going over to my minimalist girlfriend’s house and she apologizes profusely for the mess and there’s just a single perfect, fresh pea on the floor of her living room
i deserve a medal for this post. not because i was particularly funny but because i survived an onslaught of nearly one hundred gimmick blogs in the wake of this post popping off, and the fact that i didn’t try to track any of them down and snuff them out with my bare hands is a testament to my immeasurable strength and should be rewarded. at one point i had “the official letter h” add on to this post. you wanna know that blog’s gimmick? the really funny and original and worthwhile gimmick the official letter h blog had? yep you guessed it they just gave me the god damned letter H and then fucked off. only jesus knows the suffering i endured over that harsh winter, and he wept for me
Literally the definition of imperialism and classism. Doesn’t matter how many peasants you sacrifice as long as the most powerful piece is left standing
the idea of yuu who got sent to nrc with nothing but a pouch full of stickers; some of their favourite animes, puffy stickers of cute cartoon animals, glittery sheets of little stars, etc.
the first time it happened was during one of trein's long boring lectures. you were doodling something on your notebook and felt that your doodles were a bit off, like something was missing, so you took out a sheet of wonderland themed stickers and put some painted-red white roses to complete your piece of art.
ace, having caught up on what you were doing, leaned towards you to take a glimpse. his eyes lingered on an ace of hearts card soldier sticker and you noticed. you peeled off the sticker and put it on his forehead.
"hey!" he protested, before peeling it off of his forehead and put it on the front of his notebook. you snickered and decided to do the same to the other heartslabyul student who was sitting beside you.
turning to your left, you peeled off a deuce of spade card soldier sticker and put it on deuce's cheek, shattering his focus on the lecture completely. he looked at you, wide eyed, "huh?!" you immediately shushed him, not wanting to catch trein's attention.
"you should've seen the look on your face!" ace snorted, loudly, which seemed to grab the professor's attention.
"trappola, please repeat what i just explained."
"oh, uhh..."
he turned to you and deuce for help but the two of you were avoiding his gaze, eyes glued to each of your notebooks—with the card soldier sticker still plastered on deuce's cheek.
'traitors!' his eyes shifted back and forth from trein to the blank page of his own notebook. fuck.
the next time it happened was supposed to be a prank. you had somehow agreed to one of ace's schemes and the current target was riddle. the plan was easy, decorating riddle's precious notebook cover with stickers.
you didn't know if riddle had pissed the first year off or ace was just being ace, but the idea wasn't that bad, you were just curious on how riddle's reaction would be, though this was definitely not what the both of you expected.
your and ace's jaws went slacked when you saw riddle held up his glittery-pink-hedgehog-stickers covered notebook, looking at it with awe, like he had just found a chamber full of strawberry tarts.
"housewarden...?" ace trailed off, and riddle snapped out of his daze, clearing his throat at the sight of his underclassmen—staring at him in shock.
"i assume this is the two of you's doing?"
a nod.
"was this supposed to be another one of your pranks?"
another nod.
"though it seems that the outcome was not to your expectation?"
the silence was enough of an answer.
riddle was the one who broke the silence, he coughed onto his fist then averted his gaze from the both of you, the tips of his ears slightly pink, his next words were barely a whisper but you still managed to hear it, "do you perhaps have the flamingo ones?"
this turned into a little habit of yours; some tiny dessert stickers on trey's cookbook pages, a funny looking chicken sticker that cater insisted you put on his phone case, a big fat red cat sticker on the back of ace's phone case, matching with deuce's blue one and your [f/c] one, you even gave some flamingo stickers to riddle to place wherever he pleased.
and this little habit of yours wasn't limited to your heartslabyul friends. you could find a leech sticker on floyd's water bottle (yes, you gave a leech one on purpose while cackling. "shrimpyyy, i'm a moray eel, yknow?" "but you're a leech," "...ehhh *shrugs*"), a wolf one on jack's watering can with the caption 'alpha male' (jack swore he only blinked and all of a sudden, it was there), a poison apple sticker on rook's quiver, and more.
one day, however, kalim was surprised when jamil peeled a cute smiley otter sticker off of his cheek after he came back from pop music club to the scarabia dormitory.
"eh?"
"don't tell me you didn't know."
"...oh! so, that's why lilia, cater, and yuu were giggling!"
from then on, people would check their bodies and faces for any sight of stickers. leona found one on his bicep, epel had one on his elbow, and silver woke up to his face decorated with dozens of stickers.
it became a game called "find the stickers!" which was basically self explanatory, the nrc students had to find the stickers the prefect plastered on them or their things.
it was funny because the chance was 50/50. there'd be a time where the prefect discreetly put a sticker on them and they wouldn't know until someone told them or they found it themselves. or, the prefect could overtly make any physical contact with them and didn't plant any stickers at all.
the last one often made them question themselves because the prefect could initiate physical contact and didn't put any stickers for the first few times which let them put down their guards around them, only to found one after the seventh time.
this also happened with the other way around where the prefect planted stickers on them multiple times and the one time they didn't, the poor victim still thought there was a sticker on their body.
students would find themselves checking their belongings and each other's bodies, their guts telling them that there was at least one sticker hiding within them.
the peak of the event was when sebek let out a guttural scream once his eyes landed on malleus, horns and face decorated with cute stickers; bows and hearts and all that. the prince's face bright as he beamed, "child of man said that humans often decorate their friends' faces to strengthen their bonds."
sebek fainted, lilia took dozens of photos from different angles whilst urging silver to stand beside malleus so they could take some photos together, and silver—his own face decorated with stickers like malleus'—only nodded reverently.
꒰ঌ ⋮ author note : this was inspired by a friend of mine who always put stickers on me and our friends, and me who also put stickers on them and their things.
ʚ edited : yuu was supposed to be gn but i accidentally used 'her' earlier, sorry for the confusion guys, i already fixed it!
for the final project in my riso & letterpress class i created an artist's book about the last few weeks of my final semester at school! there was this very special collision of the artemis II mission, watching project hail mary, and spending time with my friends that gave me some really precious memories that ill treasure forever :)
Word Count: 4.5k
Summary: Being given three chances to travel back in time, Akechi does everything he can to make sure you will not suffer such a tragic fate.
Note: i tried something..... dont expect too much from this fic if im being honest DHADSAHDAS
// April.
Akechi checks his reflection in the mirror, straightening his tie. He ensures that not only is he a model student by grades, but also by looks. Ever since getting his power and gaining a reputation of being the second coming of the detective prince, he has been carefully curating this image of him to the public. He decides to leave the restroom while checking his phone, 7:04 AM. Still a bit early, but he figures he could look around the school for private spots in case he needs to make a quick getaway.
He felt a light tap on his shoulder and he turned around, seeing an unfamiliar face. “Hi, I’m sorry. I am a new student, and I don’t know where my classroom is.” You give him a peek into the piece of paper containing your information, and he musters the fakest smile he could bring out at the moment.
“That’s also my classroom. Follow me.” Akechi quickly turns around, mentally shelving his plans on finding his hideout.
“My name is Y/N,” you offer the information without being asked. Akechi mentally scoffs, he has no use for your name but decides to indulge in the idle conversation anyway.
“I am Akechi.”
He continues walking, but then feels your hand tugging at his sleeve. He lightly recoiled but quickly tried to gather his composure, hoping that it was not noticeable.
“Like, the second detective prince?”
He lightly chuckles, wishing that you were not one of his fangirls. He cannot handle one of their antics this early in the morning. He nodded anyway.
“Cool!” You exclaimed while smiling at him. He was half expecting you to do something else, but other than that loud statement, you didn’t try to make a move on him. Huh. He can’t tell if he was a bit disappointed, because granted, he did think you were a bit pretty. He wouldn’t mind if you fawned over him a bit. He was quickly taken out of his thoughts by his phone vibrating in his pocket, his work phone.
He fake-coughed and pointed down the hallway, “Well, just go straight down that hallway, and it should be the last door on the right. If you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be.”
“Okay, see you later Akechi-san!”
As you walk past him, he feels an unfamiliar feeling in his chest, a nauseating feeling that makes him a bit nervous and warm. He takes a few deep breaths while mentally putting on his mask for his work, and finding a solitary corner to have a private conversation in.
// May.
Akechi had half a mind to just get up and leave. However, in the back of his mind he hears a voice lightly scolding him to be nice. And he also mentally slaps that part of him that is questioning why?
Akechi looks up at you, giving the fakest smile he could muster, while asking "What is it, Y/N?"
"Do you want to eat at this new place? I hear they have nice milkshakes."
Akechi wondered why you decided to go to him of all people. You should be aware that he is very busy, yes? He is a celebrity, a detective, and a student. On top of that, he manages to exceed everyone's expectations by not only being a top student, but also being a detective with a good track record while climbing the popularity polls. Where do you think you fit?
"I just thought you could use a break," you followed your previous statement. As if you answered the thoughts in his head, and Akechi almost thought you could hear him.
"I see, that's thoughtful." Akechi brought out his phone, as if to check his calendar, "...however, I don't have any free time today." He lied. The truth is, he feels this unfamiliar emotion brewing in his chest and stomach when he talks to you. He had a hunch what that was about, but he did not want to acknowledge it. At all.
"Ah, maybe next time then."
One of the students came running into the room, shouting that the professor is on their way to the classroom. You quickly returned to your seat, and Akechi thought to himself that this was the right choice. You do not need to be close to him, he is way too busy. He has grand dreams that need fulfilling.
He looks over to where you are, and he sees you doodling away in your notebook.
He feels a weight on his chest, as if he is longing for something he isn’t worthy of.
// June.
“Hello, Akechi-san.” He hears a voice greet him, and he quickly sits up. Shit. He got to school early, and was supposed to have a power nap for 10 minutes before the students came. Why the hell were you early as well?
“Woah. Calm down. It’s fine. Go take your nap.”
“Good morning, Y/N-san. Apologies. I had a long night.” Akechi started straightening his tie and adjusting his gloves. He usually did this on his own, and he mentally cursed himself because it seems his mask is slowly slipping around you. He stopped his fidgeting and decided to turn his charm on. “How are you this morning?”
He realized the segue may be too awkward, and whether you noticed his unease or not, you decided not to comment on it. “I am fine. Didn’t want to be at home so I went to school right away.”
“Ah, I see,” He realized how awkward this exchange was. He was debating whether or not to ask you about your home life, thinking that if you did not want to be there, you probably do not want it to be a topic of the conversation as well.
“My dad just came by our house this morning,” you started. You brought out a notebook from your bag. “We haven’t really talked in years.”
Akechi nodded, unable to say anything else. Fortunately, you continued. “He sucks. I kinda don’t like him.”
“I understand that feeling,” He says, a bit surprised that he is engaging actively in this conversation at all.
You gave him a smirk, “Dads kinda suck, don’t they?”
He gave you a light chuckle, “Yeah.” His dad was the devil.
