#my favorite would be a cat because those little things are so confident and precise

[crystalkitty1220]

Anifans, fandalites, and miscellaneous followers who probably haven't read animorphs but might still want to answer anyway; if you had the power to morph, what would be your favorite morph, your battle morph, and your flying morph? plus any other morphs you think you'd use a lot

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Dark Shenanigans - Nandor x (f)reader

Summary: It’s Nadja’s something hundredth birthday, with that said, you’re on a mission to make it great.

Warning: fluff, general vampire nonsense

Masterlist

“Yeah being a half vampire half human does have its perks. I mean for one I can do all that cool vampire shit and I can go out in the sunlight...so that helps for when they’re all being really annoying.” You admit with a casual shrug to one of the documentary cameras before turning to an isle of party supplies. “So anyways we’re at this store.”

The camera shifts to the multiple arras of supplies and materials at the local supermarket in Staten Island that you and your vampire lover’s human familiar, Guillermo, currently are. Specifically on the hunt for birthday decorations for Nadja and ghost Nadja who’s possessed a strange looking doll for the time being.

Since the other four actual full vampires can’t shop for themselves at this time of day or really in general, you and Guillermo have been given such an honorable task in making Nadja’s birthday the best one yet. Considering she’s the most well balanced in the head out of the four of them and is the only other lady of the manor.

“Hey Y/N, how’s this look?” Wonders Guillermo as he holds up a bunch of Mardi Gras beads of yellows, purples, and greens. “Comments, questions, concerns?” He adds with a small smile.

Eyeing up the beads, your head shifts over to the other various colors, “Hrmm, G I’m feeling the vibe you’re going for this year and I like it, but let’s go with Nadja colors.”

Guillermo’s dark eyes light up at your positive suggestion, “Right! So the red and black ones then?”

“Yup. She’ll love that shit.” You state with a satisfied nod of approval, “Let’s get some black and gold confetti from over there and oh, those masquerade masks look cool as fuck.”

You pick up and test out various masks in the background as Guillermo adds some bits of dialogue for the documentary crew, “Um yeah she’s really cool isn’t she.” He says with a smile while glancing at you then back to the camera, “Which is kind of odd since Y/N’s been with Nandor since 1793 so you’d think she’d be a little more like them but no, she’s super chill and really nice.” Suddenly his face goes a bit serious as he leans in to whisper, “But she did kill a whole street gang once when they threw a slur at me so I wouldn’t mess with her. For your safety.”

The camera pans back over to an oblivious you who’s put on a masquerade mask and is swinging a plastic light saber around with a whole lot more accuracy and grace then would a normal person. The camera then pans back to Gullimero, “Um, I’m just gonna....make sure she doesn’t smack anyone.”

——

Arms full of groceries of food for you and Gullimero, as well as random party decorations for Nadja’s birthday tomorrow night, you use the bottom of your boot to skillfully open the door as the documentary crew and Guillermo follows suit. Guillermo now on the verge of falling over with the large heart shaped pillow in his arms that’s covering most of his body.

You don’t feel tired in the slightest due to your half vampiric abilities so this is nothing to you, “Alright.” You state, turning on your heel to face the crew and Guillermo, “They’re asleep so we gotta be extra sneaky now, I don’t want Nadja catching us with all this cool spooky birthday shit. Everyone to the attic!” You whisper yell before leading the charge to the attic.

They all follow as quietly and as quickly as they can and then soon enough in no time are you and Guillermo back outside in the sunny garden trying to figure out if you should blow up the giant sea monster pool floaty.

“I mean it would look cool as hell and no doubt out-do whatever the fuck boring thing Lazlo probably has planned.” You quip with a shrug while the two of you stare thoughtfully at the small gloomy dark pond. “He’s got no chance with us. I’ve won best decorator and card maker for two hundred years in a row.”

Guillermo side eyes you in honest amazement, “Wow that’s a lot of years. And cards.”

“I know. I was an artist in the 12th century but my no good terrible good for nothing piece of garbage trash sexist human husband, who I was forced to marry when I was only sixteen, took all the credit for my artwork in that era.” You confirm with a growl, “But it stings less because once I finally grew into my powers and strength at eighteen I simply made his untimely demise look like an accident.” You add with a smirk.

“Oh, wow.” Mutters the intrigued familiar.

“Precisely. The old fool was thrown off his horse because I told Philip, the horse, to throw him off. And he did. Which killed the idiot so I got the house and all of his money.”

“That’s......neat.” Mutters Guillermo as he shoots the camera crew from behind you and him a nervous look. “Uh the suns going down so I should probably help Nandor out of his coffin.”

Raising your head to the sky you immediately see how the sun has begun to paint the clouds in beautiful colors of oranges, reds, light pinks, and darkening purples. “Oh, how bout that. Yeah alright let’s get inside.” You nod to Guillermo before turning to walk towards the manor’s giant mahogany doors.

——

Turning the handle and walking a couple feet into the large main room that holds itself as a sort of crossroads for all the other various connecting hallways and staircases. You don’t make it even three more steps towards the left ascending staircase before you hear the highly recognizable voice of your one and only.

“Y/N! My lovely wife and favorite person still ever so lovely!” Announces Nandor loudly with a grand smile showing off his pearly white fangs, “How I have missed you and your morning kisses. Where have you been off to?” He wonders softly as you smile a big dumb love-struck grin right back up at him, you’d absolutely die to hear that accent one last time.

“I can’t tell you right now it’s a secret!” You whisper yell back, causing his thick dark brows to scrunch up in confusion.

“But I am your lovely strong puff dragon Y/N.” Whines Nandor adorably as you roll your eyes at the cameras before looking back up at him.

“Fine. Come here then.”

In an instant he’s at your side, excitedly awaiting what secretive news you will tell him, “Okay, so we know it’s Nadja’s birthday tomorrow right?”

“Yes. I remember because she hasn’t shut up about it.”

“Right. So me and Gullimero got some fun surprise birthday party decorations and they’re in the attic and we can’t tell Nadja.”

Nandor gives you a knowing look of affirmation as he leans in closer to you, his demeanor suddenly shifting into a more saddened one, “You went shopping without me?” He says quietly.

Leaning up to give him a quick peck on the cheek your hands instantly find his, “Just for a little while, but I still need to find more stuff so....you wanna come?”

Nandor’s big dark eyes light up with joy as you hand him a kind smile, “Yes! Let us go in search of unknown treasures for our lady friend Nadja so she will not be mad at us for terrible dull gifts of friendship.”

Laughing you give his hands a playful squeeze, “Come on I’ll race you to Party City!” You say before leading him past the camera crew and Guillermo who simply watches the two of you leave, glad to have an hour of peace.

“There’s a whole city for partying? Y/N why have we never been to this place?”

——

“Y/N there are no people partying here.” Whines your vampire lover in puzzlement as he follows you from the entrance to a side isle. “You said this was a city for partying.”

“That’s just the name of the store Nans.” You retort with a small chuckle as he looks from right to left at all the color coded party plates and napkins galore.

“Well the title is very misleading.”

“Agreed.”

Turning to the right you guide him towards the decretory pirate themed isle in search of something that will peak his interest. Also you wanted so badly to make it to this spot but Gullimero was a man on a mission so your intention was thwarted for when you had Nandor with you.

Speed walking down the pirate themed isle you quickly halt all movement as Nandor’s large body stops within less than an inch from your back. Smiling brightly you snatch the desired object in front of you and as swift as a cat turn to face him.

“Have you come for a dual my old enemy?” You speak slyly, eyes narrowed as you hold the foam sword right in front of his face. “I sense a nervousness about you. Tell me, are you ready to face your inevitable bloody end?”

Staring at the pointy foam, his dark puppy eyes shift over to you as an adorable fangy grin breaks out across his pale face, “Seems you have come prepared, oh radiant and alluring seductress. Well, so have I!” Shouts Nandor before grabbing two foam swords from off the rack and swinging them in both hands like a mad man.

Taking a cautious step back you hold your pathetic five dollar sword in both hands like a true warrior ready for battle, “Only one shall leave this place alive.” You affirm with a smirk, “And it’s not going to be you.”

“Arrrrrggg.” Bellows your lover as he charges you like the true conqueror that he once was. But all to soon do you swiftly duck under his arms and swat him over his stomach with a confident thwack sound.

He makes a puny little “oww” as you turn around to face him once again, “Y/N you hit me kind of hard.” He complains, looking rather defeated and genuinely hurt that you could have intentionally injured him on purpose.

Bringing the plastic weapon down to your side once again, your face suddenly softens as you walk over to him, “Come here you big baby.” You quip sincerely as he leans down so you can give his cheek a quick kiss.

Rising back to his full height, Nandor almost blushes as the corners of his eyes crinkle into a happy smile, “Actually it didn’t hurt at all I just wanted you to kiss me.” Reveals the vampire with a proud grin as you simply roll your eyes.

“Should have known.” You add before turning and snatching up four more plastic foam pirate swords for the others. “Alright let’s get outta here, follow me my love, to the checkout line we shall purchase our weapons of war and partying on the high seas.” You announce with gusto as Nandor stands proudly at your side, ready to follow you anywhere.

“Yes. To check out.”

——

Kicking open the unlocked door, Nandor bursts into the vampire residence with bags full of goodies for Nadja’s birthday party. You right behind him but less dramatically, “We’re back!” You shout to no one in particular as Colin Robinson suddenly appears from out of nowhere, looking ready to leave with his funny little hat and usual beige jacket.

“Oh hey guys,” He starts with a friendly nod, “I’m just heading out on the town tonight. I guess there’s a fair or something in the park and I wanted to test my skill at the ball toss. I’ve been reading up on the body mechanics and how the game is set up which seems pretty basic all in all. Also I really want to win a stuffed bear this time, it might add a little pizazz to my room. Welp see ya’round.” Adds Colin before walking past the two of you without another word and out into the night he goes with some of the camera crew following close behind.

Nandor turns to you with a look of annoyance, “Jeesh I thought he would never leave. Let’s go to your room I want to kiss you some more now.”

“Why my room?”

“Because since you are half vampire you get to sleep in a bed and because I am a full vampire I sleep in a coffin.” Inquires Nandor while looking at you with those big beautiful dark eyes of his, “And my coffin is too small for cuddles so your room will suffice.”

“Yeah that’s a fair point.” You shrug before following him to your room.

After many cuddles leading to other more rated R type activities that lasted until just about sunrise, you finally got some well needed rest while the sun shone high in the sky until she began her dramatic descend back into oblivion. Opening your eyes you slowly rise from out of your comfy bed, already missing the presence of your obsidian eyed lover.

He gets too nervous about your closed windows for fear that the sun might burn him which would be impossible because you black out the glass. But alas, he’s very cautious about these types of things and won’t risk it for anything, though he feels bad about leaving you in the morning, you understand.

Suddenly it dawns on you that today or perhaps tonight, is Nadja’s birthday and you completely forgot to set up any decorations. Shit, how stupid. Throwing the blankets off of you, your feet move quick as you speedily change yesterday’s outfit for something a bit nicer and more clean.

Racing out of your room and into the dimly lit manor hallway, you make a bee line for the attic but before you’re able to reach the steps, Guillermo runs into you, just about knocking you into a wall of various stolen ancient weapons. Sharp ones at that.

That was close.

“Y/N are you okay!” Worries the familiar as you quickly gather your bearings.

“Guillermo! The decorations! Nadja’s birthday!” You whisper yell as the human man simply smiles. “Why are you smiling, this situation does not call for smiles.”

“Don’t worry. While you were sleeping I set up all the decorations.” He replies with a shrug, “No problem.”

“What? But that must have taken you all day, you could have asked me for help. I would have come.” Your brows furrow as he shakes his head, though you still feel bad for not helping with anything.

“Well I did try, but um,” Gullimero awkwardly clears his throat, giving the camera a quick glance, “Nandor was with you and last time I asked for you while you and him where having alone time he threatened to carve out my eyeballs and force feed them to me.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose in annoyance you take a deep breath, “Sounds like him. Very creative when he wants to be, alright, well....where’s everyone?”

“Oh, they’re not up yet. I was actually on my way to get you. I made blood popsicles and the pool floaty is all done and in the pond.” He says with a sense of pride for his decorating skills. “I think she’ll like what we’ve come up with this year.”

-

Standing in the living room with your three fellow immortals you search a dresser for her card, “Oh shit where’s my card? I could have sworn I had it yesterday on my dresser but I don’t remember seeing it there in the morning. Maybe it’s in this one?”

“Witches!” Hisses Nadja as you huff in frustration, where the hell did you put that damn card?

“Oh, Y/N my love,” Intervenes Nandor with a gentle tug of your sleeve, “I took it with me when I left your room before sunrise because I wanted to put my name on it too so she would know it’s from us.”

“What?” Replies Lazlo dramatically, “Now hold on just a damn minute, this card competition is individually scored so I won’t be having any of this nonsense. I worked really hard on mine this year.”

“Oh lick a donkey’s arse, look here,” You retort with, quickly holding up the card for Nadja, “there are two separate drawings on ours so either way if one of us wins she gets both our pictures. So you better hope your drawing doesn’t resemble a night clubs bathroom wall.”

“Yeah.” Mutters Nandor, who’s hiding behind you while resting both hands on either one of your shoulders as you glare at Lazlo.

“Fine.” Agrees Lazlo begrudgingly, “And mine will be amazing, this bitch of paper took me a whole six months to plan and produce. Can’t get quality this good anywhere else I guarantee it.” Adds Lazlo with a firm nod of self approval as you glance at the nearby camera.

“Right, okay everyone sit it’s time for presents. I want to know what you all got me.” Beams Nadja excitedly as she smiles a fangy grin in delight, plopping herself down in one of the arm chairs. Lazlo quickly finding the other one while you and Nandor seat yourself on the large couch. Colin and Guillermo finding somewhere to sit close by respectfully.

“Well, all I can say is hold onto your socks my dear cause this is going to blow you away.” Smirks Lazlo as he pulls a small box from out of his jacket pocket.

“If it’s a self made business card that says invitation to sexy town I will puke.” You deadpan while Nandor laughs from beside you, causing Lazlo to lose his smirk as Nadja hides her amusement the best she can manage.

“He he, sexy town, nice one Y/N.” Mutters Nandor with a proud grin as you raise a brow at Lazlo who’s giving you a hard glare.

“Oh, my dear pumpkin pie love, don’t listen to Y/N I will love anything you gift me.” Encourages Nadja with a bright welcoming smile, no doubt immediately boosting Lazlo’s once irked mood.

Rolling your eyes you shift a bit to find yourself leaning into Nandor’s body as Nadja opens up the rest of the vampire residents various gifts. A joyous fangy smile gracing her pale features every single time, revealing this birthday party was a thrilling success.

After much more fun that just about lasts throughout the whole night, and some rare but hilarious attempts at dancing between the five of you vampiric individuals. You’re feeling rather sleepy and you can tell Nandor is ready for a trip to dreamland as well.

Swaying to the lowly playing record instrumental, you hold Nandor tight while simultaneously enjoying the feeling of him so close, him doing just the same as he keeps you firmly pressed against his chest. His long dark hair tickles your face as he presses his head to your cheek, doing his absolute best to keep the flow without tripping up.

Sensing his growing fatigue, you gently squeeze his hand, “My love the sun will be up soon, let’s get you to bed, yes?”

A small lazy smile tugs at the corners of his lips while he looks down to meet your gaze, “But my dark angel I’m not tired. I want to dance with you a little longer.” He whines adorably before failing to conceal a big yawn.

Giggling, you lean back to slowly lead him towards the door, “That yawn says otherwise.”

“That wasn’t a yawn Y/N, I was just smiling really big.” He protests, though he still follows your lead to the door.

“I’ve never seen anyone smile like that.” You add with a raised brow.

“Well maybe that’s just how I smile.”

Letting out a breathy snort, you pull away from him to at last take his one hand, “Come. I can’t have a single ray of that dreaded sun to get a taste of your precious skin. Not on my watch.”

Glancing at the closed front door, Nandor squeezes your hand, “Well um, now since you’ve mentioned the sun...I think I’d like to go to my crypt now.” He says, the flash of worry crossing over his face for only a brief moment.

“You sure? I mean a sunrise is pretty beautiful if I’m being honest and I know you never get to see them...”

“Not funny Y/N. And not fair, you know I can’t because I am full vampire.”

“And you’re missing out.”

“And I’d like to stay alive Y/N.”

“Aren’t you dead?”

“Yes and I am your only husband so I need to stay not burnt to a crisp.”

Chuckling, you follow him down the hallway, “Oh really? Don’t want me finding myself with another vampiric lover? Some new beast to sweep me off my feet and take me away into the night.” You tease.

Side eyeing you, he frowns, “No. Don’t I sweep you off your feet?”

Stepping into his crypt you stop him with your hand against his bicep, “Always.” You whisper sincerely with a quick wink, causing him to break out into a big fangy grin.

“Good. And if anyone would try and whoo you I would make sure there would be no more whooing again!” Exclaims Nandor, making the candles rise in flame for only a short second at his rise in emotion for how much he loves you.

“I don’t doubt they would fall by your blade. Not for a second.”

[cherrysung]

lesson learned

pairing: nerd!jaemin x reader

genre: smut / slight fluff

warnings: language, unprotected sex (stay safe!), riding, thigh riding, grinding, finger sucking, dirty talk, slight degradation

prompts: none

summary: tinted cheeks and sheepish glances might’ve been a delight to observe every time his eyes scanned intellectual phrases on books, but as your words reached dangerous levels, you realized not all is what it seems.

requested by anon.

word count: 2.5k

note: anonnie... I think I got carried away with this a lil bit, oops. I hope you enjoy this though, thank you for requesting! jaemin with glasses is superior oof

cherrysung’s navigation

Na Jaemin. Pink cheeks and flushed neck and ears, thin-rimmed glasses that rested peacefully on the bridge of the most perfect nose you’d seen, and his sharp eyes that appeared narrow and hooded as they scanned over way too complicated words that showed up unnecessarily in fiction books.

He wasn’t the stereotypical nerd, in fact, he quite honestly debunked endless labels and beliefs that people like him had endured for years. Unlike portrayed in movies or anywhere else, Na Jaemin was impressingly handsome if you said so yourself. Masculine yet soft features adorned the smooth of his skin like a freshly painted artwork, facial structure built with a jawline that you’d mistake to be carved out by the gods themselves if you didn’t know any better, and an overall physique that even the most athletic guys at college envied. How come the school’s certified nerd was also the biggest hottie? Pair that up with a well-mannered and gentle personality—you get the sweetest boy at heart.

Conservative and reserved most of the time, with his second home being the local library, Jaemin was almost always indulged in some sort of imaginary world. Although popular for his looks, nobody dared approach him, as everybody knew how much he overflowed with shyness, and even oftentimes unintentionally blocked out the social souls that made an effort to utter a word to him.

It didn’t come as a surprise that his grades were also astronomically A+ class and more. There was no need for him to search with concern over universities and a promising education, because unlike you, they actually chased after him. On the other hand, though you did an okay job at even the most challenging subjects, it wasn’t enough to you or to your demanding and irritable parents. Given that, your teacher thought that if you really wanted to improve, getting Jaemin assigned as a tutor seemed like a perfect idea.

Indeed; it was.

Somehow the smartest and quietest senior also turned out to be picky. His looks weren’t the only thing he was popular for—his constant declines on those who wished desperately for his help was too. To say you were shocked that he agreed to lend you a hand, was an understatement.

You officially met Jaemin on a Monday afternoon when the bell rang loudly throughout the empty halls and students escaped tiredly the dull classrooms as if they were prisons. Your calculus teacher called you and the boy over to her wooden, polished desk, where piles of papers that were filled with red marks stacked up. Jaemin carried himself gracefully at all times, dressed in black sweatpants and a white t-shirt with black shoes, you genuinely wondered how such a simple outfit suddenly looked expensive. Not only did his clothes seem to be put together, so did his life in general. He would never miss a day of college even if destiny wanted him to, and his schedule was so precise you felt like an absolute shame next to him.

“Mr. Na Jaemin,” the teacher cleared her throat, hands twirling a red-inked pen between her fingers as she smiled at the boy standing next to you. “At this point, I don’t know why I bother with you anymore, you always seem to decline. But, I thought I should ask you if you were up to helping your fellow classmate over here. She surely has potential, but is clearly struggling.”

You shifted nervously on your feet, cheeks becoming a faint tint of rosy red as your teacher slid over your calculus test towards Jaemin. It read D+. Nearly the entirety of the front page was marked in red, multiple comments explaining why your answers were wrong and circles pointing out your hideous mistakes all for a genius to judge.

His eyes skimmed over your answers, a smile threatening to creep up on his pink lips at just how ridiculous and senseless your processes could get. “I see. Yeah, she seems to have an idea of the topics but probably gets confused easily.”

Ouch.

“Well, would you do me the favor of maybe tutoring her every week for, say, a month?”

He glanced down at you for a split second, gaze returning back to the test in his hands as fast as he had looked away from it. His words sounded direct, leaving his lips with security and firm knowledge; yet, you were sure you could feel his timidity from classrooms away.

“Sure.”

Two weeks later, Jaemin had been tutoring you patiently, sharing his knowledge and tips as best as he could. You discovered, conversational skills and socializing definitely weren’t Jaemin’s specialty, his words spilling from his lips in stumbles and stutters that sounded adorable nonetheless. Contrary to the way he spoke whenever you casually asked him something about him—whether it be his personality, where he’s from, the things he enjoys—to the way his sentences flowed flawlessly whenever he was explaining how a math problem worked, was intriguing to you.

There was something about him that felt new, and mysterious. He was introverted, quite protective of his surroundings and himself; though, somehow the way his middle finger elegantly pushed his spectacles up a tiny bit, and the way his hand occasionally brushed with yours whenever he turned to a new page on your alarmingly huge calculus textbook was doing things to you.

“So, Jaemin,” you interrupted him, his head rising up in question at your sudden intrusion, hand holding a pencil he had been using to point out esencial steps for Definite Integrals. The two of you were currently sitting at your study desk in your bedroom, home alone on a slightly rainy Friday evening, with papers lying around the table and the floor that had infinite math practice tests he had obligated you to do. “How are you so good at calculus. Well, everything, honestly?”

The tip of his ears flushed a deep shade of pink at your indirect compliment, visibly swallowing as his Adam’s apple swiftly moved up and then down. “Uh, I don’t really know. I guess I’ve always practiced a lot as a kid? Maths is my favorite subject so it’s not hard for me…”

His attention was never on you, instead, his eyes shifted awkwardly as long as they successfully avoided your own. You were enjoying his confusion more than you’d like to admit, collecting your thoughts and speaking up once again before he returned to explaining boring equations or graphs. “Why’d you agree to help me? You never help.”

He wordlessly shrugged, hand scratching the back of his head with what appeared nervousness as his eyes solely rested on the paper before him and the paper alone. You thought his face became progressively warmer, a light smile etching across your face. “Are you sure you don’t know?” You glanced at him, turning your chair around to face his side profile directly. “I think there must be a reason.”

“There’s none.” He muttered through gritted teeth, the apple of his cheeks becoming impossibly redder by the minute. “Let’s move on to the next topic—”

“Oh, but are you sure there really is no reason at all? ‘Cause you seem to be hardcore blushing right now.” Your finger moved under his chin, gently guiding his eyes towards yours. “Am I the reason for your obvious struggle, Na Jaemin? Do you, maybe, have the hots for me?”

“Y/N, just—you need to, uh, continue practicing.”

“I don’t want to practice anymore.” A giggle left your lips, face nearing the boy’s hot ears. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I think you are so handsome, and I can tell you like me too. Or don’t you?”

“Y/N—”

“Don’t you, Jaemin?”

A quiet curse rumbled throughout his chest and out his lips, hands quickly snapping up to grasp your own. “You really don’t want to bother me right now. Stop.”

“I do want to bother you. I know you’re not some innocent, saint boy, Jaemin. Stop putting up that pure act with me, it’s not working.”

“Alright,” Jaemin mumbled, eyes sharply boring into yours, “then you asked for it.” He roughly pulled you towards him, your wheeled chair sliding back at the impact as your legs almost instantly straddled him. With no more words said, his hands softly kneaded your ass, pressing his hardening member directly on your heat as he began rapidly guiding you up and down his covered length.

Whimpers stumbled off your lips at his movements, hands flying up to hold onto his shoulders for balance. Quite frankly, you never thought Jaemin would do this.

“Cat got your tongue suddenly, princess?” Your breath hitched at the pet name, and Jaemin could only smirk at your reaction. “You were all talk and no game? Where did that confidence go? You are such a needy, little bitch. Be a good girl and ride my thigh like the desperate slut you are—wanting to fuck me instead of practicing your math equations.”

He parted his legs, and you were quick to take off your shorts, sitting on the textured fabric of his denim jeans as your hips continued their previous ministrations with Jaemin’s harsh grasp. Moans were leaving you in an uncontrollable mess, feeling so little and helpless under a boy’s gaze whom everybody believed is a harmless child. There was a look plastered on his features that you wanted engraved in your mind forever; pearly whites sinking tenderly into a swollen, red bottom lip, glasses hanging lowly on his nose, and a hooded stare due to the growing wetness on your sheer panties that seeped out onto his jeans.

Fuck, did those glasses make him look so sinful.

“Jaemin,” you stuttered, “I need to cum.”

“Already? We just started the fun, princess.” His actions contradicted his words, hands moving your hips faster on his thigh as he squeezed the muscles, igniting louder sounds of pleasure from you. “Are you close?”

You nodded frantically, no longer giving care to the huge wet patch you had created on his pants, allowing his hands to move you as fast as he wished, pussy clenching around nothing every time your clit ran over the coarse fabric.

“Go ahead, princess, come all over my thigh, you fucking dirty girl. Make a mess.”

His whispers were enough to bring you to your climax, legs shaking unstoppably as your hips stilled abruptly. Jaemin rubbed your back softly, bringing your chin up to lock lips with you. Ardent, and full of lust, the feeling of his tongue running over your bottom lip brought another wave of heat that pooled between your legs, and he could surely feel it. Pulling away, with a string of saliva attaching the two of you, Jaemin unbuckled the leather belt before unbuttoning his jeans, only pushing them down enough to release his dick. It sprung proudly out of his briefs, gently hitting his belly and begging to be played with.

Jaemin smirked at your wide eyes, your gaze running up and down the veiny cock, with a final touch of an angry and red tip at the top that was leaking with pre-cum.

“Can I suck you?”

“Not today, babygirl, do that some other time,” he shook his head, fingers moving your panties to the side and placing you on top of his hard length, “right now all I want is to feel your dripping, pretty pussy. Ride me.”

You silently obliged like the good girl he thought you were, wet cunt sinking on his dick as your walls instantly welcomed him with endless warmth.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he lowly cursed, “such a fucking good girl. Why don’t we teach you some basic math while you ride my dick? Come on.” His index and middle fingers tapped your bottom lip, your mouth wrapping around them. “You’re going to answer while you suck on my fingers as if it were my cock.”

On cue to his words, your tongue swirled around his digits experimentally while he ruthlessly thrusted up into your tight pussy with a never ending pace.

“What’s seven plus five, princess?”

You whined on his digits, finding the task harder than you expected as his dick was everything you could think about. Jaemin filled you up so well, fingers occasionally driving into the back of your throat as you choked around them. Tears had begun pooling in your eyes, threatening to fall at any moment as you gagged around his digits once again. “Twelve!”

“Good job,” he delivered a particularly hard thrust, hitting on your sweet spot successfully and earning himself nearly a scream from you. “What about eighteen plus nine? What’s the answer?”

At this point, he was doing all the work, dick sliding in and out of your walls so fast and deliciously. The only sound you could hear around your bedroom was both your skins’ slapping, and sometimes the choked up cries that left your lips whenever his fingers reached too far back in your throat. Your thoughts only revolved around how good Jaemin was fucking you, and how good the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose looked as he bit his lip. “Twenty-seven!” You struggled to answer, but managed to regardless of his merciless thrusts.

“Four minus nineteen? You got three seconds to answer, sweets.” Jaemin smirked, free hand reaching down to circle rapidly around your clit, his hips speeding up even more. “One.”

“Jaemin, I’m so close!”

He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, drool running down your chin as he wiped his digits on his shirt. “Answer me, or you don’t come.”

Your thoughts were absolutely jumbled, puzzled and confused, searching hazily for a simple answer you couldn’t remember.

“Two.” The movements of his fingers on your swollen bud were beginning to slow down.

“Jaemin, wait!”

“Three—”

“Negative! Negative fifteen, the answer is negative fifteen.”

He cooed at you, speeding up his actions once more as you cried out, head resting on his shoulder tiredly while you slightly bit into the flesh, eliciting hisses that flew from his lips.

“Fuck, I’m so close. Princess, can I fill you up with my cum?”

“Please,” tears ran down your face, your cries muffled as you nuzzled your face into his neck, “please do. Come inside of me, Jaemin, fill me up so well.”

Your desperate pleads and the frantic clenching of your pussy were enough to bring him to the edge, your release following not much long after as his warm cum completely coated your walls white, some seeping out from your cunt and onto his member. Jaemin eventually slowed down his thrusts to a stop, chest heaving up and down as pants left the two of you.

“For your information, I do have the hots for you, too.” He exhaled out a laugh, pulling your body closer to his and gently pecking the top of your head.

“I can’t believe everybody calls you a nerd,” you chuckled, “you literally fucked me into oblivion.”

“Well, you were riling me up. I hope you learned your lesson, little miss.”

“Yeah, I did.” You admitted with a giggle.

“Well, you better keep that pretty mouth closed, we don’t want people knowing the school’s nerd wrecked you so bad, right? Besides, I don’t think I want this to just be a one time thing.” Your head rose at his confession, eyes looking into his own for an answer. “How about a date tomorrow?”

You smiled, sweetly pecking his cheek. “I’d love that. How about I suck your cock after that?”

Jaemin smirked, “your house or mine?”

[puckinghell]

Acts Of Service | Elias Pettersson

Summary: When people have different love languages, sometimes it’s hard to understand what the other is trying to say. 4 times Elias shows you he loves you, and the 1 time you tell him.  Words: 7.5k (whoops) Note: This concept was very interesting to explore. Also yes, this entire thing was written because of that one picture of Elias in that blue sweater stepping out of the car like a fucking GQ model. 

----

(Some time ago)

“Didn’t you say there’s an apartment free in your building?” Brock asked as soon as you answered the phone, forgoing the “hello”.

“Hello, Brock, my very good friend, how nice to talk to you! How are you doing?” you deadpanned.

At least he had the decency to sound ashamed. “Ah, yes, hi. Sorry. I’m just in a hurry and it’s important.”

You frowned. “Why? Are you looking to move?”

“No.” Brock laughed. “Stetch would kill me. No, it’s about the rookie. Petey? I told you about him. Swedish, quiet, best fucking hands in the league.”

Yes. Brock had told you about the rookie, although you still thought it dumb to call him that. Brock was basically still a rookie himself.

“What does that have to do with my apartment building?”

“He said no to having a billet family but everyone on the team thinks it’d be good for him to have someone to kinda look out for him a bit. He’s never been to Canada before this, you know, and he’s never lived on his own either. His English isn’t that great and everything is new for him. And since you’re such a caring, loving person, we thought…”

“You thought I could babysit him?” you finished for Brock.

“It’s not babysitting. Just, being friendly if he needs anything. Obviously we’re there for that too, but it’d be nice to have you so close by.”

Close by would be an understatement: the free apartment was across the hall from yours.

You weren’t sure if this sounded like something that you would necessarily want to do, but you did feel a bit sorry for Elias: you’d met him at a team thing earlier that week and he’d looked completely lost in the midst of all the Canadian hockey slang that you barely managed to follow, even after having been friends with Brock for years. He mostly kept to Eagle, spoke in Swedish, and his eyes flickered nervously across the room whenever anyone else approached him.

“Fine,” you sighed, “I’ll talk to my landlord. But you owe me, Blondie.”

Brock was happy enough that he didn’t even call you out on the nickname.

1. 

“Have I told you lately how much of a lifesaver you are?” You lean across your desk, resting your chin in your hands. Elias looks mildly amused as he hands you the papers.

“Nearly every day,” he says, “but then I save your life every day, so that seems fair.”

You grab the papers from his hands.

“You’re a lifesaver and the love of my life, Petey.”

You think back to when Elias just moved into your apartment building, only because Brock thought he needed someone to look after him. You could laugh, now, thinking about how wrong he’d been.

Elias is the most self-sufficient, independent person you know. You don’t think he’s ever needed anything from anyone. Like in hockey, where he can make the play and score the goal all at the same time, Elias has his life together.

