I’m…getting better at ignoring her.”

We sit in a meditative silence for a moment, sipping. But I can’t leave it alone.

“If you don’t want to hear any more or talk about it, why were you at Sasha’s?”

Skye sniffles. “I miss her. So much.” She shakes her head. “I don’t really know what I’m doing. Just trying not to drown.”

“I think we’re all in some form of mourning.”

“Is--” she pops her lips closed. Looks down.

I don’t push. I already feel bad for how far I’ve dug. A small silence creeps over us, making my neck prickle. 

Skye swirls her glass, wine looping around the bowl as her voice lilts into a song: “Let me go, Master I hate you so…”

“How can I sleep my nights when my whole being cries…” I say the next lyrics with more gusto than she did. 

Sonata Artica. Wolf and Raven. 

The song harkens me back to the time we went to a power metal concert together. Ren and Sasha tolerate my wild music. Skye gets it. 

She smiles at me, and it’s easy. Comfortable. I feel the earlier tension lift, and it’s like before. Before the breakup. 

We chat a bit more and then I put on a movie. It’s one we’ve seen a million times with Sasha and Ren: The Gamers, Dorkness Rising. A fucking classic.

Skye falls asleep during the movie. I’m kind of grateful because I’m exhausted. I feel in a stupor, the alcohol and illness swelling around me like the heedy grasp of an ocean wave. I can practically feel the internal gunfire of my immune system at war.

I cover Skye with a fuzzy blanket and head to bed. My body barely hits the mattress before I zonk out.

The next morning, I can’t breathe through my nose. Already? Ugh. My face is playing a drumbeat with my sinuses. I feel swollen, clogged. I honestly prefer my sneezing fits to this.  

Skye’s still asleep. I’d love a shower. The steam would break up my congestion and chase away this chill.

Ugh. I can’t resist. I sneak into the bathroom and throw on the hot water.

The shower feels great. Halfway through, my nose clears. Just snnnkk--suddenly the pressure vanishes and I can breathe. But that comes with it’s own problems in the form of an intense fit.

“HI-D’shh-ikh! Hiek-NGSHH!!” They're big too. Spine-bending harsh. “Kt’IESHH!! HNGSHH-ieu!!” I find myself stumbling from the weight of them, bold and harsh and so wet I can’t tell the difference between my spray and the rain from the showerhead.

I feel better though. I step out and wrap myself in a fluffy pink towel. Yeah, trans guys can like pink. Eat shit, gender stereotypes. I’m busting up two at once.

As I’m exiting the bathroom, squishing down another fit with my fist grinding my nose, I bump into Skye. 

“Oh, sorr--” I stammer at the look on her face. She’s wide-eyed, mouth agape, as if she caught me doing something obscene. 

Now, I know I look good. I exercise. I eat healthy. I take care of my skin. But I don’t look that good. Jaw-dropping good. I am sick after all, and I feel extra goopy. And a little…”Hhh…” itchy.

Before I can speak, I feel my lower lip shiver, and I know I have that dopey look on my face. You know the one--right before a sneeze. And my face just fucking…lingers like that, because I can’t…”Hhh-!” seem “ehhggh…” to fucking “ihhhhh-h-h!” sneeze!

I swat at my nose. I feel my towel slip down below my collarbone and I snag it quickly. I faintly hear Skye say something like “Jesus fucking--” but at that moment the sneeze peaks and I finally “HhhgSHKK!” Get “Hd’TSHH-ekg…” Relief. “Ah-Hshhh-IEU!!” 

I feel dizzy. I blink blearily at Skye who is bright pink in the face and neck, her fingers smushed against her round cheeks like she just witnessed a horror show.

“Oh!” she squeaks and spins to scurry off into the other room.

Fuck. Did she see my scars? Did she put two and two together? Did I just royally freak her out??

Heat crawls up my chest, my neck. I bustle myself into my bedroom, intending to get dressed, but when I approach my dresser, I just…can’t. A fugue of depression and fatigue latches onto me. My face throbs and a raw, ratty cough snickers through me.

Gods, what a miserable fucking day.

I flop onto my bed, still naked and wrap myself in the cool TARDIS blue sheets. It feels so good. I could lay here all fucking day. Clean, safe, cozy…

Before I know it, I'm weeping. Silent but (sloppy). Coughing and sneezing welly and forcefully as I try to reign in my body wrenching sobs to keep them silent. 

I exhaust myself, head dizzy and foggy, like I'm drifting in congestive clouds. My eyelids feel heavy, (lashes wet quote). I'm so fucking tired. 

I wake up feeling like my head is surrounded by cotton. I don’t know what time it is. But there’s a warm bowl of my soup on my bedside table, paired with aspirin and orange juice. A scrawled note is next to them.

Leo,

Get better. I mean it. Text me soon. “I was never meant to lead but to follow. We are like double shining shooting star! Unheard of things in earthly radar!!”

-S

Heh. Excalion. The Wingman. I’m surprised she’s heard that song.

