Warnings: food mention, the rest is pure unadulterated fluff y’all
Notes: Remember that Logince student exchange fic I wrote some months ago? Here is a little missing moment from Logan’s year abroad -you can read it as a stand-alone, but I suggest reading the OG fic anyway for some more fluff and various gay shenanigans.
Hit me up if you want to be added to the taglist and let me know if you liked this, reblogs, comments and asks are always very welcome and much appreciated! And if you consider buying this broke college student a coffee, you’ll have my eternal gratitude and a thank-you ficlet of your choice, so there’s that.
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Day 1 & 2 (you’re here) || Day 3
Roman slides down the kitchen’s floor, grabbing the wooden spoon to gently stir the boiling sauce. He grins as he lets the different aromas filling the kitchen wash over him, turning slightly down the heat under the pot as he hums along whatever song is currently playing from his phone.
“It smells amazing in here,” comes a voice from behind him, an all-too-familiar pair of arms wrapping around his waist.
Roman’s grin widens, happiness blooming in his chest as he puts down the spoon in his hands to turn around and properly greet his boyfriend.
“Hello, luce dei miei occhi,” he says, pecking the others on the lips.
“Salutations,” Logan chuckles, a tired smile on his face as he sags into Roman’s arms, “what are you cooking?”
“I’m making lasagna for dinner,” Roman answers, “how did your classes go today?”
“Rather well,” Logn answers, fighting back a yawn, “it has just been a long day. I’m glad to be home.”
Home.
Roman’s heart flutters in his chest, love and warmth filling his insides until all he can feel are the butterflies in his stomach and Logan’s voice resonating in his head -it’s not the first time his boyfriend refers to their shared apartment as “home”, but it still makes Roman’s heart like it could burst in his chest at any given moment.
“Bentornato a casa, amore mio,” Roman murmurs on the other’s lips, leaning down to kiss him.
“Sap,” Logan says when they separate, hiding his flaming face in the crook of Roman’s neck.
“Your sap,” Roman hums, holding him close and swaying gently from side to side.
“I love you,” Logan whispers, his voice reaching Roman’s ears like a gentle breeze on a summer afternoon.
“I love you too,” Roman answers, voice thick with emotions as his hold on Logan tightens imperceptibly.
Beside them, the sauce keeps bubbling, and soon it’ll demand their attention -but for now, everything falls away, the entire world disappearing until there’s nothing but them, holding onto each other and wishing the never had to let go.
(Later, when the lasagna is made and they’re sitting down for dinner, they’ll chat the evening away, talking about nothing and everything with their hands interlocked over the table.
“That reminds me-” Logan will say between bites of delicious lasagna- “did you find a solution for next year? I know you, and I quote, don’t want to share your home with anyone but me, but unfortunately, I will still be back in America and you will still require a roommate.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Roman will wave his concerns away, a mischevious glint dancing in his eyes, “I have a few ideas.”)
+++
Translations:
“Luce dei miei occhi.” => “Light of my eyes”
“Bentornato a casa, amore mio.” => “Welcome home, my love”
Хочу поучаствовать в writober/писябрь, с подачи @peachxvalley . В прошлом году тоже натыкалась на него, но была загружена и отложила в «ящик стола», так и не вернулась в итоге.
Поискала, нашла несколько вариантов и теперь проблема выбрать один:
(возможно возьму совмещенную с инктобером или вторую, и не ожидайте от меня шедевров, я ж не писатель😉👌)
Garrus realizes just what a certain word means and how it relates to him in particular after a rough night at Afterlife. Clearly, gay men are hardcore.
(Warning, a brief moment where you think there could be homophobia, but it goes away)
---
Garrus had often seen Omega when he was working. Never did he think he'd actually be inside the place as somebody gave its top boss the news someone was trying to take her out. Life was funny that way.
“I found on one of the mercs going after Archangel. Somebody doesn't like you.”
Shepard slid the datapad over with a careful prod, then returned to his normal sitting position. On most people, Garrus would have read that as trying to hide a hard on. However, the man didn't have the look in his eyes as he watched Aria T'Loak herself read it over. Then he got to watch her throw it at somebody. Her temper was indeed legendary – he almost felt bad for that poor batarian who was lucky to keep all four of his eyes.