Unlike you.

Despite the fact that Elias hadn’t needed much help from you, you had become very fast friends. His quick witted sarcasm always managed to make you laugh and he liked how upfront and honest you were with him about things. It was easy, too, to spend time together. With him living just across the hall, you found yourself wandering to his apartment whenever you were bored, and he showed up at yours often when he didn’t feel like cooking.

Just because he could cook, didn’t mean he always wanted to.

And ever since the two of you had become friends, Elias had your back. When you needed someone to water your plants, or feed your cat Puck – Brock had named him – or, apparently, bring you the important work papers that you forgot at home after having worked on them all weekend.

You groan as you flick through the papers. “I thought I was going to die. Without these I can’t finish my presentation.”

“When is it?” Elias asks, eyes searching behind you. You know he’s looking out for your asshole of a boss, who will use any excuse to yell at you, especially the unannounced visit of a friend.

“Tomorrow. I got all the content in these papers here, but I still have to make the PowerPoint.” You sigh. “It’s still so much work.”

“Oh.” Elias’ face lights up. “Almost forgot. Brought you this.” Triumphantly, he reaches down and comes up with a paper bag from your favorite coffee shop.

The words fall off your lips in a gasp. “You didn’t!”

“Strawberry scone and a large caramel macchiato with soy milk.” Elias grins. “I also got you a chocolate chip cookie for later.”

“Marry me,” you proclaim, as you make grabby hands for the bag. The coffee is precisely what you need and your mouth is already watering at the idea of the food.

“Get me a ring, then,” Elias jokes, as he starts getting up from the chair.

Something tightens in your stomach, so you quickly take a bite of the scone: anything to push those feelings to the side. It works a little, and at the very least it tastes amazing.

You’re just friends. If you were gonna be anything more, Elias would’ve made a move already. Or, if you’d been brave enough, you would’ve: but he’s never said anything to make you think he’s interested and quite frankly, you’re not that brave.

“Thank you,” you say, mouth still full of scone, and Elias wrinkles his nose at that as you knew he would.

“I’m going to the store now,” he says, “anything you want me to pick up for you?”

“Wine?” you ask, hopeful. “I’m gonna need it after today.”

Elias rolls his eyes at you, but when you come home after the most grueling day at work there’s a bottle of rosé sitting in your fridge, next to a bag full of your favorite Thai take out food.

Love you, you quickly text Elias, even though you know he can’t answer because the game is about to start.

You take some time showering and putting on comfortable clothes, then situate yourself on the couch and put on the game. It has already begun, and you know it’s not gonna be an easy one, against the Bruins.

It’s not until the first intermission, when you check your phone, that you see there’s a reply from Elias waiting for you.

It’s just a simple heart emoji, but it makes your heart race anyway.

2.

“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I can barely hear you.” Fiona’s tone is disapproving, and you pull your mouth away from where you’d pressed it into your arm to scream.

“I said, this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me!”

She laughs. “It’s just a car, Y/N.”

You don’t necessarily like your job, but Fiona is one of the reasons you’re still putting up with it. She’s not just a colleague anymore, slowly turning into a friend and someone you confide into about everything – even about your Elias problem – and you love her, but sometimes you could murder her.

“It’s not just a car,” you bite. “It’s my only mode of transportation, because you know how much I hate taking the bus, and it’s broken, and I probably can’t even afford to get it fixed. And now I have to walk home, and it’s raining.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Fiona admits.

After a long day at work, you couldn’t wait to get home and watch The Bachelor until you fell asleep, your cat in your lap. However, when you finally got away from the office and stepped into your car, it was clear the universe had different plans.

It didn’t start.

After trying approximately 15 times, you’d screamed, nearly cried, hit the steering wheel, and then went back inside to scream and cry a little more at Fiona’s desk.

“I just wanna go home, Fi.” You know you sound miserable, but you honestly can’t help it. Taking the bus always heightens your anxiety, so you avoid it at all costs: however, walking home in this pouring rain doesn’t seem like much fun either.

And Fiona can’t even bring you home, because she takes the bus to work like a normal person.

“There’s a simple solution to this, you know,” Fiona says. She starts to organize the papers on her desk, a clear sign that she’s getting ready to leave the office as well. “You could just call…”

“No,” you interrupt her, knowing exactly where she’s going with this. “I can’t call Elias. He’s got the boys over today and I won’t interrupt his fun with my misery. Besides, he does too much for me already, I can’t ask him for more.”

“Right,” Fiona drawls, “but when he hears that you were stuck here and didn’t call him…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t have to.

Elias would be furious.

One time, you were on a night out when you got a little too tipsy and didn’t realize your phone had died. By the time you noticed, all your friends had already jumped in their respective Ubers, but you had been too busy chatting with some girl you didn’t know to order yours, and now you couldn’t because you didn’t have a phone. 

You knew you could’ve asked any random person to order you an Uber, or at least to borrow their phone to call Elias – it’s not like you didn’t know his number by heart – but that felt like too much. It had been 3 am and he had a game the next day, so you decided to walk home.

When he found out the next day, he got so mad he didn’t talk to you for 4 days. Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore and just sat on his couch pouting at him until he spoke to you again.

“Something could’ve happened,” he’d muttered, explaining to you why he got mad in the first place. “And I’m your best friend, and you should know me enough to know that I would much rather you wake me up than you walk home alone.”

You did know that, and he was your best friend, and you’d promised him you’d never do it again.

It’s only that promise, that causes you to reach for your phone.

“I’m texting him, but if he’s busy, I’m walking,” you tell Fiona stubbornly. She ignores you, which is probably fair enough.

Hey, you busy right now? Are the guys still there?

The answer comes right away. What’s wrong?

Damn, he knows you too well. You quickly explain the situation and before you know it, Elias is on his way to come get you, and Fiona is bidding you goodbye after you promise her you’re fine on your own for the twenty minutes it’s gonna take Elias to get there.

You’re just checking your email on your phone when you hear the bell at the front door.

“I’m coming!” you call out. You hurry to grab your bags and then walk quickly to the door, where Elias is standing with his car keys between his fingers.

“So Bella finally gave up, huh?” he asks, a sly little smirk on his face. He always teases you with the fact that you named your car.

“Yes, and I know you told me,” you sigh, and it’s clear that he immediately – and correctly – reads your mood.

Without a word, he opens his arms, and you gratefully fall into them, hugging him tightly to your body. There’s very little in the world that brings you more comfort than one of Elias’ hugs: although being on Elias’ couch wearing one of his old hoodies watching some stupid reality show might come close.

“Let’s go home,” Elias finally mumbles, and he holds out an umbrella when he lets you go.

It’s raining really hard, and you know he has to park his car a little bit away because there’s no parking in front of your office, so you take it.

“You could’ve just called, I would’ve ran out,” you tell him sternly, but he shrugs.

“But then how would you have gotten the umbrella?”

You would tell him you’re not made of sugar, but as soon as you step outside the rain clatters loudly against the fabric of the umbrella and you realize you would’ve really, really hated to not have it, so you stay quiet.

Instead, you walk after him as he runs to his car and opens the passenger door for you. It’s still running, and the heater is on: only then do you realize you’re quite cold.

This morning they said it would be nice outside, so you didn’t bother to take a coat.

It’s quiet in the car for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the silence that only comes when two people understand each other, and combined with the soft music that is playing on the radio it lulls you into a false sense of comfort.

Until you realize something.

“Oh God,” you groan, “I’m gonna have to call someone to tow Bella to a mechanic.”

Elias raises an eyebrow. “Well, you could just leave her there.”

Normally you would’ve at least playfully punched his arm for the sarcastic tone in his voice, but right now you’re too busy freaking out.

“And how am I gonna get to work tomorrow? Don’t you dare say you’ll bring me cause I know you’ve got morning practice and it’s super out of your way. Fuck, why did this have to happen to me?”

You let your head fall against the window. The glass is cold against your cheek and it’s enough to stop the spiraling in your brain at least for a second.

“Hey.” Elias’ voice has lost all sarcastic edge. It’s gentle now, and he’s speaking low as if not to startle you. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll call the tow truck and the mechanic and get your car fixed. And Brock lives close enough that he can take me to and from practice and you can just take my car to work.”

It’s… a reasonable solution, but once again something that Elias has to go out of his way for, even just a little bit, and you feel something warm bloom inside your chest.

“Okay,” you answer, the stress already ebbing away. “Thank you. You’re the best.” You reach out and place your hand on his knee, squeezing slightly. “Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Elias mumbles something incoherent. You think you see some color on his cheeks, but surely that’s just because the heater is on, because there’s no way he’s blushing over something you said.

You turn off the heater, and let your thoughts wander as Elias drives you home.

3. 

Traveling is fun, but traveling for work is instantly a lot less fun. You really don’t know how Elias does it.

You’re feeling run down and jetlagged when you come back from your work trip, which is ridiculous cause you flew to Toronto, not to freaking Europe. But it’s late at night and the three days you were away were so busy you can barely remember sleeping at all.

Fiona slept on the plane, so she looks a little more alive than you when your feet touch the ground at Vancouver airport.

“Is Elias coming to pick you up?” Fiona asks, as you’re both walking through the gate.

You shake your head. “I’m sure he would’ve insisted if he could, but he’s in California right now. They played the Kings tonight and they’re playing the Sharks the day after tomorrow.”

“I wish I was in California,” Fiona says wistfully. It’s cold and wet in Vancouver and it wasn’t much better in Toronto. The tiredness doesn’t help: it feels as if the cold of the night is slowly creeping into your bones.

“Come on then, I’ll drop you off.” You thank Fiona and follow her to her car. Normally you wouldn’t have minded taking an Uber, but right now you just wanna get to bed as soon as possible.

“If I fall asleep, just let me sleep here,” you mumble, resting your head back against the head rest. Fiona laughs as she starts the car.

“No way, you’ll freeze to death.” She squints outside. “Do you think it’s gonna rain?”

“It always rains,” you say, despite the fact that it’s not raining at the moment.

Fiona turns onto the highway. “So, are you finally gonna put up that bookcase you bought?”

Involuntarily, you groan. “Stop, don’t remind me.”

Your old bookcase is big and ugly, and it has been a thorn in your eye ever since you moved in. The person that lived there before you left it there, and you only kept it because you couldn’t really afford not to.

Four weeks ago, you finally allowed yourself to buy a new, prettier bookcase.

But…

“It’s just so big,” you whine, repeating the excuses you’ve been giving Elias every single time he raises a judgmental eyebrow at the old bookcase still standing in your living room. “It’s gonna take forever to take it apart and then it’s gonna take me even longer to somehow get it all downstairs and get rid of it.”

“And then you have to build the new one,” Fiona nods understandingly. “And you’re not good with furniture.”

“Hey,” you protest, but it’s weak. You’re not good with furniture, which was proven when you tried to help Fiona move in and didn’t manage to help her put together anything at all. Instead she ended up with a table with three legs. 

You even tried to read the manual, but it’s just not your forte.

“I’ll do it,” you add, “I promise you I will. Just, maybe not this weekend…”

Fiona laughs, but she doesn’t call you out on the fact that it probably won’t happen during the week either.

Finally, you arrive at your building. You can’t wait to go to bed, and you thank Fiona multiple times before dragging your luggage upstairs. When you open the door to your apartment, Puck comes running up to you, meowing and weaving between your legs.

“Don’t be dramatic,” you tell the cat sternly. “Petey sent me many pictures of you sleeping in his lap and I know he feeds you chicken when he thinks I won’t notice, so you got spoiled this week.”

You lovingly scratch Puck’s ears, before flicking on the light and kicking the door behind you in the lock.

Instantly, you notice the difference.

Your apartment isn’t big: real estate in Vancouver isn’t cheap and your job isn’t great. You got this place mostly for the location, and you like the big windows in the apartment and how it manages to get in light even during the darkest of winter days.

One corner of your living room, however, was always darker than the others. The bookcase took away the entirety of the white wall, and it created a dim lit, sad looking corner.

Now, it’s open and bright, as your new bookcase stands proudly in its place.

There’s only one person who would’ve done that.

The phone rings a few times, but you know the Kings game ended a while ago so you let it ring. After a while, Elias picks up.

“Sorry for the background noise,” is the first thing he says. “We’re on the plane. Taking off in a few minutes, probably.”

In the background, you hear some yelling. Probably Jake.

“You put up my bookcase,” you blurt out, ignoring Elias’ statement. “You put it up and all the books are in it and the other one is gone.”

Elias sounds a little smug when he answers. “Well, it’s not like you were ever gonna do it.”

“Thank you.” To your own horror, you can feel tears burning behind your eyes. “Elias, seriously…”

“It’s nothing.” You can hear Elias’ smile even over the phone: you know everyone always makes fun of his deadpan tone when he talks to media but with his friends, his voice always betrays everything he’s feeling. “I know you were worried about it, and I know how much you hated that old one.” He laughs. “I get why now, by the way. It took me and Brock like four hours to get that thing out.”

“Brock helped too?”

“He did.” Elias is silent for a while, but in the background you hear another voice. “Brock says to tell you that I forced him. But that’s not entirely true.”

Entirely. You know Elias definitely did force him.

“Tell him thank you too.”

“He says you’re welcome,” Elias says, quick enough that it makes you think Brock didn’t say that at all. “We’re about to take off so I have to put my phone on airplane mode. But call me tomorrow okay? I wanna hear about your work trip.”

“Okay.” For some reason, you can still feel the lump in your throat. You didn’t notice it momentarily, while you were focused on Elias’ and Brock’s bickering, but now it’s back, and with a vengeance.

Fuck. You just…

“I miss you.” You blurt it out before you can stop yourself and if anyone would ask, you would blame the exhaustion and the fact that Elias can’t see how wet your eyes are over the phone.

“I���ll be back soon,” he answers softly, and his voice is gentle in a way that makes you think he knows about the tears, anyway. “And when I am, we’re gonna take a whole night to eat food and stare at that bookcase, because it needs to be appreciated after the effort I had to put in to build it.”

You laugh before quietly saying goodbye to Elias and hanging up the phone.

In the kitchen, Puck sits in front of the fridge. When you open it there’s a pan with chicken.

For Puck the note next to it says, and you send Elias a picture of Puck with his chicken.

“He spoils you,” you tell your cat. You decide to ignore the fact that he kinda spoils you, too.

4. 

When you open the door to your apartment, you’re met with the smell of garlic.

After yet another shitty day at work, you can already feel the lump in your throat building again. You didn’t even tell him, this time. In fact, you carefully avoided his texts because you knew he’d clock that something was wrong.

Fuck. That’s probably where you went wrong in the first place; usually you never ignored Elias’ texts.

“Hello?” you call out into your own apartment.

There’s soft music playing and there’s light coming from the living room, but the amazing smell that tickles your senses is clearly coming from the kitchen, so that’s where you go.

Elias is standing at your kitchen counter, chopping a carrot.

“Hey,” he greets, smiling your way. “I’m making dinner.”

It’s almost too much, how domestic it looks. And how right: like he belongs there in your space, waiting for you to come home.

Suddenly there’s the overwhelming urge to go towards him, so you do. His arm immediately lifts, creating space for you in the crook of his body, and you slip under his arm easily.

“How did you know?” you mumble into the fabric of his worn Canucks hoodie. It smells like him, a scent that reminds you of home as much as your mother’s signature dish.

“You didn’t answer my texts,” Elias hums. His arm tightens around your body. “So I figured you could use some good food and a bath.” His head motions towards the general direction of the bathroom. “I’m running it as we speak.”

God. You love him.

It hits you, then. You knew you had a crush on him, knew you wanted to kiss him and hold his hand and feel his hands on you. But it’s more than that, now.

It’s the realization that you want to share everything with him. The ups and the downs. The bad nights and the bright mornings. You want him in your kitchen, but more than that, you want it to be his kitchen, too.

Fuck. You’re so royally screwed.

Because he does this, and he does so much for you, but he’s never said anything, anything at all, to indicate that he wants that. Or has even considered it, thought about it.

Maybe it’s never even crossed his mind. Maybe he takes care of you like he would take care of a sister.

“Hey.” Elias’ voice is gentle as it pulls you out of your thoughts, back down to earth. “You’re shaking. Go take a bath, and I’ll finish dinner, and then we’ll watch How I Met Your Mother. I wanted to watch the next episode but I waited for you.” His grin is a little lopsided. “Isn’t that chivalrous of me?”

It is, and normally you would tease him for it, but you can’t really think or speak, so you just nod.

“There’s wine in the fridge, if you want a glass,” Elias says. He holds out a wine glass, already waiting for you on the counter.

And who cares that it’s only a Tuesday: you deserve it, damn it, so you open the fridge to find the wine.

You’re met with more than just that.

“You bought groceries?” you ask, your eyes traveling through your fridge. You hadn’t gone grocery shopping in like a week, and when you left for work this morning the fridge was basically empty. Now it’s so full you wonder how you’re gonna close the door.

“How else was I gonna cook anything? You only had cat food left,” Elias tuts. You’re not surprised to find Puck at Elias’ feet, waiting for him to inevitably slip him some human food.

“Did you get…”

“Your coconut yoghurt? Yes.”

He did, and he got basically all your staples, and nothing you wouldn’t buy yourself.

“Honestly,” you say, as you finally reach for the bottle and pull your head out of the fridge. “I don’t know what to say, Petey. Thank you. I had such a sucky day and now it’s already endlessly better.”

This time you know you’re not imagining the flush on Elias’ cheeks.

“It’s fine,” he says. “You should go take that bath before it goes cold.”

You want to say more: to tell him time and time again how amazing he is, how much he means to you, how thankful you are. But you know once you start, you can’t be trusted to not say the one thing you don’t think he wants to hear.

So you say nothing, and simply go to take your bath.

+1

But you think about it.

You think about it all throughout Christmas, where you don’t see Elias at all. You think about it during NYE, when you get a drunk SnapChat from Elias with his brother, right at midnight.

At least, you figure, he’s not kissing any girls.

You’re not kissing any boys, either. You’re at a NYE party with Fiona and it’s fun, it is, but it’s not the same as it would be if Elias wasn’t all the way in Sweden.

You miss him like a limb, and you know it’s not fair because he rarely gets time to go home to Sweden and he deserves that time with his family, but you can’t say you didn’t wish his time off ended already.

When it finally does, it’s not Elias you see first. Troy is throwing a late New Years party, just to welcome everyone back to Vancouver as they get ready to start the season back up, and when you arrive at his house it’s early enough in the evening that there’s only a handful of people there.

“Y/N!” Brock calls out, opening his arms to give you a big hug as you enter. “Missed you!”

You laugh. “Get off of me, you giant. I’m gonna drop the wine.”

“Not the wine,” Troy says dramatically, tearing it out of your hands. His eyes are sparkling when he thanks and hugs you, and then Brock is ushering you into the living room, where Jake is talking with Quinn.

Or talking at Quinn. To be honest, you never really know when Quinn is paying attention.

“Y/N!” Jake exclaims, much like Brock had. “I’m glad you’re here, we need your input on something.”

“Okay?” you ask, curiosity instantly taking over. Whenever Jake and Brock get together, it promises to be an interesting evening.

“We’re trying to decide Brock’s love language.”

It’s sudden enough that you laugh. “His what?”

“Love language,” Jake explains. “Like, how he shows people he loves them. He says it’s quality time, but I think it could be physical touch. He’s always touching people.”

“Jake is deflecting because his love language is physical touch,” Brock scowls. “I think I know my own love language, Tuna.”

“Hold on.” Unfortunately, you have to press the pause button on their discussion. “What options do we have?”

You’ve got no idea where they got this from, but it doesn’t really matter. You’re always down to share your opinion on stupid stuff with your favorite boys.

“There’s gifts, quality time, physical touch, words of affirmation, and…” Brock pauses, and you can nearly see the wheels in his head turning.

“Acts of service,” Quinn offers, which proves that he was actually paying attention.

“Mine is physical touch,” Jake says determinedly. “When I care about someone, I always wanna be touching them, and when I’m in love with someone that’s like twenty times worse.”

“Poor girl,” Quinn mutters, and the conversation gets paused in order for Jake to put Quinn in a headlock.

“I think yours is quality time, actually,” you tell Brock when Jake is done murdering the rookie. “Your ex was always on her phone during your date nights and I remember it drove you crazy.”

“See,” Brock says proudly. “Quality time baby. If I’m there I’m there.”

“What about yours, Huggy?” Jake asks. “Physical touch would make sense, since you’re called Huggy.”

“I’m not called Huggy,” Quinn deadpans. His face is devoid of any emotion, but you know him well enough to recognize the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He reminds you of Elias, when he does that. “And if we were going by nicknames your love language would be fishing.”

Everyone cracks up on that, and then the doorbell rings and Bo arrives.

The topic gets put on hold, then, because Bo is instantly talking about Gunnar’s first Christmas and Brock is talking about becoming an uncle again and you feel warm and happy on the couch with your wine, squeezed between Brock and Troy.

Until, a little later, you realize someone is missing.

“Where’s Petey?” you ask Troy. “Isn’t he coming?”

Troy shrugs. “Should do. But you never know with Pete.”

It’s not entirely true: if Elias promises he’ll be there, he will be there. But, to be fair, he usually doesn’t promise that to anyone but you, and you hadn’t asked him to come, this time.

You figured he just would.

“What about Petey’s love language?” Brock asks idly, not knowing he’s opening Pandora’s box for you. “Definitely not words of affirmation, huh.”

Troy laughs.

“Nah, Petey’s an acts of service guy. He’s always doing shit for Y/N.”

You would protest if you trusted your voice not to shake. As it is, you stay quiet and hope the flush on your cheeks gets mistaken for a wine flush, and not an Elias flush.

Brock brightens. “Oh, yeah! Getting her car fixed, making dinner, building her stupid bookshelf, feeding her cat… He is a typical acts of service guy.” He bumps against your shoulder playfully. “I hope you appreciate his showing of love, Y/N. He rarely does that shit for me.”

Troy snorts. “That’s cause he’s not in love with you, Boes.”

“He’s not in love with me either!” you squeak, unable to stay quiet any longer. You know if you don’t derail this trail of thought very soon, it’s gonna end badly for you.

Both Troy and Brock look unimpressed, at that statement.

“Yes, he is,” Brock says slowly, as if explaining something to an unruly child. “He drops whatever he has going on to do small things that make your life easier. That’s literally the same as him screaming I’m in love with you from the highest rooftop in Vancouver.”

“He’s not like you,” Troy continues, a little more gentle. “When people have different love languages, they don’t always understand what the other is trying to say. Your love language is words of affirmation. You’re always telling Petey how amazing he is. But he doesn’t see that as a declaration of love, or whatever. He thinks you tell everyone that they’re amazing.”

You do, to be fair, but not as often as you tell Elias. Because he’s…

Well. Amazing would be an understatement, actually. He’s everything to you.  

Things are starting to make sense, like puzzle pieces fitting into place. Suddenly, you start wondering if there’s more to his acts of service than plain friendship, or him being a good guy.

It’s not like he does stuff like that for all his friends. He helps them out, sure, but he always goes above and beyond for you, usually not even needing to be asked.

But he’s not in love with you, surely? He hasn’t said anything…

But maybe words aren’t his thing. Not like they are yours: the way you can’t stop yourself from gushing into Elias’ ear even when you know you should stop.

What if Brock and Troy are right?

You don’t get much time to think it through, because that’s when Elias finally appears in Troy’s living room, looking endlessly cool in his blue sweater, wearing his glasses. He’s sending death glares at Jake, who wolf whistles from the corner, but then his eyes meet yours and they soften.

“Hi there,” he smiles, reaching out to you. You immediately jump up and launch yourself at him, any previous conversation about the two of you momentarily forgotten as you curl your body into his, his arms tightening around your waist.

“Missed you,” you hum into his shoulder, and you’re rewarded with a grin you can feel against the skin of your neck.

“Are you sure hers isn’t physical touch?” you hear Brock ponder, and you would flip him off if you could be bothered.

You can’t. All you can be bothered doing is plastering yourself to Elias’ side and not leaving him alone even for a second, the rest of the night.

It works at least for a while, until he asks: “Do you want another drink?”

“I’ll go with you,” you say, not willing to part with him yet, and you ignore the knowing look Brock shoots you as the two of you find your way to the kitchen.

Elias immediately goes for the wine, because he knows you better than anyone else.

“I asked my dad about the job,” Elias mentions casually, as if it’s not a big deal at all. “He thinks he can get you an interview.”

“Wait, what?”

Suddenly your heart is ticking in your throat. Before he left for Sweden, Elias had mentioned that his dad knows a guy who works for a similar company as you’re working for now: apart from the shitty boss you have or the ridiculous low salary you get paid. It’s your job, but better, and Elias promised you he’d get his dad to ask if there were any open positions.

There were. And you sent in your application not thinking there was gonna come much from it, but now…

Something warm washes through your chest, like your heart grew three sizes. Of course he asked, of course he made it happen. Looking out for you, always and at any time, from any distance.

“It’s not a done deal,” Elias warns, oblivious to your mental breakdown. “But he said he thinks they’ll like you and he’ll put in a good word for you.”

You squeal and throw yourself in his direction once again. Elias laughs as he catches you, fingers curling in your hair where your face is pressed against his chest.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

“It’s about time you get rid of that dumb job.” You can hear the frown in Elias’ voice. “They don’t take good care of you at all, it’s not good for you.” The distaste is obvious and it’s adorable. You pull away.

“I don’t need them to,” you say, carefully. You can still hear Brock’s words in your voice, and you figure it’s worth a try, probably. “Because you’re always there to take care of me.”

Elias’ cheeks darken substantially.

“I mean it when I say I don’t know what I’d do without you, Elias.”

“You’d be fine,” Elias waves away the compliment as you figured he would. But this time you’re not backing down.

“Maybe I would be. But I wouldn’t be as happy.”

They say when you really love a person, you’ve got to show them. But you’ve never really known how to do that, instead you always use your words to tell them. But it seems like Elias isn’t believing you, not even now.

And you’ve got to fix that.

It’s not until you’re in Elias’ car on the way back home that you bring it up again. The party wasn’t really the time and place, but the conversation with Brock and the guys has been nagging in the back of your mind since it happened.

If you didn’t realize Elias’ acts of service meant something, maybe he doesn’t realize your words of affirmation mean something. And even if it doesn’t mean he’s in love with you – you’re really not that sure about that – you need him to at least know how much you appreciate him.

“You know I’m always there for you, right?” you start, carefully breaking the silence in the car. Elias shoots you a glance from behind the steering wheel.

“What?”

“Like, even if I’m maybe not as good as you are at realizing what you need me to do, if there’s ever anything I can do to help make your life a little easier or better I wanna do it. I’d do anything for you.”

It’s too honest, probably, and too much all at the same time. But Elias doesn’t look that surprised. In fact, there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You make my life better by just being you, Y/N. You don’t have to do anything for me.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach and you wonder how you’re gonna get through this conversation. But it’s one that needs to be held, so you press on.

“What is your love language, Elias?”

Now he frowns. “Have you been talking to Brock?”

Of course Brock talked to Elias before he talked to you. The traitor.

You decide to ignore that, for now. You’ll talk to Brock later.

“You know my love language is words of affirmation, right?”

Elias shrugs. “Brock did say that, but I didn’t know what you thought it was.”

“And yours is acts of service,” you hazard a guess. You keep your eyes firmly on Elias’ face, which is the only reason you catch the slight change in his expression.

Like a wall, crossing over his features. He’s trying to protect himself, although you have no idea why. Does he not get where you’re going with this?

“I can tune it down if you want me to,” he says, a little grumpily. He’s staring straight ahead at the road, stubbornly refusing to look your way.

And oh God, he’s truly not getting it, and this is going the exact opposite way you want it to go.

Troy did say that when people’s love languages don’t match, they don’t understand what the other is trying to say. But you honestly don’t know how you can make it any more clear to Elias.

Well, except…

“I love you,” you blurt out. “Like, in love with you love you.”

The words ring loudly in the quiet car. For a second, nothing about Elias’ expression, almost like he didn’t hear you. You can almost feel your heart sink into your stomach.

Then, he pulls over the car.

It comes to a stop at the side of the road, two wheels on the pavement and two still on the road. It is, objectively, not super safe, but it’s also 3am and there’s no other cars to be seen. Very carefully, without looking at you still, Elias turns on the hazard lights.

And then finally, finally, he turns to you and kisses you.

You weren’t expecting it but it doesn’t really matter: it’s like your heart and head both light on fire, and everything outside of the car simply disappears. It’s just you and Elias, and his lips on yours and his hands on your body.

It feels right. Like it was always meant to end up like this.

After what feels like ages, he pulls away. He’s smiling, and his eyes are bright blue in the dark car.

“I thought you said those kinda things to everyone,” he admits, quietly. His thumb is rubbing your side, his eyes fixed on that spot. Almost as if he can’t really believe he’s allowed to do that.

You don’t want him to ever do anything else.

“I thought you did those kinda things for everyone,” you shoot back.

Elias raises one eyebrow. “That bookcase weighed at least 300 pounds.”

You can’t help it: giggles are escaping your lips and suddenly you’re both laughing. The tension in the car dissipates instantly, and suddenly it’s just Elias again, your best friend.

Your best friend that you’re now allowed to kiss. So you lean in and press your lips against his again.

After all, kissing is a love language you think everyone understands.

(+2)

“I’m home!” Elias’ voice sounds through the empty apartment, and you immediately leave your spot behind the kitchen counter to run into the hallway.

With a squeal, you fly towards him, and he catches you easily as you knew he would.

“Hey, babe,” he laughs quietly, pressing a kiss into your hair before returning the hug fully. “Is that my sweater?”

“Maybe,” you admit, as Elias’ hands make their way under his own blue sweater, that you definitely steal from him most evenings. “Missed you. And I’m very proud of you.”

“I missed you too,” he answers. “Watched the game?”

“Obviously.” You roll your eyes, even though you know he can’t see it with your face still buried in his shoulder. “A hat trick, huh? I think that needs to be celebrated.”

“Oh?” Elias pulls away then, one eyebrow raised and a cheeky twinkle in his eyes.

“Not like that,” you scold him, lightly punching his arm. “Or, maybe like that. But first, I made Kalops.”

At the mention of his favorite Swedish food, Elias’ face lights up. A while ago, you asked his mom for her recipe and it’s one of the only Swedish dishes you can make, but you make it well.

“Also,” you continue, as you take his hand and start leading him towards the kitchen, so he can sit at the counter while you cook as he always does, “I called the electrician so the TV is already fixed. I know you could have done it, but I decided I’d much rather use that time to hang out with you. I took Puck to get his shots at the vet and I also used my free afternoon to take your car through the car wash.”

When you reach the kitchen, you twirl around towards Elias and his arms immediately circle around your waist.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” he mutters, taking the opportunity to kiss you once more. “But thank you. I love that you took the time to take care of that for me. And I love you.”

“Look at us,” you tease, lightly tugging at the ends of Elias’ hair. “Speaking each other’s love language like that.”

“Perfect couple,” Elias agrees, and you smile back at him.

Somehow, you and Elias managed to create a language of your own: one that you could speak with nobody else. But luckily, you don’t have to.

Cause he came home to your shared apartment like he always does, and well. That’s the biggest act of service he could do for you.  