She didn’t ditch me. If she knows my secret, she’s obviously okay with it. That relaxes me. I grab my phone from my desk and text back: “I could speed up and soar too high! A dying star would light the sky!”

I can’t blame her for leaving. I wasn’t necessarily guest-friendly today. Still, I hope I see her again soon. I hope we all do.

Leo's Bean Soup Recipe:

1 large Ham bone (ham meat optional)

2 Rutabaga (instead of potatoes)

1 onion (yellow or white)

1 pkg baby bella mushrooms (sliced)

12 bean soup (1 pkg)

Garlic  (3-5 cloves)

Onion powder

Cumin

Rosemary

Salt/Pepper

Fill crockpot with water. Slice up the rutabagas into cubes, dice the onion, slice the mushrooms into thirds, dice the garlic. Throw everything into the crockpot and fill with water. Add seasonings to taste. Cook for 6 hours. Shred the ham meat if used, and then enjoy with your sick friends.

[ransprang]

Congratulations on a 100 followers!! Love yall so much ♥

If 6 is not already taken for Viktor can I have it please?

Once again yall are doing great! Looking forward to more content 😊

aww thank you, you're so sweet <3

4 different people asked for Viktor with this prompt. We hope we delivered up to standard lol. Enjoy!

100 follower event~ N/SFW

Viktor x reader: Trapped in the closet

You were the Janitor of the Piltover laboratory. You were in charge of cleaning the boys messes when they got too dirty while doing their science. One day when you're relaxing before your evening shift and Viktor rushes into your office looking panicked. He asks "Y/n where do you keep the brooms?" He looks panicked and frazzled, his hair messier than usual. You look down and notice he is in his underwear with his 8 inch cock securely packed inside. You lick your lips. His skin is it's usual clammy and pale color except for the strange markings covering his body. He's panting after having walked the 10 metres between the labs and your office.

"Yeah why do you need a broom?" you ask. Viktor looks at you fearfully. "Viktor, what did you spill?" You ask calmly. Viktor sags his shoulder and sighs. "Follow me, y/n." You get up with trepidation in your heart and walk with him down to the labs.

When you enter you see ashes scattered across the floor. You look up at Viktor quizzically. "Y/n, meet my assistant, Sky." Viktor wasn't making any sense. You knew Sky, she was a bright-eyed, sweet young girl who always waved to you when she saw you. You continued staring at the ashy floor until you spotted her trademark spectacles and her jacket lying in a heap. "Sky unfortunately had a little accident with the hexcore and-" his voice wobbled and he sounded like he was on the verge of tears. "Oh god." you murmured. "I'll get the dustpan," you told him.

Taking him by hand you lead him to the broom closet. Inside you start looking for an appropriately sized broom for the job. You hear a clicking sound behind you. Turning around you see that Viktor accidentally knocked the doorstop away and the door's autolock kicked in. Viktor's eyes immediately brimmed with tears.

Seeing a man both mentally and physically so broken made your heart ache. You reached for him, holding him in your arms as he cried. You patted him reassuringly, holding back tears of your own. "Shh, it's all right," you murmured by his ear. "It'll be okay." A few minutes later, Viktor managed to collect himself and looked at you with watery eyes. "Thank you, y/n. I think I really needed that." You smiled back kindly, still feeling a bit raw. "Anytime, Viktor." You both sat down in the closet, facing each other, your legs entangled in the cramped space and Viktor's walking stick propped up against the wall behind him.

"You know, y/n, you're really important to me. Thank you for always being there." You feel your heart race, "Thanks, Viktor. I care a lot about you too." To pass the hours you both began talking about your lives, sharing the bits and pieces of gossip you had picked up around Piltover. Viktor was explaining his attempts at trying to prolong his life and how there were still tons of things he wanted to do. "So what would be at the top of your bucket list?" you ask.

Viktor blushes immediately. "Well- uh- that's a bit hard to say." "Hard?" "I've," he ducked his head in embarrassment, "I've never been with anyone... sexually before."

"Well, that's easily remedied," you grin mischievously and lean forward. "Y/n, you don't have to-" You silence him with a kiss which Viktor gratefully melts into.

You lean down with your head directly sticking onto his crotch. His clean white undies smelt of daisies and you felt his precum wet against the fabric. You slowly use your fingers to remove his cock from its place and take it out. His 8 inch cock sprung out and slapped you unexpectedly, Viktor was ashamed of what his penis had done to you, especially after what he had done to Sky. "I am sorry y/n that wasn't supposed to happen it usually does not do that," You chuckled "It is okay I like to get slapped by my daddy."

Viktor leans back against the wall of the janitor's closet and closes his eyes, as you start licking his length. You take his whole member down your throat and slurp hard. Viktor is moaning the pain of the day away. After several minutes as he nears his climax he clenches his thighs which send a shooting pain down his limp leg. He ignores it as the heavy feeling of climax builds in his lower abdomen. You notice this and increase your speed and suddenly he releases his hot white cum down your throat.

