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Idia "Can't Live Without You!!" Shroud is living his best life laid flat atop your chest weighted blanket style—

⟢ His hands brush the curve of your spine, curling round your waist like a snake as he winds tighter; growing closer than you consciously thought possible.

⟢ You stay like that for hours most days, balanced precisely between exhaustion and lucidity under the blue light of a million screens and flaming hair which tickles at sensitive skin of your nose with every shift of breath.

⟢ He loves you he loves you he loves you—

⟢ It steals the breath from his lungs, coaxing him to go limp against you. If you breathe, you'll be farther away. Just stop. And he does; but being so close provides you with certain insights into the constitution of your boy tumor, like how stupid it is to STOP BREATHING.

"Babe?"

".."

"Idia?!"

⟢ You are his air after a long time underwater.. Or something.

⟢ It'd be humiliating to exist as he does, so lost and need of you, one-sidedly. But for once in his life, lady luck has punched his ticket; he finds himself on a two-way street in that regard— you're just as bad! And sooooo willing to give him mouth to mouth!! (Cmon baby pleaseeeee. He's like so totally dying up here)

(Don't worry this happens. Every day. And every time you indulge his obsession, he gets that much worse

you love it. So you must love him, right?)

--⟢

Malleus "Till Death Do Us Part" Draconia is exactly how he sounds— dedicated, a little Victorian, and your clingiest boyfriend thus far (Read as EVER. He's your last he's your last he's your last—).

⟢ Never mind how he samples your blood now and again, taking little vials to the basement for "safekeeping", hiring more and more fae mages for the castle that you don't see past probation. Your sweet Mal insists it is no concern of yours; please, come back to bed. He'd hate to make you.

⟢ As a ruler of briar valley there is no need for public appearance or spending long hours poured over royal decrees, you have proxies for that!— you are solely to keep your love ablaze; coddling Malleus when he cries, allowing for his anger to be channeled justly, and above all keeping yourself safe.

⟢ There is no telling what state would befall the kingdom if you were shot down, or worse, tried to leave by your lonesome!!

⟢ It's a dangerous world for someone so squishy.. Fear not! His dark arts specialists (.. Respectable criminals. Leave it alone) work round the clock to ensure you never have to worry for the state of your body again. He is to accompany you through every trial of the profane ritual simply because

⟢ He loves you. There is no Malleus without his man, regardless of how profane they must become.. (≖⩊≖)

Insert pic of that zombie boyfriend web comic from like 2019

Always seeking out his warmth.

He would give you his last dying flame if given the opportunity.

Your face pinches up, and you reach up to wipe your eyes. You must be waking up. Lately, you’ve made it a contest to wake up before Aki. So far it’s 0-8. Guess who’s winning?

Your eyes crack open, the morning light seeping through the windows waking you up more. When you glance to the side you see Aki beside you, eyes closed and motionless.

“You’re full of shit.” You mutter, exhaustion seeping from your voice.

Aki hums, keeping his eyes closed.

“I could feel you staring at me,” you fake complain. “Creep.”

He opens one eye to look down at you, and you know he’s won again by the way his eye looks fully alert. “It’s a crime to look at you now?”

You pretend as though you’re thinking before placing your cold feet on his warm legs. Aki doesn’t wince. He never winces.

“Maybe,” The quiet morning surrounds the two of you.

You want to hear his voice some more. Rarely do you hear the tones of tiredness when he speaks, used to the way he sounds when he’s already been awake for hours.

“How long have you been awake?” You question.

Aki glances at the clock in the room, not sure if he should tell you the real answer.

“About 30 minutes.” Close enough.

“You were watching me for 30 minutes?!”

“Hey, you’re getting better at waking up earlier.” His voice is slightly hoarse, husky without use. “Soon you’re going to be the one making breakfast for us.”

He wouldn’t dream of making you do that. Aki’s purpose is being of use, especially to you.

“I’ll put a bunch of salt in yours to teach you to stop staring.” You tease, and Aki scoffs.