[omiscurls]

omi doesn’t like flowers

sakusa kiyoomi x gn!reader fluff

 cw: the reader has a little sibling, i hope nobody minds, there’s one line of very slightly implied nsfw, you won’t even notice

meant for kiyoomi’s birthday! happy b-day to my favorite boy <3 

one of the first things you’ve learnt about your boyfriend, even before your relationship started, is that he rarely shared personal information with anyone. he’d go as far as put up a fake birthday on his social media to avoid the awkward wishes and tons of yet another gifts from fans he so didn’t like going through. apart from that, there was a lot of weird things going on with birthdays, in his opinion: for instance people automatically thinking about zodiac sign or assuming other things, insisting to have a party, (a surprise one was his biggest nightmare) and a whole lot of other stuff he found appalling.

so it was just simply easier to say his birthday is “mid november” and get on with his life as if he didn’t just straight up lie. and truth be told, many times had you heard that “oh, in summer” or “right before christmas” before you got to know the truth. it wasn’t that easy on its own, but ever since his first little white lie, you knew he wasn’t true with you, and kept insisting, until he finally pulled you to the side and told you his real date of birth, the one only komori, atsumu, and, as he used to say, “unfortunately” his family knew.

march 20th was the date, and since you wanted to tease him, a grin appeared on your face before you mumbled “so a pisces, huh?” and earned a glare so cold and deadly, you visibly shivered before apologizing.

the next thing you learned about him and his birthday, was that he was picky about gifts. which went well with that “i’m an old fashioned gentleman” facade, because he could just say “oh, you don’t have to buy me anything. your company will be enough” with a slight smile he’d practice for years, and people thought he was just being humble and polite. spoiler alert: he wasn’t. he just didn’t want to deal with his own pickiness, and explaining to people what precisely would he like to get was too much trouble, and took away the magic of it even for someone as blunt as kiyoomi sakusa.

it’s not like birthdays were such a big deal for him, anyway, he didn’t need any gifts or parties to celebrate the fact that he just got one year older. what was so fun about that? but like the pain in the arse you were, you kept asking him what he wanted for the occassion way before he asked you out, and he hated it, but not more than he hated the way his heart jumped at the possibility of getting something you spent your time on. 

the first year of your friendship, you got to know the basic thing: omi doesn’t like gifts. gifts make him uncomfortable, he didn’t know what to say, how to act, what to do with it... does he open it right then and there, or wait, but why would he immediately thank someone if he doesn’t even open it? schroedinger’s cat: if he doesn’t open it, it might as well be thin air inside the box.

it was confusing, and weird. you also learnt that it was all caused by the fact that no one was in the house to celebrate young omi’s birthday back in his childhood days, since his parents were working and his siblings long away in college, so he just assumed it was a holiday to be overlooked and not dwelled too much on, and got so used to it, that now it bothered him to be in the center of attention for once. 

the third thing you learnt that year: it was almost impossible to find him a good enough gift, at least from your perspective. you spent literal hours at the store, looking at the different things he might’ve wanted, but nothing caught your eye. you called all his friends, yet he hadn’t mentioned the thing he’d like to anyone, not even komori. so you decided you’d go with instinct and remembered one cold morning when he showed up to practice grumpier than usual, and when he was asked what’s wrong, he answered:

“i woke up late and didn’t have time to make coffee”, half mumbling, half actually speaking, eyes too tired to be annoyed, legs slowly sweeping one before another as if he was forced to come here. And that’s where you got your idea. 

His first birthday with you, being his 21st, had started terribly, because it was wishes from his family. He’d told you multiple times he’d rather have them forget that send those copied off the internet lines that mean less than a “go fuck yourself” 

later on atsumu insisted or telling everyone and it took poor omi more than twenty minutes to convince him not to, and as both the setter and the spiker weren’t in their top moods nor form, MSBY lost a match they had that day. so all he wanted to do march 20th 2017 when he came home was to lay flat on his couch and play with his dog’s fur while watching a crappy TV show. he most definitely didn’t expect you sitting in front of his apartment’s door, tired, almost asleep. 

he sighed, approching you and slightly nudging your foot with his, making you shake your head and look up. 

“you’re back!” you said with a smile, and he raised an eyebrow. 

“and you look like a homeless person” he responded upsentmindedly, avoiding you to reach the door lock. only after you got up did he see a small package you held behind your back. “it’s not a right day to be celebrating me, y/n” he added, opening his apartment’s door and letting you in with a hand gesture. you went inside, not for the first time ever, but every time the feeling was the same, intimidating and cold. 

“why do you think that?” you said, taking off your shoes and putting them on a rack, and turning around to see him navigate you to the bathroom. you placed your bag and the gift on the floor before following his steps. 

“didn’t you see the match? i fucked up big time” he chuckled ironically, looking at himself in the mirror, and you could witness the disappointment and anger in his eyes. 

“so every time you guys win and you get the credit, you say that volleyball is a team sport, but if you loose, suddenly it’s your fault?” you smirked, but to your surprise he nodded. 

“precisely”. 

“well, regardless, it’s a minor set back. you’re still the best they make” you tried to cheer him up, but only received an eye roll in return. “aaaand, you’re a birthday boy today!”

“don’t remind me” he sighed, walking over to the kitchen to see what he can make for dinner for himself and his uninvited guest, meanwhile you grabbed your gift and walked up right behind him, tapping his shoulder lightly. 

“happy 21″ you whispered, a slight, soft smile on your lips, as you handed him the package. he looked at you with a tired look in his eyes. 

“you know i’m not the biggest fan of gifts” 

“just open it, grumpy face” you whined, and he gently took it from you, placing it on the counter and carefully unwraping it, to see a thermal mug. he sent you a questioning look, before you explained “you were complaining about not having enough time to drink coffee before leaving, right? well now you don’t have to drink it before leaving” 

there was silence for a long while before he looked up from the mug and gave you the softest smile you’ve ever seen. “that’s so thoughtful of you” he said, and laughed a tiny bit, probably to cover his emotion, which obviously didn’t work “thank you.”

omi likes thoughtful gestures. 

over the second year of your friendship, as he and his career gained more recognition from the public, he was “forced”, as he’d reffer to it, to share such a personal information that is his birthday date. the managers always claimed that it’s not a big deal, that it’s just gonna be added to the oficial page and his wikipedia, but judging from the amount of gifts atsumu, bokuto and hinata always received, he had his reason to doubt that. 

and as it turned out, he was right. 

because starting from march 10th, his personal mailbox as well as the oficial MSBY’s mailbox has been FLOODED with different things that he really had no energy to go over. and so, he invited one of his best friends to help. 

so it was late at night on march 19th, and you were both sitting on the floor of his apartment, a mess of ripped wrapping paper all around you, loads of different stuff laying on the table, as you still had a lot of things to open. 

“what even is the point in sending presents to someone you’ve never met? i mean less to them than their neigbour’s dog and yet i’m the one getting gifts? this is messed up” he kept on complaining, opening another package. 

“it’s called being famous, sakusa-kun. you mean very much to people you’ve never met, because your journey to where you are now inspires them to keep going on their path until they reach their dreams” you said with a smile, confident it’ll ease his worries, but it didn’t. 

“don’t know if i consider being in the Jackals my dream, though”

“you mean, you don’t think being a key player in a division one team is not a dream come true?” you asked, shocked. 

“no, no, of course i think it is, i’d never thought i’d reach this far, but, there’s more things to be done, it’s not like i’m an accomplished person just yet” 

that, you found interesting. 

“really? than what are your dreams, sakusa?” you asked in a low voice, eyes fixed on his face, as he focused on reading a letter in his hands. 

“national team” he murmured “MVP, a golden medal, a legacy that goes beyond just me” he opened up as if it was nothing, as if he was talking about his grocery list “but that all wouldn’t mean a thing if i were there alone, though. i’ve received plenty awards and mvp’s over the few years that i played, but i guess what would really matter, and make everything else worth remembering, would be... having someone be proud of me, i guess”

you felt your heart getting soft and fuzzy at the confession, wanting to respond, before he handed you the note he was silently reading. 

“this is a poem, y/n, a POEM! what the hell, i don’t even understand what’s going on there” he whined, throwing his head back to rest on the couch seat, as you giggled, reading the note. 

“it’s nice” you said in a high-pitched tone, pushing down a laugh. 

“it’s too... sophisticated” he uttered, looking at you, a tired look in his eyes. “that’s my mother’s thing, to be sophisticated, i like simpler wishes, they’re easier to believe” 

omi doesn’t like fancy words.

you nodded, but before you could say anything, your phone rang, and both of you looked at the screen. the hour on display marked midnight, and as the alarm ranged, the words “omi’s b-day!!!” appeared on the screen. he smiled subconsciously, noticing how you always address him as “sakusa” or “sakusa-kun” but the notif in your phone stated “omi”. 

“looks like it’s the 20th already, birthday boy” you grinned, turning off the alarm. 

“don’t call me that, what am i, six or something?” 

you decided to ignore the comment, and smiled at him warmly before speaking, almost under your own breath:

“happy 22, sakusa. i wish you only to be here to hear me say happy 23 next year. and say so with pride.”

his eyes appeared foggy and glossy, but it was probably fault of poor lighting and tiredness. 

“why stop at 23?” he asked, before standing up, and offering you his hand to pick you up, too. 

omi likes very real wishes. 

over the third year of your friendship you became very close. ever since that night on his living room floor, both of you couldn’t wrap your minds about anything other than each other. neither of you oblivious idiots found out what it was about, but day after day and month after month it was harder and harder to spend time apart. 

before he could notice, sakusa always tried to find you in the crowd before serving, and that’s how he always used up most of his time. once, he even heard ushijima complain “how much longer are you going to take? be a man and beat me without your good luck charm!” 

his good luck charm, huh?

you kinda liked the sound of that. 

you also found yourself texting him every random thought that came to your head, sending pictures of everything, becasue you wanted to share as much of your life as possible, meeting up whenever you could and facetiming whenever you couldn’t. 

it all started to go downhill when atsumu, bokuto and hinata started noticing. noticing the way he’d smile at his phone, the way he’d wink, smile, tease, joke, speak, even the way his eyes wondered when left unfocused, and a dreamy look covered his vision. 

and they started to tease, and joke, and make his life all more difficult, just because “omi has a crush!”

because he didn’t. right? he didn’t have a crush on you, for sure, and it only annoyed him, how childish they were about it, how insufferable. they got on his nerves so bad that he stopped responding to all the messages, stopped smiling, joking around, and all, just to prove his point, 

his point he knew was no longer standing. 

and so atsumu would ask, after one of their practices, “hey omi, is your lucky charm picking you up? some birthday dinner, maybe?” he’d nudge his side with an elbow, raising his eyebrows. 

“i don’t know” he mumbled “and stop calling them that”. the brunette kept looking for something in his bag, just to avoid atsumu’s tiring, curious glance. 

“fine then, how about your significant other?” he continued teasing. it’s not like sakusa would hate that scenario, of course he wouldn’t, yet his mind kept spiraling - what if you came in and heard that? what if you assumed he was calling you that behind your back?

what if you didn’t feel the same?

“stop butting in my relationships for once, miya! how many times am i supposed to tell you i’m not in any way romantically involved with them? i don’t even like them that much!” he lied, straight in his best friend’s face, fed up with all the jokes and smirks behind his back, and judging from atsumu’s shocked expression, and the color running away from his face, it worked. 

“what, don’t you have anything to say to me now?” he kept going, before atsumu shook his head, and pointed behind kiyoomi’s back wordlessly. the spiker raised an eyebrow, turning around to see you, in the flash, eyes wide open, a tiny little package in your hands, wrapped so neatly in colorful paper, with a little bow tie at the top. 

even from a distance he could already half see, half imagine tears prickling your eyes before you smiled sadly, dropped the box from your hand and let it fall to the floor, and began walking out of the gym room. 

“no, no no, y/n, wait!” he started shouting out, but your ears seemed deaf to his pleas, as he ran up to the door you just walked through, leaving atsumu alone, but with a condescending smile. 

“i don’t like them that much my ass, omi-kun” he whispered to himself before walking over to grab his things. 

meanwhile sakusa ran out to the reception room of the stadium, but as it turned out, it was filled with fans waiting for them all to come out, so they could wish him happy birthday, and it seemed impossible to get through the crowd and reached you, especially considering you were already at the exit door. 

he looked around himself and noticed all the people, how many of them were there, and how close to him, and got paralyzed in place, wanting to move, or disappear, that’d be for the best, and yet he couldn’t even move one foot. 

soon enough he felt a hand on his shoulder, guiding him back inside, his savior apologizing to the public.

“sorry guys, we have one more thing to go through! he’ll be out shortly” atsumu laughed off, before closing the door and handing omi the gift you left. 

the spiker mindlessly opened it, only to find out a spotify code inside, put in between a glass frame. he took out his phone from the bag and scanned it with his app, gasping audiably when the page loaded. 

lay back in the arms of someone by smokie showed up on his screen, and a smile crawled up his lips before he remembered how badly he fucked this up a second ago. 

he narrowed his eyebrows before looking up to find the blond setter’s eyes. 

“atsumu” his friend’s eyes widened in surprise upon hearing his first name, instead of surname “is there a back exit from here?” 

atsumu miya smirked. 

“bet ya there is, mr i-fucked-up-big-time” he answered, theatrically offering his hand, before taking the lead. 

you on the other hand, came home peacefully, although hot tears were streaming silently down your cold cheeks as you entered the apartment’s door and looked at the calendar, showing the date of march 20th. in a sudden wave of aggression you ripped it off, knowing that there’s nothing to be so pressed about: he had no duty of feeling the same way towards you, why would you even expect it?

you went on with your day, ordering takeout for dinner, snuggling up on your couch and rewatching a series, not granting your thoughts access to yourself, and it was really going well, until you heard the doorbell ring. 

“nobody’s home” you yelled, assuming it was either atsumu or bokuto on their way to cheer you up, and they’ll probably let themselves in as soon as they hear your voice, but that didn’t happen. instead, the doorbell kept on ringing. “ugh, just come in!” 

they didn’t come in, so you lifted yourself off the couch and walked over to the door, opening it and gasping a tiny bit when instead of your dumbass friends holding McDonald’s you saw a one hundred and ninety two centimeters tall figure of a man, struggling to catch his breath, leaning on your doorframe, his black coat unbuttoned, cheeks red, eyes puffy and hair in a mess, not even gelled into place as they always are. 

“can i help you?” you asked in a cold manner, voice sending daggers into his poor, confused heart, as he finally looked up to meet your glance, an apologetic look in his eyes when he tried to form a sentence. 

“i think i can... no, way, i think i might...” he kept struggling, to which you only rolled your eyes, waiting for the continuation of that sentence. 

“spit it out, sakusa” you stated, sending shivers down his spine with how annoyed you seemed. 

yeah, spit it out, sakusa, he thought to himself before taking a breath and finally speaking up correctly:

“i think i might be in love with you.” 

your eyes widened for a second as you tried to find evidence of honesty in his expression, tone, voice, because you definitely didn’t believe his words. 

his heart dropped when you scoffed. 

“i don’t need your pity” 

that’s when it hit him:

omi doesn’t like to spend his birthday without you. you make it not only bearable, but fun. 

in fact, he never wanted to spend it without you again. and as that realization made it’s way into his brain, he caught you closing your door. 

“i respect you too much to pity you” he spat out as he placed his hand in between the door and the frame, making you unable to close it, even if you wanted to. 

and there was the honesty you looked for. 

“then why—” you started to wonder, but he shook his head before interrupting, a helpless look across his face.

to lay back in the arms of someone

“i’m afraid of... of this, okay? i’m afraid of falling in love, if this is any explanation for you. it’s like... you make me feel as if i’m on the top of the world” he laughed nervously, making you raise your eyebrows, before continuing “and it’s fucking scary to imagine falling from that high” 

you give in to the charms of someone

his glance wondered all over your face to find crumbs of understanding, scared you’d laugh his confession off, a grimace of worry replacing the insecure smile painting his lips, and he was just one step away from shouting “i’m telling the truth!” at you, but you cut him off by opening your door fully, and welcoming him inside with a warm smile on your lips, and a reassuring sentence on your tongue.

happy 23rd, kiyoomi

“i think i might love you back”

omi likes feeling loved. 

the next year flew by on both of you pushing each other’s limits, challenging each other like the both of you always needed, being there for each other, finding out how nice it feels to have someone there. it was coming home with a sore throat after a night of yelling “one more point, omi-omi!”. it was carefully intertwining your pinkies together while shopping without even realizing. it was awkward dates, because the label “date” always changes the atmosphere. it was taking weird selfies, it was having to part for out-of-town games and facetiming from hotel rooms. it was butterflies in the stomach and a ball of fluff in mind. 

it was everything. 

the first year of your official relationship flew by in no time, kiyoomi finding new joy in his birthday since now it was really a day to be remembered, marking your anniversary. 

and just as you got home to his apartment after dinner, ready to unpack all the fanmail once again, the janitor of the building stopped you. 

“sakusa-san, there was a flower delievery for you” he sighed, going towards a locked shelf and coming back with a bouquet, at which kiyoomi stared for a whole five seconds before you decided to take it. 

“thank you for taking care of it” he muttered with a slight bow, you pushing him to go up the stairs. “who’s it from?” he’d ask you a minute later, halfway through the staircase. 

“don’t you wanna check yourself?” you asked, but he frantically shook his head. 

“check it for me, please”

omi doesn’t like flowers.

you nodded wordlessly before checking a card. 

“well if i’m not mistaken this is your surname” you furrowed, struggling to read the handwriting. in your defense, the kanji for “sakusa” are quite complicated. 

he looked over at the text before admitting “yeah, that’s from my aunt, she insists on sending those ever since i got into MSBY” he finally got to his door to unlock it “kinda sad how she didn’t even bother writing a text before” he chuckled, making you want to throw the flowers away. 

you knew he considered them worthless if that’s the story behind the nice gesture. 

the apartment door remained opened, but he didn’t enter, you almost stumbled over him, focusing on the note, and glanced over to see what caught him attention and prevented him from going inside. 

“this is your surname, for a change” he stated, showing you a buffy envelope over his shoulder, but didn’t let you take it when you tried. instead he opened it himself, a neatly wrapped package inside, with a note at the top:

i wore glowes making it! i swear!

there was a typo in gloves, and the writing style could use a little work on it, but that didn’t affect kiyoomi at all, as he was hypnotized with his package after noticing your surname on it. he carefully opened it, to find a keychain, made from cubes, as the ones used in different boardgames, on every one there was a letter or a number, together forming the writing “kiyoomi 15″ with a heart at the end. it was all on a black string, and almost shined with how many times it was wiped before sending. after holding it in his hand for a while, he noticed another card at the bottom of the package, taking it out and reading out loud:

“please take care of my sibling. happy 24th!” he uttered in sheer amazement, as he grazed his fingers over the delicate ornament, before wordlessly going inside the apartment. 

you followed him, closing the door behind you, worried about his reaction about your little sibling’s present, only to find him crouching before his couch, his training bag laying there as he tried to attach the keychain to the it’s zipper, smiling when he managed to do so. 

before he got to turn around to face you, you managed to take a photo of him smiling at the newest addition to his training gear, and send it to your family with a caption:

omi likes personalized stuff. 

over all the years of knowing kiyoomi, you’ve learnt so much about him, his life, his habits, everything. you knew him inside and out, and so he knew you. you’re laughing at your confusion and fear while you were buying his first birthday gift, as you sit on the floor in your shared apartment, plotting his 25th, biggest yet gift, as if he isn’t about to walk through the door, coming back from practice. 

it’s almost ridiculous, how you struggled, wondering if he’d even like a gift, when right now you have a whole list in mind:

although omi doesn’t like gifts, he likes little thougtful gestures. he doesn’t like fancy big words, but likes real, honest wishes he can really take to heart. he doesn’t like spending his birthday without you, he likes feeling love, doesn’t like flowers, but does like his gifts personalized and touching. 

you realize all the moments in your relationship made you know his every emotion and expression, but you’ve never seen your precious boyfriend cry, ever. 

and you decide to change that. 

you’re gonna make him something that’s gonna mask all the memories of his birthday being forgotten, walked pass by, pushed into the back, and not properly celebrated. that’s gonna outshine every single gift he’s ever got. that’s gonna make him so happy, he’ll cry.

an idea pops into your head as you get a pen and start writing. 

dear kiyoomi,

_______

“dear kiyoomi” you get to hear him say a couple of nights later, he reads it out on your plea, with a smile across his lips, as you, atsumu, bokuto, meian and hinata, as well as omi’s older siblings and komori and osamu sit at the table, a cake and two traces of his favorite cupcakes are taking all the space possible.

omi’s voice is colored with a couple of glasses of wine, so it’s easier to him to relax and genuinely grin at the paper as he’s reading, all part of your plan. 

“when i first met you, the first thing i found out is that you’re a private person. not that i was freaked out or anything, but you did have, and probably you still do, a heavy aura around you that may have flustered me a tiny little— a tiny little bit? smiles, your hands literally shivered” he stopped to comment, making you roll your eyes at him.

“zip it and keep reading, birthday boy”

“... a tiny little bit, i agree. nevertheless, the first thing i actually felt, was that you striked my soul as someone weird. thanks, baby” he interrupted again, but you urged him to keep reading. “... weird in a way that made me feel like i’ve never felt before, the kind of safe and terrified at the same time. terrified of what, you might ask? well, kiyoomi, here i’d like to quote you. you once told me that me loving you is like i had the power to break you, and you loving me back was like giving me a map with all the points to strike at. well if that’s the definition of love we’re going for here, than i not only give you a map, i’ll grant you a whole GPS. the trust you put in me every day to not take advantage of what you’ve given me is inspiring, and hence, i surrender every single point of ressistance i’ve held against you, i’m yours to snap at a wish, and trusting you that you won’t do it is something i can spend my life believing in.” 

at this point kiyoomi had to stop and take a deep breath and a sip of his wine before continuing, clearing his throat a bit, chocking back his emotion. 

“... throughout my years by your side, i’ve memorized everything there is to memorize about you and gifts. you generally aren’t a fan, but you like them carrying a lot of thought, dedication, you like them meant exactly to you and to you only. you don’t want pointless blabbing and overused sentences, you enjoy sincerity. you need love radiating from them in order to truly acknowledge them as something special. now, the last thing i know is that you don’t like flowers, but i hope you won’t be too angry with me and with what i’ve prepared for you. enjoy, signed, your smiles” he finished, looking up at you, already moving towards the counter, grabbing a bouquet from behind it. 

he watched in amazement as you handed it to him, taking it in his hands, realizing that- 

it was a bouquet of origami flowers. 

“please, y/n, this is so—” he tried to find the right words, but once again, nothing came to mind as he watched your careful work from every side possible. 

“shh, there’s a special thing to them” you explained, sitting back in your seat, exactly in a straight line from him, watching every single change in his expression as he tried to find what you meant. 

he realized every flower had a little card sticking out from it’s center, and pulled the first one, the closest one to him. 

“the first reason i love you” he read in a weak voice, chuckling nervously again before he found the courage to read it out loud “you make me feel protected” 

he looked up at you with such a gentle and caring note in his eyes that you almost didn’t want to encourage him to keep reading it, but you did. 

“two. you don’t smile too much” after that he raised an eyebrow, but read the next one “three. ...but when you do, you outshine the sun itself. four. you memorized my coffee order within the first two times we’ve been to a caffee. five. you got supplies to redo my coffee order without going to the— hey i swear i didn’t mean anything bad by it!” 

“that’s literally the reason they love you for, idiot” atsumu laughed, urgining him to keep reading with a hand gesture. “come on, this is adorable”

“six. you have a playlist with songs that remind you of me. yes, i know this, omi, we share a spotify account. seven. you claim you don’t like interacting with people, but let a little girl propose to you with a cereal ring in the park.”

“this is too cute, omi is a softie” bokuto whined, hiding his face in his hands, but sakusa only slapped them off. 

“am not. eight. you keep a mental score of all the times you won over ushijima. nine. you take way too much pride in beating atsumu in service aces”

“true that!” atsumu shouted, hiding behind his glass. 

“ten” sakusa shook his head. “you don’t enjoy PDA, yet gave me the kiss of the century when i met your mother, just to annoy her. eleven. your childhood photos are too cute. twelve. you blasted hopelessly devoted to you the morning after we— i’m not reading that, idiot!” he half laughed half whined, in a high-pitched voice. 

“omi-san knows how it’s done, apparently” hinata wheezed, komori accompanying him. 

“did i ask?” he rolled his eyes and went back to picking lines from the flowers. “thirteen, you tug the corner of my sleeves when you’re stressed in public. fourteen, you have me saved in your phone as your good luck charm. fifteen. you put my head on your chest when i can’t sleep at night, to calm me down. sixteen. you make me laugh when i’m sad. seventeen. you almost never intent to make me laugh, yet always do. eighteen. you always make sure i’m carrying all the emergency items all me at all times. nineteen. you make me call you when i get home from a party, if you aren’t there to pick me up. twenty, you always insist on picking me up from wherever i am, because you’re worried about me. i mean yeah, what kind of a boyfriend would i be if i weren’t?” he genuinely asked, half of the guest shaking their heads. 

“come on, five more to go, you adorable, clueless idiot” motoya pat his back and looked over his shoulder to see your careful handwriting, before sakusa hid the message from him. 

“twenty one. you make me not worry about my future. twenty two, you try to do all your little morning rituals in advance when you leave, so i don’t miss you too much. i still do. twenty three, you’re never afraid to be bluntly honest with me. twenty four, you always ask if you can hug me when i’m low or crying. and twenty five—” he stopped more suddenly than anywhere before, eyes visibly watering before he dropped his head down and his it in his arms. 

“what’s on there?” several guys asked over themselves, as omi kept laughing slightly, hiding tears in the sleeves of his fitted shirt. 

“you’re gonna be the death of me” he murmured into the material, making everyone laugh, including you, who decided to walk over to him and hug him, resting your head on his, taking advantage of the fact that he was sitting and you could reach it. 

after a moment of weakness, he showed his red and slightly puffy face, two trails of tears fitting his smiling expression as he struggled to say 

“twenty five. you make me prouder and prouder every day.” he kept laughing through his tears, really trying to hide his emotion and failing miserably. “you really did try to make me cry on my birthday, didn’t you?” he looked up to you still embracing him. 

“i suppose i did”

“well then, i’m gonna outshine you” he said, shifting in his seat in order to get up, wiping the last remains of tears from his face. 

“what do you mean?” you asked, met with his confident smirk. 

“you’re gonna see in a bit, trust me” he huffed, dusting off his pants’ material on the knee level, and reaching over to his pocket, in his hand a tiny, little box. 

with a little more than an origami flower. 

[purplerose244]

Lighten up

Here’s my fic for the @mlsecretsanta! So happy I joined in this year too, it’s one of my favorite events!! 😍 Hi @xlexicx! ❤ I’m your secret santa! Here’s my present for you, I hope you like it! Merry Christmas!! 😊😊

Summary: Take the high road, do not intervene. That was what Adrien said, to his friend and to himself. Then again, Chat Noir said none of that. And he really didn't like seeing Marinette sad.

Also on AO3

How to make the worst Christmas Eve, by Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Ingredients.

Seven days filled with plenty of akuma attacks, as fresh as possible, dripping with exhaustion. A couple of extremely busy hours to finish the dress to bring to the party, whipped consistently with stress and pressure considering all the important figures that were going to see it. And a big handful of disappointment, because while trying her best to ignore how out of place she was feeling during such an event – at least without wearing her special pois suit –, Marinette had almost forgotten the golden boy to add to the situation, or to be precise it was Adrien himself that hadn’t been able to come. Because that was what gave this terrible night its distinct disappointing taste.

“I can tell you all about him, he’s even more charming when he’s not into his suit!” A whistle in his ear. Lila was marching in the middle of the ballroom, waving around her black dress, the feathers on the hair pin over her head, and her long innocent eyelashes, followed by some of Marinette’s most precious friends. “He said he got in like a breeze even without getting recognized, I guess this party could only be that exclusive since even Marinette could get the tickets! Oh, but I’m still grateful!” She waved at her, grinning widely.

Right, she forgot one important part of this disgraceful recipe, an extremely generous sprinkle of lies all over. Better of hypocritical origins. She clenched her hand around her glass, the drink raised up a little. She was starting to wish he got the Cat Miraculous.

Just for the sake of a good old Cataclysm.

Marinette forced her grimace into a smile, for the sake of Alya, Rose, Nino and Juleka all orbiting around the star of the night. Yeah, of course she was. Even though it was the stylist who got the tickets from Jagged as a little Christmas present, it was all about that liar once again. She didn’t even know why she was surprised anymore.

“You’re welcome…”  More unique was, the latest idea the brunette had come up with to grab attention. And that one was even more out of the line than her usual.

“You guys, I’m really thirsty, and I saw Chat pretty tired too. I’m gonna take a little break, have something to drink.” Lila snapped at her friends one of those insanely studied, absurdly accurate, innocent smiles. “I would never want my date to get tired, especially since he’s a superhero in disguise! Oh, sorry, I raised my voice but remember that this stays between us, right?” She did her bat of eyelashes, she did her little wave of her hair that was meant to be annoying only to those who knew her – ergo, only this everyday Ladybug at the moment –, and leaving her excited friends behind she headed straight towards the drink station.

Right where Marinette was. Oh no, not another war declaration. When she had decided to come to this party despite knowing her sixth ticket would had gone to her, she had promised herself not to cause an argument and to stay as far away as possibly from her. Something that Lila had deliberately decided to ignore considering how she was pondering on what to drink while giving her the smuggest look, like she had just discovered Hawk Moth’s identity and wanted her to beg for it.

Hawk Moth had to be busy today. With all the evil intentions that the stylist was feeling right now, she could had become three different akumas. Then, her phone vibrated from her purse. She read the name, and all darkness dissipated immediately. Her heart was melting way before reading.

“Getting to my rescue, my prince?” She whispered, checking the new notifications.

Adrien had sent her Nino’s video first, that alone brought a smile to her face. The DJ had been absolutely adamant that he made at least a little film about the party, to show the blonde that they were all hoping he was going to recover soon. For once that he would had been allowed to attempt to an event that had happened to include a few friends of his, he had to faint a day after the end of school for Christmas break. Exhaustion. If it hadn’t made so much sense she would had been so much angrier. And she was fuming. She was mad, and furious, and sad, and all of the sudden Christmas felt so unfair. Like after being unfairly negated so many things in life, Adrien had to be stopped by a cold.

More messages followed.

Adrien: I’m glad everyone’s having fun.

Adrien: I hope the night gets better for you, you look tense.

Adrien: See you soon :)

Of course, she had made quite a face, since Lila had started to talk about her supposed relationship with her partner. Also of course, complete goo heart. Along with a deep sadness.

An angel. Even now, while forced under the cover of his bed – with those lovely cheeks all red and lucid gorgeous eyes and perfect lips and dang Mari stop it –, like he hadn’t been stuck into his own room enough to last him for a lifetime, even now he had taken the time to worry about her. He was worried about her. What a wonderful, sweet, caring, so lovable, unbelievably kind-

“Well hello Marinette, grabbing something to drink too?” Awful, hypocritical, incredibly annoying liar that had dared to interrupt her mental praises towards her beloved Adrien. Lila put herself right next, grabbing a glass herself, wearing that smirk on top of her lips. “I am too, I’m so tired, you have no idea! I didn’t know admitting my relationship with Chat Noir was going to cause all of this fuss! I guess these people really drink whatever you tell them…” It had to bring some kind of relief to her, not having to lie to Marinette since she was perfectly aware how little integrity the brunette had in her. Then again, who knew if even this manipulative face wasn’t another lie. If it turned out under all those veils there was absolutely nothing underneath, the stylist would had believed it.

She knew engaging her was a bad idea. Take the high road, like Adrien said.

But then she noticed a little necklace hanging over the black dress. With a round bell on it. And it was enough. She put the glass down to not crush it out of frustration.

“What do you want to get out of this?”

“I’m so glad you asked, you know what feels even better than seeing you hopelessly trying to prove to everyone that I’m wrong?” Yep, good call on the glass. “Thinking of that pathetic pois superhero discovering on the Ladyblog, because let’s be real Alya can’t keep her big mouth shut even for a second, that her beloved partner is going out with the girl she hates so much.” Lila hummed with satisfaction, sipping her drink, sighing delightfully. “Two birds with one stone, bella! She won’t be able to prove it wrong either, because the stupid doesn’t even know Chat Noir’s real identity!”

Marinette had always thought that her normal life and her superhero life were separated by one giant wall in between. Then this girl had come along, managing to get all the hate from the both of sides, making her feel like double herself, and double the need for vengeance.

She tightened her fists, glaring at her.

“This is dangerous, Lila! Their identities are important, their lives are! It’s one thing messing with me or our classmates, but they’re the heroes that save us every day!”

“So glad to hear your opinion, the one I don’t care about. Well then, I think I’ll go meet with my date, Chat Noir.” Lila giggled, pointing at a random guy. “Could it be him? Or maybe him? I’m the only one who knows, after all!” She laughed, Marinette grunted. “Maybe him? How about him?”

Not her kitty. Not her partner. Not her l-

“I might have a good guess.” One cheerful, sassy, unmistakable voice erupted between them. “But please keep going, don’t let me stop you. After all, when the cat’s away, the mice will play!” Chat Noir winked at Marinette, most likely hinting at that short time of her as Multimouse. Which would had been very annoying yet kinda witty, if she hadn’t been this shocked to see him.

To see him… like this.

The mask was there as usual, the ruffled hair and the pulsing eyes too. But that wasn’t his usual costume, at least not completely. He was rocking a full black suit tailored like it had been made just for him, yet the gentle shine over the cloth and the clawed gloves still present gave it away that it was still part of his normal superhero attire. He had a bright green tie with a minuscule fantasy that looked like many tiny Cataclysms one next to each other, and his usual reinforced shoes looked less rough and more refined.