This entire experience was so intense, his weak legs started shivering from the experience. Viktor tucked his willy back in and looked at you as if you were a saviour. "Thank you y/n now I can strike at least one more thing off my bucket list", you wiped his cum off your mouth. "You inspire me to work hard everyday, I am glad I could make you feel like this today".

Suddenly the door opens, there is another Janitor standing outside. Your shift was over and the next person had to pick up the broom from the closet. He instantly backs away looking at the two sweaty people trapped inside. Viktor is relieved and tries standing up. You notice his legs are way to wobbly than usual due to the blowjob, his cane would not help him at all. Keeping this in mind you reach out for a steady broom from the back and hand it to him, Viktor returns you a thankful gaze. He then uses the broom as support to go back into the lab to clean up his mess.

your janitors,

admins san, sar & sav

[darlingletshurttonight]

The Piano

(okay yall i wrote something. this takes place after gaon finds out yohan is alive the second time. i had written this for myself but if this helps anybody get their daily dose of gahan, here it goes. its not proofread or anything so bear with me :’])

Gaon walked out of the mansion, feeling empty. Of course, he was happy that Yohan was alive, and he was with Elijah. He was relieved that he was able to keep his promise to Elijah. It was such a relief that they were together again.

Only, without him.

Yes, he had fucked up. Yes, he almost messed up the bleak relationship Yohan and Elijah had. It never struck him how easily he blended in with them. Okay, it did strike him, but he chose to ignore that it might not have been permanent. It probably never would be. He just... wished he could go back.

As he walked his usual path home, he noticed another sapling, growing in dire conditions on the side of the road. The leaves were yellowing, roots sticking out from the mud.

"Are you alone too?" he murmured, picking up the broken pot.

He held it close as he walked down the stairs, wondering when was the last time he felt so lost. Alone.

Maybe this was a good thing? Even if the thought of having nobody made him shiver in anxiety and pain. He couldn't even process how he lost so many people so quickly. He regretted some things, he appreciated some things. By the time he reached his front door, his sleeves were stained with the mud, and mind still hazy from everything that had happened. He was hoping the walk would clear his mind. But this wasn't something a walk would fix. He soon realized, this wasn't something that diving deep into work and losing the little sanity he had left would fix. He skipped meals, came home late and didn't talk to many people. His only company was his mind, which wasn't really helping.

He was sitting on the bench on his terrace with his dinner that consisted of a single coffee. He knew that he was getting a fresh start, he had to start living for himself now, there was no other way. He wondered how Elijah's rehabilitation was going, was she able to feel her legs? Was she able to stand, walk around? What was their relationship like now?

He felt a turmoil every time he even vaguely thought of Yohan. His emotions would fly through a spectrum. The more days went by, the more he got time and clarity to think, and the more his anger and acceptance clashed.

Was he not enough?

He was never a part of them, he was just visiting.

Did he not repent for his mistakes enough?

They needed time away to heal.

Did Yohan lose all the trust he had in him?

Elijah's treatment was a priority.

Had Yohan finally pushed him away?

He must have needed space from the person who didn't choose him many times.

Had Gaon, read it all wrong?

There was only so much he could do to convince himself that there was once a beautiful phase in his life - short, surrounded by pain and betrayal - but beautiful nonetheless. He now had to build meaningful relationships with people from the ground up, and people were exhausting. He was tired of losing.

Why was he the one always losing his people? As he watered his plants, he noticed the newest one not doing so well. He put in some fertilizer, adding some rocks at the bottom and placing it in a different location.

Maybe this is what he needed. Some reorganizing.

Gaon had known how to play the piano. His father's piano was still in the house, by the corner. He had learnt a few things from him. He wasn't the best, but Gaon liked learning it exactly the way his father played it. After their death, he never looked at it. He had managed to sideline its existence, simply because no one could play it the way he was used to.

It seemed old now, worn out. Gaon had cleaned it once in a while, just as any other furniture in the house. Not a single key had been played since the last few years, this was the first time Gaon was properly looking at it. He sat on the seat, immediately regretting it. He felt the keys softly, trying to gain some familiarity.

Nothing.

He pressed a key, another one, and another one. His pace got quicker and the sound messier as he desperately tried to make sense of the unfamiliarity,

He stood up in frustration, and gave up on the attempt. As he lay curled up in bed, the weight of not just the loneliness but the strength he didn't have to continue weighed on him. His tears fell, and he was at the rock bottom again.

He came home the next day, and stared at the piano from the kitchen table. Why he was so adamant on playing it, he didn't quite understand. He rummaged through some old boxes in his house, and found a music notebook, with some loose sheets inside. Placing them on the sill, he tried to read and play. He didn't care if he was playing it right, he just wanted to play. He wanted to feel something. He wanted to feel the comfort of sitting next to his father who played a love song for his wife, every time she came home from work. He wanted to feel that belonging.

He played after work everyday. He missed a lot of notes, he had to look up tutorials to understand things he had forgotten. He wasn't acing this, but it kept him going.