“Oh, by the way, here.” You handed him an energy drink. “I don’t know if you’ll like it, but the vending machine gave me two and I do not want to have extreme palpitations right now.”
“I see, thank you.” Akechi gave you a smile, for real this time.
// July.
“Would you like to go to this new bakery that opened up?” A classmate of yours approached you, and Akechi gave a subtle side glance at him while pretending to be engrossed in the mathematical formula in front of him.
“No, not really,” you say coolly, and Akechi smirks at your response.
“Aww, come on. It could be a date.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
“Tch, you’re not even all that.” Your dejected classmate seemed to take the rejection personally.
“That’s harsh.” Akechi commented, returning your notes. The past few weeks, Akechi had been borrowing your notes when he had a hard time catching up in class due to the recent demand for him at work. Some sort of rapport has been built between the two of you at this point. Akechi was a quick learner, and you had complete notes. He could tutor you and you could tell him what he missed out on.
“I don’t really care for them. Don’t like bread.” You replied dismissively.
“And here I thought you would want to go with me, since I received a few vouchers for that same bakery.” Akechi dangled the mentioned papers in front of you.
“Oh.” You cleared your throat. “Well, bread can be fine sometimes.”
// August.
“What are you watching?” You asked as you plop down next to him. The both of you were staying over at Akechi’s apartment, planning to start on your project. Akechi told you that if there was ever a pair or group work and he was absent, you can tell the professor to put him in the same group as you. This made some of the Akechi fans in class jealous. However if you asked Akechi, it was to make things easier because the both of you are already talking anyway; you weren’t half-bad to talk to. But if you asked his subconscious, the inner him that manifested Robin Hood and Loki, they would tell you that he has an inkling of a soft spot for you.
But he would never say that out loud. Robin Hood and Loki were constantly on him, playing the angel and devil’s advocate when it came to his feelings for you.
“Featherman,” he answered briefly, as he brought out the textbooks.
“Woah, I never really got into them.” You started opening your notes, but wanted to hear more from him anyway, “Tell me about them.”
The both of you weren’t able to finish your project that afternoon, but you did end up getting a long-winded lecture on the Featherman series.
// September.
Ever since Akechi and you had that bakery hangout in July, he has been bringing you to places to sample their food. “I have to stay updated with the latest food trends,” he says. You never really understood why, but if he was paying every time, who were you to complain?
Also, it kind of feels like the both of you were on a date. Whether Akechi is aware or not, he doesn’t let it show.
// October.
“Hey, I think I love you.” You say to Akechi, one day as the both of you were checking out this new food stall that opened up near the school. Akechi almost spit out his drink.
“I’m sorry?” What do you even say to that?
“It’s okay. I don’t expect you to say anything back. I just wanted to get it out of the way because it has been keeping me awake at night. I keep imagining the both of us getting married. But don’t worry, it will probably fade away, but I hope we can still be friends.” You avoided meeting his eyes, as you received your food order.
Akechi held your wrist, a silent plea to look at him. You faced him, but quickly averted your eyes. Akechi leaned in to whisper, “Can you wait for me?”
“What?”
“I… have some things to do first. I will tell you my answer in December.”
“That’s oddly specific… But don’t feel like you have to reciprocate.”
Akechi stayed quiet. He could hear Robin Hood and Loki fighting.
“But sure,” Your voice cut through the noise, “I’ll wait.”
// November.
You feel Akechi staring at you. The both of you were hanging out at this new café, where the both of you became a regular. There was a paper due tomorrow, and the both of you decided to do it together. Akechi had been busy with work so he couldn’t exactly do it, while you were busy with… procrastinating.
“I know I’m cute, but maybe you’d like to get started on your paper.”
Akechi playfully rolled his eyes, “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Why were you looking at me then?”
“Just wondering.”
“About?”
“Your type.”
“My… what?”
“What do you look for in a relationship?”
That was surprising. But at the same time, not really? Ever since you confessed your feelings, the question of where you stand was all up in the air. However, Akechi did not avoid you, in fact he became even clingier, making you and everyone else confused about the nature of your relationship. He did not exactly reject you, but he was treating you like… you were something more?
Although he did say he would say his answer in December, and if he was waiting this long, then it should be good news, right?
“I guess… I like someone I can be comfortable with.”
“...Isn’t that a given in a relationship?”
“Yeah… But like, someone who can be a safe space for me? Like I don’t feel like I have to hide from. I could bare the ugliest parts about myself and they wouldn’t run away. Someone who’s fine with my silence, when there are times I just want to… exist.”
Akechi nodded. His face was unreadable at the moment, and it made you question if you answered correctly.
“I want that, too.”
// December 11.
“Hey, I am going to need to cancel tomorrow.” Akechi asked you, and you raised your eyebrows at him.
“Why?”
“I have important business to do, so I can’t go to the café tomorrow.”
“More important than me?” You joke.
Akechi felt himself frowning at that. You notice, and were about to say something but he cut you off, “After this… We can do whatever you want. I promise.”
“Oh, I was just kidding…”
“I’m not. After this, you can…” have me, he was about to say but he was cut off by the ping from his laptop and the room suddenly felt a few degrees hotter so he decided to go check on the email he received instead.
Unbeknownst to him, he left his work phone on the couch cushion, where you see the ominous notification, “Finish them, or else.”
You felt a ringing in your ears that had your heart rate speeding up. Goro… what’s going on?
// December 12.
As Akechi approaches the Diet Building, he searches for a secluded area where he can enter the palace from. A few meters behind, you were following him, trying to remain hidden. You were half thankful that he seemed to not notice, but at the same time you were nervous. Did he really not notice you? If he wasn’t able to discern you from the crowd of people, he might be so lost in his thoughts.
He needed you to save him.
You saw him whispering a few words you couldn’t make out, and all of a sudden, your environment changed. Feeling extreme dizziness, you reached your hand out to hold on to something. You almost fell upon realizing the electric pole that was next to you suddenly turned into a railing, and…
Holy shit, is the ocean? How?! You were in front of the Diet Building!
You were frantically looking around, and realized that instead of Akechi, a white figure was seen entering the building.
Was that him?
You once again try to trail him, covering your tracks.
/./
“The real fools… are you guys. You should have just abandoned me here a long time ago.”
You heard Akechi’s voice while you were crawling through the vents. It means you are nearing his location. You accidentally lost him when you saw another group of people in weird getups. You also tried avoiding the menacing figures that seemed to transform when approached. The idea of monsters being real and people in costumes fighting them… It reminded you of the Featherman series that Akechi loved so much.
“You would have all perished… if you had tried to face these with me weighing you down…”
As you zero in on his location, you carefully open the vent to avoid beeing seen. You were faced with multiple monsters surrounding… Akechi and a black figure?! There was also a giant wall effectively cutting off one side of the room. You bring out the bat that you stole from the sports club. It was a bit worn-out, but it should help you against these people, right?
“Akechi!”
The black-masked figure’s head whipped towards the direction of your voice. You saw the surprise in his body movement, suddenly standing upright, but quickly clutching his stomach, clearly in pain.
“Y/N?! What are you doing here?! Leave!”
The uncanny Akechi also faces you, sporting a creepy grin on his face that does not represent your Akechi at all.
“So this is the toy you were messing around with. The captain was concerned that you were too distracted to finish the mission. Turns out they have been keeping you busy.”
Black-mask Akechi tried to summon his Persona with what little strength he had to eradicate the Shadows surrounding him. Uncanny Akechi managed to dodge out of the way in time, and suddenly it’s just the three of you. With all the strength you could muster, you dashed straight to your mask-wearing Akechi while shakily wielding your bat. “Stay away from him!”
“Y/N, you idiot! I told you to wait at home!”
“How cute.” Uncanny Akechi raises his gun at the both of you. “Too bad you’re about to die.”
With the adrenaline you have in your blood, you tackled uncanny Akechi, knocking the gun out of his hands. He chuckled, and with the snap of his fingers, a Shadow appeared behind you and you suddenly felt a piercing pain in your chest. As you looked down, the blood was already pooling around your figure.
“You-!?” Black-mask Akechi once again tries summoning his Persona, but when he feels the embers of his power fading away due to his weakened state, he sees the gun that was three inches away from his feet. He quickly grabbed it and used it three times on his clone, and two shots to the Shadow’s weak spot, it was gone.
“Y/N, here drink this.” Akechi sees the last two energy drinks he has in his inventory, and brings it closer to your lips.
“Akechi, as much as energy drinks can help you go through the day with no sleep, I don’t think it can heal this.” You chuckled weakly, Akechi shook his head.
“Just listen to me, you fucking idiot. Drink it. It won’t heal you completely, but it should be just enough to get us out of here and contact a private doctor.”
“Akechi, I am so glad I won’t be dying alone.” You say as Akechi brings the drink to your lips, you drank a little bit.
“You’re not dying. I won’t let it happen. You said you were going to marry me right?” Akechi started ripping out some of his clothes to sloppily bandage up your wounds.
“Aww… I knew you secretly found me cute.” You once again tried to lighten the mood, but it seemed to make Akechi more glum.
“Hold on to my neck, I will carry you out of here.”
“I am tired, Akechi.”
“It’s just a few minutes, and then we can go home and watch whatever you want.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Right? Listen to me then.”
“I am cold, Akechi.”
“You will feel warmer once I hold you.” As Akechi places a hand to support your head and legs, you shove him off. Akechi was confused, why are you resisting?
“Akechi, do you love me?”
“Are you seriously asking that right now?! We need to get out.”
“Do you love me?”
“Just listen to me and I will answer that question.”
“It’s December. Do you love me, Akechi?”
“YES! I love you, now please let me carry you out of here.”
“I’m so happy.”
“You…” Akechi once again tried to carry you, and luckily you did not try to resist this time. You nuzzled your face into his neck, and Akechi can’t help but lean into your touch. After leaving the palace, Akechi had contacted the private doctor. You were getting treatment while he got patched up for his injuries. After his bandages, he stood outside the room, praying, talking to whatever god or higher being is out there.
I never asked for much. I just hope they’re okay.
“Is that what you want?” A deep voice asked him, and he opened his eyes that he unknowingly closed. Suddenly, a blurry figure stood in front of him, and everything was bright white, even brighter than the incandescent lighting in the small clinic he was in.
“Who are you?”
“Let’s just say… I am the god who will be answering your prayers. I can grant you this chance. Three tries.”
“Three tries? For what?”
“To redo it. You get to choose where you go back to.”
// December 11 again.
“Hey. Can you go to the café a little earlier tomorrow?” Akechi brought it up, while having dinner with you. He was back to the past, like what that god said. So this is his chance to change whatever bleak future was coming up.
Knowing what’s going to happen in the palace, he knew what to do, and what not to do, to avoid you getting hurt. He just needed you to wait for him at the café, and not follow him.
“Oh, why?” You asked, your doe eyes staring up at him. He had to fight the blush he felt creeping up his cheeks.
