A few days ago I read these headcanons about the Bakugou Family by the lovely @cutekirikitty and I felt so inspired, enough to beat for a night my writer’s block. Sooooo… this is the result. I wanted to write a ff revolving around Mitsuki, that I headcanon as a very complex and beautiful mother figure. I believe she may have had a past similar to his son, especially due to her flaming personality, and I don’t believe that just because she became a mother all her issues have magically disappeared. Parenting is hard and there’s no guide to it. That’s why I love her so much. I hope you enjoy this ff as much as me!
And thank you again Cutekirikitty for reading and betaing and helping me to improve it! You were such a great inspiration and help!
Light Angst, Parenting, Anger Issues, Motherhood, Mother-Son Relationship, Fluff, Kiri is a Sunshine, Established Relationship, Official Introduction to the Parents
“I’m home!”
Masaru’s voice echoed through the rooms of the Bakugou’s household.
As he tiredly took off his shoes, no answer was screamed back at him. He frowned, then let out a little sigh.
Looking around as he straightened, he realized that all the lights were off; he couldn’t hear anything from the kitchen nor any other room.
Oh.
So, that was it?
He silently padded down the corridor, up the stairs and then to the bedroom he shared with his wife. Finding the door closed, he decided to knock before entering. When nobody answered, he turned the knob and quietly stepped into the dark room.
His lips stretched in a bitter-sweet smile.
There she was, Mitsuki, curled in the middle of their bed, with photos scattered around her as the light of the dying sun dyed her in red. He could only see her back but knew by heart all the telltale signs of when his wife was upset.
“I’m home…” he repeated in a murmur.
A flinch.
“…welcome back.”
“Can I sit?”
A shrug.
Satisfied with the reaction, he seated on the corner of the bed. Close enough to reach out to her in case of need, but not to suffocate her.
Mitsuki was staring at a crumpled photo in her hands, chin resting on the knees.
It brought Masaru back in times, to when they were younger. When Mitsuki was fighting with herself day by day, when she would suddenly get silent and mad and flee away from him for no apparent reason. When Masaru would wait for hours under her window to know if she was alright, when he would let her cry into his arms. When life was less complicated, and they were the only ones they had to take care of.
Masaru leaned to look at which one she was looking, even though he could sort of tell by all the wrinkles. A photo she had the habit to pick when she was angry at herself.
A young Katsuki flashed a blinding smile to the camera, holding triumphantly some flowers in his hands. There were two or three bruises on his skin.
They had gone hiking for the first time ever; well, more a walk than anything. Katsuki had been so excited about the smallest things, running wild into the woods. The scars were a badge of honor for having tripped down a slide as he tried to pick some flowers for Mitsuki. His mother hadn’t had the heart to scold him, too moved by the innocent gift.
“…wasn’t he happy?” she whispered, voice scratchy.
He could see how puffy her eyes were but made no comment.
“Yes, it’s one of my favorite photos.”
She nodded in agreement.
“It was one of the last times I genuinely complimented him wasn’t it?”
Masaru didn’t reply.
They both knew the answer.
Mitsuki was an overly proud mom.
Who could blame her?
She had a caring, honest husband she loved to death and a strong, shiny son who deserved the world. She still couldn’t believe she had been blessed with them, especially thinking of all the flaws and issues she had always harbored inside.
She had managed to do something good in the end, hadn’t she?
That’s why she had always showered Katsuki with compliments, love, and affection. Well, partially it was also to compensate for when she would lose control and let her anger burn, but she was working on it; she had already improved in comparison as to how she was during high school. But, most of all, it was because she genuinely believed Katsuki was the best child ever.
Strong, beautiful, capable, smart, confident… And with a strong quirk to match! She couldn’t count how many people had complimented her, saying her Katsuki was born to be a hero.
How could have a mother not let it go to her head? She had always been bad at control herself, at doing things with measure.
She had let it blind her.
Stupid of her, right?
Then small things had started to pile up… a harsh comment, a sentence that had made her nearly snapped, bruises on his skin, stubborn replies, an annoyed click of the tongue… Small things that should have told her what was happening, that should have made her understand. But… she didn’t want to see. Katsuki was probably the best thing it had ever happened to her and she didn’t want to accept she may have… ruined it. She wasn’t ready. She was scared. She wanted to believe they were just tantrums, that they would pass soon.
Until the truth smacked her in the face and she was left with no choice.
She truly realized how things had escalated only during a quiet afternoon after she had picked up Katsuki and Midoriya from the kindergarten. Usually, all the boys would go play at the park in front of the house, but that day… ah, that day Mitsuki had asked Midoriya and Katsuki to play in the garden. Even though Katsuki had seemed annoyed by something and the other boy more nervous than usual, she had brushed it off. The house was empty, she had the laundry to do but didn’t want to feel lonely, and, most of all, she was curious about what they would play. It had passed some time since she had seen them enjoying themselves, hadn’t it? They were already growing.
At first, the afternoon had passed smoothly.
Mitsuki had finished her laundry and then moved to vacuum the bedrooms on the second floor. The kids were playing some adventures in the garden when she heard a pained gasp.
Dropping everything, she rushed down the stairs with the heart in her throat.
“Katsuki! Midoriya!” She called, stumbling out in the garden.
“What?” Bakugou replied, his tone clearly annoyed.
Mitsuki froze.
Her son was standing on the grass with a stick into his hands, while Midoriya had fallen to the ground. He was wearing some strange rags and had written on his forehead “Bad”; his knees were scratched, and tears streamed down his cheeks as he trembled like a leaf.
“W-what’s going on?” Mitsuki asked.
Bakugou rolled his eyes.
“We are playing at the hero and the monster. Deku is being weak.”
“Deku?” Her eyes grew wide, but the boy didn’t flinch.
“Yeah, I chose it. We were playing, I was defeating him when he fell and said he didn’t want to play anymore.”
Mitsuki looked at the small boy, who tried hurriedly to hide the tears.
“Are you alright, Midoriya?”
The boy nodded and stifled a smile.
“I-I am!”
“It doesn’t seem so.”
The boy threw a scared glance at Katsuki, who clicked his tongue, and nodded again.
“I am! I’m fine!”
Mitsuki frowned, stepping closer.
“Why don’t you change the game? You could be both heroes and I can play the monster!” she suggested as she helped him stand. A strange uneasiness was creeping into her heart.
Midoriya seemed to light up, but Katsuki immediately protested.
“No.”
Mitsuki glared at him.
“Why not?”
“Because he’s weak.”
His mother blinked, shocked.
“What?”
“Deku is weak. He can’t be a hero, he doesn’t even have a quirk yet!” Bakugou was clenching his fists, explosions echoing against his palms. “Tsk, I didn’t even want to play with him but you just brought him home…”
“Sure he can! What are you saying about your friend! Obviously Midoriya can be a hero! And stop calling him Deku, it’s not nice!” she snapped angrily, her tone sharper than what she intended.
Bakugou took a step back, shocked, but immediately glared back even more fiercely.
“He’s not my friend! And he can’t! You said it! Only strong kids can become heroes! He’s not!” he yelled, stomping a foot on the ground.
“He can be strong too!” Mitsuki should have remembered she was talking to a kid, but something in Bakugou’s attitude was making her brain shortcut. Was the look in his eyes? Or the conviction in his tone?
“He’s not! Everybody knows he’s weak! I am strong! I will be the hero!” She didn’t see the fear behind her son’s eyes, “I am the best! You said it, dad said it, the teachers said it!”
“This doesn’t mean that Midoriya is-”
“HE’S NOT! I’M THE ONLY HERO!” Bakugou roared, explosions going wild as he turned and pushed Midoriya to the ground once again, “HE’S NOTHING!”
Mitsuki’s heart stopped.
Her hand moved before she could think.
The slap echoed in the garden.
Bakugou stared at her with the mouth open.
Soon, his eyes filled with tears.
“W-why?” he whined, confused, angry and scared at the same time.
Mitsuki glanced at her own hand, fear strangling her from the inside.
She had never, never hit her son before. Never.
Midoriya started crying too.
She felt the panic rising, lost as what to do.
“K-Katsuki! Go to your bedroom! Now!” she ordered, trying to hide her insecurities behind a mask of anger.
“But I didn’t-”
“Now!”
The boy clenched his jaw.
“I hate you! Liar!” he seethed before running away.
Mitsuki watched him disappear inside the house, heart heavy and mind blank.
“Bakugou-san?” Midoriya was tugging at her sleeve, desperate.
She blinked at him and bent to pick him up, moving more on instinct than anything. She felt like an empty doll.
All she could think was that she had messed up.
She had messed up.
Mitsuki replayed what had just happened over and over again, in a state of horror, as she carried Midoriya home.
All those praises, the compliments, her stupid pride… she had messed up.
And only as she bowed deeply to Iinko, apologizing with all her heart for the behavior of her son, she realized what she had done to Katsuki.
It was her fault.
She had messed up. Once again.
Now she had to fix it.
From that day, Mitsuki gradually stopped complimenting Bakugou. She now saw how much they had inflated his pride and blinded his sight, and wanted to do something to fix, but didn’t know what. She hid her fear and regrets behind her short temper; she started making harsh remarks as soon as he misbehaved, faking not to see how good he was at everything he did and how much he put his efforts into it, finding flaws to mine his growing ego. No matter how much it hurt, how quickly the arguments between them increased, how similar their explosive personalities became and how bitter the resentment in Katsuki’s eyes grew, she shut her heart off.
She genuinely thought that would have been the right solution, believing the rare and awkward moments of shared affection would be enough to keep their relationship working.
Mitsuki only wanted him to realize his limits and flaws, to humbly accept that others could be great too.
She just wanted to be a great mother to a great son.
But when she realized that her attempts had only had the opposite effect, it was again too late. She had forgotten how to love Katsuki without hiding, how to show her love without shouting and being brusque, and Katsuki had grown distant and resentful, had seen through the mask all her flaws and pathetic attempts at parenting.
“What happened today?” Masaru asked gently, pulling her back to the present.
She didn’t say a word but took her phone and threw it into his lap. As soon as the screen lightened up, he realized it was already open on a message. By Katsuki.
“Tomorrow I’ll come for lunch with my boyfriend. I don’t want to, but he’s being a pain in the ass because he wants to meet you.
Don’t mess up, old hag.”
A gasp of surprise left his mouth.
Katsuki had a boyfriend?
He took the time to let it sink, then gave her back the phone.
“I doubt this is due to the fact it’s a boy and not a girl.”
“Who fucking cares!” she snapped, “It’s already a miracle he found someone with the horrible personality he-” She bit her own tongue, grimacing.
Ah, she was doing it again.
Her husband slowly rubbed circles on her back.
“Then?”
“The last sentence. It’s a fucking warning.”
“He must really care about him…” Masaru couldn’t help but smile fondly. The only thought that Katsuki had found someone special warmed him up.
“Obviously!” she scoffed, “As he could do something half-assed!”
Masaru chuckled, “You’re right.”
But that didn’t explain why Mitsuki was torturing herself again.
However, he let her be with her thoughts, just pulling her slowly closer.
After what seemed an infinite amount of time, she gently pushed him back.
“I have to prepare dinner…” She uncurled, stretching, and climbed out of the bed.
Her husband frowned a little, but his hand stopped in midair.
Should have he grabbed her? Insisted?
Ah, he had never been good at insisting, not even when it mattered the most. Not even when he should have. That’s why he had always ended up looking at the two people he loved the most in his life tearing each other apart, without being able to help. Tired and out of the loop after a day at work, too mellow and soft to contrast their anger or stop their aggressive arguments. Oh, he was good at comforting them afterward, when they were locked in their rooms berating themselves and the other at once, but it was too late. That was damage control, not a useful help.
But his wife knew him.
“It’s a threat, Masaru,” she said, stilling on the door without turning, “A warning for me. Don’t fuck up this time or it’s the end. And we all know how good I am at messing up.”
When they had told her Katsuki had been kidnapped, her world had shattered.
Katsuki? Her son? Kidnapped?
Before she could make up, before they could fix their relationship, he had been taken away. And what if that was the end?
She could remember rushing to the tv and stilling in shock as the new reported the incident, the world around becoming a buzzing blur. She had come back from the abyss of regrets and anger only as Eraserhead defended Katsuki, the only one who had seen the truth people always ignored about him, and she had never felt more grateful Katsuki had found teachers like him. The tears had streamed down her face without stopping until she had seen him being saved by his friends.
But what had she done when Katsuki had finally returned home?
Ah, just a hug. A hug was all that she had managed before her anger and issues had exploded.
She had screamed at him.
Because she had felt like dying while he was in danger. Because she was angry at Katsuki for letting them kidnap him and at herself for being angry for such a stupid reason. Because she felt so relieved, broken and frail she didn’t know how to hide it.
Because, simply, Mitsuki didn’t how to deal with the turmoil in her heart and always messed up everything, letting anger take the wheel as she tried to push back the rest.
They had ended up locked into their rooms once again, in a never-ending déjà vu, until Masaru had put her pieces back together and helped her going to Katsuki’s room without chickening back. It had taken all her courage and strength to knock and enter; she didn’t even have had the heart to switch on the light.
Since Katsuki hadn’t screamed to go away, she crawled into his bed and hugged him to the chest; feeling his arms circling her was such a relief. She let silent tears fell onto his blond hair, holding onto him as he buried the face into her chest. Outside the room, they both knew Masaru was sitting on the floor, waiting.
“…I’m- glad…” she managed to whisper.
Katsuki raised his head to meet her gaze.
“…me too…” he replied all too softly.
But she saw the disappointment in his eyes, the question screaming.
Why? Why couldn’t they be better than this? Why they always had to hurt each other? Why?
The next day, Mitsuki had let his son into the hands of the U.A teachers.
She had felt so disgusted by herself: for a second, she had felt glad they were taking him. She had been glad he would go and live at the dorm because she didn’t know how to answer that “Why?”; because she knew that those teachers were helping him grow and mature far better than she had ever done. Because every time she looked at him she remembered what a shitty mother she was, and it hurt.
And the worst was that Katsuki knew, she was sure he knew, and what could he ever feel for her, a mother messed up and scared to raise her own son, more than disappointment?
As the fated hour approached, Mitsuki grew nervous and nervous.
She was helping her husband in the kitchen with the lunch, but her hands trembled so badly she was murdering that poor potato.
“Why don’t you set the table?” Masaru gently took the knife away from her hands.
She sighed.
“I already did. Three times.”
“Three?”
“The second because I was agitated. The third because I snapped and hit a glass by accident. It shattered,” she grumbled begrudgingly.
“Are you okay?” Masaru took a look at her hand.
She rolled her eyes.
“Except for the fact that I’m a 38 years old grown ass woman but I’m panicking like a middle schooler because I have the short temper of a ticking bomb and I’m on the verge of ruining my son’s happiness once again? Fucking peachy.”
Masaru couldn’t help but burst into an amused laughter.
“You’ll be fine, Mitsuki. Katsuki wouldn’t have accepted to bring him home if he really thought you could mess up, would have he?”
She scoffed, crossing her arms.
Mitsuki knew as well as she knew that she was the adult there and had to pull herself together instead of going crazy. But she just… cared so much. It was scary. She was tired of making mistakes.
Sixteen years and she still didn’t know how to be a good mother.
Pathetic.
Masaru flicked her forehead, before returning to the curry.
“Stop it.”
“What?”
“Overthinking. And berating yourself.”
“I wasn’t!”
“You were!”
“I wasn’t!”
A ring cut their banter.
The potato fell from Mitsuki’s hands.
“You go, I’ll finish here.” Masaru gave her a small push, and she slowly made her way to the door.
She turned the knob holding her breath.
Red eyes.
Spiky blond hair, sharp jaws, always present pout and smell of nitroglycerin.
“And here I thought I would die before seeing you again,” she couldn’t help but smirk. Ah, Katsuki was dressed well today.
“Shut up, old hag!” he growled back, averting his eyes.
“Dude!” the gasp reminded them they weren’t alone.
Mitsuki’s eyes immediately ran to the boy who was waiting a step behind Katsuki and narrowed as she scrutinized him.
There was something familiar in him… Red spiky hair, scarlet eyes, well-built physique, nervous smile and…the joined hands.
“Ah!” she exclaimed, startling him, “You’re the boy who saved my dumb son!”
He seemed to be surprised about being recognized, but quickly brushed it off as a “Bakugou’s smart thing.”
“Yes, ma’am! Well, not exactly, I just helped out saving him- I just- well-”
“Yes, he fucking saved me! Stop mumbling idiot!”
Both the boy and Mitsuki almost gaped at Bakugou’s admission of having been saved, but if the first just smiled and squeezed his hand, the woman had to restrain herself from cursing.
“A-anyway… I’m Kirishima Eijirou, Ka-Bakugou’s best friend. I’m glad to finally meet you!” The boy bowed respectfully, with an adorable smile.
Oh, Katsuki had found a nice boy?
“Boyfriend!” the blond growled, “He’s my stupid boyfriend!” he repeated making Kirishima blush, but his glare was trained on her. As to dare her to say anything.
Mitsuki carefully smiled to Kirishima. He had never seen her son warier and more protective at the same time, she didn’t want to let him misunderstand not even for a second. Not this time.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kirishima-kun. I don’t know how this brute won you over, but I’m glad you’re here. Come, Masaru had just finished preparing lunch. Do you like curry?”
She led the way as Kirishima chirped how he loved it, but she glanced at the way Bakugou seemed to relax a little and sighed in relief.
They entered in the kitchen as Masaru was washing his hands. He quickly dried them with the apron and smiled gently to Kirishima, who looked almost surprised at the man’s appearance; Mitsuki had to hide a smirk: she loved how people thought Bakugou had taken his horrible personality from his father and then remained shocked to discover it was quite the opposite.
“I’m Masaru, Bakugou’s father. It’s nice to meet you, Kirishima-kun.”
“The pleasure is mine!”
The boy bowed once again, but now his smile was even more relaxed. Poor thing, he must have been so anxious. Mitsuki could remember how nerve-wracking she’d felt when meeting Masaru’s family, and she was nowhere near as nice as Kirishima.
“Let’s seat! It’s still warm!”
“Thank you!”
Bakugou quickly sat by Kirishima’ side and his parents in front of them; Mitsuki caught sight of his hand giving a last squeeze before letting Kirishima go.
The lunch went on smoothly.
The usual banter between Bakugou and Mitsuki never escalated, Kirishima was more than happy to talk for everyone and keep the mood light, and Masaru was ready to fill the awkward silences or cut the occasional tensions.
“…and so, as soon as I suggested Momo would be better than him at tutoring me, Ka-Bakugou immediately offered. Well, more threatened me than anything.” Kirishima finished his story, making the couple laugh wholeheartedly as Bakugou muttered curses against the palm of the hand.
“You fucking asked for it, Shitty-hair!” Bakugou bit back, with a smirk.
Even though she could say there was not an ounce of malice in his tone, her heart almost stopped at the nickname. Memory from the past flashed in front of her eyes. Her shoulders tensed.
“Brat!” she almost growled, slamming the hand down, “What are you calling your boyfriend? Haven’t you learned how to respect other people? It’s already a miracle he’s bearing you and you call him like-”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Katsuki yelled back, explosions crackling from his palms; the red eyes were already burning with flames, “Shut your mouth, old hag! You don’t fucking know anything about me and Ei-”
“Katsuki!” Kirishima interrupted them even quicker than Masaru. He elbowed gently his boyfriend’ side, “She’s still your mother. Not cool.”
Bakugou snapped his head towards him, ready to chew him up too, but as soon as he met Kirishima’s stern and clear eyes he stilled. Under the couple’s flabbergasted stare, his rage slowly…dimmed. His features softened, the coldness melted.
“She-”
“Still not cool,” Kirishima rebutted with a grin, stretching a hand to catch Bakugou’s, “And I’m fine. Don’t worry!”
They held the gaze for few more heartbeats before Bakugou sagged into the chair.
“Whatever…” he grunted in the end, turning his head to the wall.
Whatever.
To anyone else that could have seemed nothing, if not annoying, but Mitsuki knew what it means: Katsuki was surrendering, he was willingly letting an argument go in favor of someone’s else. And he wasn’t even pissed about it, just as if Kirishima had been right about he said… Mitsuki had always counted every “whatever” said in that sighing tone as a personal victory.
She couldn’t believe someone else knew that too, but there he was that red-head boy, barely hiding a soft smile as he gazed at the blond.
Kirishima turned to Mitsuki.
“Ah, please don’t worry Bakugou-san. I can tell when Bakugou’s words have no bite, nor real mean intentions. It’s just his way of addressing people, me and the whole class are used to it. We don’t care, nor we are hurt. He has also improved a lot since our first year.”
Bakugou rolled his eyes but said nothing.
“Besides,” Kirishima’s tone was now teasing, and he winked at the woman, “He’s using those names because he’s too embarrassed to call me anything else. When we are alone he calls me Sun-”
“EIJIROU!” Bakugou slapped a hand over Kirishima’s mouth, horrified, “Don’t you dare, asshole!”
The other laughed amused, not even remotely scared of having an explosive hand pressed to the face.
“Sorry, sorry…” But he didn’t sound sorry at all.