He chose to ignore the images of Yohan that crept in his mind as he played the piano. And then one day it didn't hurt so much to think about Yohan as he played. And the next day he deliberately thought of Yohan, not that he had to put in much effort for that. He imagined playing the piano for Yohan. He might never have Yohan again, but this was for him. For letting him choose his own paths, for giving him a family and that feeling of belonging, for allowing Gaon to see him vulnerable, for trusting Gaon. And, for accepting the way Gaon was.

Gaon was planning to reorganize his house after the day of the reform meeting. He'd have some time on his hands to give it some thought. A few days ago he had bought groceries and made himself proper dinner. A few days before that he had cleaned up the mess that his house had become.

Before he left for the meeting, he noticed the leaves of his new plant turning a rich shade of green. He smiled on the way to work.

But the smile disappeared when Jin Joo mentioned she was leaving. He realized he could've spent some more time for her. But he wasn't going to regret it. enough of that. He promised to visit and keep in touch. He knew that she wouldn't expect him to, but he was still going to try.

What he did not prepare for, was to see Yohan again. He had given up. And here Yohan was, standing in front of him. His unkempt hair, informal clothes, the vulnerability in his eyes, and the hopeful smile. Was this another chance? There was so much Gaon wanted to say. There was so much Gaon wanted to make sure Yohan knew. His heart raced as he tried to conjure up some words, something, anything.

But he realized he didn't have to say anything, Yohan knew. Of course Yohan knew. He knew him better than anyone.

He stood frozen, a smile and tears plastered to his face, as he watched Yohan walk away. Now he knew, they were finally on the same page. Gaon would chase Yohan to the ends of the world, if Yohan allowed him. But Yohan was always by his side, right from the beginning. He loved Yohan, and it was only a matter of time before he would bring up the courage to tell him so.

He visited the mansion as soon as he could escape from the office. He saw the lights on for the first time in a month. He'd never understand how he had conflicting emotions, yet a sense of comfort everytime he was here. He entered the house, on his way to Yohan's study, where he knew Yohan would be. The last time he did so, he was holding a knife. This time, it was his own heart in his hand.

He stopped in his tracks as he turned around the corner and watched Yohan leaning against the table, hands folded across his chest, as if waiting for him.

"I was waiting for you" he said. His eyes were unreadable but Gaon knew he didn't just mean about this meeting.

Gaon closed his eyes and let a tear fall. He'd never thought he'd hear this voice again. This was all real, after all. He really was here.

"What brings you back?" Gaon managed to ask, taking a few steps forward. He didn't even try to hold his tears back, whatever the answer was going to be, he was going to show Yohan his honest feelings. That's what he was here for. He wanted Yohan to see him.

He watched Yohan's face softening, relaxing his arms. Gaon wished he'd hold him.

"I came to check on you"

Gaon felt like the floor was swept off from under his feet. He was worth it after all.

"Thank you" he whispered, sniffing away his tears.

"How's Elijah? Is she here?" Gaon asked, after a pause.

"No, she's getting adjusted to the center there. She's okay, she misses you"

"And you?"

Gaon watched Yohan look for an answer. He hadn't prepared for this blunt question, and frankly, neither had Gaon. The longer the silence was, the more afraid Gaon felt to know the answer.

Yohan had a habit of communicating with his eyes. Gaon was pretty good at reading them, but today he just had to be sure. What he didn't know was that Yohan was remembering every waking memory of him missing Gaon in the last month. Elijah's first appointment, their first meal they had made themselves, every single meal they had, the milestones Elijah was reaching, just...everything. How was he supposed to say this?

When Gaon got impatient, he decided to simply confess.

"I've missed you," he let out a breath he was holding all this while "a lot. I was losing my mind"

"Gaon-ah"

"I really thought I had lost you two forever," he paused to get a reaction, anything, from Yohan. He realized Yohan wouldn't have anything to say unless Gaon laid himself bare for him. So be it.

"I didn't even think you were real today, at the office. I was really really happy that you got out of all that alive, only that, you left. I wished you'd have told me. I was angry at first"

Yohan furrowed his eyebrows.

Gaon continued, "But I know Elijah's treatment was important, and you needed some peace, after... after all that. I'm sorry for everything I caused. Honestly, you gave me a second home and I, I just can't imagine...I cant imagine a world without you"

He averted his gaze and said one last thing, "If you want me to leave, please say so. I'll -"

"I've missed you, Gaon-ah"

Gaon dared to look at Yohan.

"So much that it hurt"

Gaon swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. Yohan stepped forward.

"After everything we've been through, I could never leave you behind. I thought you knew me better than that"

They stood close, their faces inches apart. Gaon couldn't tell what the anger in Yohan's voice was for. But he was willing to take it. He would take anything.

He stepped forward and held Yohan's shoulders, gently pulling him into his arms. He buried his face in Yohan's neck, the cloth of the robe absorbing his tears. He felt Yohan's arms sliding up his back, grip slowly tightening.

Neither would let go for a long time.

Later that night, Yohan watched as Gaon moved about the kitchen at Gaon's home, preparing dinner. He sat on one of the chairs, arms folded, eyes moving wherever Gaon went.

Gaon felt his gaze and didn't hide his smile.