“I just need to finish up a few things at the office, and I was thinking you could order in advance for the both of us.”
“I mean, we can cancel if you want?”
No, that was what happened the first time. He was not making that same mistake again.
“No, no. Just get there by 6 pm and I will follow.” You tried not to comment on the slight panic in his voice and just nodded. You hear a ping from his laptop, and the sound made it felt like you were experiencing déjà vu. You felt the vibration of the phone he left in between the couch cushions, and you had the inclination to check on it.
Seeing the ominous notification, you decided to ignore his suggestion on getting to the café earlier and instead follow him.
Akechi once again had to experience the pain of carrying your limp body out of the palace.
// December 11 once again.
Akechi was thinking of ways to get you to stop following him. You were on your way to his apartment, to have dinner with him as the both of you planned before all this craziness. As you knocked on his door, he quickly opened it, no longer needing to check the camera as he has been over this scenario multiple times.
“Oh, hey!” You greeted happily, with Akechi stepping aside to let you in.
He thought that maybe you should initiate the conversation about the supposed café date you will have tomorrow, maybe that will change the fates.
“How are you today?” You asked sweetly, shedding yourself of the coat and hat you were wearing.
“Fine,” Akechi answered simply, calculating his next steps. What will convince you to stay away?
You didn’t comment on his short reply, as he has a tendency to be precise with his answer when he has a lot on his mind. Maybe work was taking a toll on him.
“Oh, by the way, about the café tomorrow…” You started.
“We should stop this.”
“Stop what?”
Akechi steels himself. If asking you to distance yourself won’t work, then maybe he should distance himself.
You furrowed your eyebrows.
“I have a bright future ahead of me. I am a celebrity detective with straight A’s, who knows where that will take me. Whatever this is, we will just end up getting hurt.” Akechi felt the words coming out of his mouth, secretly spouting out some long-buried insecurities and fears he has had ever since the two of you started getting closer.
“Well, when there’s a will, there’s a way, right?”
“And if I don’t want to?”
“You’re lying to yourself.”
“How can you be certain? If only you knew the real me-”
“I already know the real you. You put on an act, this charming celebrity act, but the truth is all you want is someone who can see past it and be acknowledged for everything you have done. I accept you, Akechi, and I love you. If you would just stop pushing me awa-”
“Enough. I don’t care for this.”
“You-”
“Just leave.”
“You are so afraid of anything real, that when you are faced with it, your first reaction is to turn away. I am telling you-”
“Oh please. Once you learn about the real me, you would run away screaming.”
“What is this ‘real me’ even? Why don’t you tell me about it so I can judge for myself?!”
“I-” He hears the familiar ping of his laptop once again. “I’m busy. Just leave.”
“Fine. Be that way.” You were about to turn about to leave, but faced him once again: “If we see eachother next time, I hope you don’t look my way. Please leave me alone, I never want to see you again.”
You slam the door behind you.
Akechi fell to his knees, clutching his chest. He feels something wet touch his cheek and fall onto the floor.
Behind the door, you know that there is something wrong. You made a plan to follow him tomorrow. He was being irrational, and that meant he was worried about something.
And as you ended up bleeding once again on the floor of the engine room, Akechi was once again brought to the bright room with the unknown god.
“Why isn’t anything changing!?” He was about to punch the smug god in his face, but he missed, falling face-first instead.
The god chuckled. “There is never a Y/N who stays at home because there is never a Y/N that does not love Akechi in this lifetime.”
// April.
Akechi checks his reflection in the mirror, straightening his tie. He ensures that not only is he a model student by grades, but also by looks. Ever since getting his power and gaining a reputation of being the second coming of the detective prince, he has been carefully curating this image of him to the public. He decides to leave the restroom while checking his phone, 7:04 AM. Still a bit early, but he figures he could look around the school for private spots in case he needs to make a quick getaway.
He felt a light tap on his shoulder and he turned around, seeing an unfamiliar face. “Hi, I’m sorry. I am a new student, and I don’t know where my classroom is.” You give him a peek into the piece of paper containing your information, and he musters the fakest smile he could bring out at the moment.
“Sorry, I can’t help you.”
// May.
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// June.
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// July.
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// August.
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// September.
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// October.
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// November.
███████ ████████
// December 12, for the last time.
As Akechi lays down on the cold, hard ground of the engine room, he mentally curses himself. They say that when you are dying, the last minutes of your life play a fast-paced montage of your memories. He scoffed at the idea then, but now as he is left drowning in his own blood, all he could think about was you.
He curses at the gods above, that one who gave him the power to play with the threads of fate. What was the point of allowing him to pursue different timelines, if he ended up without you at all?
He met you, too little, too late. Maybe that was their plan, to dangle a what if in his face just to end up taking it from him. A cruel joke, and all he could do was laugh bitterly.
That night, you find yourself hanging out with your friends and visiting the café. It was your first time here, but it had an air of familiarity around it. As you sit down, you feel an emptiness settle in your chest, as if something was ripped out of you.
Me, trying to impress my date with a display of my boundless humility: I would like to order one single, solitary crumb.
Waitress taking my order: Such arrogance! Not only do you presume to boast under the guise of being humble, but your order employs the most decadent of linguistic excesses - the tautology!
My date, who until recently thought "tautology" referred to the study of tensile strengths and upon learning her mistake compensated by reading through its Wikipedia article: That would be more correctly identified as a "pleonasm".
The editor I hired to curate my posts who styles himself as a sort of scheming court advisor: My liege, this one is getting away from us. The punchline loses much of its impact when the rest of the joke is derailed by this increasingly self-indulgent meta humour. Were it up to me, your Grace, which of course it is not, I would cut the others and leave myself as the only supporting character. You need noone else, Your Majesty...
me holding a gun to a mushroom: tell me the name of god you fungal piece of shit
mushroom: can you feel your heart burning? can you feel the struggle within? the fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make. you cannot kill me in a way that matters
me cocking the gun, tears streaming down my face: I’M NOT FUCKING SCARED OF YOU
The photograph trembled faintly between your fingers not because the wind from the half-open window was strong enough to move it, no. It was because your hands would not stop shaking.
The picture had been taken months ago—carelessly candid, terribly intimate. Scaramouche stood beside you with that perpetual expression of detached arrogance painted across his sharp features, violet eyes half-lidded as though the world bored him beyond measure. Yet his hand had been around your wrist in the photograph. Gentle enough to make your chest ache.
You stared at it for far too long.
“What are we?” you whispered into the silence of your apartment.
The question sounded pathetic aloud. A relationship without a label was akin to balancing atop fraying wire—one wrong movement and everything snapped beneath your feet. There was nothing solid to grasp onto. No certainty. No promises. Only fragments of affection strewn carelessly between moments of ambiguity.
Sometimes Scaramouche treated you like you were his lover. Sometimes he treated you like you were merely convenient and the most agonizing part of it all was that you could never gather the courage to ask him which one was real because losing him altogether would be far worse than this torment.
Your thumb brushed over the glossy surface of the photograph, tracing the outline of his face. You remembered every moment with humiliating clarity.
Especially that night.
The rain had descended without warning, torrential and merciless, soaking the city in silver. You had laughed at first, sprinting beside him through crowded streets while passersby scrambled for shelter beneath awnings and convenience stores.
“Fuck,” you had wheezed between laughter, shoes splashing through puddles. “We should’ve checked the weather forecast.”
Scaramouche scoffed beside you, drenched indigo hair clinging to his face. “And carry an umbrella around like an old married couple? Absolutely not.”
Despite his words, he grabbed your hand tightly. Firmly—like it belonged there.
The memory alone made your throat tighten.
You remembered how warm his palm felt despite the freezing rain. How he kept glancing back at you with that rare smile—a real one, not the mocking smirk he wore all the time. It had transformed his entire face, softened every jagged edge until he looked devastatingly human.
“Are you cold?” he asked over the roar of rainfall.
You shook your head even though your teeth were chattering. “I’m tired of running.”
“Tch. Weak.” Yet he slowed down immediately.
The two of you ended up beneath a dimly lit bus stop, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the bench while rainwater dripped from your clothes. Your breathing was ragged from running. Scaramouche leaned back lazily, one arm stretched along the backrest behind you.
You could still remember the way he looked at you. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. You could see the softness in his eyes— dangerously soft.
A strand of wet hair stuck to your cheek, and before you could move it away, his fingers brushed against your skin first. Featherlight. Reverent, almost.
Your pulse had stuttered. “Scara—”
Then he kissed you. As though he could not help himself.
The rain drowned out the sound you made against his mouth. His hand cupped your jaw while the other settled at your waist, pulling you closer with startling desperation. Cold rainwater slid down your skin, yet his lips were warm enough to make your head spin.
You remembered clutching the front of his soaked shirt while he kissed you like something starving and afterward, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing unevenly.
Neither of you spoke. Neither of you named it.
Perhaps that was the beginning of everything or perhaps it was the beginning of the end.
A shaky exhale left your lips as you placed the photograph down on the table. Scaramouche was romantic in ways he would never openly admit. It existed in subtleties. In the quiet intimacy of domesticity.
Like the mornings when he was too lazy to do his eyeliner himself.
“Don’t mess it up,” he muttered one afternoon, seated lazily on the bathroom counter.
“You say that every time.” you rolled your eyes at him.
“Because you nearly poke my eye out.”
“Gosh. Why are you so dramatic”
You stood between his parted knees while carefully applying the dark liner to his eyes. He watched you through lowered lashes, expression unreadable, though his hand remained settled on your waist the entire time. Not moving. Not letting go.
Sometimes his thumb would absentmindedly rub circles against your side while you worked, and you would pretend not to notice because acknowledging it made your heart unbearably loud.
Other times, after a particularly exhausting day, you would mumble that you were too tired to cook. Scaramouche never responded with comfort outright. He was incapable of tenderness that obvious. Instead, he disappeared for half an hour and returned with takeout bags hanging from one hand.
“Eat before you pass out,” he grumbled, averting his gaze.
You nearly laughed every single time. It was always the little things.
Movie nights where you thought he was still awake beside you, only to glance down and realize he had fallen asleep against your neck. His arms wrapped around your waist instinctively, breath warm against your skin while the television flickered forgotten light across the room.
You love him.
Grocery trips where he pushed the trolley with one hand shoved into his pocket while silently placing things back whenever you said, “That’s too expensive.”
Only for you to discover them paid for later. The way he remembered your coffee order despite pretending not to care. The way he walked slightly slower whenever you were tired. The way his eyes softened—just barely—whenever you laughed too hard.
It was unbearable because people who were merely friends did not do these things.
People who loved each other did.
Yet the word remained lodged in your throat like shattered glass. You feared asking. Feared hearing uncertainty. Feared hearing rejection even more.
The front door suddenly clicked open. Scaramouche stepped inside, shrugging off his jacket with visible irritation. “The traffic was fucking horrendous.”