Mitsuki started giggling without realizing, and it almost startled the boys.
Kirishima seemed content to hear her chuckle, while Bakugou simply stared at her with an unreadable expression.
“Kirishima-kun, you’re an incredible boy. I’m really happy to have you here.” Her heart hadn’t felt so light in days. Masaru squeezed her hand as she smiled earnestly at Kirishima.
He gaped.
“…you have the same smile,” he blurted, turning to Bakugou.
He frowned, annoyed.
“We don’t.”
“You do. But it’s okay, I find yours cuter.”
“Do you want to die, Shitty-hair?”
The rest of the lunch ended peacefully.
When Mitsuki stood to clear the table, Kirishima hurried up and stopped her.
“P-please let me do it! I already intruded you and with such a short notice!”
She flicked his forehead.
“It’s fine, my husband cooked, not me. I can-”
“I insist!” Kirishima repeated, biting his bottom lip. He seemed to be debating if it would have been ruder to let it go or insist more.
Katsuki decided for everyone.
“Let him do, old hag. He won’t stop feeling bad for it, otherwise.”
“Hey!”
“And you?” Mitsuki couldn’t help but ask.
Bakugou rolled his eyes, “I’ll avoid he destroys our kitchen,” he mumbled, before nudging the other boy, “Come on, I don’t want to spend the afternoon washing the dishes.”
“I’m not that bad!”
“Please don’t get me started, Hair-for-Brain!”
Without anything to do, Mitsuki walked to the living room almost in a daze. Masaru was seated on the couch, reading one of his favorite books, and she plopped down next to him.
He glanced at her, amused.
“What?”
“He…” Mitsuki said quietly, “…is different.”
Instead of prodding, Masaru realized his wife was lost in thinking and let her be with her mind until she was ready to elaborate. However, after ten minutes, she stood up again and silently walked to the door kitchen.
She had left it ajar and couldn’t stop herself from peeking it.
Mitsuki felt so… curious.
She didn’t exactly know that Katsuki. A protective, wary Katsuki who also wore a soft expression. A Katsuki whose lips were always pulled in a faint, almost invisible grin when nobody looked. A Katsuki who wasn’t watching only at himself anymore.
She wanted to see him more. It was fascinating. It filled her heart with… joy? And pride?
Inside, Kirishima and Bakugou were standing near the sink.
The red-head was vigorously washing the dishes that then passed to the blond, who dried and put them away; they seemed to be talking animatedly, or at least Kirishima was, Bakugou mostly nodded and listened, making small comments from time to time. But Mitsuki could tell he was attentively listening.
At some point, Kirishima must have said something funny or stupid, because Bakugou scoffed and tried to hide his laughter behind the hand, but it didn’t work well. His usual stern or scowling expression was nowhere to be seen as he clutched his stomach and let his voice booming freely, cheeks slightly red and eyes tingling with amusement.
Whatever he may have said, Kirishima seemed deeply embarrassed and his face was completely red. He tried to make Bakugou stop by smacking weakly his shoulder, but the other boy was laughing too much, so he decided to sport a cute pout.
When the blonde realized, a lazy, teasing grin replaced the laughter as he leaned against the counter. Kirishima made an attempt at averting his eyes, but it was clear how pulled by his boyfriend he felt. Bakugou grabbed his t-shirt and made him stumble closer, before placing his hand behind Kirishima’s neck and bringing him down for a heated kiss.
Ah, too much.
Mitsuki retread few steps, guilty as if she had just pried into a secret, private moment. Her back collided with something and she jumped, caught by surprise.
“They make a good couple,” Masaru murmured, gently wrapping an arm around her waist. She relaxed against his chest.
“Uhm,” she agreed with a small nod, “He’s changed.”
“For better?”
“For better. Don’t you see it?” she scrunched her nose, making him chuckle.
“I do see it, I just wanted to hear you say it.”
Mitsuki glance at him, confused.
“Do you know why he has changed?”
“…because he has met great kids and teachers who have been able to help him mature.”
“Exactly, so it has been a good idea, hasn’t it? Sending him to the dorms, no matter how much it hurt and made you feel like you were running away from your problems. You took the right choice. Nothing to regret or torture yourself with anymore.”
Oh.
Mitsuki blinked.
Oh.
“I… took the right choice.”
“Yes, I’m glad you did.”
“I-I’m glad too.”
Something in her heart was melting, she felt as if a weight was falling from her shoulders.
She had taken the right choice for her child, she had done something good. Even though she wasn’t the main reason for his changes, even if she hadn’t done anything more than saying “yes”, even if all she had managed had been recognizing she couldn’t do nothing for him and trust someone else, it was something. A small step.
“You can be proud of it,” Masaru said, reading her thoughts.
“Oh, shut it!” She wiped away the small tears who had escaped her control.
He chuckled and left a kiss on her forehead.
“We can be proud of him.”
“…’ve always been,” she muffled begrudgingly, much to his amusement.
“Yeah, but you had never let yourself say it aloud. Don’t you feel better?”
She just shrugged and turned to hug him as she hadn’t done in a long time. Those stupid teenagers in love were making feel her young and in love once again, how annoying.
Her romantic moment was interrupted by Katsuki’s outraged scream.
“ARE YOU A FUCKING IDIOT?!”
Instinctively, Mitsuki slammed the door open. Mom’s instinct.
“What happened?”
Bakugou didn’t even notice her, focused on examining the hand of his boyfriend between his, while the red-head seemed so embarrassed he could die.
“You can fucking harden! How the hell did you manage to cut yourself?”
“You were distracting me!”
“Than fucking put the knife down!”
“Katsuki!” Kirishima whined, but Bakugou smacked lightly his head, “I’m fine!”
“You’re bleeding!” he growled, before turning to Mitsuki, “Old hag, help him wash the cut while I go to search for the band-aids! Dad, are they still in the same place?”
The blond stomped out of the kitchen like a hurricane.
“Ah, no…” Masaru stuttered, “We moved them…” he added, tailing his son.
Mitsuki, still perplexed, reached Kirishima and stretched a hand.
“Can I?”
The boy groaned but let her look.
Mitsuki snorted, “It’s such a small cut.”
“I know!” Kirishima sighed, a palm over his eyes, “But he says I’m irresponsible because of my quirk and always gets stressed when I’m hurt. I’m sorry for the fuss.” He seemed genuinely troubled.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” she waved it off. Mitsuki still couldn’t believe it was her son had just got so worried for someone else.
“I should have paid attention, but we were joking around…” he explained with a faint blush. And even though he seemed embarrassed, his eyes shined with fondness at the thought.
“…you really love him.”
“What?”
Ah. The words had slipped from Mitsuki’s mouth.
“I… said you really love him.”
Now, Kirishima’s face was the same color as his hair. But his gaze didn’t waver.
“Y-yes, ma’am. I-I really love Katsuki.”
“Why?” That was what worried Mitsuki, the real question.
Kirishima seemed taken aback and frowned.
“Why?”
“My son is… difficult. He has issues. And treats most people like dirt,” she explained, crossing her arms as to defend herself from those red eyes that seemed to bare her.
Mitsuki didn’t miss the flash of anger in his eyes, nor the way his jaw clenched, so similar to how protective Katsuki had seemed during the introductions, but he soon softened again.
“Katsuki is… complex, I know that. He’s foul-mouthed, has one of the biggest egos ever and doesn’t know how to interact with people other than competing,” he agreed with a bitter-sweet smile, “But there’s much more to him, isn’t it? The strength and passion that drive him, his pride as a man, all his vulnerable fear and insecurities that he tries to face alone, his will to become a hero…ah!” he chuckled, “That’s what made me fall in love. I’ve never met anyone who wanted to become a hero more than him, no matter how flawed he knows he is, no matter how hard it feels or what the world says. He’s willing to face all his demons if it means he can improve, and he’s ready to change. Katsuki is burning with passion, he just needs to find his way to convey it… properly. This hit me so hard. Only by being next to him I feel braver and stronger as if nothing could defeat us. Being worthy of his respect and love for me is… amazing. Even if I know he’s not perfect and even if I’ve seen all his ugly sides… I just love him. He makes me a better person.”
Mitsuki didn’t have words to reply, she stared silently at Kirishima, who grew more and more fidgety as the seconds dragged by.
“…glad.”
“What?” he stuttered, panicking.
“I’m glad you are the one he loves. And I’m glad you love him back. You see the best in him… thank you.” Mitsuki’s voice was so quiet as she spoke, looking at the ground.
Kirishima felt the urge to hug her but had already learned how to deal with a Bakugou and stopped himself.
“You don’t have to worry, ma’am. A lot people are beginning to see it too. Bakugou is not alone anymore, you know? We’ve made a lot of friends! I’ll bring them to you if you want to know them! But don’t worry, he’ll be fine!” Kirishima reassured her with a toothy-smiled
She had to force herself not to cry.
What a special boy her son had found. He had completely seen right through her, hadn’t he? Better than what she had ever admitted to herself.
“I’d love to, Kirishima-kun.”
Bakugou chose that moment to barge back in the kitchen, armed with a first-aid kit, Masaru behind him.
“I found it! Uh? What’s this?” he asked suspiciously as he moved the gaze between the two of them.
Mitsuki and Kirishima exchanged a glance, before chuckling.
“Gossiping,” the woman replied with a teasing smirk.
Bakugou narrowed his eyes.
“She had promised to show me your childhood photos!” Kirishima added with a bright smile.
“What? No fucking way!” Bakugou protested marching to him with the disinfectant already in hand.
“Please, Katsuki!” Kirishima begged with his best puppy-eyes.
“I’ll go searching for the albums!” Mitsuki left the kitchen with a laughter.
“I think I have some videos…” Masaru mumbled quietly.
“Dad don’t you dare!”
When the time to go came, Kirishima had nearly been adopted by Masaru and Mitsuki. Not that Bakugou would have ever doubted his boyfriend’ scary ability to befriend even inanimate objects, but it was still a relief.
And… his mother seemed happy. Genuinely happy. He hadn’t seen her like that in a long time, right?
“Thank you again for the hospitality!” Kirishima bowed for the umpteenth time before Mitsuki pulled him into a crushing hug.
“I’m the one who’s happy, Kirishima-kun! You’re really a wonderful boy, feel free to hang here whenever you want.”
“Alright, alright!” Bakugou was losing his patience and roughly dragged his boyfriend away from his mother’s arms, “You have said it already ten times! We’re going to UA, not the fucking north pole! Stop being so dramatic!”
Kirishima laughed, letting the blond manhandle him.
“Goodbye again! I look forward to the next lunch together!” He yelled cheerfully as the other pushed him out of the door.
“Fucking move, Shitty-Hair!”
Once he had finally sent him away, Bakugou turned to his parents.
“I’ll be going…” he said awkwardly.
“Stay safe, and call more often,” Masaru patted his head with a sigh. He really would have liked to stay with them a little longer.
Bakugou shrugged but didn’t protest.
He moved as to open the door and leave but stilled.
He turned to his mother instead.
“Thank you,” he murmured so quietly Mitsuki almost feared to have imagined it, “Eijirou really cared about this, but I too am happy you met him. I’m glad you like him.”
Katsuki was meeting her eyes, and there was no hidden disappointment. No anger. No fear.
He was there honestly revealing his thoughts to her.
Almost vulnerable.
For a heartbeat, it almost sent her mind in a frenzy. She wasn’t ready, she wasn’t used to it.
Her brain was already pushing out an automatic, snarky reply as always when she felt vulnerable or lost, but she bit her tongue.
Katsuki had improved. He had done his best to grow.
Mitsuki had to be worthy of all his efforts.
“You really don’t deserve someone as good as him, try not to scare him off.”
“Of course we like him. He’s the best boy you could have ever met,” Mitsuki replied with the same quiet honesty.
Katsuki showed a small smile, biting the inside of his cheek.
“I know,” he scoffed, “That’s why I chose him.”
“Maybe I could adopt him instead of you, brat.”
“I would have never expected less. Look at you, Katsuki, all proud of your boyfriend! I can’t wait to call him my son-in-law,” she teased, making him blush.
“MOM!” he burst.
She laughed hard, happy and so relieved at hearing him calling her mom.
“I hope to see you soon! Kick some ass and show the world your resolve, brat!” She threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug, ruffling his head.
“That’s what I always do, old hag! And we’ll come back, stop nagging and let go!” But he made no real attempt at shoving her away, letting her enjoy the moment.
When she finally stepped back, he simply nodded and walked out of the door. Kirishima was waiting on the walkway and started waving enthusiastically as soon as he saw them.
“Goodbye!” he yelled to them as the couple waved back.
Bakugou muttered something under his breath and grabbed him by the hand, quickly pulling him away. Soon, Masaru and Mitsuki remained alone, looking at the sunset.
“See? You didn’t mess up.”
She turned to him with burning eyes.
“I didn’t mess up!” Mitsuki cheered, and, seeing her shining, proud smile, Masaru remembered why he had fallen in love with her in the first place.
“You two are really similar,” Kirishima mused as he and Bakugou walked toward the dorms, hand in hand.
The blond scoffed yet didn’t deny it.
“Horrible personality. Messed up.”
Kirishima rolled his eyes. Those two were really similar.
“Complex. Fierce. Scared to love and yet so full of passion. You have your issues, but both of you are fighting, right? I really admire that. You make me want to give my best too!”
Bakugou halted and turned to stare at him, eyes wide open.
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Sure!”
“…How can you say things like this without getting embarrassed?” he growled, blush creeping to his cheeks.
Kirishima chuckled sheepishly, scratching his nape.
“I just say what I see…”
Bakugou gazed his face, almost tempted to search for a lie even though he knew there wasn’t one, before sighing.
“’Guess you really see it.”
“One day you’ll see yourself like that too, I’m here for this.”
“Fucking annoying.”
“But you love me!”
Bakugou chuckled, but leaned closer, “Yeah, I fucking love you.”
And shut his boyfriend with a kiss before he could blurt more embarrassing truths
“Sing me a song,” Geralt whispers into Jaskier’s thigh. “Please.”
Jaskier looks down at him. “What kind of song?”
“A soft one.”
They’re still tipsy from the festivities — had walked into town just as everyone had been hanging lanterns and tuning their instruments — and even though they should be sleeping, Geralt can’t find it in himself to be tired. Not yet, not like this: with Jaskier’s hand in his hair, smoothing out the pattern he’d braided into it earlier, the soft cotton of his sleep trousers a gentle pillow for his head.
“My voice is a bit hoarse,” Jaskier points out quietly, but Geralt can feel him sitting up a bit straighter. “It’ll hardly be a grandiose concert.”
“Mm.”
Fishing for compliments, his bard. He should not give in. He makes a habit of not giving in for a reason.
“They all are.”
“They all are what, dearest?”
“Grandiose concerts.”
Jaskier jostles him a bit, puffing his chest with pride. It fills the room, his ego (and it smells like roses and basil leaves, and Geralt loves it, and him, but he knows he shouldn’t feed it often, lest it become a beast he must slash away) and he claps Geralt on the shoulder. “Well, then! If you insist on me showcasing my talents, then I shall not leave you wanting, Witcher o mine.”
Geralt tries to roll his eyes — he really does! — but maybe it’s all that drink that’s made its way into his brain and is slowing his movements down, because, instead of his trademark-eyeroll, a smile dripping with fondness makes its way to his mouth.
(He should really check what kind of wine it was that they drank).
Jaskier’s fingers drum a simple, soundless beat on Geralt’s shoulder, and slowly his voice fills the room. It’s a bit hoarse, just as Jaskier had predicted, but it adds an edge to the honey-soft words that fall from his mouth. Geralt doesn’t really know what he’s saying — can’t really focus right now — but it’s a tender thing; slow and flowing like fallen leaves following a sunbeam on a stream.
It’s gentle. Good.
His eyes close without him ever meaning to, and suddenly there are hands in his hair and music in his ears and love in his heart and he knows, with absolute certainty, that this is where he belongs.
This is where he must stay.
“That was it, my love,” Jaskier murmurs when the song ends, voice rougher than before. “Did you like it?”
Geralt turns his head to look up at him. “I love you.”
Jaskier has a dimple on his left cheek. It deepens when he smiles. “A song was all it took?”
Geralt smiles, too. Dimple-less, but true all the same. “It was over for me when you offered me day-old moldy bread from your dusty pockets.”
Jaskier flicks him in the forehead, leaning down to kiss him anyway. Their mouths meet, their teeth clacking together because Jaskier can’t quite contain his laughter, and it’s far from their finest kiss, but somehow it is the best they’ve ever had — because they’re in a small bed in a small inn, with wine stains on their shirts and rose-tinted cheeks and Jaskier’s hair is falling in his eyes and Geralt can’t quite make his hand push it back, because they’re laughing too much and he’s a bit tipsy and too much in love.
“We should go to bed,” he says, even though they’re both wide awake.
“We should, old man,” Jaskier says with a smile, his fingers carding through Geralt’s hair. “I love you too, you know.”
Geralt closes his eyes, smiles back. “I know.”
They’re still smiling when a gentle, slightly off-kilter Aard blows out the candles on the nightstand. Geralt accidentally tickles Jaskier’s side and gets a kick to the shin for his troubles, and they’re laughing so hard they almost fall off the bed, twice. And when they’re finally settled, when it all seems to have died down, Jaskier snorts a laugh into Geralt’s hair and it gets them going again.
Jiang Cheng is sure he has been looking at the same two invitation designs for the past ten minutes. He’s no longer sure he can even make out the difference between them. Jiang Cheng tilts his head back with a groan, rubbing his eyes in the hopes of making them stop burning but of course it doesn’t work.
Jiang Cheng is still debating if he should switch over to the flower arrangements for now when he hears the door, quickly followed by Nie Mingjue’s light steps, Baxia and Sandu in tow, their tongues no doubt lolling out.
“I’m back!” Nie Mingjue calls out.
“Kitchen,” Jiang Cheng replies and tilts his head back for a kiss when Nie Mingjue comes into the room.
“Hi,” Nie Mingjue says once they part and Jiang Cheng smiles up at him.
“Hi,” he gives back. “How was your run?”
“You should ask them,” Nie Mingjue says with a pointed look at the two dogs who are too busy drinking to pay any attention to Jiang Cheng.
“You tired them out,” Jiang Cheng observes and Nie Mingjue smiles sheepishly at him.
“Not my fault they can’t keep pace,” he gives back before he looks at the table, a frown on his face. “Are you still looking at invitations?”
“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng sighs. “I have it narrowed down to these two though, I think. How do you like them?”
Nie Mingjue musters them for a moment and then shakes his head.
“My heart, those are the exact same two we already had as our favourites. What are you doing?”
“I just wanted to be sure,” Jiang Cheng pouts. “I want this wedding to be perfect so I compared them to all the other designs again.”
“Oh, my heart,” Nie Mingjue says and bends down to hug Jiang Cheng from behind. “The wedding is already going to be perfect because it’s our wedding. I’m marrying you. It doesn’t get more perfect than that. The design of the invitation really doesn’t have anything to do with that at all.”
“I know,” Jiang Cheng whispers and laces their fingers together. “I know that. I just–”
“You still want it to be perfect,” Nie Mingjue finishes for him and presses a kiss to the side of Jiang Cheng’s face. “I get that. But we both have stared at designs and arrangements for too long. We should give it a little bit of rest and come back to it in one or two days, alright?”
“Fine,” Jiang Cheng sighs, but he knows that Nie Mingjue is right.
The invitations look the same to him already and it would probably do him some good to think about something else for a while. They still have time until the wedding anyway.
“Good.” Another kiss to Jiang Cheng’s cheek. “Now put all of that away, I stopped by that one dinner place on my run and placed an order. It should be here in ten minutes or so,” Nie Mingjue tells him and lets go of Jiang Cheng. “I’m going to hop under the shower real quick.”
“You’re perfect,” Jiang Cheng tells him just as his stomach rumbles and Nie Mingjue gives him a dimpled smile.
Jiang Cheng is sure he has been looking at the same two invitation designs for the past ten minutes. He’s no longer sure he can even make out the difference between them. Jiang Cheng tilts his head back with a groan, rubbing his eyes in the hopes of making them stop burning but of course it doesn’t work.
Jiang Cheng is still debating if he should switch over to the flower arrangements for now when he hears the door, quickly followed by Nie Mingjue’s light steps, Baxia and Sandu in tow, their tongues no doubt lolling out.
“I’m back!” Nie Mingjue calls out.
“Kitchen,” Jiang Cheng replies and tilts his head back for a kiss when Nie Mingjue comes into the room.
“Hi,” Nie Mingjue says once they part and Jiang Cheng smiles up at him.
“Hi,” he gives back. “How was your run?”
“You should ask them,” Nie Mingjue says with a pointed look at the two dogs who are too busy drinking to pay any attention to Jiang Cheng.
“You tired them out,” Jiang Cheng observes and Nie Mingjue smiles sheepishly at him.
“Not my fault they can’t keep pace,” he gives back before he looks at the table, a frown on his face. “Are you still looking at invitations?”
“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng sighs. “I have it narrowed down to these two though, I think. How do you like them?”
Nie Mingjue musters them for a moment and then shakes his head.