He looked good. Something about Chat Noir’s confident attitude and that certain egomaniac tendency gave it away how in a proper suit he would had looked pretty great, but this was real. This was actually happening, and Marinette found herself catching her breath.

Luckily – for once in her life and only this once –, Lila was there as well.

“Chat Noir?!?” Oh, that horrified, overwhelmed face made the stylist’s night. That perfect satisfied face cracked violently, and she was frozen on the spot.

“Oh my, it is him!!” Unluckily, for once for Lila, Alya had a special filter in her ear for scoops and even from the other side of the room she managed to hear – also the brunette had erupted into a pretty impressive and delightfully scared squeak. “You actually showed up in your costume, what happened to the secrecy? Don’t worry, I know about yours and Lila’s situation, and I promise it’s between very close friends!” She had the recorder out already, pointed out like a weapon, looking oh so hopeful.

Chat Noir grinned, flashing a wink at the phone Nino was holding up to record the scene.

“You know I’m always up for a special interview for the Ladyblog, Alya.” The holder of the fox Miraculous brightened. “But I’m gonna need a heads up, because I have no idea what you’re talking about.” And just as fast the glimmer died down, turning into a frown. She put a hand over her hip, her peach-colored dress wrapped tight around her torso.

“Come on, do you really have to make it difficult? I don’t actually know your identity, although I did have a look around knowing you were somewhere.” A snort.

“Yeah I was somewhere, somewhere else. You do realize I just arrived, right?”

“Of coooouuurse, you just arriiiiived.” Alya winked at him. The cat superhero stared at her blankly, taking his time to fill a glass and empty it pretty quickly. He did look pretty tired now, like he did quite the run. “… you were here as a civilian, right? You even sent those little notes to Lila, saying how beautiful she was and all the rest!” The journalist held the recorder with one hand and picked up something from her pocket. A little green note saying ‘love the feathers, you look like a queen. CN.’. And wow, Marinette could at least compliment how shameless the brunette had been.

Chat Noir peaked over it, frowning.

“… Alya I signed stuff for you, you know that’s not my handwriting.” The journalist hummed uncertainly, like she did have that thought. “Besides, as I said, I wasn’t here. I arrived now.”

“Oh you don’t have to lie Chat Noir!” At last Lila came back from whatever world she had been stuck on, pulling off that obnoxiously wide smile right towards her kitty, huh, this kitt- the kitty! “But I understand that you’re not ready, so don’t make too much of it, forget about it and enjoy the night!” Of course she couldn’t give up, it was never that easy with her.

The cat superhero simply smirked, filling his glass again.

“Thank you Lila, a very warm welcome. How about you give the same to Officer Roger and Mr. Ramier over there?” Next to the mayor, chatting happily, where the two named that had in fact appeared only in that moment. Sabrina was greeting her father with a big hug. “We had a pretty tough moment back there, they got into another argument over pigeons and laws, luckily we managed to arrive to a compromise before things escalated. Bet Hawk Moth bite his Miraculous over this one!” He snickered, emptying another cup with a satisfied sigh.

Trying to solve a conflict through words and a plan instead of destroying everything, that sounded like the Ladybug way. And there he was, her – the – kitty, looking all happy about it like he was thinking of her proud owner petting his head.

A smile came on its own, Marinette couldn’t help it, and maybe didn’t want to.

“Great job, Chat Noir.” The superhero beamed at her. Adrien’s eyes were pure and breathtaking, but the unnatural beauty of these was impressive too. So very pretty.

Alya looked like she had half the forehead from how hard she was frowning.

“But Lila said you’ve talked all night together…”

“We did! He’s just covering it up!!” Lila’s voice raised of one octave at least, judging from how hard Chat Noir had winced being right next to her. The brunette smiled at him, batting her deer-like eyelashes. “Chat, I know what’s going on, you still feel like you own something to Ladybug. But you got hurt so much by her already, and this is not fair! Don’t you think you deserve better?” She scooted closer, raising a hand over him. “Come here, come to someone that can give you what you want.” Okay was Marinette really the only one who thought this was getting weird?

Apparently not, from how promptly the cat superhero had dodged the touch. He was suddenly extremely tense, a very wary smile on his face, hands raised like he was surrendering. Somehow his usual goofiness looked almost charming today…

Or that was the suit. Yeah, definitely the suit.

“Now there, I know I’m irresistible, but I really don’t think you should get any closer.”

“Why would you get away? Do you hate me? Prove me you don’t and get over here!” Lila tried to grab him again, but it was too easy for him. “Ladybug doesn’t even love you, why all this fuss??”

“Lila, I’m telling you, it’s better for you to stay awa-”

“I said get back here!!”

“Nope, no way!”

What a weird scene, an angry fox chasing a cat in the middle of the ballroom of the most luxurious hotel of Paris, surrounded by guests now very aware of the commotion happening. Their friends, guests, celebrities, even the mayor was starting to get worried. Marinette spotted Rose and Juleka, with the former all saddened by the fight between two people that she knew and probably wanted to get along – predictable –, and Luka along with Chloe and Kagami, with the rich girl absolutely living through this – predictable and relatable.

As a fairly common scene, Chat managed at the end to step on his own tail and struggle to stay up, right as Lila finally managed to land onto his chest with a grin.

“See everyone? It was simply a little fight between sweethearts, nothing to-”

Marinette could confidently say that, in her life, she had witnessed plenty of extremely satisfying moments. Saving her city every day along with her trusty partner while helping the people she loved? Awesome. Stepping up as her own person thanks to the confidence given from being Ladybug and getting to leave a mark into her life? Incredible. Spending occasional but so precious time with the love of her life knowing that with every single moment spent together, the chance of becoming something more became at least somehow possible? Priceless.

But this one, this very specific moment when Chat Noir scowled visibly and then sneezed, loudly and very grossly, right into Lila’s face, this one could take the cake. She had never seen such a perfect sequence of moments happening in her life.

The brunette screamed, panting in pure shock, as the hero wiped his nose.

“I tried to warn you, achoo!” He took two steps back, waving his hand at her. “I’m super allergic to feathers, and you’re wearing a hair pin full of it! I couldn’t stay near you if I wanted to!” It had some weird effect, this suited up Chat sniffing with his head up in desperate search for a tissue. Both extremely him and endearing, to the point Marinette cracked a laugh when the research was fruitful and the superhero blew loudly into a paper towel.

With the white feathers on her head, the nasty green of her eyes and the absolute flushed face of her, Lila looked one with the flag of her country. For a second. One extremely Italian second.

Then, of course, the waterfalls arrived.

“That was so mean of you, you should’ve at least warned me!” Chat Noir’s simple retort was a large grimace that said ‘I tried to’ quite clearly, but the brunette was into her part now. “I thought you were kind and special, but you’re just a jerk! You wanna make me look bad! I should’ve known! Right Alya?” She turned around to get her friend’s support.

Only to meet with something that for luck of fate, when she had first transferred in their school, Lila Rossi hadn’t managed to encounter: Alya Cesaire’s inquisitory glare.

“Wait a second.” She lowered her recorder without switching it off, stepping forward with one foot. “If he’s allergic there’s no way he talked to you or even got close to you tonight! All along you told me you were chatting with him… Lila… were you lying?”

Marinette could hardly believe it. She stared, agape, but never as much as the actual liar.

“I wasn’t! Of course not, he’s making that up to make me look bad! I don’t know why he’s pulling up all of this act, he’s probably getting manipulated by Ladybug to make me look bad! And here I thought she was a friend! Besides, I bet he’s pretending the allergy!”

“Excuse me, miss.” Completely out of nowhere none other than Mr. Ramier appeared, along with Roger and Sabrina, with the latter immediately running towards Chloe – with eyes sparkling like stars at the sight of her best friend’s two chaperones. “But if I may interject, there’s no way Chat Noir is lying about his allergy. I would know, since I get akumatized quite often and he’s forced to endure my pidgeons all the time. Very sorry about it by the way.” The gentleman looked at the cat hero, who got another tissue kindly offered by Rose and simply waved his hand like it was not a big deal. Which was fair, Mr. Pidgeon wasn’t nearly the most menacing threat ever – a bit of routine in the mess that was their lives was actually nice sometimes.

That same sweet blonde and helpful girl with the pink dress gasped all of the sudden, tears shining in her eyes. Actual, genuine drops, unlike someone else’s.

“You said the feathers were artificial, that your grandma was running a charity association that wanted to erase everything made by animals in the fashion world!!” Her lip covered in peach gloss quivered vividly. “I can’t believe you would lie about that, Marinette was right!” She turned to the stylist, who couldn’t believe this was actually happening. “I’m so sorry Marinette, I should’ve known!” Juleka from behind her nodded, looking sorry.

Lila gasped, again in her overly dramatic way, shaking her head.

“How could you say that? You know I would never lie, you know me! I… I…” Marinette should had seen it coming, as soon as those vengeful eyes got stuck on her. “It’s all Marinette’s fault!” Crocodile tears once again, the stylist didn’t even have it in her to be annoyed. “She wants to make me look bad, she did ever since I came here! I don’t know why she hates me so much!” There was such a long list into her diary, but the stylist felt like it wasn’t necessary. Her friends looked doubtful. Like they were on her side again. “And you’re trying to make me feel bad, I could get akumatized! How could you?”

“You do realize I’m right here, right?” Chat Noir grinned at her, getting closer to Marinette. “I could easily take care of you while Ladybug gets here, no problem. So go along, get crazy.” Wow, Ladybug would had not approved that. Good thing she wasn’t here.

“Did Marinette drag you into this?? She is the worst!!”

“No way, Marinette’s the best! She made these awesome shades of mine!” Out of nowhere Jagged Stone interjected, cocking a wink to her favorite designer who couldn’t help the little giggle – the frequency he showed those glasses reminded her of her dad whenever she accomplished anything. “Girl the way you’re talking to her is totally not rock and roll, who do you think you are??” The Rockstar glared. And so did Fang behind him, showing all of his teeth.

All colors drained from Lila’s face, as she pointed at the rockstar.

“What- Why- He isn’t supposed to…!”

“Oh yeah, didn’t I tell you?” Chat Noir seemed to be trying his best to contain his smug aura. “Another reason I got here this late, I thought of inviting Jagged and prince Ali! Isn’t it great? They’re usually super busy and not really into random celebrations, but it turns out they’re more than happy to participate knowing one of their heroes is here. What do you know?”

Lila was at loss, going with startled eyes from the celebrity in front of her, to the royalty not too far, to the people staring judgily at her. She opened her mouth to speak, try more covers, but Alya’s lips smack interrupt her. The journalist looked like she finally had enough, turning to Jagged.

“A question. You don’t know Lila, do you?”

“This girl? Definitely not.”

“So you never wrote her a song because she saved your cat?”

“Pff, a cat? I’m allergic to cats, and I hate them, they’re so unfriendly! Well, most of them, Chat Noir is pretty cool.” Another wink was thrown at the superhero, who cocked finger guns at the superstar. It looked oddly appropriate between these two.

Alya grabbed her head between her hands, groaning loudly.

“I can’t believe it, I… I’m so stupid. Marinette.” Her eyes were so gloomy, so different from her usual self. It made them trustworthy, despite everything. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve believed you right away. I promise I’ll make up for all I did. In the meantime…” With a quick gesture, as quick as Rena Rouge would had done it, Alya grabbed Lila’s arm and dragged her forward. “We’re gonna make sure you don’t know prince Ali too, and find out where in the world where you during your vacation since, you know, it looks like you missed school without a reason! And all of my interviews on the Ladyblog, ooooh, you’re in big trouble girl!!”

“No!! Let me go!! Marinette’s lying!!” The image of the perfect girl crumbled right away, as Lila started to pull such a tantrum that Manon would had felt embarrassed for her. “It’s all Ladybug’s fault! Or Marinette’s! Or both!! And Chat Noir’s!! It’s their fault, not mine, they’re the liars! I’m not a liar! I’M NOT A LIAR!!” And like that she was dragged away without mercy, like a criminal finally getting brought to justice.

People followed the scene, Rose and Juleka still looking sorry, Nino as well while making sure his girlfriend wasn’t going to straight up murder Lila. And Marinette stayed where she was, looking at them as the prince turned around, and another tantrum was born from the exposed liar.

After five full seconds of silence, Chat Noir blew his nose into the tissue once again, so loudly nearby guests gave him weirded out looks.

But not Marinette, no. She burst into laughter.

“Oh my gosh, it actually happened! Karma happened! A Christmas miracle!” She had to wipe a tear, more relieved than happy in reality. “If this is a dream please don’t wake me up, I wanna live in this world forever!” And in that precise moment the music changed, a slow rhythm that made her smile incredulously. “Wow, really? This night everything is meant to go just right, huh.” She giggled again, pushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. She turned towards the hero, her actual hero, finding him staring at her. The mask covered most of his face, but was that a blush?

“… then it would be a pity going against the flow, right?” Chat Noir smirked, bowing in front of her and extending a gloved hand. “May I have this dance?”

Marinette gaped at him.

“Me?”

“This superhero has every intention to dance with the prettiest girl of the night, yeah.” Curse this flirtatious little kitty, looking like he had everything under control after pulling such a stunt against that liar. Curse herself for letting it work, as she was led in the middle of the dance floor.

The lights got softer, the song too. Even with the confrontation happening not that far in the room, Marinette found it extremely easy to simply live in this moment. Especially given that her – the… alright her – kitty turned out to be quite the dancer, pulling her along gently, a hand over her hip and the other clenched around her hand. It felt like her goofy partner was miles away from this elegant person, but at the same time something told her that this made sense. For some reason him being so kind and sophisticated made her feel like it was perfectly normal.

Marinette smiled softly, moving slowly. Savoring this instant.

“I didn’t think it was going to end up like this.” Chat Noir hummed questioning. “Dancing with a superhero after the defeat of a villain without akuma, that’s something.”

“You got pretty lucky, huh? Especially on the first part.” And there he was, ruining the mood, pulling her along as he laughed. Maybe a little too much? “… oh! Sorry!” He straightened up, snickering nervously. Looking dizzy. “I’m a little out of it tonight.”

The stylist frowned in worry.

“If you weren’t feeling good you shouldn’t have come.”

“Bet Ladybug would tell me something similar, along with the scolding of my life for getting involved into civilian stuff.” She was pondering about it. Mm, maybe she could let this one go. “I understand it, I do, and I usually would’ve been on my own without interacting with anyone, but I couldn’t keep it shut anymore… not after seeing how sad you looked.” And suddenly his eyes were serious, focused. Like there was actually a guy underneath all the jokes.

It was supposed to be a shock. It felt more like a surprise to her. A little push in an unknown right direction, unexpected yet somehow helpful.

“You did it for me?”

“I think Lila getting busted helps everyone, but yes, mostly for you.” Again with the red on his cheeks, this time it was undeniable. “I thought I could let it go, but I saw how it got on your nerves, and after a while it got on my nerves because it got on your nerves, and I guess I couldn’t get my paws out of this one huh? I thought that fox needed a little less- Oh.” Huh, apparently this kitty did have an off button. And Marinette actually grinned while holding him, her cheek over his solid chest, hands around his neck. Feeling comfortable, happy.

… familiarly happy? She frowned a little.

“How did you know I wasn’t okay? You said you just arrived.” She could feel him swallow from this close, after finally putting his hands over her back. And again that warm lightning shocked her over the skin, a pinch in the middle of her brain. Like this was a dream that had happened before.

Chat Noir snorted softly.

“Let’s say a friend told me.”

“Let’s say I don’t believe you.”

“I would never lie to you. I… I really don’t want you to be sad, ever. You’re so amazing, you deserve all the happiness you can get.” And with that he let himself go with the movement, less shy, more him as he led her through the dance.

The music was lovely, Chat was lovely, and one by one other people were joining the dance floor like they were all part of the same fairy tale. She could spot Juleka and Rose holding each other, Kagami pulling forward the arm of a very flushed Chloe with a giggling Luka following behind, Alya clearly satisfied of the dealt situation with Lila dragging her boyfriend in, who looked way too into it to say anything, putting quickly his phone in his pocket.

His phone… the video… everything.

Marinette gasped, her mind finally unlocking that everything.

The film of the party that only one person had managed to see besides the DJ. The same allergy to feathers. The same golden hair, the same gorgeous green eyes. The confidence in his ways, the poor health of tonight – he was here while he should had been recovering, this dumb reckless kitty, she so wanted to slap him and smooch him. And this emotion, this undeniable feeling of belonging that came whenever she was between his arms, dancing like they had at Chloe’s party when he had made all of her dreams coming true with one single moment.

It was so obvious. The more she thought about it, the more she felt stupid and unbelieving and so, so incredibly happy. So much it was making her tear up, so much it was burning her heart violently. So much she wanted to scream it, tell all of Paris, tell the entire the world that it was happening.

“It’s you.” It came with a whisper, without her realizing.

“Mhm? You’re kinda shivering.” She untangled herself from him, missing the warmth, melting into his big, confused eyes. “Are you okay?”

There really was no one else.

“… could you come to my house tomorrow night?” Marinette tried her best to hold her voice together, tightening her hands onto him. She could see his smile. She could see him, under the mask or with it. “I’ll have a Christmas present for you. As a thank you gift.” And just like every time with every single akuma she had met, a specific plan formed into her head, with Chat Noir by her side.

Only this time, it was a complete solo mission. The most important one.

 ***

 How to make the best Christmas night, by Adrien Agreste.

Ingredients.

Seven days filled with plenty of akuma attacks, as fresh as possible, dripping with exhaustion. One or two – two – very generous pinches of scolding from father because of ineptitude at being absolutely flawless. And kwami, possibly cat kwami, fallen asleep on his pillow with his cheesy smelly breath directed towards him all night. Let it all fall onto the ground because of exhaustion, making him miss the Christmas Eve party where he was supposed to meet with his friends and have a great night – black cat, bad luck, har har.

Then… pick up the bowl and start over. Add an abundant thirst of revenge after watching one blue-haired girl all gloomy – and pretty, that dress wow, she really was unbelievably talented –, a fulfilled vendetta that hopefully wasn’t going to generate more troubling problems than the major one that got solved, and an invitation from said blue-haired girl for Christmas.

An actual, proper Christmas.

Chat Noir grinned widely, jumping right into the freezing air, way less fatigued than yesterday. He slept all day, regaining the strength, getting constant smug eyes from Plagg for some reasons. His father had even checked on him, maybe even sad that this year they hadn’t had Christmas at all. So he brought dinner to his bed, and they had it together. It had been somehow unsettling and nice at the same time. Last Christmas, his escape had caused a major problem, yet the solution to everything. Adrien really hoped it was going to be the same, especially for his feelings.

He stopped over a building. He could see the Dupain-Cheng’s bakery from there, and a sudden surge of worry caught him off guard. What was he expecting from this? Marinette was incredible, being invited felt like an honor alone. Was that why he was out of breath? What else was coming? His heart was for Ladybug, then why did it not doubt about helping Marinette?

A breeze caught his right under his neck, making him shiver. Ah, he was here in any case. And he was pretty sure his social skills still weren’t developed enough to let him come to a conclusion.

He jumped over the railing and landed on the small terrace at the top of the bakery, feeling his entire being immediately burst into amazement: it was beautifully decorated with Christmas lights and plants, little Christmas balls, stars, bows and little angels all over. A little table was settled with two chairs, with plenty of sweet goodness like bonbon, macarons, brownies and one wonderful Bouche de Noel. It had stopped snowing this morning, so the night was as clear as ever, shining of stars and wonder.

This was too much. It was so much that Adrien felt himself coming out of the costume in form of little tears, that Chat Noir quickly rubbed away. He faced a bully for a girl the other night, and now he was getting emotional because this precious little corner felt so comfortable he wasn’t used to it? He had to pull himself together before-

The door of the terrace opened. He took a deep breath. Play it cool, thank her, enjoy the moment. So he turned towards the sound with the widest smile Chat Noir had.

“I have to admit, this is pretty paw-some, Mari-” His voice got stuck into his throat.

This was a dream. This was the most vivid and lifelike dream he had ever had. Ladybug was stepping up from the door, eyes glimmering under the mask, wearing a majestic red dress covered in black dots. Long black gloves covered her elegant arms, her blue hair fell gracefully over her shoulders, and her pink lips were curved in the sweetest smile possible. With her flushed cheeks and the lights framing her figure, she looked like a queen.

And she stepped forward, her highness, looking pleased and even endeared by the kitty’s reaction, that still couldn’t move a single muscle.

“I’m glad you like it, I know you have a bit of a sweet tooth. And you seemed to really dig dad’s vol-au-vent that time we had Sunday brunch, so I asked him to make some. Without telling him why of course.” Dad…? Before…? “Ah, but you’re here for this, aren’t you?” Hadn’t he been completely out of himself from the daze of this apparition, maybe he would had noticed the little box into her soft hands. It was covered in a green wrapping paper, with a black bow on it.

Chat Noir blinked. Adrien blinked, because his brain was returning to him incredibly slowly but he could still hear the echo of what was happening. And he didn’t know if he was going to be able to take it. So without looking at it he grabbed the present, lips shivering.

“L… Ladybug?” And she dared to blush, like she didn’t look breathtaking already.

“J-just open it, okay?” And she dared to ask him to do something, alluring to the possibility to move or think or act – honestly it was asking a little too much from his little feline brain.

Nonetheless, after what felt like an eternity, Chat managed to trace the wrapping of the present with his claw, gently cutting the paper in the process. He grabbed an edge and discovered another box, black with a red cover. It was already perfect. But shivers caught him as he was pulling up the top, because Ladybug looking at him so intensely, so incredibly involved with him, that every movement felt meaningful. And when he finally peaked inside, his poor heart thought it was going to stop right there, just for the sake of passing away this happy.

A green branch, tender leaves, and white berries. A little mistletoe plush was waiting for him inside the box, soft looking and well made, like only one person he knew could had done with such care and dedication. So there was no stopping the gears inside his head anymore, not when everything was making this much sense all of the sudden, not while Ladybug was stepping close, putting her hands on his over the box.

Those hardworking hands, those hair as dark as night, those pretty bluebell eyes – blindness, thy name Adrien Agreste – that desire to get her closer and more comfortable with him. That feeling of ease that he thought was only meant for the closest of friends.

Ladybug smiled. Marinette smiled.

“Tikki, spots off.” In the cold night of Christmas, a red glimmering light manifested over the girl of his dreams, revealing the one he had been looking for all along. And through her lucid eyes, her goofy smile, her flushed cheeks, he could still see all of her. Because this was her. Beautifully her. “I-I thought this was the best present I could give you, after what you did yesterday and always did for me.” She laughed when Tikki flew over the present and picked it up, right over their heads. He loved that kwami. “I hope it’s good enough…?”

Her eyes fell, the slightest fear shaking the hands that were still covering his.

And Adrien felt appalled, so outraged, looking at her straight into her beautiful eyes, smiling so much he probably looked silly. But she didn’t seem to care.

“Plagg, claws in.” She knew, he didn’t know how, but she knew. Perhaps he was going to ask later. Right now, while Plagg reappeared and gave his fellow kwami a hand, still showcasing that same irritating smirk, all Adrien wanted was to take this miracle and hold on to it as long as he could. “It’s the best present of my entire life.” He let the box fall, gently grabbing her hands.

She laughed, and all of Paris felt envious of such beauty.

“Silly cat.” Marinette beamed at him. She then leaned forward, shy, glowing. And Adrien did the same, meeting her in the middle, finally kissing the girl of his dreams, feeling the glimmering joy inside of his heart outshining every single light of Christmas.

[nozomijoestar]

I kinda burned myself out with how hard I focused on these two months ago that it took this long to pick up again. I had an impulse to see them stargaze and then of course it turned into making myself cry ahaha

Once again they’re on the road because I couldn’t think of a better setting but that’s not important; its about the feelings

Trish inspected her nails with the eye of a professional. Night sky or no, nothing, nothing, interrupted her beauty checks. The moon had risen to its peak; the light confirmed her suspicion. She sighed. Her colored polish had degraded from smooth to a ragged patchwork. Oh well, there were worse things to worry about. She looked toward the road behind her. Empty. For some reason her stomach sank. All at once her body tensed to hold itself for danger that took its time. That was the worst kind. Your mind split from your control at the worry the enemy instilled on their own pace. They didn't need to always attack, wait long enough and she'd do it to herself. Trish swallowed hard and breathed out. The night insects kept singing. A few paces ahead Mista lost himself in stretches as he should; his insistence to 'Get off his ass a bit' had dragged them out to Nowheresville, population pending. Buccellati and the rest had gathered around their car. Abbaccio crouched studying Coco Jumbo; which meant poking and prodding and holding the turtle while its legs flailed. She sighed. At least this time she was outside the poor thing. Trish squinted at them through the darkness. Narancia was missing. Of course he was. If you stopped a road trip for so much as a yawn, he'd disappear no doubt slacking off till he wandered back. It was a rule; it was as natural as the wind. Trish wondered how the boy hadn't been born a cat. He had the fickleness down already; time to find him anyway. That was another of nature's laws. He got lost sure, but no matter how she grumbled there she went guiding him back. The grass reached her knees and clung like dozens of pushing hands. Not a tree stood for kilometers; at this distance the moon grew overwhelming. Narancia lay on the grass that'd molded around his body as if it were his bed. His head rested on his crossed arms; Trish would never understand how he did it. How could one person embody freedom? How did he do it when his heart roared in a storm he'd bound emotions to years ago? She should know by now unraveling all of him was no better than holding the breeze. Trish knew he heard her coming. It was the walk he liked to say. Easy as breathing her feet fell into a rich girl's stride. Confident, precise, expectant- Trish wished those were still things she knew instead of their shells. She took a deep breath. No time for that now. Narancia turned his head as she sat. The feel of his eyes made her heart pound for something not worrisome. God, he still didn't know whenever he did that. It was annoying at how easy, it was grounding in a world where up was down and down up. He had her smiling, smiling! And it felt liberating. "There's a bunch of 'em out tonight. You got a favorite?" She looked up and awe drowned the remainders of her gloom. Stars beyond counting dotted the sky; each speck burned to outdo the others. On a clear night they went on and on stretched beyond the horizon. Her eyes snapped to one set with ease. "Orion." "Huh?" "The constellation. Haven't you heard of it?" "Uh, well not really...wasn't around class long enough for that." His eyes flit anywhere but her face; his voice had trailed into something meek. Trish held back a 'Damnnit of course not.' to put her chin on her knees. You didn't ask stuff like that to people who never got past third grade. "Well it's ok Narancia, I'll just teach you a little. That alright?" He sat up to give her his full attention. A grin on his face told her everything was fine. God at this point Trish could do just about anything to him and he'd accommodate; follow and roll over like some dog for her. The realization of power made her queasy not for the first time. That was part of knowing him, being with him. At least for now. She smiled back. "Ok then go on and look at the sky. It always looks like a bunch of stuff smashed together at first. That's where the fun starts. The harder you look eventually you'll find what feels like it's going against the flow; like its part of something all its own." "Hmm...I guess. Geez people must have some killer eyes and nothin' to do all day- y'know, to do this right!" He added the last bit before her frown had settled. With an awkward laugh he mussed his hair. "Alright alright, so I look for the ones that stand out. That's easy. Aerosmith!-" "No Stands. By yourself sure but not with me ok?" "Huh? Why's that- oh..." Trish scooted closer to wrap her arms around his. She rested her head on his shoulder and grinned when he swallowed in awe. A blush colored his face. "Keep going." "Okay. So let's see uhh...there! That one is like a tiny sun. And there's smaller ones that look like they're followin' it an'...a triangle, I think." "That's Sirius, one half of the dog constellations. It's super bright I'm not surprised you found it first." Trish said with a chuckle. "Hey a minute ago I didn't know any of 'em. It ain't bad for a first try." "Liar I did mention Orion." "Oh yeah. Well s'not like I actually saw it. What makes you like that one? Is it cool?" She stared at him in way of open affection no words could capture. It was honesty; it was pure to at last be under a gaze that wouldn't vanish. He could hear her sure, but goddamn if his mind wasn't half lost in savoring what it felt to mean something. To be someone. He tucked a loose hair behind her ear; Trish kept right on though now she smiled again. "A lot of people like Orion since most think its in the shape of a hunter. Y'know, strong and reliable and protective. Things a lot of people want to be; at least to me anyway. I'm not all that different." She again gazed at the sky yet now in the moonlight her profile took on a serene determination. He knew then that he'd be one of the handful in a lifetime to see it. Narancia couldn't help his stillness; the urge that came from somewhere he didn't know to feel humbled. She continued as though she noticed nothing. There was passion in her voice no matter how casual her words. "When I find it at night or even in pictures, mom comes back. Just for a moment, just long enough for me to start crying. I see her in my head and I remember and it's like...like I'm watching my past while I hold my breath then- then it's gone before I can really understand it. The one thing to stay is feeling for a second as if none of this ever happened. As if I'm still back home and she's cooking before calling for me to help. It's...it's so safe." Tears had fallen as she uttered the final words; her tone drifted far, far away and he knew she'd stopped talking to him. Silently Narancia hugged her and welcomed his own, gentler cry. A minute passed where only the wind spoke as it brushed the grass. He could swear her heart raced and skirted danger. When he breathed deep however, it could've well been him. As with many things Trish took the lead and broke the quiet. "I wish I could be Orion. I wish my mom would give it a rest already." Her voice still hadn't recovered its confidence. She leaned into him in search of grasping it once more. "Trish...you are. That time on the plane to Sardegna, you were by yourself and you still got us outta there. I don't wanna think about getting thrown into that meat thing's mouth. A-and I don't have to thanks to you!" Their eyes met this time with an intensity neither could name. Trish shook her head while she rubbed his hand; the roughness that marked his body hadn't pierced who he really was, that kindness he breathed readier than air. Not for the gang alone did he slip into it. For them it was short sighs between the snarls when attitudes clashed. It was like he feared to release it always, to embrace it. But not for her, for her he never hesitated. That was the boy she loved most. He kept chatting and slurred his words as they fought to arrange themselves. She realized how much he noticed in ways she'd been too occupied to see. All the same she interrupted him with a finger on his lips. Trish brushed aside his bangs and spoke again of those things he alone had permission for. "Every time I think I'm getting closer to who I can be, I slide a few steps back. That's all." He wouldn't understand in a way he could yet articulate. She'd long come to accept that. The energy to his eyes took the place of fancy descriptions. He knew it too; it sat as the deepest pain beneath everything. People were participants on life's slippery slope until one day you died. She guessed, in the end, what mattered was which step you'd left on. Forward, or backward? Maybe her mother had stopped on backwards. Maybe she too would. Maybe instead as she studied his face and felt his life beside hers, maybe she wouldn't. And just maybe she could keep him from falling too. "Narancia, kiss me." He did softly and filled with unspoken things. In the now he was here and so was she. She was being silly; this moment was all that mattered. The echoes of shouting in the distance broke them apart. The calls of their names from the others pulled her back to reality. They were on a mission; their lives were fleeting and perishable. It churned her stomach and she reached to embrace Narancia one more time. He was warm despite the night chill. Her fingers dug into his hair as she whispered. "You're safe too." "I...same here Trish." He squeezed her afraid to let go but soon did so anyway. They helped each other stand and refused to let their hands separate. Together they ran towards their friends and answered their calls. They moved forward, ever forward.

[chapitre7]

The heart at the tip of a brush

The Untamed [陈情令] | Mo Dao Zu Shi [魔道祖师] fanfiction

Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian (Wangxian)

College / Drama Club AU

Read on AO3

Mo Xuanyu had always been their make-up artist. Lan Zhan had always been in charge of the costumes, ever since Wei Ying found the sketchbook where he kept the designs he came up with in the hours between sleep and homework, when he allowed himself to flounder the wings of his imagination. Embarrassed as he was of his hobby, he didn’t even know why he had carried the sketchbook with him that day (maybe confused it with his regular notebooks?), but after the initial shock of being discovered, he had relented to Wei Ying’s cries and pleadings and had agreed to be the last member in his brand new drama club. What set them apart, Wei Ying had told him with exaggerated gallantry, was that they’d write their own plays and enact them, instead of somebody else’s. Pretty big talk for someone who wouldn’t actually do the writing, Jiang Cheng barked, but he still joined the club anyway, the flair for the dramatic flowing in his veins as much as it did in Wei Ying’s; truly brothers, no matter the blood ties and several other differences between them.