Then his eyes landed on you. Immediately, his expression shifted. Subtle but noticeable.
His brows furrowed faintly as he approached. “Why do you look like someone died?”
You quickly wiped beneath your eyes, only then realizing tears had gathered there. “Nothing.”
“Tch. You’re a terrible liar.” He crouched in front of the couch, violet eyes scrutinizing your face with unnerving intensity. His fingers brushed your chin upward before you could avoid him.
The gentleness nearly broke you. “Talk to me” he said quietly. “Please”
Your chest tightened painfully. You wanted to ask him. God, you wanted to.
What are we?
What am I to you?
But fear stitched your lips shut because if Scaramouche looked at you with indifference after all this time, you did not think you would survive it.
So instead, you shook your head and for once—just once—he looked almost wounded by your silence. Then, without a word, he pulled you toward him.
Your forehead pressed against his shoulder while his arms wrapped around you with startling firmness, as though he feared you might disappear if he loosened his hold.
“You think too much,” he murmured against your hair.
The irony of it nearly made you laugh because he was the reason your heart had become such a catastrophic thing in the first place. And still— still you melted into his embrace like it was home. Maybe there truly were feelings suspended by a thread neither of you dared to name.
Maybe both of you were cowards.
Or maybe this fragile, undefined thing existed because neither of you knew how to survive losing the other once words made it real.
—————————————————————————
note: guys pls dont settle into this kind of set up😭😭😭 @pjselee for you:))) and for anna @justag00ber
contains: hurt/little comfort, character death | based off 6.6 spoilers | 1.7k wc
There was little to do in the hour left you had to mourn. To mourn the life that was destined to end, were it not for fate then it most certainty would’ve been nature itself. This had to be fate playing a cruel hand to you and your lover. The one who’s bedside you sat besides, much older and frailer than you remember. Zandik, the only love of your life, the one you would’ve been laying with were it not for his insistence on your life to extend past that of his own. You, ageless and forever in your prime. You once stood together like that, in the prime of both of your lives. Oh, just where had the time gone? It felt like only yesterday you two were mapping out the laboratory granted to Zandik- or rather, Dottore as a Fatui Harbinger. If only time had been kinder, then maybe your partner wouldn’t be breathing as if he was expected to rather than with ease.
The decline began when the back aches began. These weren’t the usual pains Dottore would feel when stretching after a long night spent filing paperwork away, researching, and working at his desk. No, this pain was lasting. A gentle reminder for him to take care of his health better; you lectured him until he’d eventually come to rest with you. You seemed more aware of his health than he ever was, almost ironic considering he was supposed to be the doctor here. He was fifty years old at that point. Plenty of time for Dottore to consider his health seriously.
“It’s rather late, don’t you think? I’m quite tired myself.” As if you were the harbinger himself, you simply waltzed inside at some point. If you had just arrived, he wouldn’t have known, as his work kept his attention occupied to the point of extreme focus. Most of the work given could only be oversaw by The Doctor himself. The paperwork that covered his desk spoke enough in its own sheer volume.
“Which begs the question as to why you are here yourself, my dear.” Your retort came quickly, as expected of someone of your diligence. “Don’t turn this around on me, Zandik. I expect you to be in bed at least twice a week.” The faintest sound of a hum emitted from the Harbinger. “You would rather have me tonight than tomorrow?” Never had he outright declined you regarding this arrangement you had set for the two of you. It had begun as more of a compromise, now it had turned into its own rule.
Your approach came from behind, arms wrapped around his neck as if to pull him into a rest just with your touch alone. If only you’d stay like this for a bit longer, he quite liked the feeling.
It wasn’t long before the Doctor would be in bed with you.
Now, was seeing Zandik with gray hairs common? Of course, he was often stressed due to his responsibilities as a Harbinger. It was no surprise to you or him, it was however a notable sight to see his light locks begin turning less blue and more muted. You acknowledged then exactly what it told, it was his age showing. After decades, it seems his age was becoming more obvious by the years that passed in handful. Neither of you lamented on this, it would be unnecessarily consuming for the time you two had left.
Initially you had been insistent on aging on with him. It felt disturbing to know your beloved Zandik was going to eventually leave you sooner rather than later. The endless march of death seemed more of a bother than an inevitability, you would’ve been just fine to die right with him. As sad as it may sound, you did not have anyone but him. Zandik, likewise, had nobody else other than you. Though Pantalone was a good friend, his closest, there was only one person like you who fit into the slot of his organic heart.
You two only had each other, which worked now and especially back in the akademiya. To lose him would be losing a part of yourself you had never learned to let go, regardless of his actions and deeds you never once planned to abandon him. Yet now you were faced with the difficult decision of needing to live on for him. Eventually you would find the will to live on for yourself, but that would take a while, maybe forever if you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge your own pains.
It was within your best interest to focus on other matters that would not cause you stress or headaches. Omega had said, almost insisted really, while attempting to console you. You chose to not bring the topic up to him thereafter.
The sight of Zandik, now so frail, so utterly aged. He looked too human to resemble the monster his village swore him to be, laid like this. Eighty years old, much older now. He didn’t quite resemble the Doctor you knew, it almost seemed as if that rigid scholar you knew back in the akademiya had returned in a way, though not with the energy and youth. It was more so his overall behavior.
He was far less reserved with his mannerism, though he needed assistance to get around now, which you happily aided him in. There was a light that wasn’t there before, a flickering one at that, still there, nonetheless. When he began using a wheelchair was when you’d take him on walks throughout the lab or around Zapolyarny Palace. Those walks were nice, you’d like to think he enjoyed them as much as you did. Though you weren’t quite sure he enjoyed the walks for himself, he seemed to always be looking your way. As if there was a view he just couldn’t miss, not even for the dimming world around him.
You, ever unchanging even after so many years. Even if you had chosen to leave this world alongside him, the odds of you changing then were almost close to none. You truly were a constant, the variable he never foresaw. A variable he’d never trade not even for the world.
“I think it’s time we head to your room. I’ll have Eta visit you later, he has a lot of drawings to show you.” Though he didn’t respond, he nodded his head at your words. A smile dawned your expression at that, you needn’t for a response anyway.
Then came the day you had to say goodbye to Zandik, for the last time.
His health began to rapidly decline around a year ago, the segments showed no outward care for the old man’s health, only the status of his being. While you did adore the segments, you couldn’t help but feel a certain type of way at their apathy. It was almost staggering how little they did for Zandik, their own creator, in his time of need. Your spouse was dying, yet not even the versions of himself could bring themselves to care unless there was a new change to observe.
Truly, you loved them. You really did, but right now it was hard to bring yourself around them, especially the younger segments. They were less reserved than their older counterparts, which made their crude comments all the more hurtful. While their efforts to keep quiet when you were around were appreciated, it was blatantly obvious when the room would fall silent when you entered that they were talking about him. Just what plans did they have for his body after he was gone? Did they even care enough to think about that? The thought of burying Zandik made you feel nauseous. Could you even bring yourself to remove his body?
Those thoughts rummaged through your head, burying themselves within the deepest cracks of your mind, all while you walked beside Omega. Your distress may have been too prevalent throughout your walk to Zandik’s room, you really couldn’t hide your pain anymore.
“The option to turn back now would bear no consequences, I will have you aware, █████.” Neither of you stopped, simply slowed the pace of which you walked. His tone was as easy as his words, which sounded far too hard for you to even consider. Much less think about, just how could he say such a thing? “His conscious is hardly there.” “Even so, Zandik still needs me, Omega.” Nothing changed in the segment's expression, his face as unreadable as his intention. Loyalty was a trait of which you wore like a badge and extended to those you cared for so eagerly. Your loyalty or care was not a question. “If that is your decision, my dear.”
Now you were here, by his side as you always had been. He wasn’t awake, he needed as much rest as possible these days. Though he was not awake or could hear your words, his hearing was also one of the many things his decline had tainted, you still spoke. “It’s just... not fair.” then it began, the downpour of your emotions rushing in all at once, like a crashing current forcing you to let it out. The heat to your face and blurring of your eyes were overwhelming, as was the breaking of your heart. Taking ahold of his hand felt nice, despite how brittle and unfamiliar they were now. His hands were the only ones you would ever want to feel in the palm of your own. “...I'm sorry, I’m so sorry-” Apologies came as if they were owed and, in a way, they were, just not from you.
There would be no goodbyes left unsaid. Stories came so naturally through broken cords. The squeezes to his hand were the most you could do to let him know even in his rest that you were here, that you would not leave his side until it was necessary. If only the world had been kinder, then maybe you two would have been happier. The future had never looked so bleak until now.
Unfortunately, by the time you’d return to his room by morning to see him, just one more time. Omega would have already told you he was gone.
for i shall learn from flower and leaf (thorns x reader)
summary:
“Aww, and I spent so much time Thorns-proofing it with Shaw!”
He utters a noise of confusion, “Thorns-proofing? ¿Qué?" You raise an eyebrow at him questioningly, putting your hands on your hips to emphasize the sass of your reaction. Surely he was jesting? His sheer audacity otherwise would astound you.
“Why use such a demeaning term?” Thorns asks, followed by an amused huff of air.
“Not demeaning!” You exclaim. “Just, predictive. We both know how you are. Remember how the Doctor always reacts whenever they see you walk around all unkempt and messy, with the evidence of some explosion on you?”
He laughs, soft and light, “Mm. I see. Point proven.”
---
There are far more valuable things to an alchemist than the transmutation of lead into gold.
"Eu te amo porque todo o universo conspirou para que eu chegasse até você."
---
fandom: Arknights by HYPERGRYPH
pairing: thorns x gn-operator! reader
warnings: none
word-count: 9.1k
notes:
- cross posted on ao3 under the same name, with smoother translation functionality using the hover-text option of HTML and CSS. I recommend you read it there for an easier experience!
- due to the limited HTML for text posts on tumblr, the translations will be in the footnotes
- some Spanish terms of endearment are gendered, and since I can’t apply a hover text for the alternative, I’ll just default to the feminine, but reader is still gender-neutral otherwise
- please enjoy! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
--- START ---
The Rhodes Island’s medical research department isn’t usually the first place normal people think about when choosing an appropriate place to hang around in.
Other than you, only a few other non-department members from Rhodes Island dare enter due to the wild and often hazardous experimentation that occurs there on a near-daily basis. There are deadly and unseen toxins which stain the deceivingly pristine-looking surfaces of the lab, as well as a few plates of inconspicuous food lying around — highly probable those are laced with an experimental venom — that are still irresponsibly unlabeled.
Your favorite morbid fact of the place was the constant, non-zero possibility of some poisonous gas floating around unchecked, ready to knock out any unfortunate guests or passersby; a fact that you were all too aware of due to an excess of personal experience.