Then she was back to looking at her guest. Most people would have killed – and had – to try to get that kind of attention. It wasn't sexual, just business, but still. Shepard had Aria freaking T'Loak all to himself for a second of her precious time.
Some might call him a lucky bastard.
“You've done a lot for me, Shepard. Let me return the favor.”
Well, shit – they weren't getting their commander back. Garrus shot the other part of the party, a large human named Bo Peep Shepard because the universe was fucking weird, the look that it was time to go. After all, it was about to get to get messy.
She didn't return it. Instead, Bo looked amused as the other Spectre in the room shook his head and stood. “You don't have to, just keeping Omega from exploding is enough.”
Aria let out a bored sound as she uncrossed her legs. “I meant supplies, Shepard. It's not that easy to get into my bed.”
“I know. You don't need to, we're fine.” Shepard's eyes were towards the door. “I should go, but thanks again.”
Garrus fell in behind him as they left the VIP area and returned to the heart of the club. Afterlife was famous on Omega, and it was easy to see why. Dancers kept the crowd entertained, and heavy music pumped through the speakers. It was a place that was hard to think, and harder to say no to. He had heard the stories while on planet.
And Shepard had just said no to Aria herself. They must have replaced his blood with ice water.
“I think she was coming on to you, Al.” Bo ribbed her commanding officer in the side. “Probably going to go cry in her pillow now that you turned her down.”
Shepard smiled briefly, but it was an awkward one. He was an awkward one. “I think she'll be just fine. I'm not exactly her type.”
Or was it the place wasn't his? Garrus kept an eye on Shepard as they maneuvered through the night club. Plenty of good looking woman with a thing for a man in uniform were giving him the eye, but he never paused to return it. Instead, he kept his eyes on the door.
Maybe he was embarrassed. After all... Shepard was awkward. Garrus knew that better than anyone thanks to their late night talks on the old Normandy. Even death couldn't beat that out of him. All that raw sexuality might just have been too much for the little guy, especially if a little bit of it was directed at him.
Oh well, there was always next time.
---
Garrus still felt like he needed a shower after the one he'd have as he stepped back into his jumpsuit in his little space in the battery. Even on a Cerberus created ship, this spot felt like his own. Free from prying eyes, he could just... calibrate.
And calibrating was good for frayed nerves.
He knew he was lucky to be alive, especially after everything that had happened on Omega. If Shepard hadn't been there... his talons tapped against the implants and scars that kept the right side of his face together. Definitely would've been dead.
Saved from the brink of death by a dead guy – that had to be a new one.
His thought process was distracted from a knocking by the door. Nobody... knocked on the battery door. Who did that kind of thing? It made him curious enough to step back as the door whooshed open, revealing the source of the odd noise.
“Hey.”
Shepard was out of armor too, now only wearing a ridiculously bright orange hooded sweatshirt and a pair of pants. He brushed some of his long hair behind one ear as the door closed behind him, closing them off together in the small space.
Apparently, Alliance commanding officers knock on the doors of their own ships?
Garrus shot him a blank look. “Unless that changed, it's your ship.”
“Yeah, but that doesn't mean I'm going to be an ass about it. Besides, you might have been naked in here and I don't think you'd want to show your carapaced ass to Cerberus.”
No. No he wouldn't have. Maybe he wouldn't complain about that after all.
Shepard took the room's only seat, sighing in relief as he sunk in. “Omega is gross. Took me two showers to feel human again.”
“I'm still working on feeling turian myself.” Garrus leaned against the main gun's housing, careful not to hit anything. “Any reason why you came down, Shepard? Did you want to check on my implants or something?”
After all, Shepard was a medic. If anyone knew if something was up, it be him. Had something been off during the fight? A thousand thoughts ran through the turian's mind as he tried to puzzle it out. Then that slowly turned into an anxiety – what had he missed that had worried the human so much?
Shit... was he going to be able to stick with him?
Shepard rubbed the back of his neck before he spoke. “Oh, no, I think they're ok, though I can check if you want.”
Relief washed over Garrus in waves. “Oh... then why come? Need tips on how to deal with woman after what happened with Aria? I don't know if I can help a human much.”
Ok, maybe the anxiety had led him to say that – but could anyone blame him? He'd thought something was permanently wrong with his implants. As the humans put it, though – the cat was out of the bag. Now he had to deal with whatever they had that facilitated keeping them in a sack to begin with. Maybe they spat acid?