“My heart, those are the exact same two we already had as our favourites. What are you doing?”
“I just wanted to be sure,” Jiang Cheng pouts. “I want this wedding to be perfect so I compared them to all the other designs again.”
“Oh, my heart,” Nie Mingjue says and bends down to hug Jiang Cheng from behind. “The wedding is already going to be perfect because it’s our wedding. I’m marrying you. It doesn’t get more perfect than that. The design of the invitation really doesn’t have anything to do with that at all.”
“I know,” Jiang Cheng whispers and laces their fingers together. “I know that. I just–”
“You still want it to be perfect,” Nie Mingjue finishes for him and presses a kiss to the side of Jiang Cheng’s face. “I get that. But we both have stared at designs and arrangements for too long. We should give it a little bit of rest and come back to it in one or two days, alright?”
“Fine,” Jiang Cheng sighs, but he knows that Nie Mingjue is right.
The invitations look the same to him already and it would probably do him some good to think about something else for a while. They still have time until the wedding anyway.
“Good.” Another kiss to Jiang Cheng’s cheek. “Now put all of that away, I stopped by that one dinner place on my run and placed an order. It should be here in ten minutes or so,” Nie Mingjue tells him and lets go of Jiang Cheng. “I’m going to hop under the shower real quick.”
“You’re perfect,” Jiang Cheng tells him just as his stomach rumbles and Nie Mingjue gives him a dimpled smile.
Jiang Cheng is sure he has been looking at the same two invitation designs for the past ten minutes. He’s no longer sure he can even make out the difference between them. Jiang Cheng tilts his head back with a groan, rubbing his eyes in the hopes of making them stop burning but of course it doesn’t work.
Jiang Cheng is still debating if he should switch over to the flower arrangements for now when he hears the door, quickly followed by Nie Mingjue’s light steps, Baxia and Sandu in tow, their tongues no doubt lolling out.
“I’m back!” Nie Mingjue calls out.
“Kitchen,” Jiang Cheng replies and tilts his head back for a kiss when Nie Mingjue comes into the room.
“Hi,” Nie Mingjue says once they part and Jiang Cheng smiles up at him.
“Hi,” he gives back. “How was your run?”
“You should ask them,” Nie Mingjue says with a pointed look at the two dogs who are too busy drinking to pay any attention to Jiang Cheng.
“You tired them out,” Jiang Cheng observes and Nie Mingjue smiles sheepishly at him.
“Not my fault they can’t keep pace,” he gives back before he looks at the table, a frown on his face. “Are you still looking at invitations?”
“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng sighs. “I have it narrowed down to these two though, I think. How do you like them?”
Nie Mingjue musters them for a moment and then shakes his head.
“My heart, those are the exact same two we already had as our favourites. What are you doing?”
“I just wanted to be sure,” Jiang Cheng pouts. “I want this wedding to be perfect so I compared them to all the other designs again.”
“Oh, my heart,” Nie Mingjue says and bends down to hug Jiang Cheng from behind. “The wedding is already going to be perfect because it’s our wedding. I’m marrying you. It doesn’t get more perfect than that. The design of the invitation really doesn’t have anything to do with that at all.”
“I know,” Jiang Cheng whispers and laces their fingers together. “I know that. I just–”
“You still want it to be perfect,” Nie Mingjue finishes for him and presses a kiss to the side of Jiang Cheng’s face. “I get that. But we both have stared at designs and arrangements for too long. We should give it a little bit of rest and come back to it in one or two days, alright?”
“Fine,” Jiang Cheng sighs, but he knows that Nie Mingjue is right.
The invitations look the same to him already and it would probably do him some good to think about something else for a while. They still have time until the wedding anyway.
“Good.” Another kiss to Jiang Cheng’s cheek. “Now put all of that away, I stopped by that one dinner place on my run and placed an order. It should be here in ten minutes or so,” Nie Mingjue tells him and lets go of Jiang Cheng. “I’m going to hop under the shower real quick.”
“You’re perfect,” Jiang Cheng tells him just as his stomach rumbles and Nie Mingjue gives him a dimpled smile.
“Only for you,” Nie Mingjue promises him and even though they have been together for years at this point, Jiang Cheng’s stomach still flutters.
“And aren’t I lucky,” he mutters, watching Nie Mingjue walk into their bedroom before he shakes himself out of his daze and puts the invitations away.
They really do still have time and it probably can’t hurt to sleep over this for a few days. They still have other things to do besides—and there really still is enough time left—so they don’t have to rush things.
Jiang Cheng just likes to stay on top of things.
He puts cutlery and bowls on the table once all the invitations have been safely stowed away and now that he thinks about it, Jiang Cheng really is close to starving.
“I really do have the best fiancé,” Jiang Cheng mutters under his breath and he’s aware that the most dopey smile is on his face but it’s not like anyone can see and he’s finally at a point where even if someone could, Jiang Cheng wouldn’t care.
He loves Nie Mingjue too much to hide it.
Jiang Cheng is just puttering around when someone knocks on the door. He almost runs over to it, suddenly famished and he wants to get the food as quickly as possible.
“Hurry up,” he calls into the apartment, hoping that Nie Mingjue hears him and doesn’t waste time under the shower but when Jiang Cheng yanks the door open he freezes.
It’s not their food that is waiting for him on the other side but two police officers.
“Officers,” Jiang Cheng croaks out, one horror scenario after another rushing through his mind. “Did something happen?”
“Jiang Wanyin?” one of them asks and Jiang Cheng nods, afraid of the news they bring.
“What—what can I do for you?”
“We’re actually looking for you,” the second officer tells him and now Jiang Cheng thoughts turn into a different direction.
It’s not like he breaks the law on a regular basis—the last thing was probably a ticket for speeding, if he’s honest—but suddenly he wonders if he murdered someone and they are here to arrest him.
“What for?” Jiang Cheng carefully asks and the officers share a look.
“Your siblings filed a missing person case for you,” they explain and Jiang Cheng can only blink at them.
“I’m sorry they did what?”
“They said your apartment has been rented out to someone else and they can’t find you.”
“This is my official apartment. This is the address that is registered as my home,” Jiang Cheng says and the officers nod.
“Yes, it does seem a bit strange. Is there someone else here with you?”
“My fiancé,” Jiang Cheng croaks out and just in that moment Nie Mingjue steps into the hallway.
“My heart? Is that the food?” he asks but he trails off when he catches sight of the police. “I guess not. What is going on?”
“I’d like to know that as well,” Jiang Cheng says, crossing his arms in front of his chest, but he can guess.
Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli neither listen to him nor did they ever believe him when he told them he was moving in with Nie Mingjue.
“Excuse us, could we talk to you alone for a moment?” the officers ask Jiang Cheng who sighs and turns around to Nie Mingjue.
“It’s my stupid siblings,” he tells him and then steps outside into the hallway, closing the door behind him. “What did they say?”
“Are you doing fine? Are you being coerced? Is he forcing you to be here?” one of the officers asks and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.
“No. I am here of my own free will. Nie Mingjue and I have been in a relationship for more than five years now. We’re getting married next year.”
“And that is something you want?”
“I proposed to him, so I should hope so,” Jiang Cheng bites back and then pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. What exactly did my siblings say?”
“They reported you as missing, citing exceedingly erratic behavior. Something about a delusion was mentioned as well.” The officer seems apologetic as he says it and Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath.
“That would be because they neither listen to me nor do they believe me,” he says his previous thoughts out loud. “I have always been transparent about my relationship with Nie Mingjue but they don’t believe me. I gave them my new address and I informed them of the wedding. I still have the same phone number!” Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath. “I can show you if you want?” he says and points at the door.
“Please.”
Jiang Cheng excuses himself and enters the apartment, not even surprised that Nie Mingjue is still waiting for him in the hallway.
“What is going on?”
“My siblings filed a missing person report for me it seems,” Jiang Cheng tells him and walks over to kiss his cheek. “I’ll just show the nice officers that there’s nothing to worry about and then we can have dinner.”
“If you’re sure,” Nie Mingjue says, the worry clearly etched into his face and Jiang Cheng pulls him in for a kiss.
“I am. Give me five minutes.”
Jiang Cheng grabs his phone and steps back outside to show the officers his chat with his siblings.
“Do you want to confirm that these are my sibling’s phone numbers?” he asks them, showing them the contact information.
One of the officers gets a notebook out and they check the numbers, nodding once they are done.
“They are the same.”
“And this is the chat. See, I told my siblings five months ago that I was moving to this very address and informed them about the wedding as well,” he says and shows the messages to the officers.
His siblings had answered with different variants of “Don’t do this, A-Cheng,” and “There’s no need to take this charade this far”, to which Jiang Cheng hadn’t answered anymore.
There’s no point in arguing with his siblings about his relationship.
“It all seems to be in order,” the officer says. “If you don’t mind us asking, why are your siblings not believing you?”
Jiang Cheng snorts at that question.
“We don’t have the time to get too deeply into our fucked up childhoods, but it basically boils down to the fact that they think Nie Mingjue is way out of my league and wouldn’t ever date someone like me. This has been going on for years but I didn’t think they would involve the police over this. I’m sorry.”
“Since you didn’t file the report it’s really not your fault. We’ll inform them about the situation. There might be some follow up questions, though. Here’s my partners and mine contact number, just in case as well.”
Jiang Cheng takes the offered card, even though he has zero intention of ever calling them and bids them a good evening.
And it happens just in time too, because as the officers are leaving their food is arriving.
Jiang Cheng quickly goes inside to get the money, putting the bags of food into Nie Mingjue’s hands before he pays the delivery guy and then, finally, he closes the door.
“What the fuck,” he mutters.
“What the fuck, indeed,” Nie Mingjue says, still standing in the same spot, bag of food in his hands. “What is even going on?”
“Let’s talk over dinner,” Jiang Cheng proposes, his stomach rumbling again and he takes the bags back from Nie Mingjue, quickly making his way to the kitchen.
The food is laid out in mere minutes and it’s only after Jiang Cheng stuffed his mouth full that Nie Mingjue speaks.
“Did they really report you as missing?” he asks and Jiang Cheng sighs.
“Yes. As far as I understood the nice officers they called my behaviour erratic and cited a delusion. That added up to the fact that I am no longer living in my old apartment was clearly enough for the police to get involved and take this seriously.”
“And now?”
“And now I cleared it up. I showed them the chat history and I explained to them what is happening. There might be follow up questions but I am no longer a missing person.”
“Why would they do that, though? You told them where you’d move.”
Jiang Cheng sigs and then walks around the table to sit in Nie Mingjue’s lap. Jiang Cheng has hours upon hours of therapy behind him, and he is now more or less fine with his family history and especially with his sibling’s behaviour. But it seems like Nie Mingjue is not quite as fine with this as he’d thought if his tone of voice is anything to go by.
“My heart,” Jiang Cheng starts as he leans in for a kiss. “We know how my siblings are. I’m not really that surprised. You know they never listen to me.”
“But—a delusion? As if you made all of this up? Why can’t they just believe you?”
“Because you’re perfect and wonderful and everyone can see that. And we know my siblings don’t have the best opinion of me, so of course they wouldn’t believe we’re together. Hell, some days I still can’t believe how lucky I am that you love me back,” Jiang Cheng says, hoping to lighten the mood.
“You know I love you,” Nie Mingjue whispers and tightens his arms around Jiang Cheng.
“I know,” he promises him but Nie Mingjue still seems pensive and worried. “What?” Jiang Cheng gently prods him and Nie Mingjue drops his head to Jiang Cheng’s shoulder.
“Sometimes I wonder if I made everything worse for you,” he admits, his voice barely audible. “If you wouldn’t be better off without me.”
“Never,” Jiang Cheng immediately and vehemently replies, pressing himself closer to Nie Mingjue. “You make my life better. My family was suffocating me, keeping me down, keeping me small but with you—I feel like myself, like I can finally breathe and live and love how and who I want. And for that I will always be grateful.”
“But it would have been easier with them,” Nie Mingjue still argues and Jiang Cheng wants to take these thoughts right out of his head and throw them all away.
“Easier, maybe,” he admits. “But I would take happy over easy every day. And you make me happy.”
“Are you sure?” Nie Mingjue asks, his voice small.
“My soul, I proposed to you. Of course I am sure.”
“But only because you were faster! I had the ring in my hand, too!” Nie Mingjue immediately exclaims, pulling back to glare at Jiang Cheng. “You got lucky, that’s all,” he grumbles and Jiang Cheng smiles.
Mission accomplished.
“I got so very lucky,” he agrees and laughs at Nie Mingjue’s grimace but they both sober up real quickly.
“Do you—want to talk to them?” Nie Mingjue haltingly asks and Jiang Cheng curls up in his lap as best as he can, Nie Mingjue’s arms safely around him.
“No. They have my address. They have my phone number and all my social media handles. They can reach out to me whenever they want. I am tired of always being the only one who wants to stay in contact or who makes an effort. If they don’t come to me, then that’s it.”
“And the wedding?”
“I’m not really thinking about inviting them anyway,” Jiang Cheng admits. “It would only cause drama. If they come to me before our wedding I’m sure we can figure something out but I will not allow them to ghost me for months and then invite them to the happiest moment of my life,” Jiang Cheng decidedly says and leans further into Nie Mingjue.
“Okay,” he softly agrees and brushes his lips over Jiang Cheng’s forehead. “Fine.”
“Now can we please finally eat and laugh over how absurd this entire evening is?” Jiang Cheng asks.
“As long as you are fine,” Nie Mingjue says and briefly squeezes Jiang Cheng.
“I am always fine when I am with you,” Jiang Cheng tells him but when Nie Mingjue lets go of him, he hurries back to his food. “I’m really starved,” Jiang Cheng says, his mouth already full and Nie Mingjue fondly shakes his head.
“And here I am already replaced by food,” he teases and Jiang Cheng glares at him, though he doesn’t stop to eat.
But even if Jiang Cheng could, he wouldn’t say anything because being teased by Nie Mingjue is better than seeing him in a pensive mood.
“Temporarily. Only temporarily,” he promises him, taking another bite, delighted to see Nie Mingjue’s fond smile.
“I should hope so,” Nie Mingjue grumbles, clearly teasing and Jiang Cheng smiles at him.
“I love you,” he says, almost before he really swallowed, and Nie Mingjue holds out his hand to lace their fingers together.
“I love you, too.”
And that is all Jiang Cheng really needs, siblings and parents be damned. As long as he has Nie Mingjue he’ll be more than fine.
“Stay still and let me take care of you,” Greg growled and pushed Mycroft to sit on the edge of the bed.
Mycroft protested, “I’m fine, Greg! It’s just a scratch, stop making such a big deal about it, aouch!”
Greg had just poked at the spot where Mycroft’s shirt was stained with blood and raised an eyebrow at Mycroft’s reaction, “It’s just a scratch, right? Show me.”
Mycroft began to protest and Greg interrupted him, “Right now!”
After a moment’s hesitation, Mycroft began to lift his shirt and couldn’t hold back a wince as the shirt peeled away from the wound.
“Mycroft, you’ve got to be kidding me, this is more than a scratch! Don’t move!”
Greg rushed to the bathroom and returned with a wound care kit.
“What the hell happened? And don’t lie to me, okay?”
While Greg prepared the material to treat the wound, Mycroft told him how a hitman had infiltrated a diplomatic meeting he was attending.
“Let’s just say that I found myself in the path of one of his bullets.
Greg didn’t let Mycroft’s deflective tone faze him and said coldly, "You were lucky, a few inches to the right and you’d probably be dead.” Before applying a disinfectant pad, he continued, “This is going to hurt."
Mycroft could not hold back a gasp of pain as Greg applied the compress. He instinctively grabbed Greg’s forearm, digging his nails into their flesh. Once the brief moment of pain passed, he released Greg’s arm from his grip.
His gaze fell on Greg’s tense face as he continued to tend to his wound.
Without a word, he got up and went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water and a painkiller that he handed to Mycroft, still without a word.
Once the glass was empty, Mycroft put it on the nightstand and pulled Greg towards him, "Greg? Talk to me.”
Greg muttered something through his teeth that Mycroft didn’t understand.
He pulled him to sit next to him and said softly, “Can you repeat that please.”
Greg looked up at him and said more distinctly, “I almost lost you,” his voice breaking at the end of his sentence.
“I’m sorry,” Mycroft replied.
Greg shook his head, “You can’t help it, we both have professions that put us in danger more than twice. We both live with it, it’s just that sometimes, like today, I’m confronted with what it really means.”
Mycroft nodded and moved back until he was sitting against the headboard and then reached out his arm to Greg.
Greg snuggled up to Mycroft, resting his head on his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart, as if to feel that he was alive and well, safe and sound with him.
After a moment, Greg whispered, “The most horrible thing I can think of is a life without you, so please don’t force me to live it.”
Mycroft kissed his hair and replied softly, “I’ll do my best.”
He made no promises.
Greg wouldn’t have believed it anyway.
They both knew that given the content of their respective work, anything was possible.
Their only constant, their only certainty, was the strength of their love.
When Mycroft followed the path through the small park near their apartment, he knew exactly where he would find Greg.
He immediately spotted the shadowy figure sitting on a bench.
He did nothing to make his presence known and simply went to sit next to him and put his hand on the small of his back.
Then he waited.
After a few minutes of silence Greg asked softly, “How did you know I would be here?”
“Sally texted me, she said that even though you arrested the culprit, the hostage didn’t make it. That’s always where you come in these cases.”
Greg sighed, “You didn’t have to come.”
“Trees can’t answer you, I can. So if you feel like talking I’m here and if you don’t I’m here for moral support too.”
Greg didn’t answer and just leaned against Mycroft who tightened his arm around him.
After many minutes, Greg murmured softly, “Am I up to this?”
Mycroft pressed a kiss to his head before answering.
“Oh Greg, believe me you are. I believe it more than ever, precisely because you’re not indifferent to it. Yes, you couldn’t save the victim and that’s dramatic, but it’s not the first time and it’s not the last. And you have the right to be upset, to be angry, to be sad, to cry. That doesn’t make you a bad detective, on the contrary.”
Greg whispered in a broken voice, “Thank you for allowing me to not always be strong.”
Mycroft held him tighter, “Acknowledging that you’re not always strong, it just means that you’re the most qualified person to do this job with all that it entails. With me, you can let go Greg, I’m here, I’ll always be here. You don’t have to be strong at all times. Let me take over when you can’t.”
Mycroft saw that Greg was opening and closing his fists sporadically. He tightened his grip so that Greg had his head against his chest. In response Greg clutched his coat and breathed through clenched teeth as if he did not want to cry.
Mycroft whispered against his hair.
“Greg, darling, let go, let go, I’m here, I’ve got you.”
Mycroft didn’t know if this is what Greg was expecting, but he felt his hands go slack and Greg’s shoulders shake with sobs while feeling a wetness on his chest.
So he told him again and again, “ Yes Greg, let go, I’ve got you.” and continued to stroke his back and hold him.
Long minutes later, Greg had stopped crying and was breathing calmly against Mycroft’s chest. Then he sat up slowly, and looking at Mycroft, he said “Thank you.” before kissing him gently. Then pulling back a little, he shook his head and had a slight laugh as if to mock himself. “I can’t remember how long it’s been since I’ve cried like this.”
“At some point it has to come out Greg, you can’t always keep it all in, and I’m glad I was there.”
Greg rested his head on Mycroft’s shoulder, “I… I guess I didn’t want to show you this side of me, because I was afraid it would make me a weak person.”
“Greg, having weaknesses, doesn’t mean you’re weak, just that you’re human. What should I say, you’ve seen me at my worst, and you’re still here. Do you realize how privileged I feel right now? Greg, you just showed me a side of you that you don’t show anyone, you trust me enough to let me see you at one of your most vulnerable moments.”
Greg took his hand and replied, “Of course I trust you, I love you, it’s only natural that I trust you.”
Mycroft shook his head, “But still Greg, it’s precious to me. I will never take it for granted. So remember, if you fall, I’ve got you.”
Greg nodded, “Okay, okay… you’ll just have to give me a reminder once in a while, you know what they say, old habits die hard…”
Mycroft laughed, “Do you know who you’re talking to?”
“Idiot,” Greg replied affectionately before standing up and reaching out to help Mycroft to his feet.
The first time Greg had said those words to Mycroft, they meant nothing more.
It was after an evening in the pub with Sherlock, John and the others. Where for once Mycroft had indulged in a little more drinking than usual and the thoughtful detective had walked him home.
Then what had been a one-time occasion had turned into a regular occasion.
“I’ll walk you home.”
Without any pretext, just like that, the detective was waiting for Mycroft, leaning against the wall as Mycroft left his office.
Always with the same words.
“I’ll walk you home.”
His step matched Mycroft’s and the path to Mycroft’s house seemed shorter each time.
Then the occasion became a habit.
Mycroft’s heart beat faster when he spotted Greg.
Greg was waiting for him with anticipation.
The distance between them had disappeared and the inadvertent brushes at first had become comfortable touches.
As if one was looking for the closeness of the other.
After a while, home was no longer automatically Mycroft’s, it was sometimes Greg’s.
Until today, when it was Mycroft who was leaning against the doorstep of Greg’s office
It was Mycroft who waited for Greg, focused on his work, to notice him.