Truly, such a place was only made lovely to you because of its eccentrically endearing residents. Regardless of the very unwise decision in becoming a regular at the ironically life-threatening medical labs, you aren’t so picky when it comes to where you stay — be it a raging battlefield or an insufferably quiet historical abbey — because as long as your dear companions are nearby, you’d happily accompany them wherever you may be.
At least, that’s what you tell the acquaintances and strangers who ask you why you continue to go there despite the clear hazards.
Unfortunately for you, your dearest and closest friends Weedy and Glaucus — and Blue Poison too, on her more confident days when she wills herself to approach first — can see right through you, and more often than not, you have to beg the former to not make it obvious to the brazen and loudmouthed Elysium why you frequent the toxicology section of the labs especially so; and especially despite your R.I. designations requiring you to be elsewhere at most times.
“Operator Thorns!” In front of the metal door to his personal lab, you announce his name dramatically, as one would an unfamiliar colleague although you two are anything but; giddy in your excitement to see him again after your latest long mission away from the landship. You even put your arms behind your back and straighten your posture for the extra theatrical flair once he slides open the door.
For as much as you cherished the rest of the members of the medical department, Thorns is different to you in some unexplainable way. You aren’t that much closer with him than you are with the others, but his companionship always gives you a sense of quiet comfort and the distinct lack of needing to perform socially. Around him, you can always be your authentic and bizarre self, and the same could be applied vice versa, where he’ll mindlessly listen to you prattle on and on about some new Arts-related theory of yours, before then offering you some weird concoction that you’ll probably consume in a heartbeat — with full trust and a lack of unnecessary questions such as ‘Am I going to die?’ or ‘Is this going to explode me?’
Thorns is… nice to be around, for a lack of better words.
So nice in fact that now, saying you ‘miss him’ is a severe understatement, and if Aak is anywhere nearby to have mentioned that to at this very moment, he would probably just outright stab you with his durian-flavored stimpack and crudely tell you to ‘steel your balls and stop lying to yourself, now go full speed into his face already—’
You try not to continue that thought right before talking to Thorns after a long while. If you keep that thought up when he finally opens his door, and when he looks at you with that constant fondness that disparities against his wry and sardonic greetings? Well, you might actually blurt out something stupid like how you think his golden eyes are pretty or that you daydream about holding his hand while you’re mid-dispatching a target during a mission?
No doubt about it, you’d rather give Ifrit full permission to blast away at you with no Shaw or fire protection in sight. The shame would kill you faster than the aforementioned pyromaniac’s flames could even try.
Shaking the thoughts out of your head, you call out to him once again, “Thooooorns!”
You bounce expectantly in place, now a little upset at the lack of his usual immediate answering to your presence — especially considering you’ve been gone for quite a while — and your previous excitement paves its way into anxiety, as you find yourself more and more worried as minutes pass by. Was he even inside? Did Glaucus feed you false information and get your hopes up?
“Thorns!” You shout, with concern strengthening its grip even further around your conscience. You press the call button next to the door, hoping the buzzing noise would pull him from what was actually just his absurd focus and that would be the end to your anxieties.
Well, in retrospect, Glaucus did offer to show you the daily log-in cards, and she isn’t the type of person to play pranks either.
Surely she would have known if Thorns had exploded himself in your absence, right?
Before you can catastrophize further in place, you notice that the door’s locking mechanism has not fully closed, meaning you can simply slide it to the side and enter. With that new knowledge, you decide to completely disregard proper laboratory safety rules, and any consideration for your own wellbeing, to briskly move aside the door and set foot into the room.
Immediately, the first thing you register is that it’s darker than usual inside, which either meant Thorns wasn’t actually in here, or that he was experimenting with a light sensitive compound and kept the lights off. Knowing him and his unbelievable work ethic, you assume the latter, and you also assume he might have accidentally knocked himself out with either the said compound or just straight up sleep deprivation.
You can at least hope for the second hypothesis as you stumble across his lab in the near darkness. Closure will probably execute you for missing out on the field robot debriefing that is supposed to happen right now, but she’ll throttle you once she finds out you skipped despite not even having met up with Thorns — who she owes tremendously right now for his equipping Lancet-2 with new anti-venoms that helped greatly on the field, and who she only allowed you to meet with in the first place because of said reason.
“Hey Thorns, are you alright?” You yell, hoping for an immediate response now that the metal, sound-muffling door was no longer in your way.
He doesn’t respond, so once again you ask into the darkness of the room, “Are you even there? Wh-” However, before you can finish your calling, you feel a sharp prick on the side of your leg, and immediately, your lower appendages go numb, leaving you helpless to tumble to the ground with a loud crash from the offending object following suit.
You cry out in pain as your forearms slam harshly onto the floor, “Ow! Ow- What the hell?” You’re glad that your arms are still in working condition, enough to have let you catch yourself when you fell just now. However, you notice the complete lack of feeling in your legs — sheer utter numbness that refuses to subside even as you try to move them around — and you become extremely disoriented; fear quickly builds up in your gut at your now helpless situation.
"¿Quién está ahí?"
Luckily for you, a familiar voice calls out in response to your ruckus, and the lights turn on, blinding you for a moment before your eyes adjust. You recognize the voice, and immediately, all your previous fear was abandoned immediately for your mind to return to the sheer excitement that you had prior to entering the lab.
Now extremely ecstatic, and somehow also forgetting your current situation, you yell back at the voice, “Hey!” You even try to run forward, but the signals of your brain can’t travel to the nerves in your legs, so you end up flopping miserably onto the floor once again, your chin nearly smacking against the tiles.
“Owww.”
Thorns turns the corner, with a look of surprise forming as soon as he sees you sprawled on the floor — sees your delighted yet pained smile towards his presence — and his eyes narrow slightly when he spots your legs unmoving below you in an awkward position. “¿Que paso-”
He then sees his toxin-coated sword on the floor next to you and immediately clocks what just took place as soon as he spots the patches of yellow substance present on your pant legs.
“¡Ay!” Thorns exclaims, immediately making his way towards you and kneeling down by your side to help you sit up. He mutters your name worriedly as he looks you over, trying to see if you had been affected elsewhere, if you’d been injured grave enough for him to make a mad dash to Warfarin for an immediate blood transfusion. He puts a hand on your shoulder to help prop you up, before then adjusting his arm to wrap around your back for support.
“Hi…” You say, sheepish and utterly humiliated as you have to lean back against Thorn’s forearm to stay upright, feeling absolutely no strength in the muscles below your hips.
Thorns adjusts your legs to a more comfortable, stretched out position, before questioning you, “What happened?” He smooths out the fabric of the pant leg, and wipes away the excess toxin with a new-looking clean cloth he pulled from his coat. You notice some of the substance wind up on his arm, but he doesn’t seem to be affected by it.
Figures. He’s immune to his own poison, because if he had — in the past — somehow ended up stabbing himself with his sword mid-battle while using Destreza, then he probably wouldn’t be here with you today, fussing over you and worrying about the long-term consequences this might have on your permanent leg health.
“I just went in here looking for you ‘cause you weren’t answering the door, and then I… bumped into your sword in the dark.” You try to explain.
Thorns stares at you with what you interpret to be stern eyes, and you can barely handle the shame, so you avert your gaze and try to balance yourself better on your own arms. However, your legs still don’t have any semblance of feeling in them, so you end up just falling back on his forearm, to which he reprimands you, “Oy, don’t try to stand yet.”
In a panic, you turn to look at him, apologizing profusely, “Sorry! I’m sorry. I didn’t… I was just worried, I was—”
Before you can sputter any more incomplete explanations, he interrupts you in your nervous rambling, “No, no.” Thorns utters hastily, his eyes softening in attempted reassurance while he rubs a small circle on your back with his thumb. “Es mi culpa, lo siento."
You get a little confused when you hear him apologizing to you, when it was your recklessness that led to you bumping into his sword. To urge him to continue speaking, you tilt your head to the side as he goes back to wiping the toxin from your pants with muttered curses under his breath at the stubbornness of the stains.
“I hope you can forgive me for my carelessness. I don’t have an antidote for this one just yet, so we’ll have to wait it out.” He says earnestly, wiping away the last remnants of the toxin from your pants with one arm while he supports you with the other. You stare back at him, trying to compute, wondering why he wasn’t displeased with you for irresponsibly endangering yourself with his weapon, although accidental.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone- No, regardless. This could have happened to me as well if I didn’t develop an immunity quickly, I should keep a tidier workspace.” Thorns expresses, accepting his fault in the matter before any excuses could come out.
You pause for a bit, registering his response before replying. “Well, maybe. I’m glad it didn’t happen to you then, but what were you doing in the dark, anyway?”
He puts the cleaning cloth down to the side and puts a hand on the back of his neck, and Thorns mumbles abashedly, “I— fell asleep. I left my sword here because I was waiting for the toxin to settle, and I haven't woken since… Well, I’m not so sure, but it was the first I’ve slept in a few days.”
It takes a while for you to process his words, as you get a bit distracted by what seems like a flush of color decorating the tips of his ears, but once you finally do, you realize your ongoing situation was an indirect result of him falling short on his promise to you to have better lab etiquette by keeping healthy work hours.
“Ehh! Have you been overworking yourself again? Can’t your experiments wait—” you trail off into reprimands and accusations, slightly irked that he had been disregarding his health and wellbeing in your absence when he swore he’d try to be better. You jab a finger into his chest as you admonish him, and Thorns finds himself a bit lucky to have his long bangs to hide behind at the moment.
After a few more statements from you of the importance of taking care of oneself, and your constant worrying for him, you notice that he seems to be deep in thought now, not really paying attention to your words anymore; looking exceptionally distressed as he stares at the puncture wounds on your pant legs and the yellowish stains that he can’t seem to wipe away with cloth alone.
“Thorns?” you ask, uneasy at the thought of unnecessarily troubling him.
He gazes back up at you, “I’m sorry… I’ve gotten you hurt because of my disregard for safety. What if I hadn’t been here?”
Thorns looks awfully guilty, like a subtler version of a sad wet cat begging for shelter in the rain, or a disgruntled sea urchin who just lost his favorite plastic cone hat to the tides. Yet, there’s an aspect to his evident distress at your injury — which he clearly feels at great fault for — that endears you, and you can’t help yourself in wanting to comfort him instead.
You let out a small, good-humored laugh, “Silly. You’re so silly.”
“Hm? ¿Por qué?” Thorns asks, confused at both your switch-up and statement, flustering a bit when you reach up a little behind yourself to ruffle his already unruly hair.
You turn your waist a bit more to look at Thorns directly and reassure him, “Hey, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” His expression betrays a little frown at your words, still irrationally worried about what his new toxin could possibly do to you, even if he’s already gone through several rounds of testing and should objectively know that the poison shouldn’t have any long-term or adverse effects.
Unfortunately for him, all objectivity seems to fly out the window when it comes to you.
“Nothing hurts, and if anything happens, you’ll be right here with me to help.” You attempt further to put his mind at rest, patting the top of his head softly. Thorns sighs in response, putting his hand on top of yours to lift it off his hair and hold it in place on your lap, and he concedes to you, “Perhaps.”