 So the club started then, each one of them being responsible for too many things and also not much at all, in those early days of chaotic planning, until they gathered more members and set a clear goal in mind: the school festival. It was an embarrassment, as school projects often were, but Wei Ying’s joy at seeing all of their work fulfilled in an hour of glory (“What glory? MianMian forgot her lines and ruined my impeccable script, Brother Wei! It won’t do, it really won’t do!”) somehow emboldened them to try harder and strive higher. So, at Wen Ning’s suggestion, on their second year, they started enacting plays at the local orphanage. The reward of the kids’ starstruck faces fed them better than any feast, and so they continued, every year, sometimes twice a year, all the way till college.

 With such responsibility on their shoulders, it was natural for everyone to get pumped up, even going so far as to enlist some of their family members to lend their hands. Such as Lan Zhan sewing all of their costumes with his brother’s help, who had an eye for subtle details that Lan Zhan treasured, as he always did with all of his brother’s inputs throughout his life. Along with elder brother Lan came Meng Yao, who enriched Nie Huaisang’s scripts with twists and turns that made the fan-wielding boy think up even wilder twists and turns that Wei Ying’s creative mind ate up like his favorite spicy pumpkin-flavored cookies from the local coffee shop (that literally nobody but him liked). Jiang Cheng was their lead actor, Luo Qingyang, stage name MianMian, their lead actress, and everybody did a little bit of acting, even if they had no lines, as was often the case with Lan Zhan (at Wei Ying’s request).

 And Mo Xuanyu was in charge of their make-up.

 Not Lan Zhan.

 Never Lan Zhan.

 Yet there he is, covering for the sick man, standing in front of a smiling Wei Ying, who looks every bit like the evil sorcerer that they had perfected through the years, while Nie Huaisang, the second-best make-up artist of their little rogue troupe, frenzies over MianMian.

 “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, the gentle tone of his voice coloring his name, holding the familiar hint of apology that he often uses when he drags Lan Zhan to adventures his friend doesn’t appreciate as much as Wei Ying had anticipated. “It’s really not that difficult. It’s not too different from coloring your designs, and you’ve seen the end results. This is nothing your brilliant, talented hands can’t handle!”

 Flattery could get him anywhere as long as Lan Zhan was involved, but the young man still swallows down around the anxiety that has installed itself at his stomach like acid, not having much to do with being able to pull off a decent make-up job and everything to do with leaning over Wei Ying and painting on him like a canvas.

 Unaware of the not-so-honorable battle that Lan Zhan fights against himself, Wei Ying places the eyeshadow palette in Lan Zhan’s palm and leans against the back of the chair, tilting his face up. It’s so innocent, so trusting and professional, and Lan Zhan leans over him for a brief second before remembering he’s not holding any brushes. How surprised would everyone be if Lan Zhan simply bolted out of the modest, well-lit bedroom that they used as a dressing room and screamed in the backyard full of children waiting for the play to begin? He can’t even process the mental image, but knowing that it’s impossible seems to ground him.

 Firmly holding a brush in his hand, Lan Zhan swallows again — doesn’t scream —, inhales, and sets himself to work.

 It really isn’t so difficult once he begins. He knows exactly what color Mo Xuanyu uses on Wei Ying, so accustomed he is to seeing his friend play the fearsome Yiling Patriarch. It’s a highlight of red on the crease of his eyes, to give him a sharper look, scheming and compelling at the same time. Lan Zhan uses his own thumb to smudge the same red on his eyelids, just a tiny bit, just a brush of color, a gradient of red that matches up with the color scheme that Lan Zhan set up for his character a long time ago, which was really just a fantasy take on Wei Ying’s own style.

 With a thin brush, he sets to draw a perfect black contour on Wei Ying’s lash line, for when he opens his eyes, he needs him to look as if he could transmutate into a cat at any given moment, so round and marble-like those brown eyes look then, mesmerizing the audience.

 Satisfied with his job on his eyes, Lan Zhan sparkles a peach color on his cheeks so he looks healthy and ready to gobble up misbehaving children. And then his lips...

 He curses Mo Xuanyu and his food poisoning, and then he mentally apologizes. All those years in high school trying to ignore just how pretty Wei Ying is as he tried to get Lan Zhan’s attention, how pretty he even was when he was asleep and drooling on Lan Zhan’s dinner table where they were supposed to brainstorm the theme of their next play. Years of trying not to betray the honesty of their friendship, because he could spend forever watching the endless capability Wei Ying’s ideas, and he liked being included in his group, doing something that he had been curious about but ignoring for the sake of his academic success, until Wei Ying taught him that he could have both the success and the fun of doing something you like. All of it, and also the dreams where Wei Ying kissed him (because he was never the one to initiate it), touched him, pinned him to the floor from where he fell in endless loops — all of his inappropriate desire falls upon a single, tiny brush of red.

 Holding Wei Ying’s chin, he glides the brush, shiny and glossy, over the center of Wei Ying’s lower lip and then out to the sides. Then he draws the heart shape of his upper lip, careful not to color outside the natural lines of Wei Ying’s mouth, slowly, slowly covering every corner with calculated precision. He’s mindful not to use too much product, knowing by its consistence that it can smear unsightly, but it still accumulates in the corners, and he wipes it away with his digit, using the tip of his nail to draw the proper line again.

 His gaze moves up and the eyes he framed are looking straight at him. How long had he been staring at him? How long had Lan Zhan even been working? And why can’t he hear the others getting ready around them?

 His breathing, that had been steady — and he had, by all accounts, been touching Wei Ying’s face as he hovered over him, trying to make him even more beautiful than the memory of their past plays — fails him as the tip of Wei Ying’s tongue peaks through, just the tip, before he touches his lips together. His teeth look whiter with that red framing them, and Lan Zhan can’t look away, he’s mesmerized by that mouth that loves to talk to him, pouring out considerations from topics Lan Zhan had never even considered but that he understands when Wei Ying talks about them. But now he’s not talking, his lips are just perfect and unmoving and parted, and Wei Ying still has his chin tilted up at him, and he’s so near. Why isn’t Wei Ying saying anything? Where is everyone? Why is he gripping the arms of Wei Ying’s chair—

 “Are you done there yet?!”

 Jiang Cheng’s call is very clear and very near, and Lan Zhan is aware that he has made an undignified jump away from his position in 0.1 seconds flat. He expects Wei Ying to laugh at him, as he does in almost every situation, but when Lan Zhan dares to raise his eyes back at his friend, he’s also standing and adjusting his cuffs before checking his reflection on a nearby mirror.

 “Wow,” is all that he says about Lan Zhan’s work, and Lan Zhan is surprised that, despite the panicked drumming of his heart against his chest that spells out all of his secret infatuation, he’s still glad that Wei Ying seems pleased about the results.

 “I... I kept it simple,” he says, and it’s true. Xuanyu uses a plethora of products that Lan Zhan doesn’t quite begin to understand the purpose of, and he still wouldn’t have taken as long as Lan Zhan did given his expertise.

 Wei Ying, however, just shakes his head and gives him an honest (and painfully distracting) smile.

 “These kids are in for an especially striking Yiling Patriarch today,” he says and smirks, and Lan Zhan wants to kiss him and die, and those ideas don’t feel as isolated as he originally thought they’d be. “Let’s go, Lan Zhan.”

 Lan Zhan is terribly relieved that they had decided to write him out for today, because he’s not confident he’d remember to say any of his lines, even if they were just mostly hums, with Wei Ying playing his flute in a particularly intense tempo, eyes glued on him, as if he was the one he wanted to enchant.

 ***

 “Lan Zhan, create my new character with me.”

 That is the sole reason why Wei Ying arrives early to one of the few classes they have together, the very next week after their performance. Their professor is never late, but that doesn’t keep Wei Ying from throwing his notebook at him, an old thing, full of scribbles that date to a place in time when they didn’t even know each other. Wei Ying makes a list of attributes, sitting in his own space but leaning over Lan Zhan’s desk with inspiration at the tip of his tongue. He looks up at Lan Zhan with eyes that might as well sparkle like in the comics he once convinced Lan Zhan to read.

 “I want to be a hero,” Wei Ying says, voice brimming with an emotion Lan Zhan can’t quite place, and they’re only forced out of their own world when the professor clears his throat loudly, quite pointedly looking in their direction.

 Although he takes his notes dutifully, Wei Ying keeps throwing him glances with barely contained excitement, and in the back of Lan Zhan’s mind, in-between the professor’s pauses, he’s already working on the design.

 ***

 The troupe doesn’t have to meet for some time, given they all also have to focus on their own assignments and upcoming exams. When they do, after New Year celebrations, it’ll be time to brainstorm, and Wei Ying, diligent for all the wrong things at the wrong times, plans to pitch his brand new concept.

 “He’s going to be one of two prides,” he says, sprawled on Lan Zhan’s couch, his hands raised high, as far as he can reach, palms splayed, as if he can already see the scenes playing out on the ceiling.

 “Prideful?” Lan Zhan questions from his place on the floor, leaning against the couch and looking at Wei Ying, his sketchbook on the low table before him, waiting.

 “Hmm, not his definitive trait. His brother is though — that’s Jiang Cheng, of course —, as the rightful heir to the kingdom. I’ll be...”

 “A general?”

 “A loyal servant and prized adviser? You know, sort of like Merlin. But I don’t wanna be a sorcerer this time, I wanna wield a sword. I love brother Mingjue’s props.”

 Lan Zhan huffs, and whether it’s about Nie Mingjue’s props or the idea of Wei Ying being an adviser, he doesn’t say.

 “Lan Zhan, close your eyes and imagine it.”

 He leans his head back, more against Wei Ying than the couch, and does so. One of Wei Ying’s hands sets over his eyes, for unnecessary effect, and Lan Zhan can’t help but allow himself to smile.

 “A prince and his right hand, the twin prides. One is the rightful heir, the other is... adopted, yes. Together they defend Lotus Pier against invaders, and their rising success brings them notoriety among the other kingdoms. What do you think?”

 “Purple.”

 “Hmm?”

 “The royal color of Lotus Pier should be purple. Pink is too light, purple is better. Like Yunmeng’s sky in the summer.”

 “You still remember that?”

 Wei Ying lifts his hand from his eyes, resting it on his hair as Lan Zhan turns his head around to look at Wei Ying, acquiescing with a hum. The last time he went to Yunmeng for the summer, he sent Lan Zhan dozens of pictures, including one from the beach at sunset, when the sky was a gradient of orange and purple, like a painting. Wei Ying thought Lan Zhan would love that one, and he did, making sure he told Wei Ying that instead of keeping it to himself.

 (Although he loved and saved all of them to his phone anyway, but he kept that to himself.)

 “Isn’t that what you were thinking about? Lotus. Yunmeng.”

 Wei Ying smiles and hums an agreement of his own, his fingers brushing Lan Zhan’s bangs away from his face. And because they’re both so easy to read to each other, and Wei Ying’s gaze is so unmistakably fond, and because he feels himself too open, Lan Zhan lifts his head from the couch and leans forward, fingers hurriedly taking up his mechanic pencil to scribble down a few keywords. Purple. Twins. Adopted. Adviser.

 “I haven’t figured out how to go about it yet,” Wei Ying says as he moves from the couch to sit beside Lan Zhan on the floor, “but I wanted to create a different kind of hero than we’ve worked with before.”

 “The adoption part will be important for the children,” Lan Zhan points out with a nod. “It’s good, Wei Ying.”

 Wei Ying lets out a strangled noise and takes hold of Lan Zhan’s left arm, rubbing his face on his upper arm before looking back at Lan Zhan. His cheeks and nose are red, but he has the same excited glint in his eyes that he had when he approached Lan Zhan in class the day before, and Lan Zhan thinks it simply belongs there. This is his favorite Wei Ying, creative and free, and though he’s bound by his academic responsibilities, as long as Lan Zhan is with him, he’ll make sure he succeeds in everything he does. Everything for that crescent moon smile, full of stars.

 “So, what else?”

 Lan Zhan’s mechanic pencil hovers over the paper as they think, scribbling down more keywords, until it becomes so late in the evening that Wei Ying misses his dormitory’s curfew and has to sleep at Lan Zhan’s flat, in a guest bedroom that holds more of Wei Ying’s forgotten possessions than those of Lan Zhan’s brother, who was supposedly the person he kept the room for.

 ***

 “Why did you keep the red ribbon?”

 Lan Zhan sets his red pencil down, lifting his sketchbook so both of them can think about it together.

 “Both Wanyin and Wuxian use the same clothes and hairstyle, as twins and members of the royal family. Wanyin, as the heir, wears the crown’s jewelry in his hair. Wuxian is a main character too, so he can’t look any less striking, so, the red ribbon.”

 It’s your color goes unsaid. His hair is long, past his shoulders, though Jiang Cheng keeps telling him to get it cut like a normal person, and he always ties it with a red velvet scrunchie. As the Yiling Patriarch, he wore a red ribbon in his hair, and when he played the dizi and a gust of wind blew by him, he was mesmerizing, the red unforgettable against Wen Ning’s hand-drawn background. There was always something red about Wei Ying; a red backpack, red converse, and that red lipstick... Lan Zhan still dreams about it.

 It should be there. Yet Wei Ying keeps his brows furrowed at the drawing.

 “But isn’t it too striking? I don’t think Jiang Cheng is going to like it.”

 “Wei Ying.”

 He takes Wei Ying’s wrist, bringing it away from his face, where he was chewing on his nailbeds. Sitting side by side without a space between them, he lowered their hands to their laps and his hold moved to keep his palm against Wei Ying’s. It’s a lax hold, unambitious, just sharing warmth.

 “You can be a hero too.”

 His lips part, but he doesn’t say anything. He holds Lan Zhan’s gaze for long seconds (maybe two) before he bites his lip, huffs a repressed laughter, and lets his head fall on Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

 “Lan Zhan,” he says it like a whine, like a plea, and he feels his fingers intertwine with his, the connection still comfortable, still known, still familiar.

 “This whole project is yours,” Lan Zhan speaks into his hair. “You should be able to do what you want.”

 Wei Ying snorts.

 “Isn’t that vain?”

 “...You’re not exactly humble.”

 He lifts his head from his shoulder and bumps into him with a pointed, “Hey.” Lan Zhan chuckles, almost without sound, and pats the hand that’s still holding his.

 They look back at the design. Lan Zhan can already envision the fabrics he’s going to use, the details that he wants to add, and he already regrets saying that both Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng’s characters are going to dress the same.

 Wei Ying sighs. “You spoil me with your designs, Lan Zhan.”

 And he can’t really deny that.

 ***

 It’s as difficult to keep Wei Ying focused on his studies as it is for Lan Zhan to not drop his books and go to his workshop to sew Wei Ying’s costume. Even though exams are merely weeks away, Lan Zhan still finds some time to secretly buy all of the material he needs while Wei Ying tries to keep up with his own study group. And it proves to be a wise decision because Wei Ying doesn’t last two days with his classmates before he shows up at Lan Zhan’s flat with thick books recently checked out from the library and teary eyes.

 “I hate studying,” he dramatically announces as he flops down face-first on the couch. Lan Zhan knows it’s true as much as he knows that Wei Ying actually really enjoys being practical.

 He opens Wei Ying’s bag and puts his books on the low table. “Why are you even taking classic literature?”

 “It’s inspiring,” Wei Ying says, eyes closed and voice muffled by the leather of the couch. “It’s food for the soul. It’s pretty like you.”

 Lan Zhan halts his movements, not daring to turn or do anything else; one hand lies atop Wei Ying’s bag and another on the advanced physics book he last set down.

 Wei Ying is by his side before he blinks twice, putting his bag away and apparently trying to choose which of the books he wants to open, but too rushed and flushed to be doing much thinking at all.

 “You,” Lan Zhan begins, swallows, inhales and tries again. “Do you want me to help?”

 Wei Ying’s head snaps in his direction. With big eyes and his lower lip hidden under his upper lip, he just nods, and Lan Zhan either saves or dooms them both as he sets all books aside and puts the Advanced Physics book in front of them.

 “Explain.”

 Flipping the pages to the subject that would be covered in his exams, Wei Ying takes out his notebook, and he explains.

 ***

 The end of the year is marked by heavy snowfall, the kind that has Wei Ying’s teeth clattering together outside, even if he’s covered in layers that are short from hindering his mobility and wearing a scarf so wound around his head that only his eyes peak out between the wool. It’s the only time of the year that Lan Zhan feels bad for his staying in Gusu, as if the city is like a stern parent testing the object of his affections and Wei Ying barely passes, or maybe bypasses it, by sticking close to Lan Zhan even when they’re indoors. He indulges in their practiced proximity, and if his body yearns for more, he sternly shuts it down, unable to sacrifice all the years of accumulated mutual trust for the gamble of a confession.

 As always, however, he’s saved from the trap of his feelings by Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng’s end of the year trip to Yunmeng. And on cue, he leaves his own flat to spend the turn of the year with his uncle and brother at the Lan estate, set in the part of the city where the hills are high enough to almost sit among the clouds.

 Between hot tea brewed to perfection by his brother, television cooking programs that his uncle has become oddly fond of in the past year, and the occasional reading (both required and unrequired for his studies), Lan Zhans works on Wei Ying’s costume in the studio his brother arranged for him when he first enrolled in Wei Ying’s drama club.

 “Did you make this jinbu, A-Zhan?” Brother Huan asks when he brings him tea and biscuits, picking up the accessory with a purple tassel, light and dark purple beads and a white lotus that could pass as jade. At his younger brother’s nod, Lan Huan’s smile is so delighted that Lan Zhan has to look away. “It’s beautiful work, A-Zhan. You could really make a profession out of it.”

 “Brother, it’s just...”

 He trails off as his brother chuckles and gently places the jinbu back down.

 “I know. It’s just for Wei Ying, isn’t it?”

 Lan Zhan leans even further down into the fabric he’s working on, pretending to check something in the sewing machine.

 “It’s just a hobby,” he admits instead. Lan Huan doesn’t discredit him, patting his head like he’s still a child, and Lan Zhan doesn’t have it in him to dislike the touch.

 “Just remember that if you ever question the serious profession you’re seeking, A-Zhan, the answer always lies closer than you think.”

 The older Lan Sibling tilts his head, taking in all of his little brother’s work laid out in the space of his studio. He looks at the design Lan Zhan is trying to bring to life and then at all the materials on the station, and an imperceptible frown touches his face, like a ripple on calm waters.

 “This fabric...”

 Lan Zhan sighs, knowing exactly what fabric he’s questioning, without even having to try and see it in his brother’s hands.

 “I know. I couldn’t find the one I wanted in time.”

 He works the machine to keep the frustration away, so he doesn’t notice his brother leaving with the offending fabric, only to return, hours later, with such a fine material that Lan Zhan breaks into a bright, grateful smile. During dinner, even uncle, so often taciturn, makes the table inviting with an amicable mood, the three of them enjoying a meal that their caretaker made with his own hands, the elder rambling on and on about every detail of the cooking process while his nephews pay dutiful attention and encourage the little passion that seemed to burn quietly in the heart of every Lan.

 ***

 Wei Ying’s praise for Lan Zhan’s work was ever grandiose, and any other man could let it get to his head like an invincibility potion. Lan Zhan, however, is a simple man, and only his heart swells with contentment at every exaggerated compliment that falls out of that beloved mouth.

 When Lan Zhan shows him the finished the prototype costume for his twin pride character, however, Wei Ying seems to be, maybe for the first time since they started collaborating, at a loss for words.

 “It’s so...” He starts, touching the rich purple fabric with hesitant fingertips. Lan Zhan knows it’s more than their budget, and that they don’t even have a proper story yet, just the core concepts that they came up with together. But Wei Ying had been so engaged, so inspired, and though he’s usually that way when he’s working with Nie Huaisang, it’s the first time he asks Lan Zhan to create a character with him. So he was impulsive. It’s not a crime. “Lan Zhan, it’s...”

 Wei Ying brings the costume to his face, rubbing it against his cheek, and the pleased hum he lets out makes Lan Zhan’s breath cease for a couple of seconds.

 “Make-up test?” Lan Zhan offers, a little weakly, a little shy, but Wei Ying practically jumps in place at the thought, electrified with excitement.

 “Make-up test!” He announces before he runs to the guest bedroom in wide steps and Lan Zhan, left with unwelcome nerves, nervously puts Wei Ying’s backpack away on the couch from where he had unceremoniously dropped it on the floor.

 When Wei Ying comes out of the bedroom, Lan Zhan was thinking about making tea after he had paced from the living room to his own bedroom, then to the kitchen to drink some water, to the window to check the weather, until he finally stopped to sit on the couch, where Wei Ying finds him. His best friend comes out of the bedroom in the costume Lan Zhan designed for him (just for him, he decides right there, he’ll simply have to rethink how to proceed with Jiang Cheng), sets a hairbrush, a red ribbon, and a big pouch on the low table, before twirling around himself.

 “So? What do you think?”

 Wei Ying had always favored black and red. They weren’t the sole colors he used, and Lan Zhan particularly liked when he wore white, the color brightening up his features like a beacon, but Lan Zhan is sure he had never worn something like the bright purple of the robes Lan Zhan made for him. When he twirls, the light plays tricks on the fabric, like a multi-colored bouquet of hydrangeas glistening after a rainshower. The inner robes are a simple black, but the outer jacket is more fascinating still, of a dark purple, almost black, iridescent, see-through fabric that he knows his brother bought from someplace outside of Gusu. Lanling, he believes. On the back, he embroidered a lotus motif with nine petals, the symbol of Wei Ying’s royalty.

 “I love it so much,” Wei Ying says, without waiting for his response, unknowingly almost sending Lan Zhan into cardiac arrest. His hands keep petting down on the costume, and he giggles when he touches the jinbu that jingles with a small bell that Lan Zhan added as a last-minute detail. “Lan Zhan, I can’t believe you made this. We haven’t even finished creating Wuxian, and it’s really...” He laughs, somewhat strained, covering his face with his hands, before dropping on the couch beside Lan Zhan. “How am I supposed to kill him now?”

 Lan Zhan immediately snaps out of his reverie, blinking rapidly.

 “Kill?”

 Wei Ying sighs, letting his hands drop and leaning his head against the couch backrest.

 “Yeah. I was thinking that Wuxian would sacrifice himself to save Jiang Cheng and the kingdom. Like, he runs out of good ideas in a crisis but the kingdom and his family are bigger than he is, so he makes his decision. The kingdom sings songs about him after he dies, and he’s widely recognized as an important member of the royal family.”

 Lan Zhan can read too much between the lines of that script, and the fact that Wei Ying has come to the conclusion that his death, however metaphorical, is the answer, sits heavy on his stomach.

 “Wei Ying,” he calls, a bit too sternly, perhaps, as Wei Ying looks up from fiddling with his jinbu like a child ready to be scolded. “Wei Ying, you can’t kill him,” he says, more softly. “You can’t kill the adopted son in front of an audience of foster kids. What kind of message would we be sending them?”

 “I know,” he whines. “But isn’t it heroic?”

 “Death is just death.” He takes Wei Ying’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Even in fiction. The ones that stay behind are never happy to part with a loved one.” Wei Ying turns his hand in Lan Zhan’s grasp so they’re palm to palm again, puzzle pieces fitting together. Lan Zhan inches closer, brings their clasped hands to his chest, and firmly says, “We’re not killing Wuxian.”

 Wei Ying’s laugh is just a huff of air, and he can’t hide his tears when he wipes them away from the corners of his eyes.

 “Okay. Wuxian lives in the end.”

 Lan Zhan nods, letting their hands fall between them, but not letting go. The silence that follows Wei Ying’s sniffles is not uncomfortable, but there’s something in the space between them, in the way Wei Ying is wearing that beautiful purple that Lan Zhan made for him, in the way Wei Ying keeps looking at his face, that Lan Zhan feels is both thick and fragile like glass. Or maybe he’s a coward, just a coward in the end, consumed by his desire to hold that man and touch him and kiss him, but ultimately defeated by the overbearing affection that wants him to make sure he never leaves Wei Ying, never lets him think he has to sacrifice himself for anyone, when he’s the brightest star in everyone’s lives.

 “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying calls, and he seems to be closer than he was just a moment ago, the tears gone, leaving only a shine in his eyes in their wake. “Aren’t you going to finish our make-up test?”

 At Lan Zhan’s nod, Wei Ying smiles his wide, crescent moon smile and hops to the floor, handing Lan Zhan the hairbrush from over his shoulder. Lan Zhan, who has experience at both being a younger brother who played with his elder brother and a long-time drama club member, brushes Wei Ying’s hair without hesitation or clumsiness. Given the sheer volume of hair that Wei Ying possesses, there’s no way that the bun can be secured for long with just the ribbon, but Lan Zhan doesn’t want to get up to get any pins, so he just works with what he’s given, tying a pretty bow near Wei Ying’s nape, the ends of the ribbon still falling long, down his back. He had been right. The red looks almost mystical against the purple.

 “So, since the royal color is purple, should my make-up be purple too?”

 Lan Zhan climbs down from the couch, kneeling beside the other, and shakes his head. He takes the pouch from Wei Ying (that he’s sure is Mo Xuanyu’s, when did Wei Ying even take it?) and pulls a neutral-colored palette and a brush.

 “The clothes are already flashy enough, so we’re only framing your face,” Lan Zhan explains, although he’s more versed in colors than in make-up specifically, but it’s a test. If Mo Xuanyu has any better ideas once the story is pitched to the group, then he’s free to use them. Right then, Lan Zhan stands on his knees for a better angle to paint Wei Ying’s eyeshadow an earthy, reddish brown. With a thin, black pencil, he traces the line along his lashes in a much finer touch than the one he used for the Yiling Patriarch, just so the audience knows that his eyes are just as important as his clothes, that his person is just as big as his position.

 For his lips, he chooses a similarly neutral, peachy shade, just so he doesn’t look pale under the stage light, so his smiles can reach even the chairs in the furthest rows. The traditional lipstick makes less of a mess than the glossy, liquid red one he used before, but still the corners... No matter how careful Lan Zhan is, he still misses his mark when he gets to the corners. So he reaches out, just as he did then, to wipe the excess at the corner of Wei Ying’s lips with his thumb, and it’s so much easier this time.

 So much easier, and still... He runs his thumb along the lines of Wei Ying’s lower lip, as if there’s something there to correct, but there’s nothing, just his lips, parted and colored and waiting. Just his lips and that birthmark underneath, distracting, beckoning, a natural wonder that Lan Zhan can’t ignore, he looks, and he touches, and he’s lost, dazed again.

 Those lips open, form the syllables of his name.

 He looks up, wide-eyed, at a Wei Ying that is closely watching him. Eyes as round and attentive as they always were.

 “Lan Zhan. Do you want to kiss me?”

 He swallows and tries to look down, but Wei Ying takes his face between both of his hands and doesn’t let him.

 “Do you?” He repeats, and because he cannot lie, because he especially cannot lie to Wei Ying, he nods, and he closes his eyes, and he waits for his best friend’s judgment.

 “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying calls again, and Lan Zhan can hear him shift his position. “Lan Zhan, look at me.”

 He opens his eyes and he does. Wei Ying is at his eye level, standing on his knees as well. Wei Ying, always so expressive, doesn’t look anything like Lan Zhan had feared; he looks kind and patient and good. Lan Zhan’s hands, without him even noticing it, have moved to hold Wei Ying’s wrists.

 “Lan Zhan,” he calls, and in Lan Zhan’s mind, it could be the last time. But it sounds just as melodious, just as full of Wei Ying’s sincerity as it always did. “Can I kiss you?”

 All of his thought processes, all of his observations trail off then. Wei Ying looks a little flushed, though Lan Zhan didn’t apply any make-up to his cheeks. And his mouth, his beautiful, glistening mouth, displays a half-smile. Expectant. A little scared.

 Once Lan Zhan nods, everything seems to resume at a much faster pace, as if they stepped too hard on the gas pedal and their car flew off the road with a loud screech. Wei Ying exhales before their lips meet, as if meeting two necessities at once. He throws his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck and pulls, his lips opening and closing around the other’s as many times as he can before he needs to breathe again. And then breaks away just to catch his breath before he’s lounging forward again, forcing Lan Zhan into a sitting position so he can climb on his lap and rob him of all coherent thought. Lan Zhan circles his arms around his middle, underneath the outer jacket, securing Wei Ying flush against him. The kiss is messy, wet, open-mouthed and inexperienced, Lan Zhan just following Wei Ying’s lead, which isn’t much of a lead, as Wei Ying whimpers between touches. The sound is enough to make Lan Zhan lose the last grasp he had on control, and that sends him to fall backwards, all the way back where he has no support, and they only have a second to disconnect their mouths before Lan Zhan’s head hits the hard floor.

 “Oh my God, are you okay?!”

 Lan Zhan winces, seeing stars in front of his eyes, and Wei Ying is quick to pull him back to an upright position, helping him lean his back against the couch before climbing back on his lap.

 “Lan Zhan, does it hurt too bad? Is it bleeding? Do you have a concussion? We should go to the—”

 “I’m all right,” he says, his voice a little hoarse. Wei Ying touches the back of his head and he winces, but he reassures him again. “It’s okay. It’s just a bump.”

 Wei Ying pats his hair into place after the mess that his hands made.

 “I’m sorry.”

 “Don’t be.”

 Wei Ying’s lipstick is smeared all around his plump mouth (from kissing; from kissing him), and Lan Zhan be damned, he didn’t think Wei Ying could look more attractive and then he looks like that. It’d be unfair if Wei Ying wasn’t following a similar train of thought, thumbs touching around Lan Zhan’s mouth in a weak effort to wipe away the lipstick there. And because he wasn’t really trying, he just kisses him again, slow, unhurried, almost chaste, a kiss that lasts long, a whole time unit in its own.

 His hair is down, red ribbon lying somewhere on the floor. Lan Zhan pushes it away from his face so he can take a good look at him, his best friend, brilliant and full of life and beautiful around him, in his embrace, his cheeks flushing darker the longer he observes him, until Wei Ying throws his arms around him again and hides his face on his neck.

 “I have a confession to make.”

 Lan Zhan hums, his hand moving up and down Wei Ying’s back.

 “I didn’t really plan on writing a play with Wuxian... I created him as a way to spend time with you.”

 When Wei Ying takes a deep breath, Lan Zhan can feel it, against his chest, on his neck, the exhale making him shiver.

 “After our last performance, I— well, we never really...”

 Wei Ying sighs, and Lan Zhan’s hand moves to his hair, petting, fond. He barely ever allowed himself to think of touching Wei Ying, yet it feels like the right thing to do, a natural step from all the hand holding and working in each other’s personal spaces. And it’s just what he can do to tell Wei Ying to go on, that he’s there, listening, although he’s not done collecting all of the fragments of his own confession, shattered in the car crash of a kiss long suffered.

 “I’ve always really admired you, Lan Zhan. Your talent, your imagination, everything you do is so good. I wanted to make something with you, to spend all of my time with you, to create something out of nothing that was ours.”

 Lan Zhan can feel Wei Ying raising his head, his chin resting on Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

 “You see, Lan Zhan, I’m really selfish. I’ve had a crush on you since I first laid eyes on you when we were fifteen but now I really wanted all of your attention. The way you looked at me that day, I... You don’t have any idea what you do to me.”

 Wei Ying tries to hide again, but Lan Zhan holds his shoulders, pulls him back to look at him. His mouth is still a mess of lipstick, but his eyes are wide, exposed. Lan Zhan tries to wipe the lipstick away, just to save Wei Ying some grace, because the weight of his their attraction pulling them together was nothing compared to the weight of the heart against one’s palms.

 “I’ve always admired you.” Lan Zhan echoes, eyes still focused on those lips, still trying to clean up their mess.  “Your talent, your imagination, and everything you do. I want to spend all my time with you, and create things with you, things that everybody will look and know it’s ours.”

 His hand, on Wei Ying’s face, moves to cup his cheek; his gaze moves up, without hesitation, because being there with Wei Ying when he falls is all he’s ever done, when people laughed at their plays, when their plans were foiled, when their ideas went nowhere. They’d come together, the two of them, and rise the whole group back up, one more time.

 “I really like you, Wei Ying. I’ve liked you for a long time now.”

 How could he be pretty even when he cries?

 “Why didn’t you say anything?”

 “You’re my best friend. The only one in this lifetime.”

 It’s only when Wei Ying touches his cheeks that he realizes he’s crying too.

 “You’re my best friend too, Lan Zhan. And I really, really like you back.”

 The kiss they share then is somewhere in-between the other two. It’s tender like a first kiss between their teenage selves, pecks that follow one after the other and another again, followed by kisses on each other’s cheeks, on noses and foreheads, marked with promise and lipstick. And when they finally regain their breath from their confessions, from their laughter, it’s open-mouthed and eager, ready to discover each other’s taste, and the best angles for their tongues to come together, to elicit delicious sounds from their throats.