"I'm guessing you haven't been eating well" Yohan observed.

Gaon bit his lip. "Guilty"

Yohan shook his head and looked around the place. "You play the piano?"

Gaon looked over, his hands still working on the stove. His saving grace stood there in all its glory.

"My father used to play, mostly for my mom. I had learnt from him but didn't touch it for a long time. I got back to it a few weeks ago"

"I'd like to hear you play"

Gaon's eyes welled up but he focused on the cooking. He smiled back at Yohan, like it wasn't a big deal.

Gaon stared at Yohan as he ate. He ate like a child, and Gaon adored him. He rubbed some crumbs off Yohan's lips and fed him some more. Was this really happening? He didn't really care, he was just happy.

They sat on the piano seat together. Yohan stared at Gaon as the latter played. Although Gaon's face felt hot with Yohan's gaze in such proximity, he focused on the music. He wanted to play it right.

"This is something my father used to play for my mother. I used to watch them sit here and reminisce about their college days"

Gaon struggled to get more words out. He wanted to be explicit with Yohan. He wanted to be unabashed. He took Yohan's hand, the one that held the scar. As he traced a finger over it, Yohan laced their fingers together.

Gaon looked at Yohan, who had scooted closer than ever. He squeezed Gaon's hand, reassuring and soft.

"Let me love you" Gaon whispered, as if saying it any louder would break the delicate moment.

He closed his eyes and gently pressed his forehead against Yohan's.

"Please" he added.

"Are you sure?" Yohan asked, his voice heavy. Like he’d played this conversation multiple times in his head before, and had thought of all the responses he could come up with, with very few of them favorable.

Gaon swooped in, closing the short distance between them.

On the terrace, the new plant bloomed a flower bud.

[e-milieeee]

tell me your heart—ladrien

Summary: Marinette finally works up the courage to tell Adrien her feelings. Except there’s one little problem: she accidentally does it as Ladybug, not as Marinette Dupain-Cheng. 

Notes: happy anniversary, APS! this is slightly messier than my usual fics but marinette is a mess and so is my brain and yall robbed me of my brain cells :( super glad i joined the server and ily all!! 

Or click here to read on AO3

Marinette Dupain-Cheng is going to confess today.

It’s not going to be like the twenty-second attempt, when she had left her water bottle’s lid screwed on too loosely and ended up digging out a soggy piece of paper in front of Adrien, which Marinette had stupidly dumped into his hands before running.

It’s not going to be like the thirty-sixth attempt, when she had slipped in front of a banana peel and tripped face first into Adrien’s chest and promptly told him to ‘stay peachy!’  

It’s definitely not going to be like the thirty-ninth attempt, one that was too embarrassing for her to recall. Marinette keeps that one in the cobwebbed crevices of her memories with caution tape layered all over the crime scene. No, this time will be perfect, because everything—every roadblock, every little thing that has the slightest potential to go wrong—has been dealt with.

Except, that is, the akuma attack that happens right after school.

By the time she purifies the akuma and bids Chat goodbye, Adrien’s schedule has moved from Chinese lessons to fencing. In a mad scramble, Marinette snatches her backpack up from the corner she’d tossed it right before the akuma attack. Inside, nestled carefully, are a pair knitted mittens. They’re less colorful than the rest of her inventions, but it’s been meticulously tailored to fit Adrien’s color scheme in a way that she hopes won’t clash with his other clothing (and, fingers crossed, will pass Gabriel Agreste’s critical eye). In a smaller box lies five passionfruit macarons that she’d woken up to bake at four in the morning.

It’s all perfect—every little bit—nothing can go wrong. Absolutely nothing.

She runs past one of the other fencing boys on the way, ignoring the strange look he sends her. Then, crossing her fingers that Adrien is still in the locker room, rushes inside.

It’s empty at first glance, and while Marinette’s heart drops, she isn’t deterred. She has a backup plan to the backup plan. And a backup plan to that. If she can’t catch Adrien before fencing, she’ll catch him after. If she can’t catch him after, she knows exactly where his Chinese lesson is—it’s all foolproof. No loopholes. No mushy notes, no banana peels.

Except she doesn’t need to find him after. Because there, at the last row of the lockers, stands Adrien Agreste.

He’s all dressed in his white fencing gear, arranging his shoes with the helmet tucked under his arms. Marinette practically barrels towards him, holding the gift-wrapped mittens and the box of passionfruit macarons. She’s out of breath, but it’s not from the running. Nervousness churns in her stomach, in her chest, until she feels like she’s going to barf.

No. She is not going to barf on Adrien Agreste attempting to confess to him. That would make it even worse than attempt thirty-nine.

“Adrien,” Marinette announces loudly.

Said boy looks up at her. His eyes widen, hands dropping from his shoes and leaving his laces untied, before he straightens. His mouth is open and does not close.

Is she that surprising? Maybe it’s because she’s in the boy’s locker room? But Marinette has long decided that doesn’t matter. She’s going to do it. She’s going to say it. Now.  