It was Greg who had the pleasant surprise of hearing Mycroft say these words to him, “I’ll walk you home.”
Even though it didn’t matter who was walking the other home.
Because now it wasn’t Mycroft’s home, it wasn’t Greg’s home.
It was their home.
“I’ll walk you home.”
The habit had become a tradition.
Those little known traditions that only people who love each other know, like an intimate secret.
He was sitting against the headboard and Loki was coming out of the shower drying his hair.
Loki sat on the edge of the bed and asked curiously, “I don’t mind, but is there a reason?”
Mobius shrugged. “Because I like to touch your hair.”
Loki sensing there was more, looked at him and said, “Yes, but you don’t have to braid it for that, and most of the time you don’t ask. So I wonder if there’s more.”
Mobius blushed slightly, before replying softly, “I read an article that in some cultures, hair braiding is a special tradition. You only braid the hair of your loved one. When you braid your consort’s hair it’s to show others who your consort belongs to.”
Loki smiled broadly and asked, “So that makes me the consort.”
Mobius laughed a little to mask his embarrassment.
Loki added as he sat down in front of Mobius between his spread legs, “Please love, braid my hair so everyone knows I am yours. That I belong to you.”
Mobius lifted Loki’s hair and gently kissed the back of his neck before murmuring, “Thank you.”
He first ran his fingers through Loki’s hair taking care to get rid of any knots. Loki, who was clearly enjoying it, leaned back into Mobius’ hands. Mobius grabbed a thick strand of hair above Loki’s ear and separated it into three small strands before starting to braid.
When he reached the end, he realized that he had no tie and was wondering how to do it when Loki made a small leather tie that Mobius attached to the end of the braid. Once finished, his hands continued to brush Loki’s hair and play with it. Loki let out a groan of appreciation and leaned his head even more into Mobius’ hands, closing his eyes to enjoy it better.
Then he whispered, “You know Mobius, even without a braid everyone knows I’m yours, just like you are mine.”
Mycroft, with a drink in his hand, turned to his brother, raising a questioning eyebrow, “What are you talking about dear brother?”
It was one of those evenings that had gone from casual to traditional, the Holmes brothers, John, Greg and Rosie.
One Saturday night a month.
Somewhat at the instigation of John and Greg, giving Mycroft and Sherlock the opportunity to strengthen their brotherly bond.
John and Greg were playing with Rosie in the garden under the eyes of the two brothers.
“I still can’t believe the fact that you’re in a relationship with Greg.” Seeing that Mycroft was about to take offense, Sherlock stopped him with a gesture, “Don’t get on your big hair just yet, I wasn’t going to say anything mean.”
Mycroft nodded, “All right, I’m listening.”
“What I meant to say was that I didn’t expect you to develop such a relationship with someone like Greg, or Greg with someone like you, if you prefer. You are so… different. You are so secretive and he is so open. I guess I’m just wondering how you work together.”
Mycroft swirled his glass in his hand, before answering, “Remember when we were little? I was the oldest, when you were born I was 7 years old. Mom always told me to look after you. And I always did, with no second thoughts. Sometimes making questionable decisions, you know that. But I did it. However, sometimes I wished I had a big brother too, someone to lean on, someone to look out for me. Well, Greg is that for me. He has seen everything about me, he knows my weaknesses better than anyone else and yet he is still there. He’s my pillar, Sherlock.”
Sherlock could think of nothing to say to the authenticity and fervor of Mycroft’s response. They watched their loved ones walk up the garden path toward them, Rosie running ahead of them, and Sherlock whispered, “I haven’t told you this often Mycroft, but thank you for looking out for me, brother.”
Mycroft nodded and then stood up to meet Greg. When he was face to face with him, John continued on his way to Sherlock.
Mycroft took Greg’s hands, who looked at him with a puzzled look, “I don’t think I ever told you, so I’m fixing that mistake.”
He leaned over, kissed Greg on the forehead and said softly, “Thank you.”
“For what?” asked Greg, having no idea what Mycroft was talking about.
“For being you. For looking out for me.”
Greg smiled softly and replied simply, “Always Mycroft.”
Hand in hand, with quiet steps they walked smilingly to their family.
“Mycroft, stop! I’m fine.” said Greg as Mycroft asked him for the tenth time if he wanted tea or water or a blanket or whatever.
“But the doctor said…”
“Yes, I know what the doctor said, but don’t worry, I promise I’m fine. And I’ll be even better if you sit next to me.”
He held out his hand for Mycroft to come and sit in the chair next to his hospital bed.
They remained silent for a while until Greg fell asleep under Mycroft’s concerned eyes.
Mycroft couldn’t help but worry.
He had the same concerned look on his face when he saw Greg wince in pain as he moved in his sleep.
“Greg… ”, Mycroft murmured as he brushed his fingers over his bandaged shoulder.
He swallowed.
It was his fault.
It was because of him that Greg had been hurt.
Even if it was indirectly.
“Mycroft…”
Greg’s voice interrupted his spiral of guilt.
Greg smiled weakly at him, “you were far away…”
“How are you feeling?”, Mycroft asked, ignoring Greg’s remark.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to lift weights for a while,” Greg began, then his lips curled into a smirk, “You’re going to have to take care of me.”
Mycroft was glad that Greg was feeling well enough to joke, but he still felt extremely guilty.
“Greg, I’m sorry,” he then said gently intertwining his fingers with Greg’s.
“You’re… Sorry? For what?”, Greg asked weakly, “It wasn’t you who shot me as far as I know.”
“I got you into this,” Mycroft said, “If I hadn’t asked you to watch Sherlock and take care of him, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”
He looked down at their entwined hands, not daring to meet Greg’s gaze.
“Mycroft, please look at me.” replied Greg.
Mycroft looked up and met Greg’s gaze, free of any accusation. Greg continued, “None of this is your fault. Not even Sherlock’s. The only one responsible for my condition is the one who pulled the trigger. Mycroft, I’m a detective, this kind of situation is common.”
He raised Mycroft’s hand to his mouth and kissed it before saying, “You should stop taking on responsibilities that aren’t yours.”
Mycroft wondered how Greg could be the one to comfort him when he was the one in pain.
“Because my pain is physical while yours is there.” Greg pointed to Mycroft’s head.
Surprised by Greg’s words, he realized that he had spoken aloud.
Greg ran his hand over Mycroft’s cheek and repeated, “I’m fine. It’s just a few stitches. I’ll heal.”
He drew Mycroft’s head down, until it rested on his chest.
“Come here.”
He gently caressed Mycroft’s head, who, reassured by the strong, steady beat of Greg’s heart against his cheek, let the guilt slip away for a few moments and basked in the relief of having his beloved safe and sound against him.
Mycroft and Greg were headed to the Holmes residence.
Having learned that Mycroft had someone in his life, Mycroft’s mother had insisted on a small family reunion, arguing that it was the perfect opportunity to get to know Greg. As they walked, Mycroft noticed Greg’s pace slowing, he looked at him and caught his tense expression.
“Greg?"
Greg continued to walk and answered, still staring ahead.
"Hmm?”
Mycroft asked, concerned, “Are you okay?”
Greg turned his head toward him and replied, “I’m fine.”
“Really?” insisted Mycroft.
“Yes.” Greg replied rather curtly. But Mycroft didn’t take offense - he knew Greg well and knew his tone was hiding something else. Turning his gaze to the house at the end of the road, he said softly, “She doesn’t bite, you know.”
Greg paused and turned to Mycroft as he replied, “I know, well no, actually I don’t, but… She’s your mother and considering the way you and Sherlock treated me at first, I think I’m entitled to be a little nervous right?”
Carefully, Mycroft took Greg’s hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb in a way that was meant to be reassuring.
“Greg, I’m pretty sure you have nothing to worry about.”
Greg gave a small nod and a half-smile, but Mycroft saw that he hadn’t convinced him.
He leaned over to look him straight in the eye and said in a determined voice, “I mean it, you know!”
“I know you mean it, but you can’t speak for her.”
“Are you really that nervous?” asked Mycroft.
Greg turned his head away, doing his best to hide his embarrassment.
“Are you serious? This is the second time in my life I’ve been introduced to the parents of someone I care about and the first time wasn’t exactly stellar.” He preferred not to think about his ex-in-laws.
“I understand, but I really want to ease your mind. I swear I have no doubt that my mother will love you. Besides, in my opinion, she already loves you without knowing you."
Greg chuckled softly, "That doesn’t reassure me. She might as well be disappointed in getting to know me. I might not live up to her expectations.”
Mycroft couldn’t resist taking Greg in his arms and whispered against his hair, “No risk. In his eyes, you are already a saint because you ended his poor son’s long life of loneliness. Thanks to you her son has finally found someone capable of loving him.”
He felt Greg chuckle at him and mutter, “That’s absurd. There’s nothing easier than loving you.”
Mycroft gasped. Count on Greg to make that kind of statement to him out of the blue.
Then Greg stepped back a little and put on a serious expression, “Seriously Mycroft, what if she doesn’t love me?”.
Mycroft refused to consider it and shook his head, “It’s not possible.
"I’m serious,” Greg said abruptly, “If she doesn’t like me, what does that mean for us?”
Mycroft finally understood the real worry behind this, the visceral fear of losing him. He put his hands on Greg’s shoulders and answered firmly, “It won’t change anything for us. I’m not going to stop loving you, even if my mother doesn’t, which is completely unlikely, I insist.”
Mycroft leaned over and gave him a lingering kiss on the forehead, “I love you Greg, and nothing will change that. My mother never tried to change my mind about anything, because she knew I would react the opposite way. But you know, I’m sure she’ll realize something right away when she sees me.”
Greg looked up at Mycroft, puzzled.
“What?”
Mycroft looked at him fondly, “That you simply make me happy.”
Greg said nothing for a long moment, then he took Mycroft’s hand in his and brought it gently to his lips, “It’s mutual.”
“So, are you ready?” asked Mycroft.
Greg looked up at him again and, standing on his tiptoes, kissed him gently on the lips. Then, taking a deep breath, he grabbed Mycroft’s hand and said in a firm tone, “Let’s go.”
He had Mycroft’s love, he had nothing and no one to fear.
Prompt : Person A is doing some domestic chore while singing. Person B is secretly listening to that beautiful voice… until person B needs to sneeze. The secret is out. Maybe a little talk about singing more often after that.
I used to think maybe you loved me, now I know that it’s true.
And I don’t want to spend my whole life, just waiting for you
Loki stopped suddenly when he heard the voice singing, realizing that it could only be Mobius.
Mobius singing.
In all the time they had been together, this was the first time he had heard it.
Loki quietly put down his things and listened as he walked in silence.
Now I don’t want you back for the weekend
Not back for a day, no no no
I said baby I just want you back and I want you to stay
Loki arrived in front of the half-open door of their bedroom where the noise seemed to come from and approached again.
He thought he was going to melt in front of so much cuteness, Mobius was not only singing but dancing. He danced while folding clothes and putting them away in the wardrobes. He swayed his hips in rhythm while singing.
Not only did Mobius have a lovely voice, but it was probably the most adorable thing Loki had ever seen.
I’m walking on sunshine, wooah
I’m walking on sunshine, woooah
I’m walking on sunshine, woooah
And don’t it feel good!!
Loki leaned against the door and continued to watch him. It was so good to see him like this, free to dance and sing.
Loki just wondered why he never did it in front of him.
He nearly laughed, because Mobius had now bent down to put something away in the dresser drawer and was swaying, still singing.
Loki wondered how he managed to be more and more adorable.
I feel alive, I feel the love, I feel the love that’s really real
I feel alive, I feel the love, I feel the love that’s really real
I’m on sunshine baby oh, oh yeah
I’m on sunshine baby oh
Loki was about to enter and sing along.
He opened his mouth, “Achiii!”
He put his hand over his mouth and Mobius turned around abruptly and seeing him, giggled, “The way you sneeze. You’re so cute!”
Then realizing the way Loki had surprised him, he began to blush as Loki replied, “Look who’s talking.”
Mobius hid his head in his hands and muttered, “Haveyoubeenherelong?”
Loki reached over and pulled his hands away from his face, “Say that again without your hands on your mouth, I didn’t understand.”
Mobius looked away, “Have you been here long?”
Loki replied smiling at Mobius’ embarrassment, “Since ‘ I used to think maybe you loved me, now I know that it’s true .’”
Loki was still holding Mobius’ hands which made it impossible for him to hide again.
Loki shook his head, “Why are you hiding love? Why don’t you ever sing when I’m around?”
Mobius shrugged, “Because I don’t like my voice. I find it ridiculous.”
Loki just smiled softly and replied, “Mobius, I think that even if you wanted to make a fool of yourself in my eyes you couldn’t. And I assure you that many words about you came to mind when I saw you singing, but ridiculous? Absolutely not.”
He kissed Mobius gently and continued, “Wasn’t it you who told me to show you everything, even what I find most hideous in myself?”
Mobius nodded.
Loki held him close and whispered into his hair, “Then show me. I’m not asking you to give me a concert, but don’t stop yourself from singing if you feel like it even when I’m around.”
Mobius raised his head and kissed Loki back. Then he drew his head against his own and as Loki tightened his arms behind his back, he whispered against his ear, “I’m on sunshine baby oh, oh yeah
I’m on sunshine baby oh.”
Loki continued, also humming, “And don’t it feel good, Oh don’t it feel good, don’t it feel good?”
Mobius put his head on his shoulder and whispered against Loki’s neck, “Yes, it does feel good.”
They stayed like that for a few minutes, entwined in the middle of their bedroom, swaying to a music that belonged only to them.
Every day discovering new things about his partner.
This was probably one of the things Mycroft enjoyed most about his relationship with Greg.
He had recently discovered that Greg had a slight fixation on his mouth.
Since Mycroft was not a saint, he had stored the information in a corner of his head for later.
Later being tonight as they ate their dessert in the kitchen.
Mycroft was taking great pleasure in ostensibly tasting each spoonful of his creme brulee. Licking each time the spoon much more slowly and longer than necessary while staring at Greg.
Now he could see Greg’s gaze intermittently glide over his lips before quickly looking away.
Of course, Mycroft continued, seeing Greg’s cheeks turn slightly pink, his eyes clouded with desire and his breath quickening as he continued.
He looked into his eyes, innocently licking a small bit of creme brulee that had remained at the corners of his lips and raised a candid eyebrow at Greg, “ Is something wrong Gregory?”
Greg, his voice hoarse with wanting, replied, “Don’t look at me like that. With that deceptively innocent look on your face when you know exactly what you’re doing.”
Mycroft retorted, licking his spoon in a perfectly indecent manner, “And you, if you don’t stop looking at my lips without doing anything, I’m going to take you right here on this counter.”
Greg’s eyes widened and then slowly took on a mischievous gleam.
He crossed his arms, continued to stare at Mycroft’s lips, but did nothing.
Two things that were no longer part of Mycroft’s life.
Because Greg was warmth and life.
Even after a year of living together, Mycroft still marveled at the changes that Greg’s presence brought to his life.
Warmth.
He pressed himself imperceptibly a little more against Greg, feeling the warmth that emanates from his body, even through his clothes.
Mycroft did not want to get up, their bed was so warm and comfortable.
Because Greg made it so warm and comfortable.
Mycroft can’t help but put his arms around Greg, wanting to feel his warmth even more.
“What’s wrong?” Greg mumbled in a sleepy voice against his hair.
“Nothing darling, go back to sleep,” he replied softly, turning his head to kiss Greg’s shoulder.
Greg turned in Mycroft’s arms to wrap his arms around him in turn and Mycroft felt his smile against his forehead.
Greg’s smile, as warm as his body.
The smile that warmed Mycroft’s coldest and darkest days.
Mycroft couldn’t help but smile back and settled into the embrace. His eyes closed, sleep already coming back and he sighed in contentment.
Happy in the warm embrace of his beloved.
Life.
Mycroft had once enjoyed the silence, or rather he had become accustomed to it by force of circumstance.
An empty and silent apartment.
An empty, silent bed.
Falling asleep and waking up in silence.
Now when Mycroft woke up, he was immediately aware of Greg’s presence next to him, by the little puffs of air next to him, the little noises he made when he woke up.
“Good morning, Mycroft.”
By this sound every morning, Greg’s voice hoarse or not from sleep, sweet music to Mycroft’s ears.
All these sounds he now associates with Greg.
In the bathroom, the kitchen, everywhere in Mycroft’s life.
Life.
Like that morning when he watched Greg getting busy in the kitchen.
Greg who was watching him coming in.
Gref who was smiling at him.
Life and warmth.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” asked Greg without losing his smile.
“What do you mean?” muttered Mycroft a little embarrassed at being caught out.
“As if I were the only person in the world.”
Mycroft couldn’t help but reply, “You are. You’re everything to me. You’re my everything.”
Greg looked at him with indescribable emotion and whispered, “I love you.” before kissing him gently.
Just like that, silence no longer existed in Mycroft’s life, because he was filled with Greg’s love.
Despite this, Mycroft could not help but worry and wander up and down the hallways of the ward where Greg was hospitalized.
He knew it was a fairly routine operation, but it brought him face to face once again with the fragility of the human body, with Greg’s fragility.
He didn’t like that.
Fortunately, a few hours later, he was able to verify with his own eyes what the doctor had said, that the operation had gone perfectly, that Greg had woken up and was just still a little disoriented from the anesthesia and painkillers.
When Mycroft entered the room, his throat tightened as he saw Greg smaller than usual in the medical nightgown. His eyes were still cloudy from the effects of the anesthesia and his skin was pale, making him look even more fragile.
“Hi,” Mycroft said softly as he approached, then sitting down on the edge of the bed, he took Greg’s hand as he looked at him.
Greg’s eyes widened and, with an expression of utter surprise, he asked, “Um, who are you?”
Mycroft didn’t know at that moment whether to cry or laugh.
“Are you testing me?”
Greg shook his head sheepishly, “No, I swear, I don’t know who you are.”
“Well I’m Mycroft.” He replied with a small smile.
“And is that supposed to mean something to me?” asked Greg again. He ran his hand over his face, “I actually don’t remember anything, everything is very fuzzy in my head. But the doctors told me it was normal, that it happens sometimes.."
He seemed to think for a moment, then he pointed to his hand in Mycroft’s and said, "I guess we know each other well, otherwise you wouldn’t be holding my hand like that, right? Besides, you wouldn’t be allowed in my room.”
The doctor had said he was still disoriented, so Mycroft didn’t let it throw him off. Besides, Greg wasn’t rejecting him.
“Ahem, yes… we actually know each other very well, we are… together. We live together.”
Greg’s eyes widened even more, “Together… like… lovers?” he asked incredulously.
Mycroft nodded, smiling softly at his disbelief.
Greg ran his hand over his face again, then looked at Mycroft, “If that’s true, it’s really amazing."
"Why?” asked Mycroft, growing more amused.
“How can someone as beautiful as you be with someone like me?”
Mycroft blushed slightly, as he did every time Greg gave him that kind of compliment, then pulled himself together and gently scolded Greg, “What does it mean someone like you? I’ve told you many times, and I hope you’ll remember soon, you’re perfect for me, we’re perfect for each other. But even if you have forgotten, I will remind you again and again.”
Then he leaned over to Greg and whispered, “May I kiss you?”
Greg tilted his head to the side and scrutinized him for a long minute, then moved his hand forward and gently touched Mycroft’s face.
His face lit up with a soft smile and he whispered, “My Mycroft…” he brushed off a lock of Mycroft’s hair that fell across his forehead and continued, “I remember… you, just you…"
Mycroft closed the distance between them and pressed a soft kiss on Greg’s lips before resting his head on his chest, exhaling a sigh of relief.
Greg closed his arms around him and gently stroked his hair, repeating, "Mycroft…my Mycroft…”
Without a doubt, Greg would remember everything.
But for Mycroft, knowing that he was the first thing Greg remembered was simply magical and filled him with incredible happiness.
Mycroft could never have dreamed of a love so strong that even in forgetfulness it left traces.
One of those mornings when the nightmare of the night clung to Loki like a leech.
Where he felt his shadow hovering over his head.
He arrived at the kitchen where Mobius finished preparing the coffee and the scent tickled his nose pleasantly.
He said with a yawn, scratching his head, “Morning…”
Then he pressed a kiss to Mobius’s hair as he walked past him and jumped up to sit on the kitchen counter.
Mobius looked at him with a smile and replied, “Good morning sweetheart.”
He walked over, two cups in hand and handed one to Loki who took it gratefully, inhaling with delight his fragrance.
He put down his cup beside him and turned Mobius between his legs, his lover letting him do it with indulgence.
Mobius leaned against Loki who wrapped his arms and legs around him, resting his chin on Mobius’ shoulder.
Mobius took a sip of coffee and said softly to Loki, knowing exactly how Loki felt.
“Aren’t you drinking your coffee, sweetheart?”
Loki hummed against Mobius’ ear, “It’s you I need right now, not coffee. May I stay a while just like this ?”
Mobius nodded, “Sure.”
After a moment, Loki moved his head forward, “I could use a sip now.”
Mobius chuckled and moved his cup up to Loki’s mouth, who took a sip, before saying, with a mischievous smile on his lips, “It’s like an indirect kiss.”