 Wei Ying finds as much delight in delicately peeling the clothes Lan Zhan made for him open as he did in putting them on. And the view is almost too much for the designer, who both marvels and suffers at all the layers of his creation, sprawled underneath Wei Ying, still so beautiful against his skin, but ultimately forgotten.

 ***

 “Lan Zhan.”

 It’s a snowy night. Cold and white and long, sure to trap them inside when the morning comes.

 The answer to Wei Ying’s sensibilities, in the end, turned out to be simple; cuddle up as close as he can to his boyfriend, underneath thick and fluffy blankets.

 “Mn?”

 “I thought up a nicer end for Wuxian.”

 Lan Zhan doesn’t bother to open his eyes in the dark. He just turns his head to touch Wei Ying’s, his nose cold on the other’s forehead.

 “In the end he sacrifices himself for the kingdom but he doesn’t die. He ends up powerless but he meets someone who takes care of him regardless of the fact that he’s a royal.”

 Wei Ying plays with the collar of his pajamas and Lan Zhan could burst with contentment, but he only smiles against Wei Ying’s skin.

 “So when Wanyin finally finds Wuxian again, a long time later, Wuxian has become wiser because he realizes true strength doesn’t come from battles or sacrifices, but human connection. So he promises to be Wanyin’s adviser because he loves and supports him, but he’s not going back to the palace, he’s staying with Wangji.”

 “Wangji?”

 Wei Ying hums. Lan Zhan likes that ending. It’s a good message for the kids, to follow your heart rather than a life mission.

 It takes his sleepy mind a few seconds to remember his brother’s words. He’s going to like Wei Ying’s play, very much so.

 “Lan Zhan?”

 “Mn?”

 “Will you be my Wangji?”

 He kisses Wei Ying’s forehead and places his hand against the hand that lies on his chest, next to his heart.

 “Mn. I will be Wei Ying’s commoner wife.”

 Wei Ying snorts before nuzzling his shoulder.

 “I haven’t decided if he’s going to be a commoner yet. But you’re going to wear blue. Blue and white, like Gusu’s clear skies.”

 Lan Zhan doesn’t comment on how Wei Ying didn’t deny being his partner in the play, even if they had just confessed to liking each other. There’s still so much more to be said, and Lan Zhan loves the anticipation, will dream about them with Wei Ying in his arms all night, and all of the next day, too.

 “I thought you didn’t like Gusu that much.”

 “Of course I like Gusu. All of my memories with you are here.”

 Lan Zhan turns to his side, hugs Wei Ying tight against his chest, making him laugh. He kisses him all over his face before meeting his lips, then covers him up to his chin to protect him from the cold, and together, they fall asleep, the future holding a different shape in their creative, clasped hands.

[morfinwen]

H for Ian, W for Lauren, S for Ash, Y for Meaghan, X for Niner, Z for Christopher, Q for Q (hehe), and N for Nate, please. :)

H: Heat (Ian)

1. does he prefer a hot or cold room?

It depends, but generally cooler is better than warmer.

2. does he prefer summer or winter?

Very much a fan of both, honestly. He loves winter sports, but there’s nothing like an afternoon at the pool or beach on a hot day. 

3. does he like the snow?

Yes, less so now that when it snows he’s the one that has to shovel it, but he loves snowball fights, sledding, and snowboarding. Of course, he lives in Tennessee so it doesn’t snow a lot, but he has cousins that live in New York (state, not city).

4. does he have a favorite summer activity?

Water balloon fights.

5. does he have a favorite winter activity?

Snowball fights win out over sledding by a very small margin.

N: Never Have I Ever (Nate)

1. what would he never do?

It’s difficult to say with certainty what someone would never, ever, under any circumstance do, but it’s very unlikely that Nate will ever be the first to do something, especially something he’s never done or considered doing before. He can be impulsive with small things he’s familiar with, like impulse buys or listening to a new band, but he’s not eager for new experiences or inclined to leap without looking.

2. what has he never done that he wants to do?

Lots of things, like graduate college and have a serious girlfriend and get a steady job. Most of these are … unlikely, at this point in time.

3. is there anything he absolutely can’t believe people do?

He never got into drugs, but he knew people in college who did. Everything about it, from how you take drugs (particularly ones that you inject via needle) to the long-term effects, is so repulsive to him he doesn’t understand how anyone could choose to do them.

Drugs are bad.

4. what is the most embarrassing thing he's done?

As a kid, he once attempted to do a cool skateboard trick he saw in a video game, and wiped out -- badly -- just as he started.

5. has he done anything he thought he'd never do?

Die. There was a time he thought he’d always live in New York City, but otherwise not really.

Q: Questions (Q)

1. does he ask for help?

Q is too sensible to wait for the literal last second to ask for help, but it’s a close thing sometimes.

2. does he ask questions in class?

There were a couple classes where he had enough of a rapport with the teacher, and enough familiarity with the subject, that he actually raised his hand once or twice. It was a very rare occurrence.

3. does he answer questions that make them a little uncomfortable?

For the most part, no, he does not. If the question is only minorly uncomfortable, or uncomfortable on behalf of someone else, or if he’s really confident in his relationship with the asker, then he might. Otherwise, Q is the master of avoiding disquieting subjects and redirecting conversational topics. 

4. does he ask weird questions?

More like he has weird answers: the result of an expensive education in fancy private schools with super-rich kids, vacations to various foreign countries, and living a hand-to-mouth existence in a big city. 

5. is he curious?

Nope. If he was, he would’ve figured some things out about his newest living situation a lot faster.

S: Streets (Ash)

1. is he street-smart?

Not precisely. He’s not naïve, either, but it’s more that Ash is an intelligent guy who avoids stupid situations than being street-smart.

2. would he give money to someone on the streets?

No, but he’d definitely buy them lunch, find out their situation, and try to help them if he could.

3. has he ever gotten in a fight on the streets?

Probably not. Both his home town and Aldstow, where he lives now, are small, quiet towns that don’t have a lot of trouble.

4. has anything happened to him on the streets?

Once or twice, he’s met up with a hunter (à la Supernatural) in Aldstow. Hunters and magical types in his ‘verse are not inherently violently opposed to each other (there are a couple that his mother regularly helps), but it’s a strained and awkward relationship at the best of times. Fortunately for Ash, he is calm and understanding enough to “speak softly”, and his considerable magical prowess is a very “big stick”, so interactions with hunters have always stayed civil when he was involved.

5. is he cautious when out?

Ash is always cautious, in or out.

W: Water (Lauren)

1. does she drink enough water?

She pretty much always has a water bottle with her, mixed with one of those fruit flavorings. She discovered them in college, and it was a life-changer.

2. has she learned to swim?

Yep, classes at the local Y in grade school.

3. does she like to swim?

It’s not something she’s ever done a lot of, outside of very crowded city pools and one or two visits to very crowded beaches. If she had more chances to do it, she’d like it more. As it is, she doesn’t hate it.

4. can she dive?

She learned in one swimming class, but not well, and it’s not something she’s kept up.

5. can she swim without holding her nose?

Yep. That’s about the zenith of her swimming ability, though.

X: Xylophone (Niner)

1. what is her favorite genre of music?

She’s only really started getting into music now that she’s hanging around non-werecats, so she hasn’t narrowed in a single genre she likes. Probably rock, very generally speaking -- not full-on metal, but harder stuff with noticeable drums, bassline, electronic guitars, etc. Not really a fan of more acoustic-sounding stuff.

2. does she have a favorite song?

Not a single favorite song, but there are several Q’s introduced her to that she likes. 

3. does she have a favorite band/artist/singer?

Not particularly. 

4. can she sing well?

Not really. If she had some training, she could probably sound decent enough that no one would ask her to shut up, but as it is she has trouble even keeping on tune, on the rare occasions she even attempts to sing.

5. can she rap?

Kind of. Again, she doesn’t have much experience, but her attempts to keep up with rapping have gone better than her attempts to sing on-key.

Y: You (Meaghan)

1. how old were you when you created her?

Uh, it’s been over 10 years. Dang.

2. what inspired you to create her?

Well, Meaghan is “my” Jedi Exile from the video game Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords. So i guess i was equal parts inspired by the game itself and just the desire to develop her as a character.

3. was she different when she was first created?

Not really. She’s certainly gained more detail over the years, but i don’t think she’s changed in essentials.

4. do you enjoy writing her more than other characters?

She’s a little easier to write than some others, i can say that. I don’t know how i would rank the general enjoyableness of writing about any of my characters.

5. what’s your favorite thing about her?

In general, i love the little details that my characters share about themselves that seem to come out of nowhere (even when it messes with my earlier ideas -- had to update my OCs page recently-ish because Neal suddenly informed me he has an older brother).

In Meaghan’s case, those little details are that she is a very tactile person, and is colorblind. It could be argued the former is, if not a direct result of the latter, influenced by it -- she’s learned to favor/rely on senses other than sight because hers is not totally reliable. 

Z: Zebra (Christopher)

1. what’s his favorite animal?

He’d give a different answer, depending on the day. Big predators, like wolves, bears, and tigers, but whales are cool too.

2. does he like animals?

He loves animals, though he’s not the kind of guy to have pets. Pets introduce more chaos into his life than he would like, and limit his ability to go places and do things on short notice.

3. cats or dogs?

Both, honestly. The independence of cats makes them less demanding, and therefore more appealing to his desire to avoid getting tied down, but the affection and dependence of dogs is appealing to his self-importance.

4. what’s his dream pet?

Bengal tiger.

5. does he have any pets at the moment?

No.

Thanks for asking!

[lemonsandstrawberries]

The Pitted Olive, part 9

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony)

universe: Drag Queen!AU (Tony Stark as a drag queen)

summary: Steve and Tony make another big step in their relationship and Steve starts to understand that Tony is the only one for him and plans the biggest step of all.

length: 6 596 words

disclaimer: this fic is written strictly for entertainment. I am not a specialist on drag and my whole knowledge comes from mainstream media. if there is something you will find incorrect or offensive in any way, there is always an option to contact me and politely voice your thoughts instead of flaming. thanks!

a/n: alright, so we are moving forward! promise next chapter will be sooner. hope you will like this chapter, if you do, remember to leave feedback, reblog and like!

——————–

The Pitted Olive, part 9

(part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8)

Steve bit his lip, legs bouncing impatiently on the bed. He tried to keep his mind occupied, but the twisting feeling in his lower stomach didn't allow him to.

Dating Tony was great. Each day, Steve felt more and more in love with the quirky brunet, enjoying both the female and male sides of his boyfriend. It was exciting and refreshing and so different from the previous relationship Steve's had. Of course, it wasn't all sweet, and sometimes they had some disagreements, but always found a way back to each other, and it just made the bond between them stronger. Their dating time wasn't that long, but Steve already felt that Tony was the one for him and by the way Tony smiled at him, touched him, slept curled into him, he could feel that Tony thought the same about him. It was a good, mature and honest relationship. There wasn't a thing he would be afraid to tell Tony. He was an open book.

Maybe except one thing.

He really, really, really needed to pee. And Tony locked himself in the bathroom because apparently, that was what drag queens did in their free time, which was spending the said time on grooming themselves. Okay, maybe not all, as Steve couldn't imagine Bucky with a facial mask on and cucumber slices on his eyelids, but it was definitely a thing that Tony did. Somehow Steve couldn't imagine himself banging on the door and demanding Tony to leave his home spa, just because he had a need. There should be some intimacy in their relationship.

It was either ruining the fragile veil of intimacy or he would wet his pants.

"Babe!" Steve called, knocking on the bathroom door with his knuckles. "How much longer will you take in there?"

"A while!"

Nothing like a precise answer. Steve leaned his forehead against the cool, painted wood. Just man up and ask. "I need to use the bathroom, can I come in?"

"Uh. Yeah, sure!" Tony called back, his voice sounding a bit amused that Steve even had to ask about that. Well, maybe using the bathroom in front of your partner was just another step in becoming a couple. They bathed together, slept together, Steve even sometimes partook in Tony's home spa rituals, it wasn't like either of them would see something new.

Oh, how very wrong Steve was.

"AAAAA!"

A blood-curdling scream ripped out from Steve's throat when he saw one of the most terrifying sights in his life. Before entering the bathroom, he tried to imagine what he might see - he pictured Tony, in a bubble bath, some grey goop smeared over his face, just the usual set while Steve would say something charming and witty, like that Tony was already pretty and didn't need all this stuff and Tony would smile at him, the drying mask cracking a little with the movement. Then Steve would do his business, wash hands and go, like if he never was there. Instead, he ended screaming his lungs out in sheer terror.

When Steve forced himself to end the screaming, he pressed a hand to his rapidly beating heart, chest having with every breath, eyes wide and darting from the contents of the bathtub to Tony, sitting calmly on the edge of the bathtub. Opposite to Steve, he was opened and relaxed and kept looking at his boyfriend with his head tilted to the side gently, both interested and amused at the way Steve flattened himself against the door in panic.

"What the hell is that?!" Steve shrilled, pointing a shaking finger at the bathtub. In the water, in soap suds, was floating an ominous mass of black hair, tangling and curling around each other, the bottom of the bathtub almost entirely covered.

"It is my wig," Tony laughed, reaching his hand into the bathtub, taking out the long, wet hair. It was the knee-length wig, the one with perfectly straight, silky smooth hair, Steve found incredibly sexy on Red Velvet, but he might reconsider that statement after today. The black strands were hanging down miserably, dripping with water and it was like something pulled out of a horror movie. The view sent a shiver down Steve's spine, and Tony didn't seem bothered, used to it. "I am washing them," Tony explained simply, pointing Steve's attention to more plastic containers stacked on the washing machine, full of black hair of different texture.

Steve shivered again, half expecting a severed head to roll out from a corner any second.

"Give me a heads up next time you do this, okay?" Steve seethed, making his way to the toilet and keeping away from the bathtub the best he could, as if afraid that a hand would pop out from the mass of hair and reach for him. It was a miracle he didn't wet himself, considering how full his bladder was.

"I didn't think it was necessary," Tony said calmly, gently lowering the wig back into the soapy water. His lips quirked into a small, mischievous smile he tried to hide and Steve narrowed his eyes angrily - of course, Tony was pleased with frightening him.

"Eyes on the wig," Steve warned, feeling Tony's curious gaze on him. There was a small disappointed whine, but Tony obeyed, giving his boyfriend some privacy.

After a while, Steve pulled his pants up and flushed the water, feeling better. He took the coffee-scented soap and washed his hands, noticing in the mirror, that Tony stopped paying attention to him and was elbows deep in the water, washing the long strands gently, trying not to tangle them.

"Babe, remember that we are going for a dinner to my ma's tomorrow," Steve reminded, drying his hands. There was a pause and Tony's head dropped lower at the mention.

"Yeah, I remember," Tony said, resuming the washing.

Steve knew that after all, they went through, Tony feared facing his mom. He could understand that, but he really wanted them to meet. Both of him and Tony were used to hiding who they were and to break this cycle, Steve felt that it was essential for his mom to meet Tony as Tony. His boyfriend.

"It will be fine, babe," Steve assured, walking closer and leaning down behind the brunet, pulling him into a comforting embrace.

"I know," Tony sighed, not sounding too convinced.

Steve wanted to do something soothing, tell his boyfriend that it would be fine, and there was nothing to worry about. Just the floating mass of black hair was so unsettling and Steve couldn't take his eyes off of it.

"Uh, sorry, no," Steve shivered again, quickly standing up. Tony looked puzzled after him. "I can't be here while you are doing that," he apologized, voice wavering with panic as he pointed at the bathtub. "Just… no," Steve said breathlessly and walked out from the bathroom in a hurry. Before he closed the door behind himself, he heard Tony bursting into cheerful giggling, that he should find offensive, but he was too relieved with getting out alive. The longer Steve thought about it, the more convinced he became that long hair was overrated and that short wig, with curly, chin-length hair looked the sexiest on Red Velvet.

***

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Uh? Yeah, sure, why?"

"Well, you're squeezing my arm kinda hard. And you squeak."

"I don't-" Tony planned to deny, but then he heard his own high pitched voice. "Oh God, I do," he said, sounding defeated and lowered his voice down to his warm baritone, leaning his forehead over Steve's arm.

Steve smiled softly, watching his boyfriend curling into him, as they kept strolling down the street, closer and closer to his mom's place. On their way, they had already picked the earlier ordered pastries from Sam's bakery, including Tony's favorite eclairs with a chocolate glaze and a custard filling, and a bouquet of wildflowers, Tony insisted on getting for Sarah. It wouldn't feel right to come empty-handed for such an important meeting.

"It will be fine, babe," Steve said in a low, comforting voice. It felt like he had repeated those words over one hundred times already, but he could understand and sympathize with Tony's nervousness. Tony was always so confident and full of bravado, and there was something incredibly sweet in seeing him so vulnerable. Or more, in allowing himself to be so vulnerable in front of Steve. No mask, no filters, just Tony.

"What if your mom won't like me?" Tony asked in a hushed voice, brushing his cheek over the material of Steve's smooth leather jacket until he could look at Steve.

"My mom already likes you," Steve reminded gently.

"No, she likes Tony, the makeup artist," Tony sighed, "what if she won't like me as your boyfriend? What if she thinks that I am messed up in the head and corrupting her darling little boy and stopping him from living the picture-perfect life with a loving wife, five kids and a dog in the backyard?"

Steve snorted. Was that what Tony thought Steve wanted in his life? Sure, Steve could picture himself as a husband and a father, but it was way too early for that discussion. Having a dog was a different story.

"I would love to have a dog," Steve said, smiling at the idea. He never had pets growing up and dogs were wonderful companions and friends.

"Dogs are messy. Cats are better."

Somehow Tony being a cat person didn't surprise Steve at all. Even with his goatee and groomed appearance he resembled a cat.

"Hey, Steve…"

"Hm?"

"You didn't answer."

Steve blinked, thinking back into their conversation what Tony meant before it dawned on him. He didn't answer. And times changed and the truth shouldn't be shocking. There would be always people who would have a problem, but it shouldn't stop anyone from living and being happy.

"I don't see why I can't have all of this with you," Steve said cheerfully. He felt Tony hiding back into his arm, solely to prevent Steve from seeing the spreading blush on his face, Steve couldn't see anyway, but felt the heat radiating from his boyfriend's face.

***

"Ma! It's me! I brought a guest!"

Quick, light footsteps. Steve could exactly point out the moment, when Tony instantly regretted his decision of coming and wanted to run, just as his mom rushed to Tony, hands reaching for him. It seemed comical that Tony could think that this scenario could end with anything else than pulling him into a hug.

"Oh, honey!" Sarah greeted Tony in a compassionate voice, arms wrapped around the shocked brunet in a comforting manner. Tony kept still and after a moment of hesitation, very timidly returned the hug, sending beaming Steve confused looks.

"Just look at you," Sarah drew back a bit, running gently her palms over Tony's cheeks. "I thought Stevie was exaggerating when he told me that you were having a complete cack attack."

"Uhmm…" Tony just looked back at Sarah, unsure how to react. Subtly, he turned to Steve, looking for help and Steve had to hold back to not start laughing at his boyfriend's panic.

"Cack attack means being nervous. You know I am half Irish, right?" Steve said in a light tone, taking his shoes off while trying not to jostle the bag with pastries.

Tony frowned gently, already familiar with Rogers' family fair complexion and occasional freckles, but he didn't think much about it, assuming that Steve got his pale skin after his mom.

"Why are we standing here?" Sarah smiled, giving the couple some space. "Dinner is on the table, take off your shoes and wash your hands-" she ordered, falling in a motherly routine and Tony opened his mouth, knowing that he had to set things clear first.

"Wait, Sarah," Tony started, pausing when Sarah looked at him, giving him his full attention and that startled him a bit. There was no easy way to say it, and he just needed to get it out. "I am sorry. For misleading you," Tony said, his voice shaking a bit and shoulders sagging down. "And those are for you," he handed the bouquet, his voice flat, "thanks for… having me over."

Sarah took the bouquet with a gentle smile and smelled the colorful flowers. In the meantime, Steve managed to pull his shoes off, and looked at Tony with a frown on his face. His usually so confident boyfriend, looked as if expecting to be kicked out any second and Steve knew that they would have to work on that, bit by bit.

"Tony, you did so much for me, I don't think I can ever thank you," Sarah said, putting her manicured hand on Tony's cheek and smiling warmly. She didn't mean only the makeover, but it also played a role, helping her feel comfortable in her skin once more. The biggest change was in Steve - she saw her son standing a little taller and prouder, flourishing thanks to the relationship he had with Tony. Of course, she would prefer both of them to be honest with her from a start, but after Steve had told her Tony's story, his background, his fears, and the rejection, she knew she couldn't ask of him to confide into, after all, a stranger. The perspective of building a good, trusting relationship from this moment, was good enough for her.

Slowly, Tony started to smile, Sarah's words getting into him and soothing him. It was a good beginning.

"Now, as I was saying," Sarah clapped in her hands, "shoes off, hands clean and we can sit to dinner -"

"Ah, ma! One more thing!" Steve interrupted this time, taking a step forward and standing next to his boyfriend. He took a deep breath and smiled, wrapping an arm around Tony's shoulders. "Ma, this is Tony - my boyfriend."

The introduction was late and happened in the wrong order, but it was enough to bring the carefree atmosphere back.

"I know, silly!" Sarah laughed, turning around and walking to the kitchen. "Now hurry up, or dinner will get cold!"

Tony looked shyly at Steve, almost as if asking what happened and if it was all okay, and Steve pulled Tony more to himself and squeezed his shoulder, hoping to give his boyfriend some reassurance and smiled encouragingly. For him, everything went fine and he had a very promising feeling about this evening.

***

The dinner went surprisingly well. In the beginning, Tony was still tense, but Sarah went out of her way, to make him feel welcomed and accepted, and before the dessert, Tony got back his charisma and chatted with Steve's mom just as easily and comfortably as during their first meeting. And maybe that was the reason why, when Steve was asked to go to the kitchen and get the pastries, he lowered his guard down, and walked back into the living room, almost spitting out the cream puff he had managed to push into his mouth.

"Oh my God! Is that Steve?"

"Mah!" Steve protested through the puff pastry and whipped cream when he recognized the book his mom was holding, laying open into Tony's lap as both of them were cooing on the couch. The album with photos from his childhood.

"Dear, don't talk with your mouth full," Sarah reprimanded, glancing briefly at her son, and focusing back on the photos. "Here is Steve when he was eight years old."

"Oh my God, you were so tiny!" Tony cooed in a high pitched squeak, not believing that the small, gaunt-looking boy was his Steve.

"He was always of smaller posture," Sarah said in a warm, motherly voice that showed how concerned she was for her son back then, "he got sick almost all the time. It was because he was such a picky eater! Nothing ever tasted right to him, he just wanted to eat white bread and cheese and ketchup."

Tony laughed, and Steve decided to not interfere, even if the bonding time was happening at his expanse. Instead of taking part in the conversation, he got a plate and piled some cream puffs on it, digging in. Sarah eagerly explained every photo and Tony was taking it all in, smiling and nodding and asking questions. At that moment, Steve started to wonder if Tony had any photos from his childhood because Steve would love to see them one day.

"Oh, and this was from one of the scariest days in my life!" Sarah said, pointing at one photo. Tony's eyes immediately followed there and widened when he recognized who was in the photo if he wasn't mistaken. "Steve, you remember this, right?"

Steve leaned to the front, grinning at the two rascals. "Oh, yeah, it's from the day I met Bucky."

"Bucky and Steve were inseparable," Sarah explained, shaking her head in fond exasperation, "they constantly got into trouble together, but it was expected when you think about how they met! Want to tell the story?" Sarah asked her son.

Steve shrugged with a boisterous smile. "There is not much to tell. Some kid pushed me and I fell into the dirt. When I turned around, Bucky was the first person I saw so I assumed he was the one who pushed me and I lounged myself at him. Bucky tried to shake me off, but I kept pummeling him so he started to hit me back, while all the other kids were cheering. Bucky gave me a black eye and I punched him in the jaw, busting his lip. When blood started to gush out, other kids got scared and scattered, and I and Bucky were the only ones left. I told Bucky to come with me because my mom is a nurse and she would fix it. Mom did patch us up but she also whooped our asses for fighting."

"Just imagine how frightened I was when they both stood in the doorway looking like that! I thought someone assaulted them!"

Tony listened to the story, smiling warmly, his fingers positioned delicately at the edge of the photo. He was looking at a photo of two boys - both in dirty clothes and with red, swollen eyes, clearly from crying and stubborn looks on their faces. The dark-haired boy had a split, bruised lip, the blond boy a black eye. Bucky and Steve. His drag daughter and his boyfriend. Tony couldn't stop smiling.  

"I wonder what happened to Bucky. You lost touch after his family moved to Ohio, right?"

"Um, yeah, but I met Bucky a few weeks ago. He is back in town."

"Oh, he is? That's wonderful! You never tell me anything, Steve!"

"Sorry, ma, it slipped my mind."

"You should invite him over next time! Where did you meet him?"

"Uhhh..." Steve hesitated. It was too soon for this talk and he had to move around the topic delicately. "At a bar."

"Was it the same bar where you met Tony?" Sarah asked in an enticing voice, not knowing the full love story behind Steve and Tony's relationship.

"Uhmmm..." Steve sent as insecure look towards his boyfriend and Tony didn't move, but his jaws tightening nervously. Just when everything seemed to be going so smoothly, they had to meet another bump on the road. "Uhm, kindaaa," Steve said, trying to dance around the topic.

It was a brief, tense moment, and Sarah narrowed her blue eyes before her face relaxed. "Ah, you boys and your secrets," she said in a fond reprimand, "it is okay, Stevie, you can say gay bar - "

"Actually, it is a drag queen bar," Tony said unexpectedly.

Steve felt like the air was punched out of him and stared in shock at his boyfriend. This wasn't a part of the plan. Steve was perfectly aware that Tony's night job would be discussed sooner or later, but he had no idea his boyfriend would bring it up so soon. By the way, color drained off Tony's face, Steve could read that Tony didn't plan it either, it just slipped.

"Drag queen?" Sarah repeated slowly, letting the words sit heavily on her tongue.

Tony dropped his head down. There was no way for him to back away from this, and he sent a sorry look in Steve's direction, aware that the truth might cost them their relationship and he wouldn't feel hurt with Steve taking his mother's side. Family was the most important.

"I am not a makeup artist," Tony confessed, voice coming out strained and pained, "I am a drag queen. Well, three times per week I am a drag queen, sometimes four when I have to fill in someone's shift," Tony tried to joke, but stopped immediately seeing the analyzing look Sarah was giving him. "So, yeah, that's who I am," Tony ended, looking down at the album in his lap, fingers once splayed over the photo from Steve's childhood, curling into a fist from nervousness.

Sarah didn't say anything. She frowned deeper, perfectly groomed eyebrows furrowing, eyes framed with dark long lashes narrowing, lips contoured and colored with a coral lipstick thinning. All the changes in her face where thanks to Tony, who guided her in the makeup and skincare world. Steve felt that the calculating look wasn't any longer pointed at Tony, but at him and his blue eyes met with his mother's. There was some confusion in his mom's eyes and a silent question if Steve was okay with all of this. Slowly, Steve smiled at his mom, hoping to communicate his thoughts properly - he was accepting every aspect of Tony, both his male and female side and couldn't imagine his life without Tony in it any longer. Sarah didn't have to approve of it, but it wouldn't change Steve's mind. No matter what, he was staying with Tony.

Seemed that Sarah understood. After all, if Steve was at peace with Tony's lifestyle, she wouldn't be the one trying to force them to change. At the end of the day, the most important factor for her, was if her son was happy and seemed that Tony made him a happy man. Not only Tony, as Sarah also valued her friendship with Tony.

"Thank you for telling me this, Tony," Sarah said in a warm tone, putting her manicured hand over Tony's fist, trying to soothe him. "That required a lot of courage. You are a good person and you make my son happy, that's all that matters to me."

Steve had to contain himself to not jump up from the couch and yell out in happiness. Instead, his smile grew bigger, finally feeling at ease with himself. Everything was out, no more secrets and his mom accepted all and each of them. It was an amazing feeling.

"Okay," Tony said after a while, his voice trembling with emotions, and the whole happiness Steve had experienced was gone, when he noticed that tears were building up in his boyfriend's eyes. "Thank you," Tony sniffled, overwhelmed with the amount of love he was receiving from practically a strange woman, while he never got even a fraction of that kind of support from his parents. Things would happen differently in his life if he would grow up with a parent similar to Sarah.

"Oh my gosh, dear, come here," Sarah said, reaching her hands to Tony and cradling him to her chest, noticing how very distressed he became. She brushed her hand over Tony's hair, soothing him and Tony accepted the hug, even closed his eyes, savoring the moment. It has been a long time since the last time he had received a hug like that, not by a friend, not by a lover, but by a parent. Tony could feel the unconditional love Sarah had for Steve and it felt like she was building the same feeling towards him.

"Okay, now," Sarah started, discreetly wiping her own tears when Tony drew away from her, "one of you boys explain to me what exactly a drag queen is."

Steve felt like falling off the couch in shock, and by Tony's face, he knew his boyfriend thought the same. The long look Sarah gave Steve became clear now - not even knowing the meaning behind the word, Sarah had to make sure that whatever the words meant, Steve was okay with it, and when she saw that Steve was, she had accepted Tony too. Steve always knew that his mom was a special woman and she was just proving it to him every day. Smiling, Steve took out his phone and selected the photo album titled 'The Pitted Olive' planning to introduce his mom to Miss Red Velvet.

***

It was somehow hilarious, that both Steve and Tony had to try very hard to convince Sarah that the woman in the photo and the man sitting on the couch next to her are the same person. At least three times, Tony had to explain the whole getting into drag process (sparing the gruesome details, like covering up eyebrows and tucking in) and Sarah listened with sparkling eyes, at awe of Tony's skills. After hearing that he performed as a singer and wrote his own songs, Sarah became full of hope to hear Tony sing, who suddenly became bashful, claiming that he sings only in drag, which made Steve laugh because he heard Tony sing multiple times under the shower. After a lot of requests and encouraging applaud, Tony sang some lyrics in front of his boyfriend and his mother, much to Sarah's delight and Steve's happiness.

The day could end in a very different scenario, and yet it had the best outcome. Steve couldn't be happier and when he was leaving his mom's house, holding a hefty grocery back full of treats his mom had prepared and insisted on Steve taking it, he saw his mom and Tony, heads close to each other and engaged in a conversation that looked secretive.

"What are you talking about?" Steve asked, putting the bag with food away and sliding feet into his sneakers.

"Nothing!" Tony chirped, smiling brightly. Steve narrowed his eyes but smiled back in the end. Someone was in a good mood.

"We were just discussing our next meeting," Sarah explained to Steve, "some of my friends want to meet Tony and get beauty advice."

"Oh," a flashback of the drag queen meeting in Tony's apartment came immediately to Steve's mind. Or the home spa evening he and Tony had from time to time. "Am I invited too?"

"No," Sarah laughed and winked at Tony, "it is girls only," she said and Tony chuckled.

"Fine," Steve agreed, taking his boyfriend's jacket and offering it to him. "If that is another beauty kind of talk, I have plenty of that back home."

For goodbye, Steve hugged his mom, and Tony got a hug too, and they went out, strolling down the street in the crisp air, Steve holding a bag with food his mom had given him. They didn't walk far away, when Tony stood on his tiptoes and out of blue smooched Steve on the cheek.

"Hm? What was that for?" Steve asked, looking at his boyfriend with a smile.

"No reason," Tony answered, leaning his head over Steve's shoulder. "Just because."

Just because was a good enough reason for Steve. He stopped, and turned to face Tony, and leaned into a kiss. Sweet and long. And this time, Tony didn't even wince, just ran with the affection, right in the middle of the sidewalk, not covering from curious eyes around them.

"Hey, so want to go to my place and eat what my mom made?" Steve asked in a playful tone after the kiss ended.

"I am kinda full, but - oh," Tony grinned, understanding the hidden meaning behind the words. "Aren't you a smart cookie," Tony cooed, flicking Steve under his chin softly, "I would love to, but I have to go to work."

"You are working today?" Steve asked. From what he knew, it was Tony's free day. "Did something happen at the Olive?"

"No, not at the Olive. In the shop. Rhodey already sent me like three emergency text messages."

Steve's face dropped a bit. That sounded serious and Tony was oddly calm.