Delighted that he’s loosening up again, you emit a hum followed by a short giggle, “Now you know to clean up your lab better, and not put your sword where people could walk, right?”
A slight grin forms on the edges of his mouth at your words, “That’s right.”
You verbalize a subdued ‘yipee,’ and an intrusive thought enters your mind, travelling out quickly as words through your lips before you can think too much about them.
“Well, as compensation for now, you’re just going to have to carry me until my legs work again.”
His eyes widen at your request, and you immediately start regretting saying such a teasing statement that will definitely make you internally combust if he’ll actually follow through with your suggestion. Despite your own supposed dismay at his possible approval, Thorns is suave enough to save face and agree to your ostentatious proposition. “Sí, pues claro."
"If that is what you so desire, muñeca.” He replies, the once-subtle smile now fully forming at your behest. Your face burns up at the Iberian endearment, although you don't exactly know what it means to him contextually, outside of its base translation.
Thorns moves to a crouch, putting one arm under your legs and the other moving to the space on your back by your shoulder blades. The sensation of his arm between the underneath of your lower thighs and inner knees would have probably made you jolt, especially if your local nerves in that area weren’t currently asleep.
“¿Está esto bien? Good?” Thorns asks, and you give him a bashful nod as a reply. He hums in acknowledgement, running his hand down and across the small of your back, before returning to the previous position a little below your shoulders; deciding that would be much more stable. You try not to think too much about it.
“Make sure to hold onto me, then.” He takes a brief pause, before smirking, “Just in case, of course?”
In comparison to the other Rhodes Island melee combatants, Thorns may not outwardly look as strong, lacking the intimidating and bulky build of other operators such as Matterhorn or Hung. However, his five plus years of combat experience speak for themselves, and he wouldn’t be a master of Destreza if he had no strength to show for it.
With a low humph, he stands and easily lifts you up with him into a bridal carry, holding you close to his chest to ensure your slack legs don’t end up colliding with any of his lab equipment. You wrap your arms around his neck to help the both of you with balance.
Thorns stares at you with a silent query of whether he can start moving or not, and you chirp a quick “Mhm!”
While you can’t deny just how much more attractive he became in your eyes because of your current predicament — bridal carry and all — you hope he starts moving as soon as possible so he can put you down somewhere even quicker, because you’re sure you might actually erupt into flames with how hot your face is getting; you don’t think you can handle any more of this new proximity and touchiness without just straight-up declaring your inappropriate feelings.
As he walks, carrying you to the office area of his lab with barely any effort, you feel your face flush even more as you continue perceiving the intimacy of the situation. To hide the tinting of your cheeks, you shy away, turning your face to his chest and hoping he wouldn’t be able to see the red from his angle.
Also, you relish the feeling of being against him, but you’d rather straight up die right now than admit that to him outright.
Thorns, meanwhile, glances down at you trying to burrow into his chest and feels a weird spike of his heart rate that he has to try and calm lest you hear the speed of it from where you’re pressed against. He looks up and around the interior office of his personal lab, and his lips purse slightly in thought. He considers a more rational option on what to do with you for a brief moment, but then his own intrusive thoughts win and again, his objectivity flies out the landship.
He briskly walks over to his chair and sits down with you still in his arms.
Startled by the movement, you glance around, confused, as you assumed he would have put you down first elsewhere. “Uh, you only have— one chair?” You then realize it may be because of the distinct lack of available chairs, or even open surfaces that lack any space unoccupied by flasks and beakers.
“It’s to prevent Elysium from hanging around too long while I work.” Thorns replies nonchalantly, adjusting you to sit upright on his lap and then looking at you in the eyes as he normally would when waiting for you to start up a new conversation — as if he hadn’t just put the both of you in one of the most amorous positions two friends can be in.
“Oh, okay…” You mutter distractedly, clearly not knowing what to say to that, nor to this scenario you find yourself in.
Your discomfort seems to catch onto him, and he tries to adjust you further to give you more space away from his chest but still using one arm to support your waist so you don’t fall off of him. Thorns questions you, “Is this fine? ¿Cómodo?”
“Yeah. This is… It’s fine. Um, what about you?” you ask, wondering what he planned to do while having to take care of you — while he had you on his lap.
“I’m fine.” He states, brushing stray strands of hair away from his face with his free arm. “If you want, I can massage the pressure points in your legs to allow the toxin to circulate out of your system faster. Would that be alright?”
Wow. How straightforward of him, and totally to business. What on Terra were you thinking was gonna happen? Of course he wants to treat you first and foremost, especially considering his current occupation and interests. You briefly consider facepalming at your own racing thoughts, only if it wouldn’t alert him, that is.
Who the hell massages their friend’s legs while said friend is sitting on their lap, while still somehow remaining apathetic to the suggestiveness of the situation?
I guess that’s Thorns for you.
Peering to the side in thought, you decide that this might as well be happening, just so you can start walking again. Preferably towards your room, so you can start screeching into your pillows after this whole ordeal happens.
“Yes, that’s fine.” you say, like a liar — like you’re not going to be freaking out about this with Weedy later today, and like she won’t just spread that information to the rest of Rhodes Island and completely doom you and Thorns both to the interminable rumours.
Thorns starts by massaging the area around your injuries, working in silence except for the occasional hums, asking for permission to continue without saying the words. You agree every time, mostly because you can’t actually feel any pain — you can’t feel anything in your legs after all — but seeing him go through the motions while remaining cautious and respectful of your boundaries, flusters you unimaginably so.
You try to scan the room around to distract yourself, to find some weird colored mixture to inwardly wax poetic about as a diversion to your frenzied thoughts, but to look away from Thorns right now would be a crime to you both.
Hence, you resolve to distract yourself instead by fiddling with the tufts of his dark brown hair. He has most of it tied back as usual, but because of its tendency to frizz and dry up, many strands end up askew and move all over the place. It’s a good compromise for you to still pay attention to him without just sitting there awkwardly, and it isn’t as if you hadn’t previously fussed with his hair before this day.
On that note, a small smile graces your face when you notice the loose and messy braid adorning the right side of his hair. The one you tied for him before you left on your mission, when you noticed he kept having to brush his unruly hair out of his face during a random lab session where he humoured Elysium, who had asked Thorns to analyze the possible regenerative properties of a fallen strand from his beloved red patch of hair.
You air a pleasant croon at the sight, and Thorns halts marginally at the sound before returning to his ministrations, pretending as if he didn’t hear nor enjoy your delighted noise.
After all these weeks, he tried his best to keep it braided like how you did it.
That’s… sweet of him to do. You expected him to unbraid it as soon as you left, but it seems he’s taken a liking to it even now. He never struck you before as the sentimental type, but then again, he has always been someone to defy expectations and initial impressions.
You take the bunch of hair between your fingers, running them down gently along the braid and trying your best not to undo it. The smile on your face grows with you being unaware of your expression, and you don’t see the tender look that appears on Thorns’ face as he observes you interacting delicately with his braided hair; nor do you notice him completely stopping his work on your legs.
The tuft between your fingertips feels coarse and dry, and you swear you should gift him some oils or conditioners to help him manage this unruly beast on his head. You think about giving him your own favorites, but swiftly disregard that thought due to the romantic implications a gift like that would relay, and you don't want to risk anything at the moment.
Not when this is the closest you’ve ever been with him, even if he may not see it the way you do. Even if you’re just deluding yourself into this little corner of temporary heaven.
When you pull your hand away from the braid, you notice a dark gray powder — probably ash, you think — discoloring the pads of your fingers.
“Mm, hey! What happened to the inflammable hair net I got you?” You ask, remembering you had given him that self-made invention in order to prevent the many singes and near-full chars of his hair due to his wild experiments that often ended up exploding in his face.
Thorns pauses to think for a brief moment, before clearing his throat to sheepishly reply, “Perdóname, cariño. I… did not anticipate the magnitude of the splash… of a particularly acidic mixture.”
You look at him with a shocked and horrified face, before your expression morphs into a sad pout, “Aww, and I spent so much time Thorns-proofing it with Shaw!”
He utters a noise of confusion, “Thorns-proofing? ¿Qué?” You raise an eyebrow at him questioningly, putting your hands on your hips to emphasize the sass of your reaction. Surely he was jesting? His sheer audacity otherwise would astound you.
“Why use such a demeaning term?” Thorns asks, followed by an amused huff of air.
“Not demeaning!” You exclaim. “Just, predictive. We both know how you are. Remember how the Doctor always reacts whenever they see you walk around all unkempt and messy, with the evidence of some explosion on you?”
He laughs, soft and light, “Mm. I see. Point proven.”
You let out a haughty noise of victory and flash him a big, smug grin, with your nose scrunched and your eyebrows furrowed.
It’s moments like these with you that he cherishes. The back and forth bantering, the witty remarks, the sarcasm and the quips. Thorns could be as dry with you as he wanted to be, and you’d never take it personally. No matter how eccentric he’d be, you’d still stick by him through all his fixations and failed experimentations; even his disorderliness and often tousled hair wouldn’t turn you away from him.
He doesn’t know how long he stares at you after that. He just knows he likes the image of the sheer delight that reaches your eyes, the stifled giggling that you try to quell from laughing at your own silly theatrics, and the warmth of your body pressed up against him.
Thorns barely even notices the first few times you call his attention after a while.
“-ou listening? Everything okay?” You ask, the presence of a smile still faint on your lips, but a hint of concern showing in your eyes.
He takes a deep breath, “Sí, everything’s alright. I just-” Thorns takes a moment, thinking carefully about his next words, thinking about whether or not this is even an appropriate time to bring up a conversation like that.
“There has been something that I’ve been wanting to discuss with you for a while.” He decides to try.
You tilt your head to the side, acknowledging the request with a bit of surprise — with a small prick of worry — and you ask, “Okay, what is it?” You’re seemingly completely unaware of his intentions, and he can feel his resolve waver the longer he makes eye contact with you.
Is it really worth it to lose someone like you over his silly feelings that he couldn’t even make clear prior? What can he say — what can he do — to ensure the successful result that he so desires to have with you? He’s no Elysium when it comes to heartfelt, passionate speeches, and he’s nowhere near his friend’s level when it comes to flirtatious advances either. What little experience he has with romance is purely theoretical, researched from data banks during late nights in his lab when his thoughts wandered to you.
Most of all, how could he subject you to such a vulnerable and possibly uncomfortable heart-to-heart, when you can’t even remove yourself from his presence without assistance from him?
“Actually, olvídalo. I would prefer to have this conversation when you can walk away from it at any moment. But—” He gestures to your legs, still unfeeling — completely opposite to him currently.
“Hmm? Wait, why? Just say it!” You exclaim, confused as to why the conversation had to be stalled for when you could walk again. Thorns looks away from you, somewhere off to the side where he can focus on something that wasn’t you; something mundane and inconsequential that could help him gather his thoughts better.