Mobius rolled his eyes, “That was cheesy! Don’t tell me you’ve been doing weird google searches again?”
Loki chuckled into his neck, fully aware of the thrill he caused Mobius.
“I know you like it, so don’t act like you don’t… I’ll tell you something even cheesier. You know I love coffee, and I love you even more. But do you know why?”
Mobius shook his head, curious as to what nonsense Loki would come up with.
“Coffee makes my day bearable, but you make it enjoyable."
Loki’s propensity to say profound things when Mobius least expected it never ceased to amaze him.
He remained speechless, blushing slightly as Loki whispered in his ear, "I knew you would like it.”
Loki was delighted at Mobius’ embarrassment and hugged him a little tighter, feeling the shadow of his nightmare finally fade away.
“How can you believe that someone as open as Greg could stay with you and all your secrets!"
Mycroft awoke to these words spoken by someone whose face he could not see in his nightmare.
Heart racing, breathless, he looked to see if he had woken Greg, but fortunately, his lover was sound asleep.
He slowly slid out of the warm bed, shivered a little as his feet touched the cold floor and headed for the bathroom.
He walked to the sink and splashed cold water on his face. When he looked up, he faced himself in the mirror and looked away. He didn’t have the strength to look at himself, not right after that nightmare.
He tried to ignore the little voice in his head, "You don’t deserve this happiness… You know that, and you’re just deluding yourself.”
Mycroft faced his reflection, refusing to be drawn into this spiral, but tonight the voice in his head was louder than usual.
“He’ll figure it out eventually. And he’ll kick you out and you’ll be alone again…”
Mycroft clenched his hands on the sink and faced his reflection again and just said, “No. Greg knows me. He knows this isn’t who I am. He knows who I am and loves me the way I am.”
He left the bathroom and slid back into the bed, he moved closer to Greg until he was against him and Greg automatically tightened his arms around him.
« Mmm… Mycroft? Is that you, love?“
"Yes, Gregory, you can go back to sleep.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, don’t worry, sleep now.”
He hoped Greg would go back to sleep, but his lover knew him well, he woke up completely and reaching out, he turned on the light. He took Mycroft’s face in his hands, and looking at him closely, he asked the same question again, “Are you okay? And don’t lie to me Mycroft, you know I see it when you lie.”
Mycroft swallowed and couldn’t escape Greg’s scrutinizing eyes. His eyes that looked at him with such love.
“What’s wrong?” insisted Greg, concerned. Mycroft let out a sigh and looking away, he asked in a barely audible voice, “Am I good enough for you?”.
“Oh Mycroft…” Greg let go of Mycroft’s face and wrapped his arms around Mycroft with all his strength. Mycroft buried his face in Greg’s neck.
Greg thought for a moment and asked Mycroft, “Good enough for me in what way, love?”
As Mycroft searched for his answer, Greg gently stroked his back and lightly kissed his hair.
“An unknown person says to me in my nightmare, ‘How can you believe that someone as open as Greg could stay with you and all your secrets?’ I know… god I know it’s not true, my reason tells me it’s not true because we’ve talked about it and I know you’re aware of what I’m allowed to say or not say, but sometimes that little voice comes back to torment me.”
Greg grabbed Mycroft’s shoulders and pulled him away from him a little so he could look him in the eye, “Don’t listen to that little voice and only listen to mine.”
Mycroft nodded, but Greg saw the flicker in his eyes that told him Mycroft needed more reassurance.
He pushed him down on the bed and straddled him, then framing his face with his hands, he leaned over him and still with his eyes in his, he said to Mycroft, “Even when I thought I was done with love, you came into my life and taught me to love again. You not only taught me, but you also showed me your unconditional love and care for me. And you also loved me when I thought there was no reason to. You didn’t leave me to my ruins. Despite all my imperfections and flaws, you love me just as I am. And despite all your imperfections and flaws, I love you just the way you are. Because you are a beautiful person Mycroft, here…” Greg kissed his forehead, “just like here…” he kissed Mycroft’s chest where his heart was before looking at him again.
In that moment, in the mirror that was Greg’s eyes, Mycroft saw nothing but sincerity and love and Mycroft believed him. He was the one who closed his arms around Greg’s neck and drew him closer in a kiss that said everything his words could not convey.
Greg knew everything about conflicts and disputes in a couple, in a family.
First his parents, his father with him, his ex-wife.
It was the first time he had an argument with Mycroft and it was the first time he felt so bad.
Because this time he had a lot to lose.
He didn’t even know what had caused the argument and his words had gone beyond his mind. He had lashed out at Mycroft and blamed himself as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
Now they were both there in the kitchen, in a silence of death.
Mycroft was quietly making tea and Greg didn’t know how to start the conversation.
Apologize, apologize…
“Greg."
Although Mycroft spoke softly, Greg startled at his own name.
This was the moment.
This was the moment Mycroft was going to admit that he was done with him, that he didn’t want to be with him anymore.
Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t answered.
"Greg, are you going to talk to me or would you rather we continue to ignore each other.”
He couldn’t lift his eyes to look at his face.
He didn’t want to see the disappointment on Mycroft’s face.
He couldn’t help but whisper, “Is this the part where you say you’re going to leave me?”
Keeping his eyes down, he didn’t realize that Mycroft had moved closer until he took his chin and forced his head up. He looked flabbergasted and asked in a confused tone, “What put that idea in your head?”
Greg shook his head, realizing the absurdity of what he had just thought and began, “I don’t know, I…”
Mycroft interrupted him, “Forget it right now. Surely a little disagreement like that isn’t going to make me leave you, idiot. It was going to happen sooner or later, arguments are a part of life, but you and I have enough experience to know that half the things we say to each other in the heat of the moment don’t reflect what we really think."
Greg nodded, taking comfort in Mycroft’s gaze.
However, even if his words hadn’t reflected his thoughts, he still wanted to apologize.
"I’m sorry. All those things I said, you have to know that I really didn’t mean them. I don’t even know why I said them, I was just raging. Mycroft… If I lost you, I don’t know what I would do. Not sure I’d survive.”
“I love you."
Just with those words from Mycroft, their fight in itself didn’t matter anymore.
Mycroft kissed him gently and added, "And I’m sorry too."
They hugged each other and were relieved to reconnect.
For a long time they remained entwined in silence, but that silence was not the same silence as before. It was filled with the certainty of being forgiven and the love they had for each other.
Greg was about to enter the living room when he heard Sherlock’s question and stopped, curious about Mycroft’s answer.
There were a few moments of silence, then his lover replied, “There are many things I’m not sure about in my life, brother, but this, our relationship, is definitely not one of them.”
Greg smiled at Mycroft’s answer as Sherlock continued, “You know Mycroft, even though at first I was doubtful, I think even I can see that you and Greg are perfect for each other.”
Mycroft chuckled softly and replied, “I was doubtful too, even though I knew he was perfect for me, I didn’t understand what I could mean to him.”
Sherlock insisted, “But you’re not anymore?”
“What?”
“Doubtful.”
“Oh no, not anymore.”
Greg felt warmth come over him at the assurance in Mycroft’s voice.
He hadn’t heard Sherlock get up and was surprised when he opened the door. Sherlock didn’t look the least bit surprised and simply nodded as he walked past Greg.
Greg entered the living room and walked over to Mycroft who had his back to him.
He put his hands on his shoulders and slid them down his chest. Mycroft’s hands rested on his as he leaned his head back against Greg.
Greg whispered in his ear, “You mean the world to me, Mycroft. You’ve always meant the world to me.”
There was a tally they kept. A marking of who won each sparring session. It wasn’t actually written down or anything, they kept it in their heads and trusted the other to not lie about it. They trusted each other with a lot- from being truthful to their very lives. The trust was chosen, yes. But also natural. After as many years as they had fought together, lived together, loved together, of course it was natural. This is mostly likely off topic, though. As the point was simply thus: Cardin was one point ahead in the tally. Obviously this could not stand. Jaune would make it a tie with this fight and then she’d win the next as well to pull ahead.
She steadied her breathing and got into position in front of Cardin, lead foot pointed toward Cardin and her back foot turned sideways. Cardin mirrored her stance with a smile. With a smirk . Apparently today she was feeling cocky. It made Jaune want to win even more. Though, it did also kind of make her want to kiss her breathless. Her hand tightened around the leather under it. Both was always good.
Jaune moved first, front foot stepping forward to stab at Cardin only to be blocked. The wooden weapons clacked against each other. Over their practice swords, Cardin smiled at her. She slid her back foot back and moved to circle around Cardin, Cardin mirroring her.
Parry.
Parry.
Dodge.
Strike.
Their swords crossed together and Jaune pushed. While her strength wasn’t exactly something to be scoffed at, she was weaker than Cardin and Cardin used it to her advantage to push their swords the other way. Like an arm wrestling contest. The swords went flat between them and Jaune took the opportunity to lean forward to steal a kiss over the wooden x. She jumped backward, out of the way, before Cardin could reciprocate. Cardin glared at her as she smiled.
Cardin lunged forward in retaliation as if this wasn’t the game they played for two thirds of their spars and Jaune danced out of her way, blocking the strike she took. “You have to do better than that,” Jaune said.
“Funny.” Cardin smirked. “I recall winning last time.”
“That was last time,” Jaune said. “It won’t happen again.”
“You’ve said that before,” Cardin said.
“So have you.” Jaune lunged and Cardin turned away from it. Pulling them back into the circular dance.
Parry.
Parry.
Dodge.
Strike.
They circled each other, footsteps never crossing, swords meeting for seconds at a time. Neither quite able to deal the ‘killing’ blow.
“If you hold back on me I’m gonna think you let me win,” Jaune teased. She knew Cardin wasn’t holding back, they both did.
“I would never,” Cardin replied, taking a step to the right that Jaune followed with her eyes. She took a lunge and Jaune dodged to the left. The practice sword went past her.
Their dance seemed to go on for a long time, but it was more likely it only went for a few minutes. Banter buoyed it. Each lash from their tongues sharper than the wooden practice swords, but softer as well. It ended with pounding hearts and labored breaths. The weighted feeling of a sword against a throat. Two throats. It took Jaune a few seconds of staring to remember to attempt getting her breath back. She swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing gently against the wood.
“Fuck ,” Jaune cursed with feeling, though breathlessly. She’d really wanted to claim this one. At least Cardin didn’t really win either. Though with the smirk Cardin gave you would think she had, if not for the blade at her throat. As one they dropped their arms to hold the swords at their side. “A draw.”
“I’m still winning,” Cardin teased and the words curled satisfaction across her tongue despite the tie.
“And still only by one,” Jaune reminded lest her wife’s head get too big to properly fit in her helmet.
“Next dual it will be by two,” Cardin said.
“Next dual will be my win,” Jaune corrected.
Cardin stepped away a moment and came back with their water. “We’ll see.”
“You'll see,” Jaune said with a smile. “Right after this break, I’ll have you on the ground.”
Cardin smiled back. “I thought you said I wouldn’t win.”
Jaune paused for a good moment, and then went red as she laughed- Cardin went a bit pink as well.
Ash walked into the living room and Hilda just barely inclined her head away from the circuit board she was working on to get a glimpse of her. There was a bottle in each of her hands, one pink and one purple. They weren’t bottles she thought she recognized. “What are those?” Hilda asked, eyes back on the circuits but mind stuck on Ash.
“Soap, shampoo,” Ash said. Hilda didn’t need to look to know she’d lifted each bottle in turn. Absently she wondered which was which. But she guessed she’d find out when she next remembered to take a shower. Or got reminded to.
“That’s cool,” she said. A few blinks and the circuits swam back into focus. Alright… this should actually connect-
“Hilda,” Ash said, sounding fondly exasperated. Hilda hummed. The next words were leading and pointed, an explanation for the bottles when she’d never asked but she definitely apparently needed. “Come take a shower with me?”
Hilda’s head swiveled back to Ash slowly. “What?”
“A shower,” Ash said, propping the bottles up on her hips. She wasn’t wearing makeup. That was unusual for work days. Usually she waited a few more hours after getting home, something about not wanting to waste it if she bothered to put it on. “Together.”
“Oh,” Hilda swallowed. That was… intimate. Not that they weren’t intimate, but rarely like that. Ash just preferred morning showers and Hilda didn’t. Her hands fumbled against the circuit board and the pair of tweezers she’d been using. “Uh- Now?”
Ash smothered a laugh. She could see her do it and a little bit of indignation rose up in her throat, but not a lot. Ash wasn’t making fun of her. If anything, she probably thought she was adorable. Which should annoy her, but it never managed to when it was Ash. “If you can bear to separate from your project.”
Like she was actually contemplating it, Hilda looked back at the coffee table. There was a huff of amusement behind her. Of course Ash didn’t believe her. Her wife always had a talent for sussing out the truth- and not just from her. Hilda hid a small smile. “I suppose so.”
“Good,” Ash said. “I expect to see you in the bathroom in a few minutes.” And she left Hilda to clean up what she had to. This time Hilda didn’t bother to hide the smile, putting away what she absolutely had to and keeping out what she didn’t need to. She could figure out what she was doing later. Some time away from it would most likely be good, anyhow.
Especially if it was spent with Ash.
Hilda stood, brushing imaginary dirt from her pant legs. Only now did she notice her knees felt a little sore from kneeling for so long.
By the time she got into their bathroom, Ash was stripped to her underwear and her hand was under the spicket to test the temperature. Hilda undressed, not shivering despite the cold February day. At some point before she’d even asked Hilda, she must have warmed it. She sat her clothes in a pile next to Ash’s. When Ash finally looked back, apparently pleased with the water’s temperature, she smiled. Then she added the rest of her clothes to the pile and stepped into their shower, holding a hand out to Hilda. Obviously, Hilda took the hand.
She was guided in front of Ash, a short distance from the water, so they were facing each other. They washed each other with the rose shampoo and the lavender body wash Ash had picked up from somewhere just for today. (The bottles were completely full. Never been used. That’s why Hilda didn’t think she recognized them, she hadn’t.) Their touches were gentle, like working with complex circuitry. Or if she wanted to be more romantic- an urge only Ash ever put into her- like touching a god made flesh– soft and lingering. Ash tipped her head back as Hilda rinsed the shampoo from her hair and she watched water droplets run races down freckled cheeks. Cheeks that she then kissed, knowing Ash wouldn’t begrudge her it. Even after they were clean and rinsed Hilda didn’t move. Content to exist in the steam for as long as Ash kept her there.
Ash kissed her nose under the warm spray of the shower head. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” she said quietly and Hilda’s eyes widened in surprise.
“That’s today?”
“Yep,” Ash smiled at her, fond and amused. Hilda is eternally grateful she’s never been upset at her inability to remember any holiday that wasn’t Christmas. “Don’t worry, this is all I wanted.”
Hilda raised an eyebrow. “Your V-day plans were to take a shower?”
“With you,” Ash added, “Yes.” And she kissed her again.
They kissed there, under the running shower head, until the water was long past cold.
When Cardin had gotten into this relationship, he didn’t expect to be needy . Or very touchy at all. Of course he was touchy with Russel, but they were basically raised together. Same with Velvet. Except instead of being raised together, they just clicked in such a way it was like they’d known each other their whole lives. It was natural to reach out to them. And they reached back. Same with Sky and even Dove sometimes, if he was to be honest. Now that the team had finally worked their issues. That he’d finally started to really work his issues. (Touch starved, is what Russel, Velvet, and Sky jokingly called him and he hated it but he couldn’t really argue with it either.) But this was… certainly different. Of course it was all Jaune’s fault too.
Okay, his fault. Partly Jaune’s though, too. But not in a bad way. In a good way. A very good way. Though it did also very quickly become Jaune’s fault in a spiral he wasn’t prepared for nor did he actually hate. Jaune was a menace. Because Jaune realized he wanted to reach out constantly and wouldn’t so he reached out himself. Knew that he wanted to kiss his stupid face at any given moment so Jaune kissed him whenever he could. Anytime he reasonably could, since. They were secret to anybody who wasn’t CRDL or Velvet. It just seemed easier at the time. Given the blackmail. Cardin didn’t think any of Jaune’s first friends would ever trust him.
He couldn’t blame them.
But back to what Cardin was actually thinking about. The Incident. Not the Ursa one, but the one that had happened ten days into dating this personification of a star. Because he was an idiot. An idiot that things went surprisingly well for and he didn’t really know what that said about Jaune given he was dating him, but he has witnessed Jaune do some pretty dumb things. Dumb, dumb sacrificial things. Things that still make bile rise to his throat. Like pulling him out of the way of a shot he should’vetaken.
(A hand grabbed his collar- they weren’t in their armour, why weren’t they in their armour they were in Forever Fall, it had grimm, they knew that personally - and yanked him back. Claws swiped down and connected . It was an ursa. Because of course it had to be. There was a shout from both of them. Jaune fell back into Cardin and Cardin backpedaled them toward the closest trees.
Blood. So much blood, seeping past the new tears in Jaune’s shirt. A lump crawled into his throat. By the time he dispatched the ursa and its ash floated off into the air, the wound had already started to stitch back together. But the blood… Red soaked the midsection of Jaune’s shirt. Three jagged lines cut into it. It was the most blood he’d seen spilt from another person. It felt like that was all he could focus on. Not the defeated grimm, not the nearly healed skin, not even the cuts in the shirt, just red seeped dark into brown. That red was life . And suddenly Cardin could focus on one more thing.
That shot had been meant for him . Those wounds had been meant for him . And Jaune had moved him out of the way. Anger pulsed heavy and red hot. Blood hot. Did Jaune even think ? His hand pressed against the newly healed skin. Drying blood smeared under his fingers and he knew they’d be stained red when he pulled away. But the skin under his hand was soft and pale. No scars. No sign at all that his gut had been torn to shreds just minutes before. None but the tears in his shirt. Cardin’s heart pounded and he punched the dirt next to Jaune with the hand not currently against Jaune’s stomach. It shuddered under his hand with a breath. Sure, he couldn’t heal like Jaune could, but that didn’t mean he had to… take shots for him.
“ Cazzo. Idiot. Never do that again, I can handle myself you idiot ,” Cardin hissed under his breath.
“I know.” Jaune smiled up at him and he felt his heart clench . This was the stupidest man he’d ever met. And then, as easy as breathing, “I love you.”
Cardin glared. He could feel his heart pound harder, his face flush at the words. Wanted to return them but… It was like the words got stuck behind his teeth with the curls of anger that still lingered there and the relief that Jaune wasn’t like him, that Jaune had the normal healing, had above normal healing with the larger pool of aura he had. So instead he bent down and kissed him for the first time. It held the words he couldn’t say and the anger that didn’t want to fade until Jaune softened it with a huff of laughter through his nose. Until Jaune softened it and only the silent ‘ I love you too ’ remained. It filled Cardin with warmth as Jaune tilted his head to the side, as Jaune breathed into his mouth like he wanted him to know he was fine and alive, as Jaune pressed a warm hand against Cardin’s cheek that was a little tacky with his blood and it wasn’t really what Cardin was expecting from a first kiss, but it was soft and kind of perfect.
So maybe it was another Ursa Incident. In a way. They haven’t had a date in Forever Fall since.)
“Cardin?” Cardin blinked.
“Yes?” Cardin asked, cheeks heated from the memory and the realization Jaune’d apparently asked him a question he fully missed.
“You didn’t hear me, did you?” Jaune asked with a smile in his eyes. It was incredibly knowing.
Cardin pulled at his long sleeve shirt. “No.”
“That’s okay,” Jaune asked. “I just wanted to know if you wanted to go out, since my friends are going to be busy away from Vale for the weekend…”
It was easy to pick up Jaune’s meaning. Teams RWBY and JNPR, minus Jaune of course, would be gone, so they’d be free to do really anything without having to sneak around.
“Yeah,” Cardin said. For some reason, Jaune turned sheepish after his answer. He looked away and his cheeks pinked.
“I was wondering if you might want to sleepover in my dorm, too? Since everyone will be gone.”
A sleepover? Cardin felt a little frozen at the question. That was the first time Jaune had ever asked about that. Obviously. He’d never had the dorm to himself like this before.
It was the first time he’d ever been able to ask that. It wasn’t like Cardin’d never had a sleepover before. Growing up, he’d slept at Russel’s plenty of times. Nowadays CRDL slept in a pile more often than they didn’t. But, that was his team and his brother. This was his boyfriend . He looked at the hopeful look in Jaune’s eyes that started to slightly dim as Jaune shifted and oh no, how long had Cardin been taking, thinking about it? Slightly panicked, he cleared his throat so it wouldn’t show in his voice. “Yeah, sure. That’d be cool.”
Immediately Jaune lit back up with a smile. “Awesome! I’ll get extra blankets, and we can share the bed, and we can watch a movie on my scroll.” Jaune blushed a little harder. “I mean, if you want to. Sleep in my bed. With me.”
“Yeah,” Cardin said, adding after a pause, “I wouldn’t mind.”
“Cool,” Jaune’s smile widened and it almost felt like his face couldn’t handle it, but he couldn’t stop. There was a heat uncurling in his chest, like flower blossoms. A whole weekend of just them. No sneaking around. No hiding from his friends. “Cool cool. So, I’ll find you after they leave?”