"It's probably nothing big," Tony soothed, his posture still relaxed and eyes sparkling happily. "Last time, Rhodey called alarm, it turned out Riri and Harley secretly planned to turn Chevrolet Camaro into a transformer. Rhodey found blueprints and all, and they even started to modify the car. Maybe this time they succeeded and I really want to see that - to discipline them," he corrected himself.

Steve laughed. He would love to spend the rest of the day with Tony, but he understood that as a co-owner of the company, Tony had to be flexible. "Okay. Will I see you later today?"

"Sure, will drop to your place after I settle things at work," Tony said, taking a pack of cigarettes out of the inside pocket in his jacket and put one in his mouth.  

"Don't make me wait for too long, mom gave us boxty dumplings and barmbrack, and you might not get any if you show up too late," Steve warned with a smile.

"What's that?" Tony asked, unfamiliar with traditional Irish food.

"You will see later. Just don't get too full on anything," Steve enticed, hoping that a little bit of mystery would motivate his boyfriend to come home sooner.

"Sounds good," Tony smiled, taking the unlit cigarette out of his mouth and standing on his toes to kiss Steve for goodbye. Their lips met in a quick kiss, but something else also took place during the short moment.

"I am taking those," Steve said, and before Tony could understand what Steve meant, he saw his boyfriend holding a pack of cigarettes.

"Hey," Tony protested, sliding hand into his jacket and searching for his pack, finding empty space.

"Don't worry, I will leave you this one," Steve said, pointing to the cigarette Tony already had been holding, "for goodbye. And tomorrow I am buying you a nicotine gum."

"You know I can buy another pack, right?" Tony asked, squinting eyes at Steve.

"Go ahead," Steve waved his hand in a carefree manner, "just so you know, my mom can accept a lot of things, but not willingly giving yourself lung cancer."

That made Tony stare owlishly and Steve felt triumphant, hoping for that stunned reaction.

"I will see you later, babe!" Steve smiled, turning in the direction of his apartment.

"You are ruining my singing carrier, Steve!" Tony called when he got his voice back. The signature raspiness in his warm baritone was solely thanks to smoking cigarettes.

Steve didn't answer the obvious provocation, just smiled. On his way back home, he would have to stop at pharmacies and do some research on nicotine gums.

And maybe visit one or two jewelry stores.

***

"Hey, Steve, how's your head?"

"Uhhh?" Steve looked up from his phone, seeing Clint next to him and smiling brightly. Tony had been running late and Steve was waiting outside Red Velvet's changing room, looking through some catalogs. Who would have guessed that choosing an engagement ring could be so daunting?

"I asked, how's your head?" Clint repeated, voice wavering with amusement at the last words.

Steve sighed deeply. It all was giving him a headache and it had to show. "Honestly, I want to propose to Tony and I am looking for a good ring, and it is exhausting."

The previous amusement immediately disappeared from Clint's face. He stared at Steve, eyes wide open in shock and at loss of words.

"Ooooh, did you ask him, did you ask him?" Bucky came skipping to them, grinning from ear to ear. "I bet he answered with something stupid!"

Steve frowned, not knowing what Bucky meant, while Clint still seemed stunned.

"I am gonna ask you again, maybe this time you will get it right," Bucky clapped in his hands, his grin spreading, "hey, Steve, how's your head?"

The frown on Steve's face just got deeper. Luckily, Tony finally showed up, walking at a fast pace, late for his drag routine.

"He never had any complaints," Tony said in a rush, taking Steve by the arm and turning in the direction of the door, hurriedly opening them. "Go, go, go! I don't have much time!" Tony urged, forcing Steve to stumble into the changing room after him.

"Hey, don't tell anyone!" Steve called, needing Clint to keep the big news to himself.

"Tell what?" Tony asked, closing the door, and Steve caught the glimpse of Bucky waving his hand in front of Clint's eyes, trying to get a reaction.

"Thaaaaat - Loki ate Thor's sandwich again," Steve lied smoothly, and Tony laughed, buying it. It was a plausible scenario after all. Not having time to lose, Tony sat in front of his station and Steve took his place on the couch, his thoughts drifting away and distracting him from the current moment. The catalog with engagement rings was still opened in his phone and his and Tony's conversation, the one from before they had entered his mom's house, kept repeating itself in his mind. The words he had said came easy to him, rolling off his tongue smoothly, like if it was the most natural thing and something bound to happen, but just with Tony and no one else. He couldn't imagine wakening up and falling asleep next to anyone else than Tony. He wanted Tony's lips to be the last thing he tasted in the evening and the first one in the morning. Touch him, love him, kiss him. Only Tony. But was it the right decision? It was a huge step, they had a good thing going on, and a too soon proposal could ruin everything.

It was almost frightening how quickly all those feelings grew in him, almost rapidly, without any control. That was just such a Steve thing to do, to jump forward into his feelings, to let them succumb him entirely. It was exactly the same when he had seen Red Velvet for the first time on the stage, falling hard for her, and with time falling even harder for the man who brought Red Velvet to life. It was haste, poorly thought out decision to ask Red Velvet to met with him, and only good things came out of it in the end, but what if he already used up the amount of good luck in his life? What if, from this moment, everything would just go downhill? He was lucky, very lucky and had great people around him, and maybe it was the moment to slow down and enjoy what he had, instead of cutting off bigger and bigger slices of the cake life handed to him.

"Hey, Steve, how's your head?"

"Uh, my what?" Steve blinked owlishly hearing Tony asking him a question. Not Tony, Red Velvet. Somehow he missed the entire transformation process and saw Tony, all dolled up in red material, sitting in front of her makeup station. She was putting some sparkling earrings on and watched Steve in the mirror, her eyes shining with mischief.

"I asked how's your head?" she repeated, red lips curling up as if she was expecting some coded answer Steve had no idea about.

"Ummm… fine?" Steve answered insecurely, not understanding why he was being asked that again. Red's smile dropped to morph into somewhat fond expression when she thought how cute and oblivious her boyfriend was. Steve didn't get to ask more questions, because Red continued to talk.

"You must be really somewhere else right now. Not that I am complaining," Red Velvet finished putting the earrings on and reached for the transparent lip gloss, applying a shiny coat on top of the red lipstick and smacked her lips together with a wet sound, "but it is the first time when seeing me change didn't give you an instant boner."

"Red!" Steve hissed, a blush covering his face and he looked at the door, almost expecting someone to hear that. Red Velvet smiled dedicatedly, but there was some shadow of the mischievous smile Tony had from time to time on her face.

"And now your face matches my dress," Velvet joked, standing up and smoothing the red satin draping over her body.

Steve groaned and rubbed his forehead. In minutes, Red would be called to the stage and Steve would have to scurry to the audience, taking his seat next to Sam at their usual table. The timing was wrong, but he knew he wouldn't be able to enjoy the show, without getting it out from his system.

"Hey, Red…"

"Hm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure. Just make it quick, honey, I have a show to perform."

"It is just -" Steve rubbed his forehead more vigorously. "I have something to do, but I don't want to mess it up and lose what I already have. I don't know if I am doing the right thing here."

"Is this about your job?"

"My job?" Steve asked, looking at Red Velvet, not expecting such turn of events.

"You were complaining about your job a lot lately," Red Velvet hummed, coming closer to him, hips swaying with every step and high heels clinking on the floor. Steve furrowed his eyebrows in thought. Well, maybe. To be honest, he was pleased with his job, finding it quite easy and manageable. Just customers were sometimes a pain in the ass, but all jobs had ups and downs. "I am sure you have a lot of more options, we can brainstorm later and find something suitable for you," Red said in a comforting manner and Steve buried his face in the material on Red's stomach and she ran her long fingernails through his hair delicately, scratching his scalp. Such simple touch and he was already melting out of pleasure.

"I already found something suitable, I don't know if I am good enough," Steve admitted, holding Red around her hips. It was a cryptic message and he didn't want to give more than necessary. At least not yet.

"You won't find out until you try, honey," Red said, putting her hands on Steve's cheeks and urging him to eye contact. Together, they did many things none of them dared to do alone. Whatever Steve meant, it would be just another thing Tony would support him on and celebrate if succeeded or comfort if failed. "And If you fly or if you fall, least you can say you gave it all."

Steve blinked rapidly, the words sinking in. "That… That was really good," he said in awe, temporarily distracted from his dilemma.

"What?" Red asked, smiling in an amused way.

"What you just said. It sounded great. Like song material. You should write it down and use it as lyrics to your next song."

Red Velvet huffed a delicate laugh out. They would have to work on Steve's knowledge of drag. "Maybe later. I will see you in the audience," she said, placing a sticky kiss from her lipstick on Steve's forehead and walking out from the changing room.

"Good luck!" Steve called after Red Velvet, knowing that she didn't need any, and would knock the audience out of their boots, just like always. And Steve wouldn't want to miss it, so he hurried to take his usual seat with the perfect view on his lady.

————-

<– previous part ….. next part —> 

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tag list

(if you want to be tagged for updates in this series, send me an ask and I will add your username below)

@destiel-is-classic, @prithvik , @azurixx ,  @mangakats, @mystey-writes,@w1nters-stark, gloriousmarvellokiturtle, @the-pop-culture-geek

[artificialqueens]

After all this time? Always. - Miss_VanessaVanjie

Oh, hi, hello, good evening! I couldn't stop thinking about this idea so I had to write it! (I swear I'm working on the next chapter of Scandal, I swear.)

I can't thank hy_jinkx enough for being such an amazing person and an incredible beta! I wouldn't be able to do it without her and I'm forever grateful for it. Like I always say: I don't deserve you loll ❤

Oh, I almost forgot! I'm taking prompts and any ideas you guys have about this "verse" or even scandal! You can find me as hi-yekaterina on Tumblr! ❤

I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1 - Two ghosts

He couldn’t bring himself to stop staring.

Jose was an amazing performer and he knew that, having seen him perform countless times, but this show was different. Just like his mother always said to him when they went shopping, he could look but couldn’t touch.

Jose wasn’t his anymore. And Brock was okay with that, he really was.

It was just difficult to remember he was okay with not having him anymore when they were like this. In the same space, breathing the same air.

Somehow, Steve had convinced him to come to Vanjie’s last show at Werq the World in Chicago. Not that this had taken Steve a lot of effort. Brock wasn’t blind. He had seen the posts about Jose’s performance, the videos of him dancing.

The videos of his and Kameron’s interactions. But that part he was pretending not to see. He knew well how wild the fans can get, and there probably wasn’t anything but friendship.

And that was why he was there that night, in the 5th row right in the middle. He needed to be noticed, needed him to see he was there. That he still cared.

They were still friends, of course. But Brock wasn't truly a part of Jose's life anymore. He wasn’t the first person he texted in the morning, or the first one to know what he was doing. Fuck, he didn’t even knew about the Fenty Beauty show until he saw him in the after party he went to with Cara.

They didn’t talk there. Jose was busy flirting with other guys, not doing much, other than nodding his head and smiling politely when he saw Brock. It wasn't until the next day that he saw the photobombing, and... yeah, Brock was mad.

But he wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t.

So why did this still hurt like a motherfucker? Why did not knowing Jose was there still bother him so much?

Brock was brought back to reality when he heard Asia say, “I think you should introduce the next queen Kam. Cause, well... you two are pretty close, aren’t you?”

Brock saw the little smile Kameron was giving and he knew who the next queen was. He was used to this tone Asia was using with Kameron, because he used to be close to the same queen. Damn, he used to love her.

Used to?

“Shut up Asia,” Kameron said between giggles. “The next queen is leaving the tour today too, just like me. She’s the most hard working person I know, the loudest, biggest smart mouth and the person with the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen, make some noise for Vanessa Vanjie Mateo!”

Brock was there, but his mind made everything seem like a movie, like he was living in slow motion. He saw the big simile Kameron gave to the audience, the way Asia cackled, heard the crowd scream Vanessa’s name. But he couldn’t focus on anything but what Kameron said. Couldn’t think about anything else other than what it could possibly mean.

And then Vanessa was on the stage.The crowd went insane, as always. They loved him, always had and probably always would. Damn, sometimes Brock forget how good Jose looked in drag, how pretty his new mug was, how good his outfits were.

Sometimes Brock forgot that Jose wasn’t his anymore.

Then Vanessa was hugging Kameron, just like she used to do to Brock himself. Kameron was laying his head on top of Vanessa’s, and Brock couldn’t help but feel nostalgic. He knows that feeling. Knows how tight Vanessa’s arms used to be around his waist, or how they used to hold hands before going on stage.

Knows how Vanessa would always watch him perform and how he would always do the same. How after the show Vanessa would always say how good he was, how he’s the best performer she had ever seen and Brock would always think how wrong she was. Because not even once in his life had Brock seen someone perform with the same passion Jose had. Had never seen someone else with so much love for his job. Brock had never met someone like him before. Had never loved someone like him before.

Had never lost someone like him before.

“Brock?” He heard Steve before being able to look him properly. “Everything okay?”

“Great. I’m great,” he said. “Are we’re going backstage to talk to the girls?”

“Actually no, they’re going to an afterparty. Jason asked if we wanted to come.”

“Oh sure, of course. I, um... Jose is coming?”

He saw the way Steve reacted to his question. Saw the way he looked at him, saw the understanding and the pity. Steve knew Brock better than himself and Brock was aware of that. There’s no point in lying to him, to pretend he didn’t see right through him. To pretend he didn’t know how Jose makes him feel after one year.

“So we’re calling him by his name now? Wow,” Steve joked. “Yeah, he’s coming.”

And that was all Brock needed to know.

******

This was probably one of the worst nights out that Brock had ever had.

It wasn't like something bad had happened. If he was being totally honest, nothing had happened at all. And that was the problem.

They were in the same city, in the same place at the same time and that used to be enough.

But all of a sudden it wasn't.

Usually in situations like this, Jose would be all over him, his body pressed against Brock's, lips attached to his ears saying how much he had missed him.

But not that night. No.

Brock didn't go backstage after the show, he couldn't. Not without Steve's judgemental look, or without possibly seeing something he wasn't prepared for.

So he went to the club. He waited.

He almost started to think Jose wasn't going to come, almost thought Steve lied to him.

And then the door flew open and Brock saw him. And it wasn't fair.

Wasn't fair how fucking good he looked, how his fucking shorts made him look even skinnier, or how confidently he carried himself through the room, almost like he owned it, like he owned every single person there.

It wasn't fair how much Brock missed him.

Brock waited for him to come closer, to make some move to at least recognize Brock's existence. But nothing came. Brock wasn't the first person he looked for in the club anymore.

And that didn't hurt him. Didn't hurt him at all. And that was what he kept telling himself, repeating over and over that it didn't hurt, despite his stomach sinking, or the way his heart ached. Because it didn't hurt. It shouldn't.

He watched from the corner as Jose talked with everyone. Everyone but him. Saw him playing around and acting a fool with the dancers, shouting and laughing with Kameron and the other queens. Being happy.

If you asked Brock, he probably would have said that it took almost a decade for Jose to come any closer to him. But it could possibly have been just a minute. He couldn’t be precise in that moment. He was biased.

But Jose finally came closer to where Brock and Plastique were talking. He looked so beautiful that Brock couldn't take his eyes off of him.

"I didn't know you were coming," was the first thing he said. Jose didn't look pissed, he looked curious almost confused.

They looked at each other for a couple of seconds, that if Brock was being honest felt like hours, before he closed the gap and pulled Jose into a hug.

And God, he missed him so fucking much.

"I'm taking a break so I thought about coming to see yo- to see the show," was all Brock managed to say, still holding him.

"I hope you enjoyed it," Jose said, ending the hug. Brock had never felt more empty. "I have to go now, Kamy is waiting for me on the dance floor. We gonna make them eat it!"

And he left.

All throughout the night Brock couldn't bring himself to stop staring, to stop feeling the dizziness in his stomach. Couldn't bring himself to stop feeling jealous.

Sometimes he forgot Jose wasn't his anymore.

Jose seemed fine. Happy. He was acting really cool, dancing, grinding on Kameron. Drinking, taking pictures, smiling and whispering who knows what in Kameron's ears. Brock knew those signs.

Brock knew how Jose acted when he started to feel some type of way - he couldn’t say “fall in love,” he just couldn’t - with somebody. He saw it happen with him, rewatched it almost one year later. He knew the signs.

And that was why it hurt even more. Because he knew, and this time, those signs had nothing to do with him.

He wasn’t the person Jose direct his flirting tones toward, nor his big dazzling smile. He wasn’t the person responsible for that face he always made when he wants a kiss or a hug. He wasn’t Jose's anymore.

And Brock wasn't used to it.

Sure he was "dating" now - if you could call regularly sleeping with the same person dating. He was a nice guy, love animals, was calm and predictable. Brock wasn't going to wake up and find out he got a fucking tattoo on his chest because he was drunk and really loved cats. He was a safe option.

But Brock missed the craziness. Missed the way he never knew what was going to leave Jose's mouth, never knew what he was going to do next.

But most importantly, he missed Jose.

The Jose only Brock got to know. The soft version that always said I love you before ending a call because "you're old imagine if one day you wake up and forget who am I like that fucking movie, I'm just preparing myself."

The one who knew Brock's favorite type of food, knew his fears, his dreams. Knew how Brock's anxiety got the best of him sometimes.

He missed the little things too. Like how well their hands fit together. How tiny Jose was and how he hated when somebody mentioned that, but would blush every time Brock called him “my tiny toes.”

Brock missed Jose more than he was proud to admit. And that was why he was following Jose's every move, was watching everything he did.

And that was why he was going to the bathroom now. Because he needed to talk to him. Needed to explain.

When he opened the door, he saw Jose standing there, back to the mirror. Almost as if he was waiting for him.

And Brock thought that he probably was.

"What the fuck are you doing, Brock?" Was the first thing Jose said, and Brock thought that getting shot would probably hurt less.

"What do you mean? I just went to the bathroom." Brock forced a smile.

"You fucking know what I mean. Coming here, watching the fucking show like it's nothing. Like we didn't talk to each other since that shit show that was the Branjie show." Jose almost shouts, and Brock was almost happy, because that was the closest he came from feeling like he still cared, like the Jose he used to know was still there.

"And like it wasn't enough, so you come to the after party, looking at me all the time like I personally kicked Apollo and Henry," Jose said. "What are you doing here? For real this time."

"I don't know, okay? I just really wanted to see you. I miss you, J. I fucking miss you. And seeing you flirting with Kameron fucking pissed me off." It was Brock's turn to shout. "How can you do this? Acting like that in front of everybody? In front of me! That fucking hurts me."

Jose looked at Brock like he had grown a second head or something, like what he just said didn't make any sense to him.

Like Brock was a stranger.

"I'm not your boyfriend, ya know? I'm not a tall Canadian zoo guy or the fuck he does for a living," Jose finally spoke, "I'm the one you kicked after my birthday. The one you said on national television wasn't enough, that I made you feel tied down, the one that scared you and that made you realize you had 'commitment issues'. So you for sure shouldn't care about who I kiss, or who I flirt with. You never did, why start now?"

And then he walked away.

Bock wanted to say something. Anything. Tell him that he was wrong, that he was enough, more than enough. He was everything Brock thought he would never have and everything he thought he didn't deserve.

He wanted to say something. Shout, cry, beg for forgiveness. But for the first time he didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to make him stay, because all throughout Brock’s life, Brock was the one that walked away, the one that ended things. He had never had to do this before, had never felt so lonely and hopeless.

He had never lost someone like Jose before.

Ao3 link

[i-am-here-with-fanfic]

TOSHI X READER: The Perfect Model

A/N: Apparently I forgot how to title so here you go.

I AM ALSO SO SORRY TO POST SO LATE. @fandomhell97 had sent ne this request before ....March April? I know it was the 15th because that was my spring break but i didnt have time to write it and edit it in less than a week cuz training.

SO I GIVE YOU THIS TO APOLOGIZE TO YOU.

Edit: May 10, 2019 9:40PM: @starrylegend helped me a lot editing like 3.8/4 of the story!! Yay, belated credit 😰😅😅😅 *nervous laugh*

~

It was a strange thing, feeling so attached to your drawings. You always had a sense of pride and happiness from your years of practice, sketching whatever caught your eye around the world; however, you were most grateful for the fact that the perfect model came to you.

Toshinori Yagi.

With you two being partners sharing a household, there were many opportunities to sketch his gorgeous face, fluffy hair, and insecure body. After his final battle with All For One, though, Toshinori had fallen into a state of despair, and you remained by his side until he felt better; even if it meant you had to delay your sketching to tend to your boyfriend.

He was resting in bed, despite his complaints to do anything else but rest. Fortunately, you managed to convince him otherwise.

Laying beside Toshi, you held his head in your lap, caressing his face, trying to lull him to sleep. You were captivated by his looks; the bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep; stress; and who knows what else. ... While still gently stroking along his jawline, you admired the sharp angles of his chin and the shadows that danced across beautiful cyan eyes, your boyfriend finally succumbing to the need to sleep.. You leaned forward to press your lips against his recently moisturized ones, but he woke up, surprised and adorably shy.

“W-why did you do that?” He asked, his cheeks turning a pale rose as he averted his eyes.

You smiled, holding him closer. “You tempted me with that gorgeous face,” you say before assaulting him with a shower of kisses, causing him to laugh softly and grin as he took every kiss to the depths of his soul, feeling a boost from your kindness.

He shifted around until he nuzzled into your abdomen, wrapping his good arm around you.

That image was burned into your mind and you thanked a force out there that you were capable of remembering it. When Toshinori was stubborn enough to go back to U.A., you only shook your head with a smile, reminding him to be careful and sending him off with a kiss.

With the image of your lover laughing etched into your mind, you decided to draw him while you still saw it clearly.

You first grabbed your blanket from your bedroom, with the scent of your boyfriend in it, it was the second thing that would remind you of the safety and warmth you felt while in his arms. Sketchbook and pencil in hand, you opened it up to an empty page, placing your earphones on as soft music played, calming yourself.

After a few hours, you really concentrating on capturing the details in your boyfriend’s fluffy, yellow hair, you didn’t notice the door opening and closing, signaling that your boyfriend was home. When Toshinori heard the scratch of pencil on paper, his first thought was of you sketching, something he had not seen you do in a while.

Leaning against the wall, he gazed at your form on the couch, your blanket loosely draped over your shoulders.. He smiled as he slowly approached you from behind the couch, resting his arms on it and pulling out an earphone, causing you to yelp from surprise and close your sketchbook out of habit. This earned a string of rapid apologies from your boyfriend as you turned, sitting with your knees on the couch to see him as a stuttering mess before reassuring him that it okay, pressing a few kisses against his lips in the process.

“Drawing a flower as usual?” he asked, smiling softly, cautiously placing his hand on your waist.

He so wanted to be the cheesy, romantic guy, but he just didn't know how your reaction would be. Usually when he does something romantic, in his experience, it would be awkward as hell.

“Yeah, it's a fluffy dandelion,” you answered with a smile that your boyfriend mirrored.

“You and your fluffy dandelions.” He kissed the tip of your nose, trying to be cute without feeling likes he's being weird.

“You hungry, babe?” You had asked, smiling warmly at his gentle expression.

“Well...a little,” he admits, lightly scratching his cheek with a shy smile. You got up from the couch to walk to the kitchen to prepare a meal for the two of you to share.

Toshinori was about to follow when he thought “What’s in the sketchbook?”

He flipped to the first page and noticed a building with flowers surrounding it, the flower shop.

He knew it was wrong, he just knew it was wrong. He was going to be frowned upon ag looking without permission, but he just couldn't help it. Curiousity got the best of him.

He opened the book carefully and He gently flipped through until he stopped at a page that was his face in profile. Then the next was All Might posing. For each page that he turned, his face turned into a different shade of pink from the embarrassment, why would you be so interested in drawing him. You were so precise in his facial features that in some doodles you drew him with wet hair covering his eyes and frowning, the next doodle was him with an exaggerated puffy hair that was still covering his eyes, still frowning. So you were amused with his hair...and you made him look like a cartoon character with the bad luck of a cat with water. If you’ve drawn him like this, you captured him with fascination. That was a lot for him, his cheeks getting warmer, but also with a cup of doubt. Did you love him as a model? Nothing else?

You did have talent, that’s for sure, but he did start to feel bad on top of the guilt and shame of going through your stuff.

He turned the next page, to see if you have drawn anymore, and to his surprise you did, the new drawing. You had drawn him sleeping and it was so realistic. He couldn’t help but feel the pride of your talent of drawing, so many feelings, it is overwhelming!

“Toshi?...” You call out, walking into the living room from the kitchen. You didn’t think he would fall asleep on the couch so went to check on him.

You went silent when you spotted your sketchbook in your boyfriend’s hands. What caught off guard was the fact that Toshinori was almost scared and shameful.

“I’m...sorry.” Toshinori whispers, his hand trembling a bit.

“It’s just...I know I shouldn’t have this but...but curiosity got the best of me I uhm...I like them very much…” He smiles softly at you, referring to the drawings.

You were quiet, progressing this scene. There's more he wants to say, and you want to speak so badly, but for some reason a force was forcing your lips shush for the moment.

Then he spoke once again, looking down at the drawings, “I'm just curious to know why you are drawing me when there's so much...you can draw other than me...like this flower shop, even this parakeet for that matter...you didn't have to fill up your precious sketchbook with...my uh puffy hair.” He states with uncertainty and self-insecurity.

Now without thinking you walked towards him, taking the book gently from his hands to place on the table as you place your gentle hands on his cheeks, cupping them, “Do not ever say that, because that is not true. I do draw everything I see that's beautiful and that also includes you dummy. I fill up my book with beautiful objects and people. The only person I see very beautiful and precious is you, Yagi. You make me happy and I just wanted to express it on paper. If I have to create a painting of your beautiful, adorable face on a big canvas I will.

Toshinori was left speechless and his words were all mixed up, not knowing how to even think of a response.

Would it be pitiness you express, or would it be a real, genuine statement you expressed?

You got closer to Toshinori, pressing your body against his, “You are very handsome, Toshinori Yagi. You lost all that self-confidence because you think of yourself as not, and now...now it’s a recorded soundtrack that is stuck on repeat…”

Toshinori couldn’t speak, the words he wanted to get out just couldn’t be heard. When you told him about his confidence, he couldn’t help but actually agree with you.

His silence was just adding onto the nonexistent tension, and you spoke again, “If I have to draw you in a bigger canvas to make my point loud and clear that you are my handsome man, then so be it I will do it. I will prove that my boyfriend, so strong and so sharp-and so fashionable might I add-is the most handsome guy I’ve ever dated in my life. You ruined the image of a man, because you left me obsessed with you.”

Toshinori felt your hands wrapped around his neck as you kissed him. He can’t help but believe you. You wouldn’t lie to him, you’re not the type of person.. However, they were right: he did believe himself to be not handsome, not even worthy of you. With the drawings she provided though, every sketch of his face, his hair, his body, she did not want to alternate anything, she saw who he was and drew what she saw. He even noticed the hearts drawn on the side, his favorite part of the whole drawings, the proof that she will always love him.

She started kissing his lips, his cheeks, tiptoeing to reach his forehead and he responded by tipping his head down, only to feel the warm lips pressed against his forehead.

“Thank you...thank you for such kindness.” He raised his head, smiling so warmly. You blushed softly as you hugged him, “I'm sorry for drawing you without consent, I promise to ask for you permission.”

Toshinori pulled away just the slightest, “There's no need to ask for permission. As the kids would say “You do you, boo”.”

You processed those words and even stifled a laugh, “The kids said that?”

Toshinori rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed, “W-well, I do want to get closer to them, so I guess becoming a multilingual is my only option.” He chuckled softly.

You laughed, “ I swear, if you start saying ‘Yeet’ when you throw something, I'm going to start using the duct tape.” You teased and he laughed with you.

There was another drawing you would make after you two ate, Toshinori laughing.

[sugar-petals]

◇ Sub!BTS: Using A Glass Dildo On Them

| NOTE › bit longer than usual. got carried away writing this 😛

⟨ warnings ⚠️⟩ dom!reader, anal/oral, gloves, toys, mommy/noona kink, kitten play, bondage, overstimulation, fingering, orgasm denial, prostate play, recorded sex/pictures, gaping, hair-pulling, temperature play, masturbation, blindfolds, wax play

Jimin ♡ Thinks what you bought is so pretty — such a nice, transparent caramel color. Thinks that this will be a smooth endeavor, lube and all. Thinks Mommy won’t be so confident plowing him open right away. That’s all in his fantasy, and he dreams his life away for almost an entire week after you announced to spice things up. He did not reckon with his host, did he. The day before, you ask him to prepare himself with extra care because you’ll give it to him strong next night the way you like it best. Jimin ends up blushing all over like he’s 19 and in love again; it’s the best surprise. Finally, he admits to himself that his guesses were all wrong in the best possible way. So he grooms himself with diligence: getting all peachy and clean, hair styled in shiny curly strands, trimmed pubes, delicate lacey underwear. Jimin is a pro at getting ready for you even if it takes long. He’s so nervous and thrilled. Indeed it’s all a lot less pretty once he has to take it raw with a spreader bar holding his legs apart. He’s covering his mouth with one hand and reaching between your legs with the other. He never expected that you could drill his ass so marvelously hard and have a fucking good time doing it. What pleases you pleases him; stifled pants turn into even more longing groans when you seize the spreader bar and watch that delicious caramel length disappear between his cheeks almost completely in a final shove. 

Taehyung ♡ If only you allowed it — he would be busy thrusting himself against it all day. He just loves the feeling of glass against his shaft, it’s weird how much excitement he gets out of it. Though your idea for a hot evening is something fairly different, and tell him he can do it as a reward if things go well according to Noona’s expectations. That means: Baby Tae can’t mess up. Given it’s a double tip dildo, everything is rather easy to handle. One side snakes into his ass making Taehyung’s face go all funny because the glass is ribbed. The other side, for a little diversion, makes itself at home between his lips now and then when you think he’s enjoying what his prostate feels a bit too much. Well, he can’t cum either way, his cock ring is too tight for that. Yet he really puts some efforts into swallowing the dildo properly so you will put it in his ass again as fast as possible to go on ruining it. That calls for a few strong rubs on Taehyung’s dick to frustrate him a bit more. His moans alone are enough to satisfy your need to hear him submit so easily, but having him collapse fatigued and sweaty in the sheets after so much stimulation is the best gratification. After cleaning it a bit, he gets his two-sided dildo back to hump against until he sleeps, but has to promise baby will give Noona his extra attention after she wakes up with his tongue in return.

Jin ♡ Would probably deepthroat it for breakfast. But you have other plans in mind. Armed with a blindfold and extra thick rope, Jin truly is bound to get it rough. Arms apart, legs apart, spanning across your entire bed which is so, so satisfying. The knots aren’t too tight today because you know he’s going to need some room to flinch and twitch, and obviously: that’s something you never want to miss. Lanky Jin, finally under control and at your total mercy. If you have mercy, that is, because he’s way too luscious not to be destroyed. At the blink of an eye, Jin ends up stuffed and all those sweet familiar sounds are back again. How long since the last time you did this? His ass isn’t used to it anymore, which is even better. It’s probably because he got too excited, but Jin forgot that your dildo has a very perky function on top of that. It can vibrate. That catches him by surprise, certainly, and given that it has a switch for extra strong performance which you cannot not make use of... “Jagi, jagi!” goes the endless cry when you turn it on, which turns you on, which turns Jin on. With the vibrator deep enough to stay precisely where it should, you pick up a lighter and candle from the nightstand. The room fills with a spicy scent and more of Seokjin’s wails, too impassioned to cease just now, too loud to really give your neighbors a good impression either. So to keep the session running for a lot longer? You unblindfold Jin and use the fabric as a gag instead.

Yoongi ♡ So hot. Knowing how much he loves dick, this is going to be a religious experience for sweet Min “Fuck my ass” Yoongi. He gets his fluffy little cat ears on, makes sure to use the entire day to stretch himself out with a butt plug. Plenty of time for that in the studio until he gets home where his mistress awaits with her new favorite toy with tiny knobs on it. Sure, Yoongi is not a bottomless pit. He’s just a bottom with nice pits, a convenient place where you can thrust the glass cock into just to give him a taste of how hard things will go. Strangely, Yoongi likes that, but what kinky thing doesn’t he enjoy. But that, after all, is not the main event. The main event is Yoongi’s ass. Covered with a lubed condom, you make sure to guide it in at the right angle, the right speed. But since cock has Yoongi’s brain in shambles, he clenches up, gets too frantic and wriggles around. For you to pin him down properly, you sit on his back with his soft legs stretching into opposite ways underneath you as far as they can. His little cock gets crushed just enough while the fucking continues, leaving his ass roughed up until the second part of the programme starts. Reckless abandon, you peel off the condom, get off his back, and grab him by the jaw to pry it open. The following images stay in your mind forever. With equal fervor, kitten Yoongi throats your toy until his face is coated in snot and sizeable bubbles of saliva. His eyes get big and look for approval with every push, but really, it’s not hard making you happy when all he does is gag and slurp so beautifully.