Shepard, much to his surprise, started to chuckle. “Don't worry, I'm fine with that. Aria's not my type.”
He was smiling, but there was nothing friendly about the look he gave Garrus in that moment. Well, it was friendly... but a different type. If the turian didn't know better, he would've sworn that the human was … interested.
…
Garrus thought back to another night, one on the original Normandy. Shepard had joked once that there was nothing straight about him when prompted, though the joke had fallen flat. Straight, he knew, meant a certain thing to humans. And being around enough mercs told him the definition: only interested in a different sex.
So... he wasn't interested in women. Just...
Oh.
“You like men, don't you.”
Alistair's face went from pale to pink in about two seconds. “What?”
“You said there was nothing straight about you when we met. Aria's not your type because she looks like a woman to you-” Garrus was practically ticking it off his talons. “You only like men, then?”
It would... explain some looks, to say the least. Once in a while, back on the old Normandy, he had caught Shepard looking at Kaidan. It wasn't like the one he had seen moments before – never full, something almost sad about it. It was in his voice whenever he talked about the turian who had been on the Normandy before.
Or when he caught the man looking at him.
Shepard was still blushing as he looked away. “Yeah... I'm gay. Is that going to be a problem, Garrus?”
There was a note in his voice – almost a challenge. He might not have been looking, but he was ready to fight. Something about that Garrus could respect, even if he didn't quite understand it. Clearly, gay men were hardcore like that.
Was it?
…
Well, no. He couldn't exactly lie and say he didn't like the attention Shepard shot at him when they were alone. Something about it even... excited him in a way. But it was a hard road to cross between them, and not just because of species.
Still... he could still remember the man holding his damn face together, telling him he was going to be ok. Those hands had been so warm and comforting then. If there was a chance he could get to hold them again, well, that wouldn't be a bad thing.
“Garrus?”
Back to reality. The turian shook his head as he looked back at the Normandy's commanding officer. “Oh, no. No problems here. I suppose if there were I might be out the airlock right now?”
Shepard snorted as his shoulders relaxed. “I mean the thought has crossed my mind with some people, but no. You're good.”
He stood, and suddenly there wasn't much personal space between them. Garrus felt his heart race as the Spectre leaned in close, inspecting the right side of his face. He was so small that his head barely brushed against the turian's reconstructed jaw. Those blue eyes were focused on him again, studying him.
“Looks like your implants are doing just fine too. Don't get blown up again and they'll settle in just fine.”
Garrus barely heard it through the pounding of his heart. “Not exactly on my to-do list, no.”
“Good, it was hard enough putting you back together the first time.” Shepard patted him on the shoulder as he backed up. “Just wanted to check in on you is all. If you need me, you know where I am.”
The turian didn't answer as he watched the Normandy's commander make his way to the door. Their eyes met briefly when he turned back, and in them held the same charge. But then he was gone, off to wherever Spectres went when they weren't being confusing and making people's hearts beat faster.
Garrus was left in the battery, to linger on the thought of those eyes and what the little touches might mean. Gone were thoughts of calibrating. Instead, they focused hard on a redhead with bright blue eyes who death had taken once and returned back into his life with a literal bang.
Forget calibrating – he'd be lucky to remember how to breathe. Apparently, Shepard wasn't the only one with a preference for men – though that was definitely news to the turian.
Well, great. At least he was smart enough not to get it tattooed like SOME people on the Normandy.
Salve a tutti, purtroppo con questa sono arrivata davveeero in ritardo!! Ma non temete, anche oggi troverò del tempo per scrivere quella del settimo giorno!
Comunque, questa fic è uscita un po’ così, voglio dire, la prima cosa che ho pensato con “Bromance” era Lukadrien.
Trama: Una cena, un triangolo amoroso, e un terzo incomodo.
Come fosse finita in quella situazione… se qualcuno glielo avesse chiesto, Marinette avrebbe semplicemente risposto sottolineando la sua sfortuna cronica che, in quel campo, si faceva sentire in modo particolarmente evidente.
Nel bel mezzo delle vacanze estive, la classe aveva deciso di organizzare un incontro, o meglio, una cena invitando una cerchia ristretta tra compagni di scuola e amici.