Cardin nodded. “Cool,” Jaune said, like it was the only word in his vocabulary. He kissed Cardin real quick- just a peck on the lips- and headed out. There was a skip to his step. It made Cardin roll his eyes. Since Jaune couldn’t see him, he didn’t bother suppressing the fond smile.
Friday (after school)
The weekend came quickly, yet also much too slow. By the time Jaune saw his team off, he was practically vibrating. It felt impossible to hide his excitement.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Pyrrha asked for the nth time and Jaune chuckled, maybe a little more hysterically than he should’ve, but give him a break, he was excited.
“Yeah, I’m sure Pyrrha. Go on, have fun!” He shooed her off. She lingered, but eventually Yang walked over with amusement to save Jaune from her worried looks. Two years at Beacon and Pyrrha had slowly transformed from ‘distant’ to ‘dad’. (Ren was adamant he was the mom of this family and Jaune had to agree.) “Thanks, Yang.”
“No problem, Jaune,” Yang said, dropping an arm around her girlfriend’s shoulders.
“I’m just worried,” Pyrrha said.
“I know,” Jaune said. “But you don’t have to. I’m a big boy. Seriously, Pyrrha. Go have fun with everybody else. Take a vacation.”
“Yeah,” Yang agreed. She squeezed Pyrrha closer to her. “Oum knows you deserve a vacation from vomit boy.”
“Hey!” Jaune protested, eyebrows lowered in only half mocked annoyance. Seriously, would he ever live that nickname down? Yang just smiled at him, a glitter of amusement in her aura, and he sighed. Now he wanted to be saved from Yang. “ Please , Pyrrha?”
Pyrrha looked between the two of them, and seeming to deem him worthy of being saved from Yang, she nodded. “Alright. Don’t get into trouble while we’re gone.”
“Me?” Jaune put a hand on his chest and Pyrrha simply gave him a Look that Ren had definitely been teaching her in secret. She was getting good at it. “I promise.” It was just for a weekend anyhow. Pyrrha nodded and let Yang lead her away so finally, finally they were all leaving. Jaune waved goodbye to them all. Feeling only a little sorry to see them go. Once the ship was out of sight, he booked it for his team room. While the others were still here he couldn’t exactly set up for the weekend. Now that they were gone he wanted to do so as fast as possible before he got Cardin or Cardin came looking. It wasn’t exactly a hard setup. He just grabbed as many blankets as he could- he threw the blankets the others had left behind in the wash to use- and piled them onto his bed. He spread them out as well as he could while keeping them in a sort of bunched, nest shape. Like his siblings and him have always done. Then he left to grab Cardin.
Cardin was in his room, seemingly actively pretending he wasn’t waiting while Russel amusedly watched. The second Jaune slipped in Cardin’s eyes snapped to the door. There were a few seconds where Jaune saw a smile. Then Cardin’s face morphed into something approximating false nonchalance that really didn’t fit the moment. But Jaune decided against mentioning it. “Hey,” Jaune said instead.
“Hey,” Cardin said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. A bag was on his bed. It wasn’t too big, but it made Jaune crook his eyebrow. Their dorms weren’t too far away, since they were both in first year dorms. If Cardin really needed anything he could easily return for it. Plus, while the bag wasn’t big, it did bulge. He knew Cardin many used a military fold and it did not fill him with confidence over what was in that bag. Or could be in that bag.
“I tried to talk him out of it,” Russel said with a shrug.
“What? What’s wrong with it?” Cardin glared at the both of them.
“It looks like you’re planning to move in for a week instead of just spending the weekend,” Jaune laughed.
Cardin’s cheeks and ears reddened. “I didn’t know what to bring.”
“I told you what!” Russel protested.
“When have we ever had a sleepover, Russ?” Cardin asked. Russel opened his mouth then closed it.
“Point.”
“I guess I don’t have to ask you if you’re ready,” Jaune said.
“Shut up,” Cardin said.
Jaune bit his lip to keep from laughing again.
Cardin stared at Jaune’s bed once they made it into JNPR’s dorm room and the nest he’d made curiously before he moved to drop his bag and pillow at the desk. Despite the days Jaune spent thinking about this, there were only really a few things he knew he wanted to do. He wanted to watch at least one movie; he wanted to cuddle (and sleep ) on the bed; he wanted to see the stars because he knew Cardin would like that. Outside of that… he didn’t really mind what they did. As long as it was together. And in this room. Maybe it was selfish- actually it was definitely selfish- but Jaune wanted Cardin to himself fully for these few days that he would be able to have that. At least he wasn’t sure that was totally bad. Or unwanted.
Still at the desk, Cardin leaned back against it and crossed his arms over his chest. His glasses were on now. It was weird to learn that Cardin actually needed glasses. Like, permanently. He still never wore them during class or anything, but Russel had gotten him to wear them in the dorm. About a month ago he’d started wearing them around him, Sky, and Dove. It felt good to be one of the people Cardin felt okay enough to wear glasses around. Though he didn’t really know why Cardin didn’t wear his glasses as he was supposed to. “So what do we do?” Cardin asked.
“Uh,” Jaune paused and shifted his weight as he looked around the room. Was it too early to watch a movie? It wasn’t evening yet but it was after school and classes so maybe not. He really wasn’t sure. Boy did he wish he was sure. He swore he wasn’t normally awkward like this but he’d never actually dated anyone before. And while he was comfortable with Cardin- more than comfortable- he felt a little unprepared. He took a breath and let it out maybe a little awkwardly. “I’m not really sure. I have a movie if you want to do that now but we can also save it for later and do something else. I know I have a board game or two around here somewhere if you’d rather that and I’ve definitely got comic books if you want to read. Or we could eat. Is it too early to eat?”
“What movie?” Cardin asked, effectively redirecting his thoughts away from the spiral of ‘there’s nothing else I actually do’ and the sudden realization that unless they wanted to eat just snacks (and possibly risk angering Nora and Ren) they’d have to leave the room.
“Howl’s Moving Castle,” Jaune went over to his laptop where he already had the movie downloaded. Not from his own doing! Marion had downloaded it years ago. Though Kiki’s Delivery Service had been his download.
Cardin nodded. It didn’t look like an 'I know what you’re talking about’ nod. More an 'I have absolutely no fucking idea what you’re talking about but I’m gonna pretend I do and I know you’ll explain eventually’. Just, without the cursing. Because it was Cardin who somehow didn’t curse. Which was something he’d expect from somebody like Pyrrha. Who also did not curse. Or Weiss. Who actually did curse but rarely and Jaune had a theory that was actually Nora and Yang’s influence. Also a bit Ruby. All three girls cursed pretty heavily. Though he couldn’t really say anything. Not without being a hypocrite.
“It’s an animated movie, I think you’ll like it,” Jaune said. He more-or-less flopped onto the bed, but that was fine. It was technically his. At least for this year. (The thought that, eventually, they’d leave these dorms was weird. Though that was still half a year away.) He squirmed down into the covers, holding his laptop up from them until he was comfortable. Once he was he sat the laptop on his lap and patted the space next to him. “Come sit and bring your pillow.”
With another nod, Cardin pushed himself from the desk and grabbed his pillow. He sat down a lot more gracefully than Jaune chose to. Or even cared to. Jaune waited for Cardin to position himself within the blankets as well. It really should not have surprised him as much as it did when Cardin ended up against his side.
“Are you ready?” Jaune asked.
“Yeah,” Cardin said. He gestured to the paused screen. “You can play it.”
The movie, to Jaune’s satisfaction, was a hit. (Though now he’d have to find the book before Cardin did. Jaune thought it would make for a good surprise.) When his laptop immediately started to play the next saved video, he scrambled as fast as he could out from under the blankets at the sound of his own voice. Only to have Cardin catch his wrist and pull him back down. In a move that was the meanest thing Cardin had done since he’d blackmailed him. Possibly even meaner.
“Cardin, let me change it,” Jaune said.
“I kinda want to see it,” Cardin said. And he smiled at Jaune.
Definitely meaner.
“Cardin ,” Jaune whined.
“…” Cardin looked away from him. Not even back toward the laptop, but instead at the wall where Ruby had stuck a poster of historical swords when Jaune had made a passing comment about his weapon compared to every other student. It’d been embarrassing, but he’d appreciated it. “If it’s okay.”
Jaune settled back against Cardin and Cardin turned to give him a questioning look. “ One ,” he said and held a finger up for emphasis. Cardin smiled at him briefly before his attention redirected back to the laptop. This one wasn’t a particularly embarrassing video, at least. It was from about two years ago, when Marion, Saphron, and him went to a park at like midnight. Saphron rocked on one of those spring riders that was shaped like a kelpie, touching the ground on each rock backwards. Marion went along the monkey bars upside down just to show off. At one point Jaune slid down the pole like a stripper. They were good memories. Cardin pointed at the screen when Marion was there.
“Who are they? Marion?” Cardin asked.
“Yeah.” Jaune nodded. He paused it on a shot of Marion briefly and then did the same thing with Saphron, introducing both. “This is Marion, my twin. This is Saphron, who’s the second oldest.” Despite what he’d said about only showing that one video, it sent him down a spiral of showing videos of all his siblings and his parents, introducing Cardin to all of them. Part of him kind of felt bad for it. They all looked pretty alike, both his parents were blonde and the Arc genes- his m’man’s side- were strong . It was probably all scrambled in his brain by the end. But Cardin did laugh and there was, like, a pleased feeling from him so Jaune was sure it was fine. Probably.
“You’re okay with this?” Jaune asked, just to be sure.
“Yeah?” Cardin glanced at him, an eyebrow slightly raised. “Of course.”
“Oh,” Jaune nodded and barely kept himself from breathing a sigh of relief. “Okay. Okay, good. Cool.”
Cardin rolled his eyes with a slight smile. “ Cool.”
Jaune stuck his tongue out at the light hearted teasing.
“Anyway , I need to show you the time Gwen made this like super layered cake only for Phineas to trip onto it- Cake and icing went everywhere , it was fucking great.”
“Delphine?” Cardin asked, to be sure he actually got the names.
“Yep!” Jaune went back to the videos to search through for the one he wanted. On the way he ended up detouring to two other videos. One being a rather… vicious pillow fight between Maëlys, Chamois, Marion, and him. Saph almost got hurt just taking the bit of video she got. The other was a clip from a funny card game- Gwen snorted on screen and Cardin echoed it next to him.
It was late by the time Jaune got half through the videos and he’d never realized how much of a ‘camera family’ they were. Though the only reason he even stopped was because Cardin yawned. Which apparently triggered his stomach to growl. Jaune held it, a bit embarrassed, and quietly shushed it.
“I’ll make us food.” Cardin moved to struggle his way out of the nest.
“Nooo,” Jaune whined. “I wanna stay.”
“You will.” Cardin kissed him on the forehead. Before Jaune could grab him, he was out of reach. Just how had he gotten out so easily. “ I’m getting the food. Don’t want us to be poisoned.” Cardin smirked at him and Jaune frowned. Out of the goodness of his heart, he ignored the joke about his cooking skills. (It was true anyway.)
“But I want you to stay too,” Jaune said.
“I’ll be back soon enough,” Cardin said. The door closed behind him and Jaune sunk into the blankets with a pout. He didn’t want either of them to leave this room. This quiet space where it was just them and they could be themselves. With nothing better to do, Jaune looked through some other things on his laptop. A new meme was going around tunglr. He looked through a bit to figure out what it was. Thankfully Cardin wasn’t long, like he said, and he closed the tab. Jaune took the food from him so he could sit back down and get comfortable again. Once he did, instead of handing the food back he plastered himself to Cardin’s side.
Neither of them left the rest of the night except to use the bathroom and get ready for bed.
Saturday
Jaune woke up cold and alone. Or, alone . There were too many blankets to really feel cold but that wasn’t the point. The point was that he’d gone to sleep with someone else in this bed. He stretched out and yawned, still groggy, before he slowly went to find Cardin. Only to practically run into him point-blank when he returned to the room.
“Cardin!” Jaune exclaimed, perhaps a bit too loudly since the door was open. Cardin walked past him to put the food down on the desk then turned to him. He held his right arm folded in front of him and brought his left arm under, folding his left hand in front of his right wrist. It wasn’t an action Jaune really recognized. Somehow he didn’t think he’d get an answer if he asked right now, though. So instead he handed Cardin his glasses off the bedside table instead of asking. Cardin took them with a nod. And Jaune’s eyebrows rose because he’d never seen Cardin just take his glasses without hesitation unless he was actively annoyed at not being able to see properly, but Jaune still didn’t have a lot of brain power yet and couldn’t really process anything at the moment. How early even was it?
He walked back to the bed for his scroll to check the time. “ 7 :30,” Jaune said, surprised. Even for classes he never woke that early. Most of the time, Pyrrha or Nora had to wake the group. And on weekends Pyrrha didn’t wake any of them till late, because the three of them slept in. As far as he knew, even Pyrrha actually slept in a little bit. But Cardin never slept in, he remembered that from their slightly darker time, though it wasn’t really ‘dark’. From the blackmail and the late nights doing homework- his own and CRDL’s, of Cardin correcting essays and berating him on the little things, on his grammar and his punctuation and his spelling. Of mornings, way way too early mornings when even the rest of CRDL weren’t up and it was just Cardin and him and the haziness of morning. Cardin was completely quiet those mornings, too. At the time he allowed it without question. Let it provide him with an excuse to doze- overly drowsy still and feeling soft with it. Jaune felt soft with the drowsiness and the early hour of the morning and let it direct his feet light to Cardin so he could drape himself over the slightly taller boy and just exist. Fade in and out of the world and dreams. Let Cardin lead them slow and dreamlike around the room so Jaune could move his feet enough to follow, enough to stay attached, as Cardin did things quietly enough to be mistaken for a shadow made solid. The food was cold, anyway, and Jaune preferred to stay right where he was. Though eventually he woke up enough for his stomach to growl and Cardin nudged them toward the food with an amused huff.
“What was that motion?” Jaune asked as they ate.
“What motion?” Cardin asked.
“From this morning,” Jaune clarified and he mimed the motion Cardin had done.
Cardin looked down at his breakfast. At the cereal and fruit and the orange juice. It seemed less like interest and more like a desire to redirect his gaze so he didn’t have to look at Jaune. “It was sign language. It meant 'morning’.”
“Oh,” Jaune said. Maybe that was why Cardin was so quiet. “You’ll have to teach me some.”
“What?” Cardin looked up at him. There was a flash of surprise before it flattened back to Cardin’s more typical neutral expression. A flat look with no real substance- no smile, no frown, seemingly no emotion. Usually around Russel, Velvet, or him and slowly around Dove and Sky it would soften to something pleased. Not a smile, but pleased . Happy. And every so often it would shutter and close off like this. Jaune never knew what to do about that.
“Teach me some sign,“ Jaune said. "That way I’ll know what you’re saying next time.”
Cardin blinked at him. Eyes wide behind his rectangular frames. His expression shuttered again, but the tips of his ears went red and Jaune smiled. He bit his lip on a laugh as Cardin ducked his head. “I can do that. If you can actually manage to learn it.”
“Hey!” Jaune laughed. “That’s so rude. Just watch me, I’m gonna learn it even faster now.”
“Sure you will,” Cardin said.
Russel had told him once that Cardin and him never really played video games growing up. It wasn’t exactly that they couldn’t, it was just that neither of them had much of an interest in it. They did a lot of stuff outside. Nothing ever confirmed that tid bit quite like playing a game with Cardin. Which was always infinitely funny. Because Russel was actually pretty good at games, especially shooters, though nobody on CRDL had quite the skill of Dove on pretty much every game. Something that was also funny and almost insulting to Jaune given Dove’s track record of beating him in games- especially shooters- when Dove also said he’d only ever played video games once or twice while growing up. Because apparently Dove was somehow the most boring member of CRDL. Also the most academical, right under Cardin, and that was definitely related in Jaune’s mind. Cardin seemed to do well at the Kirby game he had, though.
“Wait, there’s a-” Jaune cut himself off as an enemy hit Cardin and killed him. Jaune winced in sympathy. With a sigh Cardin took off his glasses to rub at his eyes. He absently cleaned the lenses on his shirt while he had them off.
“Maybe I should just watch,” Cardin said.
“What? No, you were doing great!” Jaune said.
Cardin put his glasses back on, presumably just so he could look over them at him like a disappointed teacher. “Jaune.”
“You were,” Jaune insisted. Cardin sighed and rolled his eyes, but started the level again. No doubt to Cardin’s annoyance, Jaune cheered when he did.
The dating sim Jaune booted up on his laptop next was probably the best idea he’d had. Cardin’s look of confusion when Ryouta- a rock dove- was introduced as the protagonist’s childhood friend was something Jaune would carry with him forever. It just got better when he confirmed that, yes, he was a possible love interest. To his immense pleasure, Cardin really seemed to enjoy the game. Jaune made a note on his imaginary ‘win’ column and wrote a note on his scroll that just read ‘story/reading games’. Something subtle enough that if Nora went through his scroll again or someone else saw it they wouldn’t understand and pointed enough Jaune would hopefully remember.
Eventually it cycled back to Cardin watching as Jaune played a game. Jaune didn’t mind. Especially since Cardin leaned against his side the whole time. Sure, there was at least one moment where Cardin moved weird and the alien almost got him and Jaune almost died . Worth it.
Cardin reached down to take Jaune’s hand and pull him up onto the roof. Could they have gone through the stairs? Yes, but why bother when JNPR’s window led directly there, just as CRDL’s did. Speaking of, Cardin directed them more to the middle of the roof. Just in case anybody- Sky or Russel- got nosey. He didn’t want them being weird. Or hearing them. Or honestly both because it would likely be both. At least the second year dorms were further so he didn’t have to worry about Scarlatina.
“Brothers, Arc, did you bring enough blankets?” Cardin asked. There was a pile at his feet where Jaune dropped them, though it only really looked like three. It was still a lot.
Jaune hummed as if in thought. “Nope, I don’t think so.” He turned around as if to go back and get more. Cardin caught his arm with a quiet laugh.
“Jaune ,” Cardin said and Jaune turned back to him with a bright smile.
“Yes?” Jaune blinked innocently at him.
“Just lie down,” Cardin said.
“Alright but if I get cold you have to cuddle me,” Jaune said.
Cardin rolled his eyes. As if that wouldn’t be happening either way. Predictably, the second Cardin lied next to Jaune the other boy plastered himself to him. Being the accommodating and kind boyfriend he was, Cardin wrapped an arm around Jaune and pulled him closer. Because he was kind and accommodating. Not because he wanted Jaune closer. Jaune snuggled into Cardin’s side and Cardin felt something inside himself loosen and settle. Like he hadn’t been calm enough already. If he became any calmer, if he settled any further, he’d fade away. He tightened his hold on Jaune. Like that would keep him from becoming unmoored. Looking at him from the corner of his eye, Cardin was pretty sure it would.
“So.” Jaune laced their fingers together. “Tell me stories, starboy.”
“You’re the star,” Cardin said quietly with an amused huff. Jaune looked at him with surprise and Cardin steadfastly ignored him. Ignored the wondering fond look in blue eyes made darker with the lack of light. It made him wonder, though. Had he never said it outloud? Had he never called him ‘light’? Louder, he said, “Pick a constellation,” and Jaune did.
They were up on that roof, under a pile of blankets, for a long time. The chill wasn’t quiet as bad as Vacuo could get at night. And the stars weren’t quite as bright with Beacon’s light. Still Jaune pointed and he told. Told until his throat felt sore. Told even past that. Jaune was a solid line of heat against his side the entire time. At some point Jaune’s hand had wandered to Cardin’s chest. To rest over his heart.
Cardin didn’t want to leave this moment.
Sunday
“You don’t really talk in the mornings, do you?” Jaune asked him and Cardin forced down a flinch. Shook his head instead, tried not to feel bad. Before, when he was still in his own dorm room, when he could worry about this with Russel, Russel had told him Jaune wouldn’t be upset over the quiet. That Jaune was kind and understanding- so, so kind, so understanding ‘ He agreed to date you, after all. Even after everything ’- and Cardin trusted Russel. Trusted his brother. He did . So he shook his head and he pushed everything back down again. Where it belonged, deep, deep in his soul.
Jaune nodded. Not a true nod, just a small bobbing of his head. Cardin felt it against his shoulder. Just like the day before, Jaune was plastered to him. Some part of Cardin felt he should be annoyed. Instead it just felt… warm. Except for where Jaune’s chin dug into his shoulder when he was done nodding. “Alright. That’s cool.”
Cardin smiled and gave a single nod. A quiet thank you. When Jaune turned his head and pressed his lips to his neck, Cardin felt he understood that.
The rest of their time together was spent split between card games- an equal amount of wins somehow between them- and cuddled in the nest with a movie. There were only a short few hours left after the first movie. Part of Cardin wanted to leave right then. He didn’t want to risk Jaune’s team returning earlier than expected. Cardin carded his fingers through Jaune’s hair, tugged gently at the strands. Jaune sighed and melted further into him. The press of weight against him helped Cardin try to secure himself in this moment. To press those thoughts and the worry down until he could better ignore it.