“I have something to tell you,” she continues. “Do you have a moment?”

“Yes,” Adrien replies. He hasn’t taken his eyes off her. “Um, definitely. Definitely have a moment.”

Mentally, Marinette congratulates herself. Her voice has remained even and confident, and she sounds like she knows what she’s talking about. Judging by the look of surprise that still hasn’t disappeared from Adrien’s face, she figures that she might be doing something right, finally. Or maybe something horribly, horribly wrong—

That thought drives out the eloquent speech she had prepared to deliver. Reverting back to her mess of words, Marinette thrusts out her arms, where the two packages lie.

“I like you,” she declares.

Oh, no.  

That was not how it was supposed to go. Marinette opens her mouth to amend, although she only ends up digging an even deeper hole. “Like, as in like-like you. Not as a friend. I mean—I mean, I do like you as a friend! But more than that too. I’ve liked you since you gave me your umbrella on the first day, and I realized you were such a compassionate, considerate person and you really care for your friends and you’re amazing and you smell good— argh.” She looks down at the gifts she’s still holding out to Adrien, tucked between red and black lined up her arms and tries to collect her words. “I like you a lot Adrien, and I know you might not feel the same, but I wanted to—”

The realization hits Marinette a second before Adrien manages out, sounding like he very much might faint, “Ladybug?”

They stare at each other. Then, like the idiot she is, Marinette blurts, “I’m not Ladybug, I’m Marinette.”

Oh, God.  

It's tragedy at it’s finest. This much, much worse than the time she’d dumped her yoghurt over his head.

Marinette knows that she should do something to fix the situation. Especially now, as Ladybug, who should be able to fix more than she ruins. Will it work if she summons a Lucky Charm? If she Miraculous Ladybug’s the situation, will Adrien forget about the very, very conspicuous slip-up?

No, probably not.

“Um,” Adrien manages. His face is as pale as a sheet. “Ladybug? I—I don’t—uh, are you sure you’ve got the wrong person? This is for—that’s for me?”  

Amidst the panic, Marinette’s heart still manages to drop even further. Of course. It’s a little vague, his reply, but it’s enough for her to understand the undertones in his voice.

“No,” she stammers, reverting right back to a stuttering mess she had been so certain she was long past. Then, as if she hasn’t contradicted herself enough today, she thrusts the bundle—macarons, mittens—into Adrien’s arms. He manages to catch it all, despite her shaky fumbling.

“I’m sorry,” Marinette tells him, because it’s the only thing she can think of saying.

Adrien doesn’t move. His mouth is open and Marinette can’t tell if the expression on his face is shock or confusion or worst—disgust.

The countless possibilities and the sheer terror of not-knowing throws Marinette into action. In one well-rehearsed action, she throws her yo-yo towards the window. It slams against the lock, opening a sliver.

And, like a coward, Marinette runs.  

***

She’s missing.

Adrien has searched everywhere.

He’s well aware of the fact that he skipped fencing; Nathalie will undoubtedly find out and therefore his father will too, but he can’t bring himself to care. He can spin another story about the akuma attack—it doesn’t matter, not when Ladybug— Marinette— is nowhere to be found.

He scours the whole school first, as Adrien Agreste. Then, without letting Plagg convince him into doing anything smarter, Adrien transforms into Chat Noir.

It’s very apparent he has lost his ability to think things clearly when he stops by at the Dupain-Cheng’s bakery to ask for Marinette’s whereabouts.

He’s hit with memories of his last visit here, as Chat Noir: standing in front of the door, imposingly large, with a single pink rose in hand. That might’ve been one of the most terrifying days of his life.

How ridiculous to think that it had been Ladybug—Ladybug, Marinette, Ladybug—that had welcomed him inside, Ladybug whom he had kissed so nervously on the cheek, Ladybug’s parents who…

Adrien’s head is spinning so much that he thinks he’s going to be sick.

The bakery isn’t very crowded when he enters, but he assumes it's because he came at an odd time. He sees Marinette’s mother behind the counter, straightening the displays. Her eyes widen when she sees him. Tom Dupain is nowhere in sight, which Adrien decides is most likely best for himself. They left on decent terms, but he doesn't want to explain to the man why his daughter might be possibly missing.

“Chat Noir!” she exclaims. “What a lovely surprise.”

He manages to return her smile, but it feels more like a wince. “Is La—Marinette home, Mrs. Cheng?”

“Sabine,” she corrects. “And no, not that I know of. School ended and she has yet to come back. Would you like me to pass a message for her?”

Adrien tries to hide his disappointment, but he’s pretty sure Sabine is too perceptive to have missed the way his ears drop. “That’s okay,” he tells her. “Any idea where she might be?”

A shake of her head. Adrien bids her farewell before rushing out, hoping to avoid any more questions.

His next destination is Alya’s house. She’s home, sitting in her room editing the formatting for the Ladyblog. Adrien doesn’t dare walk through their front door, but instead, taps on the window as he clings onto the side of the apartment.