Juleka dunque ne aveva approfittato per invitare Luka, sapendo che molti, Marinette compresa, andavano molto d’accordo con il fratello.
La notte prestabilita era giunta, e Marinette, come al suo solito - malgrado fosse stata causa di un’akuma -, era arrivata in ritardo.
I suoi compagni avevano occupato tutti un posto, lasciandole la possibilità di scegliere se sedersi direttamente accanto a Luka, o se tenere una sedia di distacco con lui e occupare l’altra.
Ma non aveva nulla contro di lui e, anzi, era consapevole della cotta che lui aveva preso per lei, quindi si limitò ad approcciare il tavolo, a salutare con un ampio gesto della mano tutti i presenti, e a intraprendere una discussione con il ragazzo riguardo una canzone che questo stava scrivendo in memoria delle molteplici occasioni in cui loro due si erano incontrati.
A quell’ammissione tanto balda, Marinette sorrise, spostando il suo sguardo altrove non appena riconobbe il familiare calore al volto; nel fare ciò, però, i suoi occhi si posarono sull’ingresso principale dell’edificio ove, sulla soglia della porta, riconobbe subito la massa di capelli biondi che ormai conosceva quasi pelo per pelo.
Lo vide avvicinarsi e la realtà attorno a lei sembrò rallentare, lasciandole il tempo di interrogarsi su quale fosse la probabilità che Adrien avesse un qualche appuntamento lì, a quella stessa ora.
Quando, invece, lo vide approcciare l’unica sedia rimasta libera, ovvero quella accanto a lei, Marinette poté udire il suo cuore battere contro la gabbia toracica con più violenza e si ritrovò a pochi passi dallo svenire, sorretta solo dallo schienale della sedia e dall’idea di non fare figuracce davanti ai due ragazzi – e alla sua intera classe.
- Ciao Mari, ciao Luka - disse questi, regalando ad entrambi un sorriso sincero mentre prendeva posto, non notando il sorriso lascivo trattenuto appena dalla ragazza al suono del suo nomignolo.
Mari!?
Il suo voltò continuò a deformarsi finché non perse completamente il controllo della sua espressione facciale, ritrovandosi a fissare il biondo con più determinatezza di quanto intendesse.
- Ehi Marinette - la richiamò all’improvviso la voce di Luka, costringendola a voltarsi - È un abito stupendo! -
Lei sorrise imbarazzata, arrotolando con fare nervoso una ciocca ribelle attorno al dito – L-L’ho fatto io -
- Davvero? - disse sorpreso Adrien, puntando – innocentemente – lo sguardo sul suo corpo avvolto dalla seta color rosso e fissandolo per un tempo sufficiente abbastanza per farla quasi svenire - Ma è fantastico! Sei bravissima. -
Non contento, aggiunse - Dovresti farlo vedere a mio padre -
A quello, Marinette sussultò sul corpo, sorpresa sia che la sua cotta si stesse direttamente complimentando con lei, sia che fosse talmente colpito dal suo progetto, da proporgli di chiedere il parere di uno stilista tanto esperto quanto Gabriel Agreste!
- C-Che dici? Voglio dire, sei grandioso! Cioè! Sarebbe grandioso, se potessi chiedere a tuo padre -
- Qual è il problema? Magari un giorno lo sostituirai. - aggiunse entusiasta per il possibile successo della sua compagna.
Marinette chinò completamente il capo, fissando le mani strette in grembo attorno alla seta rossa, finché una mano sulla spalla richiamò la sua attenzione, portandola ad incrociare lo sguardo con quello sicuro e profondo di Luka - Puoi riuscirci senza problemi. Mi hai sempre incoraggiato, quindi ora fa lo stesso con te. -
- Anche tu hai un grande talento con la chitarra - disse Adrien, ricordando le circostanze in cui si erano incontrati, prima che arrivasse un’allerta akuma, si intende.
- Dovresti partecipare a qualche talent show -
Luka lo guardò, sorridendo - Non ci ho mai pensato. -
- E dovresti! Non è da tutti suonare la chitarra in quel modo. -
- Prenderò in considerazione il tuo suggerimento, allora. -
Adrien annuì, voltandosi verso la tavola ove una cameriera aveva appena posato alcuni piatti di antipasti - Luka, qual è il tuo cibo preferito? -
- Pesce. -
- Pesce? Perché vivi in una nave? - sorrise lui, sussultando quando comprese di aver usato lo stesso tono ironico di quando era nei panni di Chat Noir.