All things had to end, though. Soon enough Cardin had to rouse Jaune so they could put things back the way they were meant to be. Or close to that.
“If everything’s perfect it’ll be weird,” Jaune said.
Cardin nodded. “I wouldn’t exactly call you neat.”
Jaune threw a pillow at his face and made an annoyed sound when he caught it. “That’s not fair , you’re not supposed to catch it. You’re supposed to get hit by it and be surprised.”
“You threw it while I was looking directly at you,” Cardin said. He put the pillow on the desk with his backpack when he noticed it was his.
“It would’ve been funny,” Jaune said petulantly and Cardin rolled his eyes. A child. He was dating a child. Though he wasn’t too upset with his taste in men when Jaune made his way over, arms loaded with blankets, just to kiss him. Before he could pull fully away Cardin pulled Jaune’s hood over his head and tugged the strings right. As Jaune struggled with his new predicament, Cardin grabbed the blankets from him. He practically whistled as he walked away. Content in his small revenge.
This time, the pillow was a direct hit.
The ensuing pillow fight brought them dangerously close to RWBY and NPR’s return, but it also distracted Cardin enough for him to not care. Both of them were panting and flushed by its end. Cardin seriously considered whether a pillow could cause a bruise. Any remaining time was taken up by their mouths on each other’s. Kisses slow and lingering. Cloying like candy on Cardin’s lips. Once more he found himself reluctant to leave. But he knew he had to. Jaune was not yet ready to share their relationship with his group of friends. And to be quite frank, Cardin was still scared of their reaction when he did. The anger would be called for. It would be just and right. But he feared them taking Jaune from him. Feared them making Jaune realize that he wasn’t good, that he wasn’t worth it. Wasn’t worth him . (Because he wasn’t- no matter what Jaune said. Cardin didn’t realize he could fear losing something as much as he feared losing Russel and Russel’s parents. As much as he’d begrudgingly began to fear losing Velvet and Sky and Dove.) Jaune melted sweetly into him and Cardin opened his mouth and silently begged whatever to listen to let his mind forget for a moment longer. The kiss turned sharp like cinnamon and Cardin’s thoughts hazed out.
Sunday (evening)
“Jaune!” Nora bounded down the dock and tackled him, knocking the both of them to the ground.
“Hey Nora,” Jaune laughed and hugged her back just as hard. Already he missed the thought that Cardin would be back in the room when he returned. But that was okay. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t see each other every day. Though they’d have to go back to secret affection. Or more secret than it had been between the two of them, alone in his dorm room. Even still, it was nice to have the rest of his team and RWBY back. He looked over Nora’s shoulder to the others. “How was it?”
“Well -” Ruby began as she pulled him up from the ground after Nora stood up.
[6:02 PM] — park sunghoon. established relationship. (0.4k words)
Sunghoon’s life is growing tired. He’s not quite sure when it started, but he realizes it now — deflated and exhausted on his way home. He deduces it might’ve been from all his waiting only for nothing to come.
He catches himself unfocusing his eyes and breathing out until the stream of air thins more often than he’d like. A pang in his chest follows at the realization. Though, the reminder of a homecooked meal awaiting him makes him calmer.
His next breath is a sigh — there you are, in all your glory, his shirt framing your figure as you quietly make dinner. He guesses you must be wearing earphones from the way you don’t budge at the sound of the door opening.
Bleary and exhausted, he turns to wrap his arms around you, lips ghosting over your head as he mumbles sweet words of love to you.
It startles you for a moment, but you immediately calm when you breathe him in so instead, you let your body absorb the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
When you take his hands into yours, Sunghoon utters a prayer for the first time in the long time. A silent plead for the moment to stay like this, never fading and forever breathing against his lover’s back after a long day.
You feel like comfort, especially through flitting moments like these when the two of you are quietly standing in the kitchen, leaning into each other for support, and breathing in the smell of home.
Being with you is like going home — it’s like basking into the familiarity of victory.
A warm smile breaks over his face and he gently tugs at you to turn around so he can see you. He wants to bathe in your presence, into the feeling of longing finally achieved. And when you do, it takes him a few minutes to catch his breath.
Comfort really does surround you and encompasses the entirety of your life, Sunghoon thinks. Perhaps, unknowingly, you’re comfort personified.
He uses his palm to cup your cheek, moving slowly to catch glimpses of this moment into photographs in his mind. He inches forward, lips aching to steal yours into a long kiss. And when his mouth finally slots with yours, the overwhelming wash of his feelings almost make him cry.
Time slowed, and stilled. It was just the two of you, fingers carding through each other’s hair and stroking down spines in the empty, sunlit kitchen. The weight he felt earlier rolls out of his chest with ease, until he feels like he can finally relax and smile properly again.
He’s been so patient, and he thinks it’s finally come, that something he’s been yearning for all his life.
Sunghoon’s convinced that today, his life stopped growing tired.
Warnings: Mild choking, thigh grabbing, tension, sir kink, dom/sub dynamic, pet names, slapping, oral (both receiving), fingering, use of the colour system, mentions of safe word, vague mention of subspace, crying kink, Yun calls you a slut once. Yun’s a pleasure dom with hints of sadistic tendencies,
Synopsis:Teasing all day leads to punishment with your best boyfriend Yunho.
Note: Thank you to my anonymous reader for gifting this beautiful request. I went a little overboard and went out of my comfort zone. But I’m so glad I did :)
First, it was light touches. Then it was a whisper here and there. You meant good, well if good meant you wanted to be fucked so hard you see stars then praise you as an angel.
Yunho knew what you were doing, after teasing you for the month he was on tour, sending dirty text and suggestive photos or the late-night phone calls ending in you being hot and bothered, he knew you would end up doing the same. When he got back you didn’t touch him for the whole day he returned. But the following day all you did was give him small hints of your neediness.
↳ banner by the wonderfully talented danica ( @dnrequests)
⌁pairing; boyfriend!chan x curvy!reader (f.)
⌁genre; established relationship, pwp, fluff, smut
⌁word count; 3.2k
⌁summary; wherein which you lazily make out with your boyfriend on a rainy morning.
⌁warnings; soft dom!chan, sub!reader, soft sex, 34+35, daddy kink, slight pain kink, slight orgasm control, overstimulation, handjob, oral (m. and f. receiving), slight edging, teasing, fingering, spanking, breast/nipple play, cum play, spit play
❥ special thanks to my lovely kat ( @yeoldontknow ) for titling this and reading it over and to hani ( @amourtae ) for giving this a read too! i love ya both sm
Nearly five, the morning usually begins with Chan stumbling back from the studio. Eyes heavy, movements slow, he’d carefully crawl and tuck himself in beside you, freezing when you’d make even the slightest motion. Even when exhausted and craving nothing then the soft plush of his pillow under his head, he’d rather prolong his entry to bed if it means that you remain sleeping. He knows just how hard it is for you to fall back to sleep once you’re up. Riddled with guilt, he’d try to stay up with you, inevitably falling asleep in your arms, head tucked against your breasts and lips slightly drooling over them. Eventually, you’d fall back asleep to the quiet rhythm of his heart and melody of his snores.
This morning begins early too, nearly five. Chan isn’t stumbling in, already in bed having exhausted himself in you the night before. Your cheek was once pressed against his chest, lips slightly drooling over his warm skin. Amidst the gentle patter of the rain, you lay back on your pillow now, Chan’s arm under your neck. His lips cradle yours, tongue not too far behind. Groggy, he lazily adorns your mouth with his saliva, using the hand snaked under your head to push your hair back before half-heartedly grabbing your nearest breast. He teases your nipple between his fingers, pinching and tugging. You moan your approval and feel him smirk against your lips. If you were looking into his eyes right now, you’re sure they’d be gleaming with mischief.
Grantaire rested his head against Enjolras’s shoulder. “Do you think we’re like Jack and Rose?”
Enjolras didn’t look up from his phone. “Jack and who?”
“Jack and Rose,” Grantaire repeated, and when Enjolras didn’t answer, he added helpfully, “Like from Titanic.”
Now Enjolras did look up, and even though Grantaire couldn’t see him from his angle, he could hear the scowl in his voice. “Why in the name of all that is holy—”
“It was just the anniversary of the sinking!” Grantaire said with a laugh. “And so Joly, Bossuet and I got stoned and watched the movie.”
Enjolras sighed. “I should have known.” He kissed the top of Grantaire’s head before asking, “So are you Kate Winslet or Leo in whatever scenario you’ve cooked up in your head?”
Grantaire sat up, frowning. “That’s not a fair question. I’m not as hot as Leo and your tits aren’t nearly as magnificent as Kate Winslet’s.”
“I’ll allow it.”
Grantaire cleared his throat. “Anyway, where I was really going with this is that you were born with a silver spoon—”
“Gold-plated stainless steel, if you want to be specific,” Enjolras murmured.
“—shoved all the way up your ass, and I’m just a lower class kid from the street who got in your pants by drawing you.”
Enjolras snorted. “Firstly, you grew up thoroughly middle class and your poverty is mostly of your own making.”
“Harsh, but fair.”
“Secondly,” Enjolras continued, “you didn’t get in my pants by drawing me. You got invited to join Les Amis by drawing me in a political cartoon that we used for advertising. It took several more years for you to get into my pants, and I don’t recall much drawing being involved.”
Grantaire smirked. “Well maybe not with a pencil, but if I need to remind you what I can do with my tongue—”
“Does this Titanic-related metaphor of yours have a point?” Enjolras interrupted, his voice slightly higher-pitched than usual.
Grantaire just shrugged. “Mostly that I thought it would be a good backdoor into asking you to let me draw you naked.”
“No.”
If Grantaire was disappointed, he didn’t show it. “You say that now, but you know you’re dying to say it.”
Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Say what?”
Grantaire leaned in so that his lips brushed against Enjolras’s ear as he whispered, “Draw me like one of your French girls.”
Enjolras laughed, pushing him away. “Absolutely not.”
“Shame,” Grantaire said, laughing as well. “Figured it couldn’t hurt to ask, though.”
Enjolras shook his head affectionately, and picked his phone up again. “For the record,” he said casually, “if you were Jack, and I was Rose, we’d either both find a way to be on that door, or we’d both freeze to death together.”
Grantaire blinked. “Really?”
Enjolras glanced up at him. “You jump, I jump, remember?”
A slow smile spread across Grantaire’s face. “You saying you’d die for me?”
Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I’m saying I’d rather die with you than live without you.”
But Grantaire didn’t seem to have heard him. “You’d die for me,” he said, beaming.
“Only you would find that romantic,” Enjolras murmured. “I, for one, would much rather we live for each other than die for each other.”
Grantaire rested his head against Enjolras’s shoulder, still smiling. “I already do.”
STORY SUMMARY, PART II: Things have gone well for Loki and Stjarnavetr these past five centuries, but it cannot remain so. When Loki unexpectedly betrays those closest to him, Stjarnavetr’s world falls apart. Painful secrets and dark pasts will come to light, love will be tried to the breaking point, and Stjarnavetr must come to terms with the fact that the man she loves is not the man she thought she knew. Through it all, both Loki and Stjarnavetr will come to realize just how far they will go for one another and the sacrifices they will make, no matter the cost.
STORY RATING: Explicit (for strong language, strong sexual content, and graphic violence)
“Nice try, Mannadr!” I smirked, slicing the stale air with Laevateinn, the sword Angrboda had commissioned for me.
Four palace guards stood opposite of me, weapons drawn and poised. Before them lay their comrade whom they had likely known for centuries, whom I had just decapitated and whose black blood was pouring thickly out onto the dusty ground, and whose unfortunate fate simultaneously did not faze them at all.
I was training again—for what, I knew not, only to pass the time, I suppose—and I greatly enjoyed it. It took my mind off other matters, anyway.
I always instructed the guards I happened to train with that day to attack me as if they truly wished to kill me, queen’s father or no. Of course they mechanically obeyed and a few times I had ended up with some rather nasty wounds. Luckily, unlike them, I could heal myself even here and did not have to spend the rest of eternity with half my guts exposed or fallen out.
Many of the guards I had killed this way. Hel once told me that even though we were all dead here, it was possible to die a second time, and there was no coming back from it. By that logic, I suspected it was once again possible to return to life, but Hel had always remained rather tight-lipped on the subject, only fueling my suspicion.
But as of late I had not spoken much to Hel if I could help it.
It was an interesting sight when one of them died. The guard would collapse onto the ground and a few seconds later their bodies would slowly disintegrate into an ashen mound, which would eventually disperse in the dry wind. I would have felt odd killing palace guards simply for my own amusement, but Hel had assured me long ago that the guards were not as the other dead in Helheim; they were mindless and followed orders blindly. There was nothing left over of them from their previous life, save their physical appearance, and there was certainly no shortage of them.
“Try me again!” I shouted at the next biggest one, a gnarly brute called Mannadr who had survived my spars for quite some time. He currently was my ultimate goal.
He came at me, sword raised, feet pounding loudly on the hard-packed earth. He swung, aiming for my head, but I dodged the blow and dropped hard to one knee, bringing my sword around in an arc towards his right leg.
The blade did not meet flesh, however, for he swiftly dodged my blow. I gritted my teeth, leaping to my feet as he turned and attempted once again to decapitate me, likely in some blind revenge for his fallen comrade.
Ultimately, he did not succeed, and like his unfortunate friends before him, lay dying his second death upon the ground. I grinned triumphantly to myself, staring into his eyes as the dullness there became duller and his jaw went slack and his mouth fell open to reveal the blackened stumps of his teeth and whatever shriveled flesh remained of his tongue. I withdrew my sword from his chest just as his skin began to crack and turn greyer.
As soon as I finished wiping his blood on the bottom of my boot, a shout drew my attention.
“My lord!”
It was Ganglati, Hel’s slow-moving manservant and occasional fuck toy.
“What?” I barked.
“Her Majesty requests your presence.”
“Tell her I’m busy,” I replied flatly, turning away and wiping my brow. I would avoid her if I could, and it wasn’t as if Ganglati could do anything.
“It is urgent,” he insisted, though his voice was bland as always. “The queen demands it.”
I rolled my eyes, but did not further acknowledge him. I went to begin another spar, but before I could shout at one of the remaining guards, suddenly I felt Ganglati’s hand around my arm and I turned, shocked to see him standing right next to me.
“The queen demands it,” he repeated, insipid gaze focused on me.
“Alright, alright,” I snapped unnervingly, not wanting to ask how he had gotten across the training yard so quickly.
I handed my sword to the guard by the weapon rack and headed towards the palace. I was annoyed at being summoned. The next meeting was not for another four days and I knew not why Hel would need to speak with me like this so suddenly.
After everything had come to light months ago—or whatever I assumed to be months with the changing of the light in the sky, it could have been much longer or shorter—I had grown an aversion to Hel, likely much to the delight of her mother and my lover, Angrboda. It was not that I hated Hel, but it was that I almost felt sorry for her and did not wish to further complicate things between us by being around her often.
“Where is Hel?” I demanded as Ganglati trailed far behind me, despite his show of sudden dexterity minutes before.
“Her chambers, my lord,” he called out.
I was there in minutes. I went past her guards, threw the doors open, and found Hel standing by her large window. She turned and smiled, which she had not done to me in so long.
“Father.”
“What is it?” I asked, somewhat shortly.
“I have a gift for you,” she answered, suspiciously cheerful.
Her words caught me off guard. Immediately I was wary.
“I was just in the training yard—”
Hel breezed up to me, took my hand, and turned to lead me towards her bedchamber.
“Did you kill any guards?”
My skin crawled at her touch. After learning of Hel’s rather iniquitous feelings for me, I felt uneasy at her proximity.
“Yes, two.”
“Wonderful,” she said brightly, in her normal gritty rasp.
Now she stopped at the closed doors and turned to face me, withdrawing her hand and abruptly appearing remorseful.
“Before we proceed, I would like to say that I am sorry if I have offended you in any way,” she admitted. “I did not mean for things to change so between us. I do not like how we have been lately and hope we may overcome this.”
“Er…”
“I hope sincerely that this will make it up to you,” she continued with a blossoming smile, pushing the doors open and leading me inside.
“Hel—”
“Look what I have for you, Father.”
My eyes were drawn immediately across the room towards the fireplace, and I was surprised to see a woman standing there in a faded white dress with her back to us. At the sound of Hel’s voice, however, the woman turned, and something like a jolt went through me.
She was very beautiful, with pale grey eyes and full lips. Her hair was a lovely light gold and fell in pretty waves over her shoulders and down to her waist, which was cinched with a thin, plain brown belt. She tilted her head ever so slightly, lips twitching upwards in a small smile of what appeared to strangely be apperception.
I stared at her for a long, bewildering moment, searching her eyes, oblivious now to Hel’s idiotic grin. There was something in the back of my mind suddenly, clawing its way to the forefront, screaming to be recognized, and when it hit me the useless breath left my lungs and the darkness in my mind receded and I knew her.
I was across the room in seconds, a warmth like I had not felt in so long blooming inside me, filling my stomach and chest and limbs as I enfolded her into my arms, heard my name fall from her now trembling lips followed by a sob of what I recognized as happiness.
I tangled my fingers in her hair, pulling so I could see her face, her lovely, wonderful, beautiful face, the most beautiful face I had ever seen, and I was kissing her lips, her nose, her forehead and eyelids and chin, anywhere I could reach.
She smiled and pulled me close as I buried my face into her neck, breathing her in. She did not smell like she always had, but then again could I even remember? She only smelled cold, if cold had a smell—even her hair did not smell like anything.
“Stjarna,” I said, grinning widely, feeling my own eyes sting with tears. I could not think to stammer anything but her name, her name which to my eternal regret I had almost forgotten. “Stjarna, Stjarna…”
I pulled back to look at her again and saw tears streaming down her face, and it was only then when I finally registered the deadly pallor of her skin. My brows furrowed in concern as I gently ran my thumb over her cool, wet cheek.
“Stjarna?”
I turned to Hel, anger rising suddenly in me like a wave.
“Why is she here?” I demanded furiously. It was a leap, but with how shrewdly Hel had been smirking, presenting Stjarna to me as a “gift,” led me to believe she’d had something to do with this.
Hel quirked an eyebrow. “She died, obviously.”
I stared at her.
“No, Loki,” Stjarna said, and her voice sent a rivulet of pleasure through me, momentarily quelling the anger inside me. She took my face in her hands and I couldn’t tear my eyes from hers, shiny with tears. “I was in Vanaheim—”
“Vanaheim? Why were you in Vanaheim?”
“I…” she faltered, appearing almost pained. “After you killed Freyja, Valdrlund demanded recompense. Thor had no choice…”
“I don’t understand…”
Her lips trembled. “I was… I was the recompense, Loki…”
“Thorgave you to him?” I growled, gritting my teeth.
“He had to,” she said sadly. “I did not want to go, but there was nothing to be done. Valdrlund threatened war.”
Suddenly, something awful took form in my mind, banishing this warmth inside and filling me instead with this cold dread.
“Did he… what did he…” I placed my hands on hers on my cheeks, staring at her in worry.
“I did it, Loki,” Stjarna said, managing a quivering smile. “I killed him.”
My lips parted in surprise.
“We were… we were…” she glanced down now, reluctant to speak. “He insulted you and I grew so angry, Loki, for all he had done and I… I…”
“Oh, Stjarna,” I breathed, closing my eyes and pressing my forehead to hers, worry churning sickeningly inside me. “Did they hurt you?”
“No. They were going to execute me, but…” Stjarna’s large grey eyes flickered over to Hel, who tilted her head and shrewdly curtsied when acknowledged.
“Hel?”
“I paid her a little visit in prison,” Hel explained nonchalantly. “It was no trouble.”
So that was where Hel had been this morning.
I turned back to Stjarna, knowing not whether to feel rage for her having died by the hands of my daughter, or joy for her standing here with me.
“You may go,” Hel said, not bothering to mask her arrogant smile, as I took Stjarna’s hand and led her out. “I’m sure you two have a lot to catch up on.”
Her harsh laughter rang out as the doors closed resoundingly behind us.
__
I could not stop looking at her, even as I led her slowly and aimlessly around Eljudnir.
I was remembering every aspect of her features, both saddened and upset with myself that I could have dared to forget any part of her. Her laugh, her smile, the way her hand felt against me or lips upon mine.
It was as if something had opened up inside me, something I could not explain, and every waking moment from then on I needed to be with her, to remind me of the light and love I had lost and so desperately wanted back, everything I had forgotten and wanted to remember.
I had Stjarna recount to me everything that had happened since my death, which I learned had been less than two years ago. Stjarna possessed a much heartier memory than I had when I had come here, but I suspected it had something to do with the way she had died and Hel being the one to have personally brought her here to Helheim.
As she spoke I studied her face, the way her lips formed every syllable, her hand movements, and I was conjuring memories I believed to have been permanently buried or even gone. The tiniest details began to emerge from my subconscious with every word and I wanted to be angry for all that had transpired after my death to my beloved Vana, and that we should be reunited in such a dreadful place, but I could hardly evoke the emotion with her standing so real in front of me, all smiles and void of any negativity.
She was here now, and we were together again.
“Tell me of this place,” Stjarna said as we walked around the edge of the palace, lacing her fingers with mine. “Hel did not say much.”