“No, no importa. I can’t— I’d rather not say it right now.” He mumbles.
Your exasperation at his obstinate behavior grows, but whatever it is, he wants to say, it’s clearly important to him, so you do your best to encourage him to just spit it out already. “Isidro.” You assert his name, causing the hairs on the back of Thorn’s neck to stand.
“You can say whatever it is you have to say. I’ll see it through to the end. I promise.”
Thorns glances back at you, seeing the anticipation on your face as you eagerly await his words. He sighs, conceding to you, “Ay, pues… If that is what you desire, then I’ll oblige. Tell me at any moment if you wish for me to put a stop to it.”
Before you can say anything, he shifts his posture on the seat, adjusting your position as well in order to have you face him better. He gathers up every ounce of courage and sense that he can scrounge around for and utters your name like a prayer, with the reverence of a heretic begging for another chance from the divine.
“I’ve known you for quite a while now, and you’ve always been a very dear friend to me… However, I’ve been finding it more and more difficult to be without you, and I fear I do not see you in the same way I see our other companions.” Thorns states, trying to get the words out — quick and clear — before his anxiety causes him to freeze and before the realization can fully set in for you.
“I surmised that failure is definitely on the table as an outcome, and that I might lose your companionship as a result of these untoward feelings, and yet—”
He hesitates, finding it immensely difficult to meet your eyes. But, he knows he has to look, knows he has to see you figure it out for yourself. Thorns needs to relay to you as much sincerity as he can muster to assure you of his resolve, to ensure the best possible conclusions to the most terrifying experiment of his life.
“And yet, I can’t seem to help myself. Perhaps if you know, then I would not feel so strange at every waking moment that I am by your side.” He pauses, steeling himself once more. “When you are not even here, I still feel your presence in every aspect of my life, and I cannot rid my mind of the thoughts of you.”
His uncertain expression changes to a tender smile, with an adoration that reaches his golden eyes, gazing upon you as if you are the dearest thing in the world. It’s entirely possible that, to him, you are that and more.
“At any miscellaneous moment, I could just be transferring some liquids from a graduated cylinder to one of my flasks, then… I would imagine you there at the opposite end of the table, looking intently at the chemicals merging forms and properties, and anticipating a reaction with that blinding excitement on your face.”
Thorns brushes a strand of hair out of his eyes, ensuring — hoping — that he’ll see you look at him with that expression once again. Sheer, infectious positivity at the infinite probabilities you both can discover together. Wishing that you’ll grant him the blessing of the light you so endlessly shine.
“I think of you at every possible moment, and every time my pulse races so quickly, so unnaturally. Not even the adrenaline of using Destreza in battle — of those uncertain moments on the field where even the Doctor struggles to lead us to victory — or the total exhilaration of a sudden and successful breakthrough-” He stops for a second, taking a breath at the sheer sight of you, flustered yet in awe, having fully realized long before his next words what he already means to say.
“None of them could make me experience even a fraction of what I feel when it comes to you.” He says, causing a breath to hitch in your throat at his absolute earnesty.
Without thinking, Thorns reaches up to cup your face with his hand but stops himself before he can do so. “You inspire me to a terrifying degree, and you only fuel my motivations to learn, and grow, and excel. These past months, that’s what I’ve been tirelessly trying to understand.”
You make his heart skip a beat when, after a slow blink, you subtly lean into his palm, silently encouraging him to continue his passionate spiel and looking up at him with a small, growing grin, and ever-gentle eyes.
He continues to speak before the erratic beating of the pulse in his head can distract him. “Whatever this feeling is, I thought there must have been a scientific explanation for it. Perhaps I could have recreated the symptoms somehow, with some medicine or concoction, with the right mix of hormones or synthesized chemicals — with my alchemy.”
Thorns breathes in deeply, and you feel his hands shake as a shiver runs through him. “Something — mierda, anything — to explain how you affect me so vulnerably, to the incalculable degree that you do. I could never find the answer. I can’t even now, with you here, listening to me pour my heart out.”
You put your hand on his own as he continues to cup your face, faintly brushing his thumb across your cheek as if he couldn’t believe you were holding each other at that moment. His heart is terra figulina in your hands; yours to shape to your desires as you so pleased, and he can only yearn for your continued touch.
Thorns continues, “It is so daunting a task, to understand you, to understand what you mean to me. Sometimes I feel as if I’d be able to alchemize the secret to life itself before I could even come close to even fathoming the depths of my affection for you.” He lets out a light huff of air at his own expense.
“You are to me, the living gold that alchemists search for, the Philosopher’s Stone that creates the very beauty of life itself. My Fatima, mi tesoro.” Thorns feels his teeth chatter with the weight of the words that finally reveal to you his long hidden intentions; feels himself struggling to keep his composure at the sheer fervor in your eyes.
“And I often find myself questioning whether your presence in my life is a gift from the gods of Iberia that I have long since abandoned, because no science of mine can ever hold a candle to the divine you.”
His grand words strike the chords in your heart, feeling the beating pound loudly in your ears, as your face struggles to contort appropriately to the myriad of emotions his confession is invoking within you. Thorns uses such beautiful language to declare his affections, and you can barely process every striking line in your own disbelief at the profundity of his devotion.
“I would give you my heart, all that I am, if I could.” He begs. “If you’d let me.”
Thorns raises his other hand and places it under your chin, gently tracing against your neck and jaw with his fingers, holding and cherishing you as if it might be the last you’ll see of each other from this moment forward. Once again, he speaks, “In the simplest of words that I can express, in the language of that distant place I wish I could have called my home,
Me he enamorado de ti. Por favor, déjame amarte como te mereces."
And now, with his words exhausted and every aspect and part of his heart laid out bare for you to analyze, all Thorns can do is pray in quiet thoughts; a non-believer begging the gods for this one miracle, for this one last chance at heaven, when all rationale and logic can do nothing more to carry him forth so he must try to rely on faith.
You stare at him, seeing the desperation in his eyes, mixing with the boundless adoration and reverence he clearly holds for you, the one you always doubted to have ever had a chance of existing.
Thorns is right now, just as he usually is.
Straightforward.
Honest.
Intensely passionate.
He looks at your quivering lip, and you shake from the shame of not knowing how to respond to such a profound declaration of love. How can you hold a candle to a performance like that? What can you tell the man in front of you that would be on the same magnitude and level as his own wholehearted confession?
What would someone like Elysium say? ‘Bro, I like you too.’ You think, and immediately purge the thought of using him as an influence for serious romantic conversations.
You let out a nervous laugh, “I— Forgive me, I don’t have the words right now…”
It feels extremely awful, all the stumbling phrases mustering from your lips, stark in contrast to the extraordinary poetry that Thorns had waxed for you with all his heartfelt words and diction.
But this is Thorns, and you’ve never had to perform anything for him when you didn’t want to, and he wouldn’t do a thing to change that now. “That’s alright, I did say quite a lot. Know that I am not rushing you for a response, mi querida. It’s alright if you don’t reciprocate-”
He removes his hands from your face and you see shame and disappointment paint his features, but before he can continue his words, you immediately cut him off to make sure he doesn’t back out now.
“No! It’s not that, I do — I like — love.. You too, yeah?” You mumble, words suddenly so foreign in your mouth, but you grab his previously retreating hands and hold them in your own.
Thorns’ breath hitches, and he can’t help the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. You try to save face and convince him, moving one of your hands from his, so you can caress his face and trace his now-flushing cheeks; doing your best to relay in actions what you can’t in words.
“Maybe there is something I can do instead, as a better answer for now. That is, if you’d let me?” You ask, feeling tense and on edge once you realize what you want to ask from him, looking up at him bashfully through slow fluttering eyelashes.
He murmurs a low, “Hmm?” Leaning subconsciously into you, his anticipation and curiosity start building, with Thorns doing everything in his power to keep his restlessness at bay; to not just combust right then and there at your attempts at reciprocation and his embarrassingly desperate hypotheses at the next course of actions to possibly be taken by you.
Exhaling deeply, you gather your own courage and confidence, hoping to do your best to pay homage to his devotion by showing him how much he means to you as well. “May I?” You finally ask, gesturing to his alarmingly soft-looking lips with your eyes, tracing the edges of them languidly with your thumb.
You feel Thorns freeze under your touch, breath once again caught in his throat as he registers what you are asking of him. You prod a little more to assure him, leaning forward into his face, close enough for your noses to nearly bump against each other. You feel your face burn more and more at the proximity, but you can’t deny the sheer rage you’ll feel if either of you backs out now.
“Please, Isidro?” You beseech him, feeling his labored breathing against your lips, still hesitant, still unsure if he can close that distance which he narrowed so greatly with his words. Are you certain?
Though, Thorns can barely help himself anymore, not at this point, not when you’re looking at him with those expectant, anticipatory eyes. With your fingers tracing the lines of his lips, intent and impatient, yet still trying your best to wait for his response in this back-and-forth of yours.
Finally, you see the bump of his throat bob up as he breathes in deep once more. He gives you a slow nod of approval, tilting his head sideways to lean into you, shutting his eyes in preparation. Unwilling to wait any longer, you follow Thorns’ actions, pulling him in with your hand on his jaw and gently closing the gap between the two of you.
Your lips are soft against his, and Thorns feels all warm and tingly, heart thumping loudly, as the experience of your timid actions register in his senses. You squeeze the side of his jaw lightly as you try to deepen the kiss, and the innocuous action drives him up the wall, so much so that he cups your face in both of his hands to join in your efforts of intensifying the ardor.
The two of you test the waters for a while, pushing and moving against each other, no words or coordinated communication exchanged between the two of you outside of muffled vocalizations — grunts, hums, and the like.
Thorns kisses you as if he is actively learning from every small little detail of your movements and the noises you make, and to some extent, he’s a very fast and adaptable learner. Once he finds a better position to kiss you, or a more appropriate hand movement to augment the sensations you feel, then he’ll go for it immediately until his next shiny discovery; new things to apply for next time, when you make a new cute sound because of the right amount of his push and pull, or the added thrill when he runs his teeth on your bottom lip and you grip his shirt a little harder than necessary.
Completely breathless at this point and flushed red, you pull away slightly, just enough to breathe but with your upper lips still hovering on Thorn’s own; refusing to part from him for too long. He opens his golden eyes and you can feel the molten heat of his gaze, impatiently waiting for you to catch your breath so you can return to the kiss again.
When you finally press back gently against his lips, he feels you faltering, insecure in your movements and reluctant in trying to find new places to put your hands without making things awkward or painful for either of you.
Restless, and completely agitated that you haven’t gotten back to properly kissing yet, Thorns hoists you by your waist, shifting you upward on his lap so he can feel you pressed up against him more, practically having you straddle him for more proximity. You let out a surprised yelp against his mouth, to which Thorns just contently grunts in response. He guides your arms around his neck, and finally satisfied, presses his lips back to yours firmly with his eyes shut once again.