- Volevo dire… Non volevo offenderti… -
Luka sorrise sinceramente, scuotendo il capo - Nessuna offesa presa. Anzi, è bello avere un lato spiritoso. -
- E invece tu? -
- Mmh? -
- Hai un cibo preferito? -
Adrien ridacchiò, portando indietro il capo - Dolci. Amo dolci di qualunque tipo: biscotti, brioche, croissont… -
- Allora la prossima volta ti farò assaggiare i pasticcini di mia mamma. -
- Non vedo l’ora! -
Dopo quelle parole, entrambi, sorriso stampato sul volto, rivolsero la propria attenzione sul tavolo, ora pieno di stuzzichini e antipasti, augurando a tutti una buona cena.
Marinette, rimasta interdetta ad ascoltare il loro continuo scambio di battute, poteva solo chiedersi come era stato possibile che, in meno di due minuti, la sua posizione fosse cambiata dal doversi dividere in due per parlare ad entrambi, al diventare il terzo incomodo.
[Before we start: I wrote it in Russian and suddenly decided to translate. Being honest it's my first real attempt, I had some translations _from_ English before and it was totally fine. Now I'm absolutely not sure about my text.
So I will be very glad if any native English speaker would take a look and tell me something in comments (or at least, would tell me something like "pls burn it down, your English is way too awful"))).]
* * *
The ducklings swam around following their mother, who quacked at them now and then - having enough imagination, one could decide her voice was firm.
"It's time," she called softly, as promised - not immediately, giving time to get an eyeful of a sunny summer day in a spacious park.
"Yes, sure... but can you give me a few more minutes?" he asked with concern, keeping his eye on ducklings.
Death came closer, looking there with interest, and reached into the pocket of her tight black jeans.
"Didn't you have enough time?"
"I did. But they didn't."
On cue, ducklings suddenly began to almost run on water, frantically flapping their small wings, but no one flew up. Mother duck, quacking angrily, swam in a circle and even ignored a piece of bread thrown in her direction.
"What for?" Death threw a handful of crumbs into the water and leaned on the railing, watching ducklings.
"They're learning to fly. Watch carefully... this is about to happen."
The ducklings rushed through the water again, running circles after their mother.
"I haven't watched ducks for centuries," Death said, smiling carelessly and widely. "Let's wait until they take off, right?"
"Sure."
He thought that now it seems like he would be waiting for her and hurry her up a bit later. Weird, he always imagined Death as some kind of damn important, respectable and gloomy person, more likely a male, and she wasn't like that at all. She was cheerful, pretty and very, very lively.
On the next lap, one duckling finally got off the water, flapping its wings, and his brothers and sisters immediately followed suit with the approving quack of mother duck.
Death laughed clapping her hands enthusiastically. She was genuinely delighted with the sight, as if she'd seen something like that for the first time - although she'd seen thousands of thousands of worlds, their birth and doom, she'd seen the most amazing creatures and most unbelievable stories...
And yet she was totally childishly happy for the ducklings who had finally learned to fly.
And this was, perhaps, the infinite wisdom of her Endless life.
"I'm ready," he said quietly, giving Death the opportunity to fully enjoy the sight. Nobody seemed to notice her, even though there were a lot of people in the park, and she laughed loudly and contagiously. Only two people sitting on the other side of the pond, not talking, stared at their direction - from that distance, it was difficult to see them, they were just white figure and black one, but he had a feeling like he could sense this unblinking glance at himself.
"Let's go then," Death offered her hand, smiling. "And thanks for ducklings. I wouldn't have noticed!"
He smiled gratefully, taking her hand, glanced at the park for the last time and closed his eyes, dissolving into an infinitely gentle cold touch. The last thing he felt in his life.
Death ruffled her shaggy hair and thought it would be necessary to tell about ducklings to her always gloomy brother. To annoy him a little, because it's definitely impossible to amuse him, so at least she'd have fun herself.
She leaned over the railing and smiled cheerfully.
"Hey shorties! Well-done!"
Mother duck quacked gratefully and followed Death with her eyes thoughtfully.
#writober day 3 😌 I swear I finished it before 12 am 😅😌
#writober2019 #wordtober2019 #inktober2019
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