Her eyes go wide when she sees him, and the window is thrown open in a moment and Alya practically sticks her head out. “Chat Noir!” she exclaims with her usual enthusiasm. “What can I help you with? Actually, do you think I could interview—”

“Not now.” He readjusts his grip. “I’m actually looking for Marinette. Do you know where she is?”

Alya frowns. “Marinette? I haven’t seen her since after school. She went looking for one of our classmates—Adrien Agreste? Maybe you’ll find her with him.”

Adrien’s heart stutters a little when he hears his name from her lips, an old nervousness about his identity. He does his best to make sure his expression doesn’t betray his thoughts, and instead offers Alya a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, anyway,” he says. “I’ll just keep looking.”

He can see the question forming on her lips. Adrien practically flees to avoid questioning yet again.

He visits many places, everywhere he can imagine Marinette would go. He even turns up at the Couffaine’s boat, but the answer he receives is the same: no, she hasn't been here.

An hour into his search and Adrien finally . begins to look for spots he knew Ladybug would visit.

He scours Eiffel tower. The area around Notre Dame. He goes to the school again, for good measure. Neither Ladybug or Marinette are anywhere in sight.

It’s at the banks of the Seine that Adrien nearly gives up. He drops by at Andre’s ice cream stand, grudgingly heading over when the man beckons to him.

“Looking for somebody?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Adrien toes the ground. “Has Ladybug passed this area?”

Wordlessly, Andre points his hand towards the row of rooftop. Adrien follows his gaze to them, where bricks and stone dip and form into structures, and—

There.  

Red against blue, outlined against the sky.

There.  

Adrien sucks in a breath. “Thank you,” he breathes to Andre before leaping off.

He drops by behind Ladybug thirty seconds later, his throat closing and chest constricting. She doesn’t turn around even though she must’ve heard the thump of his landing.

She looks impossibly small sitting there. But of course. Ladybug is Marinette—short and cute and bright and generous Marinette, who’s adorably clumsy and sometimes stumbles with her words around him. Other times, she snaps at Chloe—Chloe, who no one else dares confront—without an ounce of fear. (Figures. After facing akumas as Ladybug, Marinette Dupain-Cheng probably wouldn’t be scared of Chloe.)

There, with her legs pulled to her chest and untouched ice cream melting in a couple next to her, Adrien finds himself reconciling the two people very easily in his mind, even if part of him still trembles with disbelief and anticipation.

Marinette—Ladybug—is in love with Adrien Agreste; Ladybug is in love with him.  

It’s that thought that gives him courage to take a step forward. “Hey,” he greets, throat dry.

“Hey,” she replies softly. “Why are you out right now, kitty?”

Adrien sits down beside her. “Something surprising happened to me today and I needed time to clear my head. You?”

She turns her head to look at him, and for the first time, Adrien takes her features in with the whole picture in mind. Blue eyes like the sky, black hair. They even had the same hairstyle. The same voice. Ladybug pouts like Marinette does when she’s trying to convince people, because God help him, Ladybug was Marinette.

“Remember the boy I told you I liked?” Ladybug mumbles.

The sting in his chest is gone when she mentions it. Mentions him.  

All those days of harbouring jealousy—jealousy Adrien had told himself many times was irrational yet could not let go of—at Ladybug’s unnamed crush, and it had been himself all along.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I made a mistake today.” She stretches her legs out in front of her and gives him a sad little smile. “I thought… I don’t know what I was thinking, but I thought I should finally tell him what I feel about him.”

“Did he reject you?” Adrien asks carefully.

“Yes—no, but I-I might’ve accidentally given away my identity. He isn’t the sort of person who would go around telling anybody, but I just—I mean, now he knows I’m Ladybug. And the worst part is that the first thing he said was are you sure you’ve got the wrong person. So maybe that was a rejection. Maybe—I mean, what if he was disappointed? To find out who Paris’ superhero really was?”

“Why would he be disappointed?”

Ladybug throws her arms up. “Because it’s me,” she says. “I’m just a normal girl underneath the suit. Maybe he was expecting…maybe he was expecting someone more phenomenal. Someone more…worthy? It’s just… yeah, the options could’ve been much worse. But they could’ve been much better, you know? Maybe if I hadn’t accidentally confessed as Ladybug, he wouldn’t have been…wouldn’t have been as disappointed.”

Her words hurt, the fact that this is what she thinks about herself and his opinion of her, but Adrien doesn’t let himself give in yet. The words and dancing on the tip of his tongue— Plagg, claws in— but he seals them away for later. “If this boy you like doesn’t think you’re worthy, then he’s not worthy,” he tells her. “Underneath the suit, whoever you are, I’m certain you’re just as amazing.”

She laughs, but it’s a little strained. “Thanks, kitty,” she whispers. “I wish he thought like that as well.”

Adrien can barely sit still. It must be black magic that his voice comes out without trembling. “Maybe he does.”

“If he did, why did he say that? He looked shocked, and it wasn't the sort of good shock?”

“Did you give him a chance to respond?”

“Well… no.”

“Maybe Adrien would’ve said something different if you stayed a little longer.”