He wraps a long arm around your waist, tugging you in towards his body until there’s no space left. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your cheek rests on his bare chest, the sound of his heart beating guiding your own.

Aki’s an early riser, but he’d much rather stay in bed with you.

itoshi rin

the way you look at his thighs is borderline criminal. like, you’re not even subtle about it anymore. 

rin will be minding his business, scrolling on his phone, and your gaze is glued to the way his sweatpants cling to his quads. 

“eyes up.” he says without even looking up. 

“can’t. too hypnotizing.” 

rin sighs, but deep down? he likes the power trip. those thighs have you feral. when he’s stretching, you literally have to look away before you embarrass yourself. 

you made the mistake of sitting on his lap once, just once, and you felt how solid his thighs were. you stared at him like you saw god. 

now you always “accidentally” find excuses to sit there again. 

he’ll act annoyed, “stop using me as a chair,” but his hand always rests on your hip anyway. 

you once told him, “if thighs could kill, you’d be on the most wanted list.” he deadpanned. “good.” 

man doesn’t get flustered, but you mentioning how unfair it is that his legs jiggle more than yours had him hiding his face behind his phone for five minutes straight. 

itoshi sae

you have a thigh problem, and he has a you noticing his thigh problem. 

every time he sits, he spreads his legs like a menace. you swear he’s doing it on purpose because he knows you’re staring. 

“like what you see?” he murmurs, sipping his drink casually. 

and you just stare harder because HOW are his thighs that solid. HOW. 

the one time you dared to say, “your thighs are thicker than mine, that’s unfair,” sae just smirked and went, “want to compare?” 

he 100% flexes them when you’re sitting near him, like some smug cat showing off. 

pecs-wise, he doesn’t even need to say anything – his shirts do all the talking. he wears loose ones, but they still cling in the right spots. 

once, he caught you mid-stare and leaned close to whisper, “you’re making it obvious.” 

and of course, you respond, “you’re making it hard not to.” 

his smirk was criminal. you could hear the pride radiating off him for the rest of the day. 

nagi seishiro

this man is a walking marshmallow and yet… somehow has the most sculpted pecs when he lifts his shirt to scratch his stomach. 

you’ve literally gasped out loud before. like audibly. he looked confused. 

“huh? what’s wrong?” 

“why do you have better boobs than me.” 

“… boobs?” 

now he lifts his shirt just to tease you, lazy smile and all. 

“these? they’re natural, you know.” 

you nearly throw your phone at him. 

he doesn’t even work out that much, but his thighs??? pillows. literal premium-grade thigh pillows. 

every time you lay on his lap he acts sleepy, but you catch that tiny satisfied smile. 

once, you poked his thigh and said, “soft, but strong. like mochi with muscles.” 

nagi now refers to them as his “mochi muscles.” 

“you like my mochi thighs, huh?” he says half-asleep and you’re like, “shut up, seishiro, i’m trying to die peacefully here.” 

mikage reo

you’ve never known pain like seeing reo in gym clothes. the pecs, the thighs, the arms – you don’t know where to look. 

man walks around like a walking temptation in compression shorts and smiles innocently when you choke on air. 

“what? this? it’s comfortable.” no it’s not, reo. you’re a menace. 

he knows you’re obsessed, and he loves to play into it. 

you complimented his pecs once and now he flexes them whenever you look bored. 

“entertainment,” he grins. 

thighs? dangerous territory. reo sits with his legs open and you swear your soul leaves your body every time. 

“my eyes are up here,” he teases, and you’re like, “your thighs are down there and that’s where i’m staying.” 

you even joked once, “why do you have more tits than me, rich boy?” 

he just laughed, “wanna share?” 

now he actually lets you squish his pecs and thighs whenever you’re bored. he’ll just grin and go, “better than stress balls, right?” 

you hate how correct he is. 

bachira meguru

bachira catches you staring all the time. and the worst part? he loves it. 