And so I told her of Helheim, a bleak and lonely realm divided into nine regions where the dead resided, domed by a sky that wasn’t a sky, but still by some magic gave the appearance of night and day. I spoke of our life here, and much in the same way Hel had explained everything to me when I had come here.
How these forms we possessed were not our actual bodies, but what was left of our souls manifested physically here. We still behaved like the living—eating, drinking, carousing, and even breathing, despite the fact we did not need to.
I laughed when Stjarna tried it and was startled upon realizing she did not have to actually breathe, but preferred to like the rest of us to retain some semblance of our life.
Inevitably, she inquired about Hel and Angrboda.
At that point we were headed back to my chambers, having inadvertently explored most of the grounds.
“Hel is queen here.”
“And she is your daughter.”
“Yes.”
“By Angrboda?”
“Yes.”
Stjarna was quiet for a long moment.
“Hel told me Angrboda was here, as well.”
I nodded, not really wanting to speak of Angrboda for the shame coursing through me now. Could I bear to tell her I had taken up with my giantess again? But of course I could not stay with Angrboda.
I did not speak on it.
“These are my chambers,” I announced when we finally reached them. I opened the door, praying Angrboda was elsewhere.
Stjarna entered and I shut the door behind me and quietly locked it, in case Angrboda decided to drop in any time soon. I’d have to find her later, tell her we were done. I almost found it surprising, how entirely I had devoted myself to her, and seemingly felt nothing now that Stjarna was here. Angrboda would not be pleased with my fleeting emotions.
Stjarna walked around, quietly studying my rooms.
“It is similar to your chambers on Asgard,” she remarked softly.
My eyes followed her as she continued her slow, investigatory procession around the room, touching various things. I was surprised somewhat at her comment, that here she should remember so trivial a fact, though it was strangely comforting to hear those words.
“Some things are different, though it is much the same,” she observed, wandering out to the balcony. “I will get used to it, though.”
“You will, as did I,” I answered, coming up behind her to wrap my arms around her waist.
“Are you happy here, Loki?”
“I am now,” I replied, kissing her cheek from behind.
“It almost does not seem real,” she mused somberly, leaning into me. “I did not think I would ever see you again.”
I only kissed her, hopefully offering some comfort, and unwilling to admit I had nearly forgotten her. I wondered if I had ever been this ashamed in my previous life. I doubted it.
“I am glad Hel brought me here, though,” Stjarna continued, turning in my arms to face me. She cupped my face and lifted up on her toes to gently kiss my lips. “It matters not where I am, as long as I am with you.”
I grinned, soaking up her words, and did not think I could wait any longer.
Stjarna giggled knowingly as I pulled her backwards into my chambers, drawing her tight against me so I could rain kisses eagerly across her face. She just as fervently returned my affections, and we lay together for the first time in seemingly forever, and in the end it was as if nothing had changed between us, save for the ceasing of our hearts.
My Stjarna was so different from Angrboda. There was something in her kisses not present in Angrboda’s, warmth in her eyes instead of cold pitilessness, the way she gasped my name so filled with reverence, clutching at me as if I was the source of her existence, and how afterwards when we lay breathless, still entwined, she enfolded herself into me and told me how much she loved me.
Since neither of us wished to be anywhere but here with the other, Stjarna and I remained in my chambers the rest of the afternoon and all through the evening and night—talking, joking, reminiscing and making love. It was the happiest I had been since I could remember, and in those moments could not imagine what possibly might come next. But for now, I hardly cared.
__
Some days passed, all of them in a haze.
I came to peace quite quickly with Stjarna’s arrival. Of course I was delighted to have her with me again, but initially had hardly known who to be furious with. Valdrlund for daring to claim her and abuse her, or Thor for sending her off to Vanaheim in the first place; Hel for bringing Stjarna here, or Stjarna for being more than happy to die to be with me again.
Stjarna assured me repeatedly that all was well and she was happy, when I began to think of it and would grow angry all over again. Eventually, I tried to not think of it like that, and only considered the fact that Stjarna was here with me again.
Hel thought it all quite amusing, commenting laughingly that she would never have expected me to behave in such a manner. I cared not, though—Stjarna was here and was all I could think of. We spent every waking moment together.
One day I was strolling around the grounds with Stjarna. A dry breeze was blowing, occasionally whipping up the dusty ground.
“Loki?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yes, anything.”
Stjarna appeared reluctant and we stopped.
“Is Valdrlund here?”
I was silent for a moment.
“Hel explained it to me like this. All are equal here, no matter what we were in our past life. He is here, but he likely does not remember any of his past life. If he does, he will soon forget it.”
“Why do I not?” she asked curiously. “I have heard this, but I remember everything.”
I looked up, thinking.
“Perhaps it was the way you died. I will admit, Stjarna, I was forgetting much of my life until you came here. Oddly enough you being with me now reminds me of much of it.”
She smiled. “That is a good thing?”
I grinned at her and took her hand in mine, continuing to walk. “That is a very good thing.”
“My parents are here, aren’t they?”
“Yes, as are mine.”
I had thought of them, Frigga and Odin. Sometimes it pained me to think they were here, that though we might be so close, I might never see them, and they might not even remember me. It seemed amazing how drastically things had changed, and how much initially I had forgotten even of them. I knew in my life I had loved and revered Odin, and at one time reviled him, but nothing seemed so important anymore. I knew if I could, I might embrace him again if I saw him, and my mother…
“I wonder if they found one another here,” Stjarna wondered. “I wonder if they are happy.”
I knew not how to reply to that, and Stjarna appeared saddened.
By now we had reached the training grounds. There was not a soul in sight, but then again there never was unless I was training.
“Is there war here?” Stjarna asked, gazing inquisitively at a weapon rack.
“No. The most conflict in this place is between individuals.”
“So why did you build this?”
“I was bored.”
Stjarna laughed. “Well, I am glad there is a library. I never thought there would be a library in the realm of the dead.”
I smiled, but Stjarna wasn’t looking at me anymore. I followed her suddenly somber gaze across the training yard and my guts immediately tightened.
Standing serenely by herself on the path on the other side of the yard, and staring at us, was Angrboda.
I highly doubted she had been strolling around Eljudnir by herself and just so happened to end up at the training ground the same time as us.
“Is that Angrboda?” Stjarna asked softly.
I looked at her, almost not wishing to admit it.
“Yes.”
Stjarna gave a small nod and did not resist as I hooked her arm with mine and turned us to continue our walk in the direction we had just come from.
Having them speak was the last thing I wanted, if only to spare Stjarna the sordid details I knew Angrboda would only be too happy to divulge.
__
A few days later, there was a meeting of representatives.
I slipped out of bed, readied, and kissed Stjarna before leaving. She stretched, smiling at me as I told her I would be gone for a few hours, but I would be back soon.
The meeting was boring, as usual. Nothing of interest, though Hel did snap at Gaumr when he interrupted her and spoke a little too sharply to another representative.
Afterwards, I headed back to my chambers, eager to slip back into bed with Stjarna.
I rounded a corner and was only momentarily surprised to see Angrboda leaning against a column, obviously waiting for me.
“Good morning,” she purred, eyes locked on me. By her expression it did not appear to truly be a good morning.
“Angrboda,” I coolly acknowledged.
“This might be a bit of a leap, Loki, but… I do think you’ve been avoiding me.”
“You’re just now noticing that?” I dismissed, going to brush past her.
“Busy with that new plaything of yours?”
I stopped, unable to help the smile that spread involuntarily across my face.
“Are you jealous, darling?” I smirked, turning with somewhat of an arrogant flourish.
The corner of her lips twitched, but then she returned my smile and sauntered deliberately up to me.
“Why would I be jealous, Loki? I know she cannot possibly satisfy you as I did.”
I laughed, amused at the notion, when Angrboda stepped closer and placed her hand on my chest.
“You don’t look at her like you do me, I see it.”
“Then you are blind as well as ignorant,” I retorted. “There is no one I look at as I do you, but it is not with what you want, Angrboda.”
“So what were all of those heated declarations, Loki? When you told me you loved me and I was all there was?”
“Chalk it up to my being drunk on death, darling,” I replied tautly.
Angrboda was not amused.
“Would she see it as such?” she asked, running her fingers down my arm.
I pulled away, vaguely annoyed.
“You do not love her as you do me.”
“You’re right,” I replied, attempting somewhat to mask my true emotion. It almost pained me to admit it, but some part of me loved Angrboda. I had admitted it to myself long ago, and to her multiple times, in the dark of the night and clouded in lust and headiness, but it was not the type of love I held for Stjarna. It was a love I was more than willing to leave to die.
“Why do you partake in this foolishness?” she demanded, suddenly heated, when I went to turn, realizing she was losing whatever was left of this useless conversation. “Why do you waste your time on that Vana wench?”
“I am not wasting my time,” I retorted. “But you are. You and I, we’re through.”
Angrboda’s brows slightly lifted, but other than that there was nothing else to betray her emotion.
“You spurn me for her?”
“It was always her, Angrboda,” I replied, somewhat exasperated. “I—”
“You think Hel did you a favor, Loki?” Angrboda snarled, baring her sharpened teeth. “You think she did this out of love?”
“Absolutely not,” I responded immediately, unwilling to fall into Angrboda’s baiting. “Whatever manifests itself in Hel is not love.”
I had not spoken much to Hel since Stjarna’s arrival here in Helheim, but then again had been pretty much taken up with Stjarna and been able to think of little else. I did not dismiss Angrboda’s accusation, though. I had no doubt Hel had done this simply to spite her mother, whom she hated.
“Of course she killed your lover only to torment me.”
“What, can you not to stand to lose me, Angrboda?” I laughed. “It is almost comical. You finally have me after so long, and now I’m snatched away again.”
That must’ve been the wrong thing to say to an angry giantess; I did not flinch or recoil as she came quickly forward and roughly took a fistful of my tunic in her hands, pulling me close.
“Are you spited, love?” I taunted.
She pressed her lips together, black eyes narrowed dangerously.
“You think me jealous of that her, Loki? She is naught more than a distraction.”
“From what?” I goaded.
“Your true purpose.”
I chuckled, realizing. Angrboda believed Hel had given Stjarna to me to prevent Angrboda’s grand scheme for me, one of the reasons she had gifted me the sword Laevantinn. Occupied these past days with Stjarna, I had practically forgotten Angrboda’s lust for me to go to war for her against the world, to lead an army of the dead against those who had wronged her.
“You laugh, but you cannot see,” she spat.
“And what is it that I do not see?” I asked tightly, reaching to disentangle her fingers from my tunic.
“Your destiny,” Angrboda growled. “Fucking her will not stop it.”
“The only destiny you hope for me will never come to be,” I said firmly. “And whatever there is left of it, you are no longer a part of it.”
I turned to leave, but before I could make it even a step, abruptly I felt Angrboda’s iron grip on my shoulder and she jerked me backwards and spun me around to confront her fury.
“You will not spurn me for that Vana whore!”
“Do not touch me, Angrboda,” I bit out, any semblance of restraint vanished with her hostility towards Stjarna.
“Do not think that I won’t—”
But before Angrboda could spit another word out, my hand was around her throat and her back to the wall. I dug my fingers into her neck, pressing the length of my forearm firmly against her front to keep her still.
“You will stay away from her,” I growled, staring fixedly into the angry, inky blackness of her eyes. “If you dare to touch her, I will kill you, and not even our daughter will be able to save you.”
Her gaze was cold, wrathful.
“Only for you, lover.”
I remained motionless, debating on whether to describe to her in lurid detail the endless agony I might inflict on her if she were to carry out any harm against Stjarna, but then I had no doubt Angrboda already had some idea what might befall her if she were to proceed with any part of her vengeful deliberations.
I roughly released her, turned on my heel, and returned to my chambers, where I found Stjarna still sleeping peacefully.
__
A few days later, Stjarna and I were relaxing in my chambers.
We had spent nearly the entire morning in bed before requesting for food to be brought. The remains of our little midday meal lay on my table. I lounged in bed, finishing a glass of dark red wine. For the realm of the dead, Helheim’s vineyard produced remarkably delicious wines.
Stjarna was standing at the open window, a fairly sheer robe wrapped around her, hands poised lightly on the sill. Soon after Stjarna’s arrival, I had requested of Hel a wardrobe made for Stjarna. I would not have my lover dressed here forever in her death shroud. She was staring outside, watching the rain fall and turning the already barren landscape even greyer.
“It rains here,” Stjarna murmured.
“Yes, I believe there is some enchantment over this place,” I replied from the bed. “It certainly does help with the monotony.”
“I’m glad it rains,” she said. In her voice I detected a hint of sadness, so I set the glass of wine on the bedside table and got up to stand behind her. I wrapped my arms around Stjarna and she melted into my embrace.
“Why do you like that it rains?” I inquired.
She shrugged.
“It is just something else like up there.”
“Ah,” I said, somewhat uncertainly. Then, tentatively, masking the tinge of worry, “Are you unhappy here?”
“No,” she replied, turning in my arms. She cupped my face in her hands and offered me a small, reassuring smile. “I am simply thinking about my family.”
“Konavefr and Dreyma and the boys?” I offered. I suspected Stjarna’s step-mother and sister-in-law and nephews still resided in Asgard.
She nodded. “I wonder if they… if they know…”
I kissed her forehead. “There’s no way to tell, but I’d suspect not.”
She gave a little nod and let her hands fall slowly to my chest. “It is almost comforting to know that.”
“I am sorry,” I murmured.
“It cannot be helped,” she replied with a small smile. “I am only grateful we are together again.”
I placed a gentle kiss on her lips, then her nose, and swallowed.
“Stjarna?”
“Hmm?” She murmured, leaning into me and moving her hands around my sides to my back.
I hesitated.
Shortly after Stjarna had arrived here in Helheim, and we had begun reminiscing over all that happened, I had recalled that shortly before my death, I had asked Stjarna to marry me. I had not spoken of it, but constantly it was nagging at the back of my mind.
But I could remember now Stjarna’s reaction in Asgard, and did not hesitate now.
“Will you marry me?”
There was a brief silence, then she pulled back to stare at me. Her lips were parted in surprise and I grinned amusedly, moving to grab her hands and lace her fingers with mine.
“We were not able to get quite that far, if you remember…”
“I remember,” she whispered, lips curling into a smile. “You still want to marry me?”
At that, I burst into laughter.
“What kind of question is that? Of course I still want to marry you, Stjarna. I always wanted to, I was just too stupid to realize it for most of the time.”
Stjarna echoed my laughter and it was music to my ears.
We all love the feral x calm ship, right? Where one can openly and publicly express their love while the other hates any form of PDA? And in general, we like that the calm one is able to calm the feral one down and prevent them from doing something stupid and regrettable. But sometimes–I think–in certain situations, that would not me the case. Sooo what if…
The Protagonist tried to not fall into the deep slumber they so desperately needed after another one of these pointless meetings, that are more complaints about insignificances rather than discussions of the actual plan. They had hoped that the 5-minute break would calm everyone down a bit but to no avail.
Even from half across the entrance way they could see how tense their Partner was–and even worse: they could hear how thick faced their Partners current …conversation partner was as well.
The Protagonist sighed. They knew how hard the past few meetings had been on their Partner and how little they were able to take off their shoulders, their heart and mind. Today had been even worse than all the other meetings.
And now this?
Before they could even think of going towards them; to lay a hand on their shoulder in silent support or a give them a warm look, acknowledging their current stress; their Partner, who had lasted the past days without doing so, had finally blown up at the person in front of them.
Not being the only one to have noticed the show currently unfolding, everything and everyone seemed to suddenly speed up and the crowd, that had been quite divided just minutes ago, quickly gathered in shared excitement and curiosity.
But before the Protagonist could dwell on it for too long, one of Opponents supporters had run towards them, yelling indignantly:
“This is getting out of hand! Protagonist! You’re the sensible one! Aren’t you gonna stop your Partner?!?”
The Protagonist sighed once more.
The Opposition and their Supporters have not only been a menace to their Partner but to everyone else in the meeting as well– including the Protagonist. They had slowed down all their plans immensely and `working together` seemed to be foreign words to them. So, no. They couldn’t lie and say they weren’t satisfied–even amused– just a bit to see someone finally snapping at their rude associates. Especially if that someone was their Partner.
So, trying to keep their amusement in check, they answered with a small smile: “Why? They seem to be able to handle this just fine!”
The Other clearly hadn’t expected that reaction. Clearly had expected them to immediately fold and apologise on behalf of their Partner instead. Like they usually would, when their Partner would start a fight or discussion that quickly got out of hand. So, with a dumbfounded expression and a higher pitched voice, the Other countered:
“ Uhh?!? Cause they’re beingmore than rude and unprofessional towards My Associate?!?!!My Associate, who is in very high regards of everyone involved and beyond ?!?”
The Protagonist tried to not roll their eyes. But the more the Other`s word sank in, the more the more than rude implications of their words sank in. Their previous amusement had long vanished, yet their serene smile, they were so well known for stayed edged on their face, holding none of its usual warmth. And when they finally turned towards the Other, their voice was still as light and calm as ever, yet with just enough of an edge to it, that it seemed to throw the Other off.
“Wasn’t My Partner the one, who stayed calm, while being insulted to their face? Wasn’t My Partner the one who let them go on in their triad about how ‘impossible they’re to work with’? When all my Partner did, was point out some of the flaws in Your associates plan? Flaws that not only would’ve sabotaged the entire plan but also created an even bigger catastrophe then the one we’re trying to prevent. “
The Others eyes had went comically wide in fear and their complexion lost its colour. But they did not dare to answer.
Pity them; cause the Protagonist was not yet finished.
`How dare these people constantly judge their Partner for things they pride themselves on? How dare they provoke and ridicule others, when they have only scraps to show off for? When they piggy-back on other people’s success? No. Not any longer. `
The Protagonist took a step towards the Other, gaze focused now entirely on them.
“So pray tell: What am I supposed to stop My Partner from doing? From taking part in a meeting discussing a very. Important. Plan? One where they are a vital part in? Or do you mean stopping them from pointing out all. Those. Flaws in your plans? From preventing a catastrophe?”
Another step.
“Or on a more basic level: Am I supposed to let My Partner take all of the uncalled-for criticism without a word? When you make your opinion known at even a single. Drop. of tea. Poured incorrectly?”
The Other was now so clearly in distress that even the associates around them had noticed it. Feeling the stares on them, as well as being sure the Other would not try to suggest such a thing again, the Protagonist turned back to their original position. Their gaze locked with their Partners. An equally curious and surprised expression painted their face.
The Protagonist decided, they did not like the latter component of that expression.
Not one bit.
Acid seemed to suddenly fill their mouth and lungs.
Why was their Partner surprised? How had they failed their Partner so much, that them, openly supporting them, seemed impossible?! That they still thought, they stood alone?!? Especially during such open confrontations and intentional ridicule of their person?
They had to do better.
To be better.
They vowed right here, right now–to themselves and their Partner–that they will forever and always make their support clear.
That no one can make a fool of their Partner.
So, when they addressed the Other next, they made sure that even the last attendee could hear their voice loud and clear. And while it was spoken with the same calmness, they were known so well for, this once, it send shivers down peoples spine and the room suddenly felt colder.
“I’d like to think that you and your people are not that arrogant to believe, that you are the only ones allowed to defend themselves?”
With one last glace, a too sweet smile and a playfulness twinkling in their eyes, they added:
“Are you not?”
The Other was now fully trembling, equally in shock and fear. And while the Protagonist did not enjoy inflicting such terrible feelings in others, they knew, that for their Partner, they would do it all again.
And again.
And again.
Barley hearing the stutter of an answer they held their head up high and walked over to their Partner, whose love and devotion to them was for once openly and publicly written all over their face. And when they finally finally laid their hand on their Partners shoulder in silent support, all they could think was:
No one should wear such a beautiful, loving look, by some simple public support.
Summary (Part 1): There is a deep inhale, and Lan Wangji knows immediately who is on the other end of the line. His breath catches in his throat and, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jingyi jump up and leave the room at a dead run. Sizhui is rooted to his spot, staring at him with wide, fearful eyes.
My comments: Sweet story with reconciliation at its core that focuses on what happens with and around wwx after being terribly injured in a car accident. The thing is, his emergency contact is still Jiang Cheng, although the two have been estranged for many years and wwx is convinced that jc hates him. This is… patently not the case, as lwj, jc and the juniors sit awkwardly in the waiting room to hear the result of the surgeries, or later, when jc sits in the room (silent and glowering, but still) or hosts the juniors at lotus during the nights while lwj stays with his husband.
Three stories in the series so far (but feels sufficiently finished, so no worries). ** NOW WITH 6 WORKS **
modern au, modern cultivators, car accidents, hurt wei wuxian, injured wei wuxian, hurt/comfort, established relationship, adorable juniors, brotherly feels, jiang brothers, adorable juniors and their friendship, insecure wei wuxian, self-esteem issues, oblivious wei wuxian, emotionally constipated jiang cheng, doting lan wangji, protective lan wangji, sickfic, self-worth issues, fluff, caretaking, emotional hurt/comfort, jiang cheng needs a hug, @belovedmuerto
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