Hoseok ♡ It’s such a hassle to prepare for anal. But Hoseok feels quite motivated after you present to him your latest online conquest. The poor postman didn’t know what he was delivering there, but once the golden wrapping paper and padding is off: Hoseok is convinced: this is worth it, and you’ve got good taste for sure. Everything for mommy. What a shame you can’t attach it to your strap-on harness, but what a perky feat that you — oh! — have two hands. One to sway past your labia to deliver just a bit of stimulation since the sight is already arousing enough. The other to ram half of the glass shaft into poor Hobi’s mouth who wasn’t ready for how it feels inside. So different from the usual rubber, so unyielding. He can’t squeeze it tinier with his tongue or bend it down his throat. No, it’s him who has to be malleable today, to bob and tilt his head, to stretch his rapper mouth to make some room. You poke at the insides of his cheeks just to make sure they aren’t staying unnoticed, making his cute puffy cheeks bulge out more than they already do. In the heat of the moment, you almost forget to take a picture. But Hoseok’s breathy gargling reminds you just in time. It’s always when he chokes the most that you want a proper image of it. With shaky hands, Hoseok flips to the front camera and smiles, enchanted, causing the glass slip down his throat even more. Maybe that’s the trick that you can use for next time. Who knows. But until now, you have further documented proof that Jung Hoseok is a sucker for brutal dick in the most literal sense. 

Namjoon ♡ Why have one when you can just buy two! The budget has to bear it for now, but the fun is why you have no qualms investing in such good instruments. Instruments to give you some good eye candy. You entrust joyous Namjoon to handle the first, light blue one himself. Now that’s already a tough responsibility given that he has to shove it down his throat without damaging the toy. To make sure he doesn’t break his teeth out by accident or worse either way, you use your favorite ring gag on him. The second, light greenish dildo that you pick up yourself has a reasonable diameter to fit inside Namjoon’s trained ass. Not small enough to poke his prostate and arouse him, not big enough to cause a legit case of belly bulge. Meaning, just right. It’s all set up (to stun!) and he’s not doing so bad fucking his own mouth. You give him a few minutes to adjust for both glass cocks, spend time softly tugging at his strawberry blonde hair to tease him, but ultimately: he’s not made for tender speed. When the jabs get faster, he has a hard time face fucking himself, and eventually drops his... light blue friend. That means punishment, meaning he has to take both cocks inside his ass if he can handle it. Namjoon is drooling throughout because the ring gag won’t go anywhere. It’s perfect to feed him his own cum, too, if only he would climax today. Because you know that just before his pleasure can catch up, you leave him empty and with nothing but the choice of fingering you to get another stuffing if he’s lucky.

Jungkook ♡ Because you’re foxy and he loves to experiment, that thing goes straight to the fridge. Just a couple minutes. In a protective case, gotta be sanitary. It’s Jungkook’s butt we are talking about, you wanna own it for a much longer time. Jungkook, already quite into it, initially thought about the bloody freezer but then realized he’d rather not have it stuck inside of him like a too-cold lolly on a tongue. It’d probably break in the ice either way. So, a few minutes next to the soda bottles and paprika oil it is. Eventually, lubed up and pinched into submission, you get to work to make your dreams reality. Since he is best penetrated on all fours, at least in your book, you worry not catching his facial expression when you insert the dildo with a glove on. So Jungkook uses his phone to film said reaction, almost drops it midway because this shit gets intense. Little did your bunny know that he’d get super tight with that cold thing up his ass and you can’t resist the urge to wiggle it from left to right to see how he can take it. All of his moans are so sweet and high-pitched, it’s just glorious. You feel that there is still plenty of space to go on pushing, but before Jungkook accidentally presses “Send” and forwards the video to Bangtan’s group chat, you grab the phone yourself. It’s perfect to get a good, HD inside view once you’ve finished thrusting him into a reddened, gaping mess and the dildo is getting warm again. Jungkook’s ass might not be the most curvaceous, but the deepest — that, it really is. 

© 2017-2019 submissive-bangtan. all rights reserved. do not repost, translate, or modify.

[loquaciousquark]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E18 (May 15, 2018)

@eponymous-rose​ is out tonight, so here I am instead, tiny-footed in her enormous...shoes? This metaphor’s escaped me.

Preshow is the crew filling a whiteboard with chat-directed drawings. It includes Mollymauk covered in pyramids, Jester’s lollipop, and Caleb on fire. You know, as it happens. Liam smiles very convincingly next to it.

Anyway, tonight’s guests are Liam and Sam, who arrives late and brings his Emmy. This fool.

Tonight’s announcements: new website! Critrole.com. It’ll have updates, news, events, and Sam suggests a daily vlog from BWF. The hardcover version of VM Origins will have its launch date announced this Thursday morning on said website. Liam pulls out a copy of the thing and it looks great. Also, everyone except Liam will be participating in the Stream of Many Eyes livestream in LA June 1-3, which will include multiple live D&D games. More information and tickets here. 

Crit Role Stats! Nott currently has the most kills of the MN with 16. Her HDYWTDT on the hill giant puts her at 5, tied with Molly for the most.

Caleb has cast the most spells of the group with 146. The next closest is Jester with 100. Liam: “It’s that ritual casting, yo.” However, Jester’s cast a larger variety of spells (22 to Caleb’s 20). This doesn’t include the Wand of Smiles (Caleb: 1, Jester: 4).

Sam is still stuck in character creation in Pillars of Eternity. Liam calls BS since he asked how to walk, but Sam reminds him you walk before going into the CC. He’s spent an hour and a half making a Cipher. BWF made Pike, but picked the wrong voice. Liam suggests picking Grog’s voice in his remake. Liam played the opening nine times and eventually had to reinstall the whole thing to unlock the VM portraits. Sam has a traumatic realization that he has the same problem & will have to reinstall as well.

Caleb is strongly regretting entering the Victory Pit due to the exposure it’s gotten them. He didn’t think there would be any bigwigs this far out, but he was “shocked” to find he was mistaken.

Nott isn’t happy with the notoriety either, but she’s conflicted; “she enjoys the supportive glances of her comrades, her teammates, but every once in a while is reminded other people are watching too.” Both agree the afterparty went badly.

Re: the Trent namedrop, Liam: “I can’t believe he’s here, this far out... I didn’t take in a lot of what happened for the next twenty minutes.”

During a discussion of distractions during an episode, Sam talks about how he and Laura were drawing a shared picture last episode whose arms and legs became dicks over the course of the episode.

Nott was surprised to find she was of value to the team during the hill giant fight. She’s still getting used to her abilities, but being so small and taking down something that big was a confidence boost. “She’s super jittery and nervous about everything and she drinks to compensate. I think this is going well for her, helping the team.”

Frumpkin happened post-asylum, so there was no danger of Trent recognizing him. Liam: “He was tapped for school at 15, meets Ikathon at 16 & goes with Astrid & Aeowulf, goes home for the first event with his parents about a year later, burns the house at age 17, and then was in the asylum until age 28. He ran and was totally alone when he got out; the first step was a cat, the second step was a goblin, and the next step was a group.” Sam: “Your guy was institutionalized for over a decade? I should reconsider who I travel with...”

Nott doesn’t necessarily believe Yasha is a spy, but she doesn’t know why she keeps disappearing or what she’s doing. She doesn’t even know what Yasha is, just that she’s super powerful and scary.

GIF of the week: @trisail. It’s the Trent reveal moment with overlays of Caleb shorting out. Heh.

Lengthy discussion about the “leave the table” moment. Liam found the scene super satisfying as it played out and doesn’t regret it. However, it’s a game for his friends first and foremost, and the primary purpose must be to entertain his friends and make them laugh and gasp, and this way robbed them of their reactions. He doesn’t think there would have been an issue with them being at the table--they’re all respectful audience members, and they’ve all been present before at other reveals. Plus, his story is very complicated, so “what am I gonna do? Spill it out all over again for Fjord, for Jester? It just didn’t seem feasible.” Caleb’s story has been in Liam’s head for a long time, so he was glad to get it out. Liam got the most responses on Twitter ever after his first tweet that he’d told his friends to go back and watch.

None of the other cast members aside from Ashley & BWF have watched the Caleb scene yet. Ashley found it pretty crazy and “a lot.”

Liam reminisces about seeing Vex’s heartbreak at Percy’s death and Grog’s privy conversation with the sword, even though he wasn’t part of those scenes, and wishes he hadn’t excluded his friends from his reveal. “I didn’t get a cat o’nine tails out of Taliesin’s closet and flagellate myself, but...a small course correction.”

Caleb’s reveal clarified some things about how Nott views Caleb; neither Sam nor Nott are dumb, and they both knew that he was suffering from something terrible. This just confirmed that & fleshes out the details. Nott’s views of Caleb’s victimhood, and her wishes that he no longer have to suffer, have not changed. 

 Liam points out that the intimacy of the show has changed over time, allowing them to pursue deeper conversations between characters instead of just the wacky hijinks they started with. As an example, he points out the difference between the first Liam/Keyleth scene where people hid behind hats vs. later Percy/Vex scenes where everyone was respectful and quiet. Sam enjoys that they can now have fun-fun (getting out of tricky situations and fighting together) alongside adult-fun (deep conversations and new relationships). BWF points out they’ve spent more time with these characters already than a full 5-season primetime show.

Sam became addicted to playing D&D precisely because of the level of depth you could reach with these characters, which you can’t achieve anywhere else.

In the thirty minutes before the Caleb conversation, Liam was wildly conflicted about what he was going to do (reveal everything, reveal only parts, lie). At the same time, “it’s killing [Caleb] to keep it all bottled up,” and even though Caleb’s really smart, he’s not a mastermind, and it may have still been too soon. However, Liam was also ready to stir the pot--he’s getting antsy that so many backstories haven’t been revealed, even though they’re theoretically a sixth of the way through the show. He also points out that Caleb has achieved his goal of finally getting into the library, so there’s nothing keeping him from leaving at any time. “That’s Caleb talking, not Liam.”

Laura & Travis interrupt to Facetime in & pretend they meant to call BWF’s mom for Mother’s Day. It’s pretty darn funny, and they confirm they totally watch this show from home when they’re not on it. Nerds.

Sam also takes a moment to loudly, angrily remonstrate Laura & Travis for taking pho home to eat. “You do not take pho home to eat. You eat it at the restaurant. It does not travel.” Discussing Sam’s food snobbery, Liam reminisces about how proud he was of some homemade blueberry pancakes he made after his kids were born. He shared a picture of them with Sam, who then sent back a picture of pancakes Sam’s wife made that “looked like something out of a magazine, there were raspberries, and everyone was like OHHHH, OHHHH, and I was alone and tired in my kitchen.” Sam: “I’m the worst person.”

Sam had guessed that Caleb’s backstory had something to do with fire, but had thought maybe he’d accidentally hurt/killed someone. “It’s pretty bad to accidentally hurt someone with fire. It’s super bad to intentionally kill someone with fire who is related to you.”

Caleb has no idea what happened to the other two children. The last thing he remembers before hospitalization was the house. Liam still thinks of Caleb as young since he’s essentially lost eleven years.

Sam asked Liam why he wanted to play someone so dark after Vax instead of someone more lighthearted. Liam’s just attracted to these kinds of stories; “this is what I want to do with my spare time.” He’s fine with other people being jovial instead of him.

Fanart of the Week: This gorgeous thing by Wesley Griffith. Apparently, Travis said this is his favorite representation of Fjord so far.

Nott doesn’t think she can do powerful magic; she’s just excited to be able to do small things. Liam’s dying to know Nott’s backstory: “She’s like a little bag of knives who’s hyperintelligent and drunk.”

Sam pauses to plug a new organization, Nerds Vote, a nonpartisan encouragement to register to vote.

In re: Beau’s reaction to Caleb’s reveal, Liam discusses his other options. He thinks Fjord is very intelligent but an unknown who might be evil. Jester he thinks would be the most likely to be repulsed or run away. Yasha’s her own kind of stranger who always leaves. Molly’s a 24/7 party animal that’s wildly different from Caleb. He feels Beau was the best choice; Beau had something he wanted anyway (and had shared a secret with him) so he didn’t have second thoughts acceding to her request.

Even though Nott has forgiven him, Caleb’s not looking to be forgiven or have anyone pat him on the back. He doesn’t believe “it’s going to be okay or it’s not his fault.” He knows he’s absolutely to blame and there’s a massive degree of self-loathing, so Liam feels Beau was the absolute perfect person to tell since she was going to be dry, pragmatic, and real. “No fluff, all...elbow-corners.” He didn’t want someone to coddle him and she was the perfect person for that.

He recognizes that they’re both Empire kids and share that history. Caleb also has been paying attention to everyone, and he feels Beau is clearly not happy with the Empire regardless of what she says, which aligns with Caleb’s feelings as well. Liam thinks it was a great choice to break it to her first, & he feels it wouldn’t have been fair to exclude Nott if he were to finally spit it out.

Nott’s not concealing anything from anyone about her backstory; it’s just that no one’s asked. Caleb never asked about anyone’s backstory because he didn’t want return questions.

Sam likes Liam’s story choices and calls them brave.

The original idea for Caleb stretches back so far that Liam thought of the name Astrid even before Matt introduced Pike’s cousin, Astrid. When they started discussing character creation for the new campaign, Matt okayed repeating the name. The German accent came much later in character creation (i.e. after the development of backstory). To Liam, Caleb’s backstory reads more like KGB or Pet Murderer over Hitler Youth, since as far as he knows it was only the three children involved, not an army.

Of the choices available to the group, Sam most wants to go back to the Gentleman. Liam wonders if Pumat has skeletons in his closet. (How many closets does Pumat have, I wonder?)

Sam segues into his difficulty remembering the difference between the Soltryce Academy and the Cerberus Assembly since they both have “C-A” sounding names. Liam: “Look, folks, he can either be really funny, or he can know the details.” Sam: “And that’s... where Ikathon is? And then there are the Halls of Erudition? There are too many things!” I have never identified more with him than this moment right here.

I have a brief, violent heart attack when an accidental keypress navigates me away from this page and I think I’ve lost it all. False alarm, please reduce heart rate to under 100bpm.

After Dark: Emmy and a lovely mace for Pike Edition

Liam elucidates the difference between a mace and a morningstar. Sam just about knocks his Emmy off the shelf getting the aforementioned mace for demonstration.

Sam’s asked which 90s Disney Afternoon show his character would like best. Sam: Darkwing Duck, Talespin, Gummy Bears, Fraggle Rock. Liam: Duck Tales.

Does Nott regret saying she’s Caleb’s mother after knowing what he did to his last mom? Sam: “Oh, wow. I didn’t even think about that.” Liam: “How could you not? I’ve been thinking about it for weeks!” Sam: “Well, it’s not like he’s a Terminator-style hunter of only mothers...” Finally--no, it hasn’t crossed Nott’s mind, but Sam will inform her soon.

The ultimate food sin for Sam--transporting pho is pretty high on his list, but he decides on ten-dollar wine. (Two-buck chuck, you know what you’re getting, swillwater flavored like wine; ten-dollar wine is actual wine that is terrible.) He recommends splurging for the fourteen-dollar wine. Sam loves cheap Chinese but Panda Express doesn’t count as Chinese. “No good Chinese restaurant ever advertises, ever.” Salted vs. unsalted butter is also a big thing. This is all because of Sam’s wife, he says; Liam points out that a year after they first met, when Sam moved to LA, Liam went over to Sam & Sam’s wife’s terrible apartment where they made very fancy salmon wrapped in that clear waxy rice paper stuff I can’t remember the expensive name for.

Caleb had very little left offensively in the hill giant fight. All he had was Sleep and Shield and a weak cantrip, so all he could do was gamble and guess on the timing. When he first cast it, Sam told Laura it was a big mistake. 

A viewer question tries to goad Liam & Sam into a tickle fight. Liam threatens BWF with the mace instead. 

Sam agrees to grow a small beard for Liam’s birthday, a little “chin music.”

And that’s all for the night! Is it Thursday yet?

[angeldormante]

hello y’all, i’m sick af so don’t expect finesse and expert articulation, but i’m here today to drop my beef on the ever-simmering Totty Discourse, a.k.a. why are we pissing all over the pink satanic bean pretending he’s worse than ichimatsu or some shit because he ain’t

fandom wants to say totty is fake? well, he is. the shallow fuckboy he portrays himself as is 100% fake and in reality he loves the disgusting family he hates. see for yourselves my guys.

starting simple, that one time the boys had to compete for their mom’s love. oh yes that is def the face and hi5 of a man who totally hates his brother and is dEVESTATED he has to live with him.

when the cat fucker was mean to esp, totty was on that kitty search party ALL DAY. all day with the rest of the brothers. not off fucking around with his social life, he was busy giving a shit about his niisan and that cat. (not pictured: totty suggesting going to their friends for help about 3 seconds before this. he wasn’t just going along he was making An Effort)

speaking of giving shits about his niisans, how about the fact that not only was todomatsu 100% supportive of jyushi in his relationship with homerun girl...

....but he was also THE LITERAL FIRST ONE to gently ask jyushi to open up about her when he was rejected. not oso, not ichi, it was ding dang totty. a todomatsu who watched his brother’s heart get crushed in and miss me with a strikeout if you look at this scene and tell me totty doesn’t care about his brothers. i thank sue content for my life.

he also took actual offense when oso and ichi called him a heartless monster who “wouldn’t notice if one of them disappeared”. i love “dry monster” totty as much as the next, but in realtalk, someone who genuinely didn’t give a shit wouldn’t react like this.

on that topic, you realize the rest of the brothers actually dump on totty like all the time? it’s all in good bickering but the road goes both ways. there was a whole segment in ep 13 where the others just avoided him and laughed at the “totty shouldn’t exist” theory, but also, this shot took place like 10 seconds later. the sextuplets hassle each other and then they make up because they actually do get along in the end, that’s how it goes.

cried actual tears when choromatsu left. literally what would he have to gain by faking this? nothing. this is just a boy who is going to miss his brother.

also from ep 24. oh yes that is definitely the face of someone who is mcdonald’s lovin’ it being free of his horrible family whom he hates and despises and is overjoyed to get away from forever

party bob ross literally says it in this episode. “you treat your older brothers like trash, but deep down you’re just trying to be nice.” hell, totty literally says it in this episode, he ditches them so often because it’s his dream to rise up the social ladder as a family, but he feels like the only chance of that happening is if he does it first and then uses his connections to help the others later. it’s a shitty dream tbh but this boy is trying.

by the way did you know that the youngest is also pretty quick to come to his brothers’ defense?

took the lead in karamatsu’s intervention for that toxic flower fairy, zaimoku is good

HE IS THE ONE WHO SMACKED THE SHXT OUT OF OSO WHEN THE RED FUCKBOY REFUSED TO SAY GOODBYE TO CHORO. TOTTY WASN’T HAVING THAT UNSUPPORTIVE SOKUDO SHIT. GOOD CYBER AND GOOD TOTTY HELLO??

like all jokes aside i think this might be the most important thing on this list. todomatsu had legit nothing to gain from walloping oso like that except a black eye, and he knew it. the only feasible reason he’d do it was to knock some sense into oso for being an unsympathetic ass. how much clearer can this boy’s Caring with all his nonexistent little heart be??

was super quick (alongside the others) to tell ichimatsu that he didn’t have to try and socialize on their level because of how anxious and uncomfortable he gets when pushed into those situations. todomatsu knows his brothers and pays attention to their weaknesses. he could have easily mocked ichi or scoffed at him and let him go embarrass himself, but he absolutely did not do that. he jumped to protec that fragile cat heart. good 110.

committed social fucking suicide in front of two pretty girls for his shitbag oldest brother who was being a sexist sauerkraut, ending up making oso sOMEhOW look less like the heel.

i know this, and i love you.

BUT HEY GUESS WHAT 2 EPISODES LATER

THE BENI IS ALIVE AND WELL because... maybe... totty loves his brothers? yes that’s exactly why.

lmfao poor otouto, they tried so fuckin hard for choro and yet got top 10 anime betrayed in the end

but also

todomatsu was the first one to accept the fuckin fall for his lying ass. totty just lied down and took it. if i’m speculating, it’s precisely because he is the most socially aware matsu, and he’s realized that the truth will hurt choromatsu’s image and self confidence not only among his brothers, but with totoko as well. it would be easier on the frog if they just went along with the prank thing; otouto take the blame for a shitty thing that won’t hurt them in the long run bc they apologized, and choro keeps a shred of dignity left. glowstick bitch.

in conclusion, totty isn’t even my favorite matsu but he is still a good as heck boy and i’m tired of seeing claims that he’s more fake or evil than the rest of them. they are all terrible but imo totty’s good qualities shine just as easily as the others, and i hate the fact that he’s icly shat on at least as much as kara but doesn’t get love from the fandom just bc he refuses to lie down and take it as often. i love totty.

pictured: a boy who clearly hates everyone at this bar. oh no, disgusting brothers. how he despises their presence. rip.

[kobayashi-aika]

Ultra Jump April 2018: 100 Questions for Kobayashi Aika

April’s edition of Ultra Jump was a Guilty Kiss special. It featured a photoshoot, an interview with all 3 members, and a special Q&A section with each seiyuu. Here’s Aikyan’s 100 Questions!

Translated question template was provided by @saitou-shuka​.

Kobayashi Aika (voice of Tsushima Yoshiko) Nickname: Aikyan Birthday: October 23rd Blood type: O Hobbies: Photography, western fashion Skills: Dancing (Hip-hop, R&B, LA Style)

1. Favorite food? I like all sorts of fruits. But I like strawberries the most! Ah, but I like mangoes, peaches, and watermelon, too...

2. Disliked food? There’s nothing I wouldn’t eat!

3. Favorite snacks? Snacks made with potatoes. More specifically, Jagapokkuru!

4. Your number one favorite home-cooked dish? Cod roe pasta! It’s really tasty. I want to learn how to make it soon.

5. Favorite color? Black, grey, red, and white.

6. Favorite scent? Perfume from Chloe.

7. Favorite season? Definitely autumn. I might be because I was born in autumn, but the temperature is also good, and I like the western fashion during the season. It’s a nice season.

8. Favorite event of the year? I have allergies, but definitely cherry blossom viewing! I make plans to go with my family every year, and it’s really fun.

9. What sport do you like watching? I’m always excited and nervous when I watch figure skating.

10. What sport do you like playing? Is dancing a sport? I love dancing. I’m bad at ball sports, but I do like badminton!

11. Favorite animal? Dogs!!!!! And red pandas!!

12. If you were to compare yourself to an animal, what would you be? Maybe a dog…?

13. Are you a dog person? Or a cat person? Definitely a dog person!!!!!

14. Favorite manga? Super Radical Gag Family. I remember reading it aloud with my childhood friends when I was in elementary school…(laughs)

15. Favorite genre of manga? Anything that’s interesting, or anything that makes my heart skip a beat. I want that to happen to me too!!!!!

16. First manga you read? Was it Kobo-chan…? Or maybe those 4 panel comics that they print at the end of newspapers.

17. First anime you watched? My grandfather rented “The Nutcracker” from the video store, and I kept watching it until I got bored.

18. Favorite movie? Rapunzel!

19. Favorite musical artist? It will always be Amuro Namie-san.

20. Song(s) you listen to every day? Aqours songs!!

21. First CD you bought? I don’t really remember… It might have been Morning Musume’s “Hyokkori Hyoutan-jima”...

22. Your specialty song at karaoke? When I go to karaoke with my friends, I sing and dance to Morning Musume songs.

23. Phone lock screen? I set it to a picture of Yohane that Hyogonosuke-san drew. It’s a nice picture, isn’t it?

24. A clothing brand you often buy? I don’t fuss over brands. I just buy whatever looks good. Brands I like are I AM I and didizizi. A brand I really want is l’atelier du savon.

25. Your best outfit? Clothing dyed in jet black. It represents my identity as a fallen angel. In other words, black clothing.

26. Favorite place in your house? In my bed. During the winter, my dogs come and lay in my bed with me, which makes me like it even more.

27. What do you want most right now? Lots of Yohane LINE stamps.

28. What’s something that you’ll always carry in your bag? Some lip balm and Mintia. 

29. What’s something you’ve been collecting unintentionally? Cute cosmetics, cute hats, and cute accessories! Well, rather than unintentionally, I’ve been collecting them on purpose, though.

30. What’s your treasure? A necklace that I got from my mom when I turned 20.

31. What kind of child were you? Well...I was really good at playing by myself!!! That’s all I’ll say!!!!!

32. Your childhood treasure? I used to collect round stones. They were all really pretty and smooth! Also, I had a stuffed dog that I named Chibi-chan.

33. Your childhood dream? I wanted to be a singer and a preschool teacher.

34. Someone you respect? Amuro Namie-san. She really is a cool artist and woman.

35. If you could travel anywhere, where would you go? Hm...if it’s summer, Okinawa! If it’s winter, Kyoto! Maybe!

36. What country do you want to try visiting? Maybe England, or the Maldives! I’d want to become a wizard in England, and I’d want to take it easy in the Maldives.

37. Any bad habits? I always touch my hair.

38. Do you have a catchphrase? I feel like I say “No way!” a lot.

39. Charm point? What would it be...maybe my eyes!

40. A strength you have? I always see things through to the end.

41. A shortcoming you have? I get really absorbed into things and ignore my surroundings.

42. Your special skill? I’m pretty good at sewing. It’s something that I brag about sometimes, though.

43. Something you’re bad at? Being rushed. I tend to get nervous.

44. A precise weakness of yours? Being called Aika.

45. What do you want to fix about yourself? The part of me that gets nervous...

46. What are you confident you can imitate well? I think my impression of My Melody is pretty close.

47. What’s something you could live off of? My smartphone...perhaps. No, I’ll need food to live...no, maybe water...ah! Some Aqours water!!!

48. Your current obsession? Mekabu! 

49. A phrase you’ve been using a lot? Maybe “Well, those kinds of things happen too, right?”. I think it’s more fun to be positive!

50. Favorite motto? “With everything you’ve got”.

51. If you could describe yourself with one word, what would it be? Little demon.

52. Something you’ve been picky about recently? I’m often picky about my nails. I’m always worrying about what kind of clothes their color will go well with. So recently, I’ve been deciding the theme for my nails beforehand.

53. Fill in the blank with something positive: I’m actually _. I’m actually good with my hands. Probably.

54. Fill in the blank with something negative: I’m actually _. I’m actually really inflexible. Please keep this a secret.

55. Anything but this! I don’t have much for this, but...I guess I wouldn’t like anything done to me that other people wouldn’t like, either!

56. What would the world be better off without? Cockroaches, maybe… And scary movies...anything scary.

57. How do you kill time? Sleep. Watch YouTube videos. Shop online.

58. How do you relieve stress and refresh yourself? Drink beer!

59. What app have you been using often recently? SIF and AC Pocket Camp!

60. What’s something you always do once you wake up? I take a bath!

61. What’s something you always do before you sleep? I set an alarm on my phone. I never forget to set it!

62. What do you do when you ride the train? I sleep, or I look at my phone.

63. What do you do to maintain your health? I use facial masks! And I wash my hands and rinse my mouth! And I get a good night’s sleep!

64. What do you do when you have the day off? I sleep in as long as I can...If I have plans to go out, then I do my nails or go to the salon, and get all my shopping done.

65. What do you do when you have time to yourself? I shop online, play games, and sometimes go out to look at western fashion.

66. What do you do when you hang out with friends? Recently, I’ve been going out with the Aqours 1st years to photogenic spots to take photos. We wear matching outfits, too. “When it’s time to have fun, have as much fun as you can!” is my motto.

67. Where do you want to go on your first date? Ehhh? With who? A-anywhere...is fine. Other than the haunted house, an amusement park sounds nice!

68. If you were to confess to someone, what kind of situation would you want it to be? Um...when I’m getting off the train and saying goodbye, as the doors are closing, I’ll say “I like you” and then run away, perhaps…(laughs).

69. If someone were to confess to you, what kind of situation would you want it to be? I want them to whisper “I love you” in my ear. And I would just be like, “Really!?” and let it soak in.

70. What memories do you have of graduation? A lot of mysterious feelings welled up inside of me, and I cried while singing our school song.

71. Something fun that happened recently? Today! I haven’t had a lot of chances to go to amusement parks, so today was really fun!

(Note: The Ultra Jump photo shoot took place at an amusement park.)

72. Something sad that happened recently? Us first years were playing a game where we tried to make our eyebrows go in a 45 degree angle, and Aiai (Furihata Ai) told me that my face looked like a Wi-Fi symbol. It was a little sad.

73. Something funny that happened recently? I saw Rikyako’s sleeping face. It was so funny that I cried laughing. (laughs) Maybe one day I’ll release it!

74. Something about your past you want to erase? My dark history!!! I don’t really have any!!!

(Note: This is definitely a lie.)

75. A moment that made you think “This is a miracle!”?

Love Live! Sunshine!! and a sweets shop in Numazu called Grandma did a collaboration called “Datenshi’s Chocola”. And in episode 5 of the second season, Yohane named the dog that she found “Lailaps”. Well...my dogs are named Chocola and Laila. This is a miracle!!!!!

76. A moment that made you think “I’m glad to be alive”? When I’m eating my mom’s cod roe pasta!

77. What wish do you want granted in the future? I want for Love Live! Sunshine!! to be loved by even more people, and to do that, we’ll need to work hard to achieve even greater heights. There’s a lot of dreams that I want to make come true, so I’m looking forward to it.

78. What’s something you wished for that came true? This very moment!! I’m able to sing and dance, and I have the chance to do the things that I love with everything I’ve got.

79. Any fond memories of 2017? Going to Disneyland with the first years!

80. What went wrong in 2017? I cried during the 2nd Live Tour. I didn’t want to cry~.

81. What would you do if you won 100 million yen from the lottery? I would put half of it into savings, and use the other half to go on a vacation with my family. I’ll splurge on it!!

82. What would you do if you had a time machine? I’d go back in time and have fun with my preschool friends and teachers again~.

83. What would you want to do if the world were to end tomorrow? I’d spend it with my family...but I’d be really nervous. I’d probably hold them tight...

84. What would you want to eat if the world were to end tomorrow? I’d eat a ton of shrimp and fried chicken.

85. If you could bring one thing to a deserted island, what would it be? A soft futon.

86. If you were reborn in another world, what would you want to become? I definitely!!! would become a magician!!!

87. If you were reborn in this world, what would you want to become? I want to fly in the sky, so maybe a bird!

88. If you were to be reborn, would you want to be male or female? Female! I want to be born again female!

89. What’s good about being a girl? “Girls are always the best!” is what I think. You can wear a lot of fashionable clothes, and make your nails really cute!

90. What’s something you’d want to try if you were male? I’ve never had short hair, so I’d want to get a Mush-cut perm. 

91. A challenge you want to take on? I want to try floating in the air like a fallen angel while singing. And maybe try jumping onto the stage to make my appearance.

92. A voice role you want to try in the future? I want to voice an elementary schooler. Or maybe something that’s not human. (laughs)

93. If you could do any job outside of voice acting, what would it be? I have a preschool teacher’s license, so I’d do that!

94. What made you the happiest out of everything you’ve been told? Seven years ago, I was told “Your songs really encourage me. Thank you so much.” It made me really happy, and it was the day I resolved to work hard as a singer.

95. Have you been keeping any secrets from the rest of Aqours? Not at all! Y-yes...I won’t say who it is, and if I returned it, I wouldn’t tell them, but once during rehearsal, I borrowed someone’s socks, and I haven’t returned them for about a year!!!!! (laughs)

96. Where in Numazu would you like to visit again? Mito Sea!!! 

97. Praise yourself as much as possible! You’re always working so hard! You’re so clever, Kobayashi! Do your best! (laughs)

98. What kind of moment makes you think “This is Guilty”? Recently, Rikako started tickling Aina, but she keeps it a secret as to when and where she does it. That’s Guilty.

99. Your thoughts on today’s photoshoot? It felt like a really Guilty Kiss-esque photoshoot. The amusement park was really fun, and the merry-go-round really

100. Finally, a word for your fans! There might be people reading this that are getting to know Guilty Kiss for the first time, so I hope you can see some of our good points, and I’d be happy if you listened to some of our songs!