“what’re you looking at~?” he teases, leaning in closer until you can see every line of his chest through that annoyingly tight shirt. 

and you’re like, “why do your pecs look like that. that’s not normal. that’s witchcraft.” 

he giggles and flexes them once. once. and your entire life flashes before your eyes. 

“you like ‘em? wanna touch?” 

you smacked him out of pure self-defense. 

thighs? oh he’s a show-off. sits cross-legged just to make his shorts ride up. 

“oops. didn’t mean to,” he says while fully meaning to. 

sometimes he’ll rest his head on your lap and whine, “you never appreciate me,” and you’ll mumble “yes i do, you’re literally built like an anime himbo,” and he’ll grin so wide. 

he’s definitely caught you mid-thigh-stare and just winked like, “don’t worry, they’re all yours.” 

you’re one more wink away from committing crimes. 

shidou ryusei

shidou doesn’t even let you hide your obsession. he will catch you staring once and bring it up every single day for the rest of eternity. 

“caught you lookin’ again, baby. can’t blame you tho, these pecs are legendary.” 

he’ll flex in the mirror like he’s on a photoshoot and go, “you should thank the gym gods for creating this.” 

“you literally have more chest than me, you menace.” 

“guess you can borrow some.” 

his thighs? absolutely criminal. he’ll throw one leg over the couch like he’s auditioning for a romance novel cover and then smirk when your brain short circuits. 

“oh? eyes down again? you like my legs that much, huh?” 

yes, shidou. unfortunately yes

he starts wearing tighter pants because of your reactions. pure chaos energy. 

once you muttered “he’s built like a sin,” and he leaned over and said, “then come commit one.” 

you threw a pillow at him, but missed because his pecs distracted you mid-throw. 

karasu tabito

karasu is the worst kind of tease because he knows exactly how good he looks and he uses it to ruin your peace. 

you’ll be scrolling through your phone, and he’ll walk by shirtless like it’s no big deal. 

it’s a big deal. 

you look up and choke on nothing. 

“ya good?” he says, smirking. “eyes are glued, sweetheart.” 

you once said “your chest looks better than half the influencer girls i follow” and he laughed so hard. 

“so what yer saying is… i’m prettier?” 

thighs? oh you’re finished. those compression shorts when he trains? criminal activity. 

“why are they so thick,” you complain. 

“genetics. wanna test their strength?” he grins, spreading his knees slightly wider on purpose. 

“tabi, please.” 

“that’s what they all say.” 

you now refuse to sit across from him when he’s in shorts because you’ll just… stare. 

and he knows. every time, he bites back a smile and says, “stop undressing me with yer eyes. at least buy me dinner first.” 

kaiser michael

god help you. man’s built like arrogance and marble. 

the pecs. you don’t even have to see them, just the outline under his jersey has you spiraling. 

one day you joked, “why do you have tiddies, mihya,” and he just smirked. 

“because i was chosen.” 

now every time you look even slightly in his direction, he flexes on purpose. full chest pop. full eye contact. 

“they bounce,” you mumble once. 

“they do,” he says, with zero shame. 

thighs? please. his thighs could crush a watermelon and your will to live. you said that once out loud and he laughed. 

“so poetic. want me to prove it?” 

you threatened to leave and he just went, “don’t lie. you’d stay.” 

he knows he’s distracting and fully weaponizes it. sits with his legs open, smirks every time you look flustered. 

“what’s wrong, liebling? jealous of my assets?” 

“assets” he says while looking like a greek god. it’s unfair. 

you tell him, “you’re built like the reason gym memberships exist,” and he bows like you complimented his crown. 

ness alexis

the sweetest menace of all. he doesn’t even realize how bad your obsession has gotten until one day he catches you zoning out mid-sentence, eyes locked on his thighs. 

“uh… are you okay?” 

“no. because why are your thighs so perfect.” 

blushes immediately. bright red. looks like a strawberry. 

he’s so embarrassed he covers his legs with a pillow. 

but after that, he starts noticing your reactions and… maybe gets a little bold. 