Now, instead of testing and learning, Thorns kisses you in a way you can only describe to be similar to his behavior in battle, precise and calculated, no miniscule movement wasted; every shift successful in driving you more and more restless and needy.
Holding the side of your face with one hand, and gripping your waist with another, you don’t know how long you two had kissed for this time, but by the end of it, Thorns is the one that has to pull away, out of breath and panting heavily from his own efforts.
You loosen your hold around his neck, choosing to take the moment to breathe as well, leaning against his forehead to appreciate him and this new dishevelled look of his. Lips parted, breathing heavily, face flushed a deep red, eyes unfocused for all aspects of sight except you.
“You’re so lovely like this.” You mumble against his lips, and you wonder if that’s all you’re getting for today. An intense, passionate kiss spelling the first of your new relationship with Thorns.
His eyes soften at your words, and during any other occasion, he would probably have some witty remark for you as a response. But right now? He’s still drunk on the experience of you. Thorns craves more, wanting to be closer, wanting this moment to never end. With all foresight and rational thought completely gone from him at the present, he hungers still.
“Again. Again— please, corazón.” Thorns begs, his eyes fervently gazing at your own. He leans into your forehead as well, your noses brushing against each other. You can feel his labored breathing on your lips as he waits — as he prays — to kiss you again.
“Okay.” You concede, because how could you deny him when he looks and sounds like that — when you’ve both waited for what seemed like centuries to finally share a moment like this with each other — when he beseeches you so ardently, as if you are his last lifeline, as if you were his aqua vitae.
With one hand still hooked around his neck, you take the other and run it across his face — with a brief caress up his cheek — and up into the strands of his unmanageable dark brown hair. He looks at you with growing interest for a fleeting second.
But what he doesn’t expect is for you to tug him downwards into you, by his hair, nonetheless. Thorns lets out a surprised but delighted grunt, before closing his eyes once more as you deepen the kiss. You feel him smile into your lips at some point, and while this experience is definitely less intense than the last one, it still makes you feel all tingly and warm; the butterflies fluttering around helplessly in your stomach as you continue kissing him.
Eventually, you both pull away, breathless once again, but without the remains of the hunger that overtook you both. You stare at each other for a little while longer in silence, both of you processing the intensely passionate events that just happened.
Breaking the silence, you can’t help but let out a few giggles, giddy and in absolute delight that — yes — that just happened, and you’re totally gonna keep doing that with Thorns in the future. You try your best to stifle your laughter, but you’re much too joyful and probably high off of the lack of oxygen right now to stop.
He lets out a soft and light chuckle alongside you, not devolving to incessant little snorts and guffaws like you, but laughing gleefully nonetheless — satisfying, like the sound of small, tinkling bells or the subdued pitter-patter of a gentle rain.
You chuff into the palm of your hand, unable to stop yourself from smiling as Thorns is just unabashedly admiring you, brushing strands of hair from your face and rubbing light circles on your lower cheek. You decide to gently bonk him with your forehead, your noses colliding with the action; to which he tenderly rubs his nose against yours, tickling you faintly and making you laugh further.
He huffs fondly, “Dios ayúdame-"
"Eres hermosa.” Thorns whispers, crinkles forming in the corners of his eyes as he can’t help his smile widening. You can barely formulate a proper response at all your giggly-ness, so all you can choose to do is blush and try to hide your face into his neck; to no avail, as his hand keeps your head in place for him to continue adoring you for as long as he so pleases.
He gives you soft pecks all over your face, starting from the tip of your nose and all around your cheeks, meanwhile trailing off affectionate mumbles of “Te amo, te amo…” in between kisses.
Eventually, the two of you calm down as you settle your head upon his shoulder, looking up at him with a loving twinkle in your eyes. He gazes back at you, content and ecstatic at how things turned out so well between you two. Thorns nuzzles the top of your head, and your interest turns back to the now-extremely loose braid in his now-extremely tousled hair.
“I’ll braid that again if it comes loose.” You mumble into his neck, beaming at the thought of it staying tied despite the intense kissing session you went through earlier.
He grins back at you, “I hope you do, preciosa. Perhaps you can re-do it right now?”
“Mmm, okay!”
You sit up again, straightening your posture on Thorns’ lap so you can get a better position to braid the front part of his hair properly. You untangle the tufts, removing the sea-urchin patterned hair tie that was previously used, wearing it around your wrists as you comb through his locks to smooth them out before re-braiding.
Humming a random tune and pretending you don’t see Thorns and his sickeningly sweet smile at your antics, you deem the strands of hair smooth enough to braid. However, right as you get to your second plait of his, “Hey! Don’t move, you’re gonna mess up my work.”
You scold him for moving his head downwards, nuzzling into your neck and shoulder, which was insanely cute — mind you — but which also ruined the neat first plait of the new braid.
“Pero estoy cómodo~” Thorns teases, to which you reply with a sigh, yielding instead to his unexpected cuddly nature. As soon as you finish, you tuck the braid behind his ear, admiring him for a moment, before giving him a quick peck on the cheek to sate your cuteness aggression. He simply chuckles in response.
Now having finished the braid, an air of awkwardness settles over you as you realize you have to talk about what to do next and how to proceed as — whatever you two are at this point.
“Well, what do we do now? Are we— Should we go on a date, or something?” You question, completely unaware of what to do next, of what to do when starting a new relationship with a guy like Thorns.
He replies to your query with a casual response and an immediate plan, as expected of him. “We could. I can take you dancing if you’d like. Ah— somewhere in Iberia, there’s a small town by the ocean that I used to find pleasant. I’m sure I could scam a chess bet out of Elysium and have him book us a villa by the beach. We can try their arroz à valenciana, or if you prefer something sweeter, perhaps the ensaïmada?” He rolls out suggestions so you don’t have to feel lost on what to do.
You put your hand on your chin in a thinking motion, leaning a little away from him to straighten your back. Thorns has to steady you by the waist because you nearly flop over from the lack of feeling that still afflicts your legs; when you let out an embarrassed giggle, he has to resist the urge to not just bite you right then and there.
“That sounds exciting! And I didn’t even know you could dance, could you teach me? What dances do you know, and— Gosh, my heart is beating so fast, this must be what Ceobe feels when it comes to food. Wait, aren’t your Iberian dances hard to learn? Uhhh, I’ve seen videos of the Flamenco-” You prattle on, giddy with delight at all the possibilities, especially one where you’d get to dance with Thorns, but your excitability left no room for him to reply with the speed of your words.
“¿Como?” He cuts you off, breaking his silence and looking at you with a mix of confusion and endearment. “¿Puedes repetirlo más despacio, por favor?”
You acknowledge his request, and start with the first and most important thing that you asked prior. “Could you teach me a dance? Something from your home?”
Thorns looks at you, feeling all tenderhearted and sentimental, and what else could he answer you with if not an agreement? How could he resist such an offer from his cariño?
“Of course.” He says.
You beam brightly at him, yet before you can go on another spiel or ramble on, a thought comes to your mind. ”But, now that I think about it— ” Thorns’ face falls a little at your apparent hesitation. “Aren’t you a bit mean to suggest dancing, when I literally can’t walk right now?”
Thorns lets out a loud, boisterous laugh. “Once again.” He rubs a circle on your knee as he emits another chuff of amusement, “Perdón, amor.”
He pulls you into a hug and nuzzles into your neck, whispering apologies mixed with flirtatious Iberian sentiments.
“What can I do right now to make you forgive me?” Thorns asks, looking back up at you with a faux expression of guilt terribly masking his amusement and mischief.
“Mmm, I can think of a few things~” You reply, tilting his face towards yours with a few fingers holding his jaw up, tracing lightly just a little below his lips.
A roguish smirk forms on his Thorns’ face at your oh-so-appealing suggestions.
--- END ---
translations (in order of apperance):
- ¿Quién está ahí? = Who's there?
- ¿Que paso- = What happened-
- Es mi culpa, lo siento. = It's my fault, I'm sorry.
- ¿Por qué? = Why?
- Sí, pues claro. = Yes, well of course.
- muñeca/muñeco = doll
- ¿Está esto bien? = Is this alright?
- ¿Cómodo? = Comfortable?
- Perdóname, cariño. = Forgive me, sweetheart.
- ¿Qué? = What?
- Sí. = Yes.
- olvídalo = forget it
- no importa = it doesn't matter
- pues = well
- mierda = shit
- mi tesoro = my treasure
- Me he enamorado de ti. = I've fallen in love with you.
- Por favor, déjame amarte como te mereces. = Please, let me love you the way you deserve.
- mi querida/querido = my dear
- corazón = love
- Dios ayúdame- = Lord help me-
- Eres hermosa/hermoso. = You're beautiful.
- Te amo, te amo... = I love you, I love you...
- preciosa/precioso = precious
- Pero estoy cómodo~ = But I'm comfy~
- ¿Como? = What?
- ¿Puedes repetirlo más despacio, por favor? = Could you repeat that slower, please?
- cariño = darling
- Perdón, amor. = Sorry, love.
credit:
- Please visit Pixiv Artist Froth for the wonderful Thorns art that I used for the banner! Go check their page, THEY HAVE SO MUCH MORE ART FOR HIM AAAA-
end notes:
- haysusmariosep... ang dami nun sa translations lololol
- Nakaka-Juan Karlos Labajo, ERE, Chorus, Line 1. Ay Thorns, literally no one could make me hate you. Except maybe when you don't kill the freezing drones on time. But then again, that's largely my skill issue and not yours. Anw, Elysium can also get it and we can all hold hands together I guess?
behind the scenes:
Ewan ko na LMAO, this is an impromptu holiday gift for my frend who convinced me to not skip pulling for Lodestar, and so I got him at the first 10 pulls with no pity. The conversation near-verbatim was:
Me: But he's not limited and I need to save…
Frend: BUT HE'S HOT! YAN LANG KAILANGAN MO NA RASON, ANG POGI NIYA AND GWAPO BOSES, NOTHING ELSE MATTERS GURL, MALEKNIGHTS WOOOO!!
Me: A. Oke, but only one 10 pull.
Meanwhile, Lodestar: appearing at the 6th pull
Also, my beta-reader, who shares the lovely experience of having been born and raised Catholic, experienced with me the tremendous amounts of Catholic guilt associated with the kiss scene. She's older, so she told me, while covering my eyes:
Bate: You shouldn't be reading this.
Me: BUT I WROTE IT?
---
Hope you enjoyed! Comments and constructive criticism would be much appreciated, especially if you're a fluent Spanish speaker and have some corrections for me. Have a good rest of your day, whoever you may be! :DDD
And if you recognize certain references I made to other media, please do share in the replies! >:D
baratheonpilled
germansingergirl
discoholicmusic
janainaart
annaxmalina
stormborns
andulkaphoto
yousharknotpass