“Or maybe he would’ve said even worse— wait. Did you just say Adrien?”

She looks at him now, and Adrien’s heart is beating so fast that he’s sure it’s going to rip right out of his ribcage. “Did you say Adrien?” she repeats when he doesn't immediately respond.

Adrien takes a deep breath. “Plagg, claws in.”

His transformation falls in a burst of green light, too quick for Ladybug to turn away, too sudden for her to remember to close her eyes.

Silence follows. Then, with a loud shriek, she practically leaps to her feet. “ Adrien?”  

Now that he’s reached the end of what’s been thought through, Adrien can only improvise. He opens his palms, which are sticky with sweat. “Ta-da?” he announces weakly.

Ladybug lets out a sound that sits between a sputter and a choke. She points a finger at him. “You’re Adrien,” she says.

“Yeah. And you’re—you’re Marinette.”

They stare at each other, both speechless, before Adrien says, “I wasn’t disappointed, you know. I was just… I wasn’t functioning properly because the girl I’ve been in love with for the past six months confessed to me. And because I was so used to you turning me down that it was just—uh, it was shocking. But I promise you it’s the best sort of shock. Not the bad kind you were talking about."

“Oh my God,” Ladybug manages. “ You’re Chat. Of course you’re Chat Noir. And…all those times—I dumped yoghurt on Chat Noir’s head?”  

Adrien can’t help the laughter that bursts out. “Ladybug dumped yoghurt on my head,” he confirms.

“I’ve… thrown Adrien Agreste off the Eiffel tower for fun.”

“I sit in front of Ladybug in class.”

“Adrien’s face is plastered all across the city and nobody suspects that you’re Chat Noir!”

At that, she bursts out laughing. It’s a little hysterical, but it’s laughter all the same, and she laughs until she has doubled over, clutching her stomach and shaking. “We’re so stupid,” Ladybug manages out between giggles. “All this time, and we’ve been idiots.”

He grins back at her. “To think that you’ve been the one grilling me about keeping my identity secret, yet you’re the one who gave it away in the end.”

Ladybug shakes her head. “What now?”

“What now?” Adrien echoes. “Well, the girl of my dreams just confessed to me, and I haven’t given her an answer yet.” He takes a deep breath. The words are well rehearsed as Chat; less so as Adrien Agreste. It’s strangely foreign now that their situation has shifted so drastically, but he plows on. “I like you as well, but I’ve made that abundantly clear. And I like you, Marinette too. N-not just Ladybug. Both sides of you. I’m not disappointed you’re Ladybug, because now that I see it, it could only be you. And I’m so, so glad you decided to tell me today. Even if it didn’t go as you planned in the beginning.”

A thrill runs through him when he sees the way her face lifts into a smile. They look at each other, wordless but not needing words, everything unspoken already laid out between them.

“There doesn’t need to be a what now,” Adrien adds. “I’m quite content with now.”  

He holds out his hand, and she takes it.

“I’m glad you’re my partner,” Ladybug says quietly, after a little bit of silence. “And I’m glad that today happened. And I’m really, really glad that it was you I dumped that yoghurt on. It's suddenly a lot less embarrassing.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She nudges his hip playfully with her own. It’s a familiar action, but this time, Adrien swears his heart melts a little bit more at it. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, kitty.”

“Well, if I’ve got it right, you like me because I’m amazing and generous and smell good, so I don’t think I’m getting ahead of myself.”

When he sneaks a glance at her, her face is red. “Shut up.”

“Or else?”

“Or else,” she echoes, then shakes her head. “I just remembered. I gotta go before my parents start panicking.”

“Are you leaving on purpose?”

“Ye— no! No, I’m not. But my maman expected me home hours ago, and they’re bound to worry. I’ll—I’ll call you when I get back, and we can even meet tonight if you want.”

Adrien smiles at her. It's endearing, these little pieces of Marinette he sees in Ladybug that he's never noticed before. The slight stumbling over her words, the way she taps her feet on the ground. “It’s fine,” he reassures, “I get it. And tonight sounds good.”

“Tonight it is,” Ladybug agrees. “Eiffel tower?”

“Yeah. S-see you.”

She gives him a quick wave, pauses, then leans in and presses a chaste kiss against his cheek. Before Adrien can speak or react, she has thrown her yo-yo towards a nearby building and swung away.

His face is warm long after the red of Ladybug’s suit disappears. Adrien doesn’t know how long he continued staring after her if it’s not for Plagg, who zips out of his shirt and smacks his cheek, hard.

“Close your mouth before I barf,” his kwami groans. “Because I’m this close to cataclysming myself.”

“Ladybug likes me back,” Adrien tells Plagg for good measure.

“I’ve heard!”  

Despite his complaining, though, Plagg grants him silence as Adrien sits quietly on the rooftop. And everything is okay—everything is more than okay—because Ladybug is Marinette, Marinette is Ladybug, and Adrien has never been happier.

Notes: i tried my best ok pls accept my offering of good will :( 

(this is also the least angsty reveal fic i’ve done fhsjkfdhf) 

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