“you like them?” he asks shyly one day, rolling up his sweatpants just a little. and when you nod way too quickly, he almost combusts. 

pecs-wise, he’s more toned than bulky, but you still go, “nessie, your chest is unfairly cute. it’s like sculpted softness.” 

he laughs so nervously that you feel bad and tell him you’re serious. then he hides his face and whispers, “you’re too much…” 

but later? he’ll wear fitted shirts around you. and when you stare again, he smiles to himself, cheeks pink. 

“you’re staring again.” 

“and you’re letting me. so who’s really winning here?” 

he giggles, hiding behind his hands. he’s doomed. you’ve turned this boy into mush. 

kunigami rensuke

the human embodiment of a protein shake. man’s chest should come with a warning label. 

you’ve seen him shirtless once and it completely altered your brain chemistry. you just stood there, eyes wide, soul gone. 

“ren. why do you have–” gestures vaguely at his pecs “–those?” 

he blinks. “muscles?” 

“no. tits. those are tits.” 

he almost dies choking on air. his face goes scarlet. 

he tries to brush it off, but now you can’t stop staring. like every time he crosses his arms, they press together. 

you once tripped during training because he was jogging shirtless and you were too busy following the jiggle physics. 

thighs? you’ve literally described them as “built to ruin jeans.” you’ve also accidentally said “those thighs are thicker than my will to live” and he looked both horrified and flattered. 

when you rest your head on his chest, you fall asleep in seconds. he’s warm, solid, and it feels like lying on the safest pillow known to man. 

you whispered once, “they’re huge,” thinking he couldn’t hear you – he did. 

he turned so red you thought he’d overheat. “stop saying stuff like that…” 

but if you compliment him again, his pecs will bounce a little. unintentionally. he’s cursed by his own power. 

barou shoei

barou acts like he doesn’t care that you’re obsessed, but you know he’s aware. 

because he’ll purposely walk around shirtless for no reason. he’s like, “it’s hot.” 

it’s winter, barou. stop lying. 

his pecs are sculpted like they were handcrafted by the gods of intimidation. one flex and you swear the room shakes. 

once, you said, “you have bigger boobs than me,” and he glared at you like you committed treason. 

“don’t call them that.” 

“then stop having them.” 

he grumbles every time you mention it, but when you stop? he notices. he’ll literally be like, “you’re quiet today,” while pretending he’s not fishing for attention. 

thighs?? no one should be built like that. they look like they were made to crush kingdoms. 

you sit near him during leg day just to admire the chaos, and he side-eyes you the whole time. “stop staring.” 

“then stop existing like that.” 

he’ll huff, wipe sweat off his face, and mutter, “tch, whatever,” but his ears are pink. 

you once muttered, “sho’s thighs could end civilizations,” and he overheard. 

now he struts around with an even wider stance. he’ll never admit it, but your praise went straight to his ego. 

tsurugi zantetsu

zantetsu is… an experience. man looks calm, composed, mysterious – until he opens his mouth. 

and you’re like “oh. oh, there it goes.” 

but listen. his body? insane. he’s ripped, pecs that could double as dinner plates, thighs that could crush steel. 

you’ve been caught staring a few times, and he just tilts his head, thinking deeply. 

“are my pecs… pleasing to the eye?” 

“yes, zantetsu. they’re beautiful.” 

nods solemnly “ah. like two mountains… filled with milk?” 

“… what.” 

“that’s not the phrase?” 

you almost pass out from laughter. he’s so calm about it, though. like he genuinely believes he’s being poetic. 

another time, you tell him his thighs look great and he replies, “yes. the fruit doesn’t fall far from the… gym.” 

he’s trying his best, okay. 

you call his pecs “the eighth wonder of the world,” and he blushes, scratching his neck. 

“that’s too much praise. they’re just… chest globes.” chest globes. 

he sits cross-legged and his thighs literally bulge through his pants, and you can’t look away. he notices and gives you this small, knowing smile. 

“your gaze… is heavy.” 

“your thighs are heavier.” 

“mm. poetic.” 

he nods, completely serious, like you’ve just shared profound wisdom. 

you can’t tell if he’s a himbo or a philosopher at this point, but either way, you’re gone for him. 

aiku oliver

you weren’t ready. like at all. one day he shows up post-practice, shirt clinging to his chest, sweat glistening – pecs out like a lifestyle choice. 

your brain just blue-screened. 

“you okay there, sweetheart?” he asks, smirking, voice all low and knowing. 

no. no you are not. 

those pecs look sculpted by a higher being. you blink once and realize you’re staring, but it’s too late – he noticed. 

“don’t look at me like that unless you mean it,” he says, leaning on the wall with that lazy grin. 

you’re like, “oliver, why do you have more boob than i do,” and he just chuckles. 

“genetics. and hard work. wanna feel?” SIR. 

you’ve never walked away faster in your life, but he lives for it. starts wearing even tighter shirts just to mess with you. 

thighs? god help you. those thighs are national monuments. 

he sits manspreading like it’s his divine right, patting his leg like, “c’mon, take a seat.” 

“your thighs look like they could break bones.” 

“that’s the goal, sweetheart.” 

he 100% uses his pecs as a flirting tool. will literally bounce them just to make you blush and then smirk like the devil himself. 

“you keep staring, and i’ll start charging an entrance fee.” 

he caught you mumbling “he’s built like temptation,” once and never let it go. 

“temptation looks good on me, doesn’t it?” 

oliver aiku is aware, shameless, and fully weaponized – his thighs and pecs are tools of destruction, and you are his favorite casualty.

your eyes soften in time with the plucking of your heart strings and you take a step closer to him, giving him an honest, reassuring smile that smooths the crease in his brow. “i’ll only be a sec,” you promise, pulling your wrist from his grasp slowly, giving his long, gloved covered, fingers a gentle squeeze before letting go completely. “if you can, maybe try to get out of your boots and coat. get more comfortable but just take it slow, okay? and if you can’t then wait for me - i’ll be right back.”

the sound of the bed creaking as he sits up follows your quick footsteps out of the room and into the kitchen. at the touch of cold water from the faucet onto your hands you let your mind actually begin to try to process the fact that in this state not only had hojo let him leave the fucking lab, a fact that has you ringing the cloth in your hands a little too tightly, but that sephiroth made his way here instead of to his own apartment to sleep it off like you know he has before. 

was it always this bad? you wonder. he’d told you some things about his regular mako treatments before but nothing too detailed and he hardly ever let you see him after words. stubborn in the way he locks himself away at times. what had made today so different?

you try to hush your hopeful heart before your ever growing feelings for him run away from you. your feelings, and the way you had convinced yourself he couldn’t possibly reciprocate, didn’t matter right now. friends or.. something more, you only want to help him. remind him he’s safe and cared for and do whatever you can to help the mako sickness subside.

sephiroth is tugging off his boots, coatless - shirtless - when you make your way back into the bedroom, trying to leave your questions, your feelings, at the threshold to your bedroom but goddess help you, he wasn’t making it easy.

his muscles are taught with every movement he makes, marred, milky skin under long silver locks that aren’t enough to cover the broad expanse of him. after his boots are off, you hand him the glass of cold water and he lets his fingers slide over yours for a long moment before he takes it from you, reaching out to touch your elbow with his other hand, and drinks the whole glass in a few gulps. 

it’s as though he needs to touch you more than anything else because from that moment he doesn’t break contact with you again. even as you take the glass from him, softly instruct him to lay back down and he does so, his fingers are a whisper of a touch on your arm and when you settle on your knees in the bed next to him, he rests his hand on your waist, as if to ensure you aren’t going to leave again.

carefully, the pads of your fingers brush loose strands of silver hair from his face, smoothing over the soft skin of his forehead and to the shell of his ear, the butterflies in your chest knocking against your ribcage when sephiroths dark lashes flutter closed and he leans into your palm, his hand at your waist twitching to bring your closer. 

“seph..” your voice is but a whisper, all you can manage when feeling how unbelievably warm he is against your palm, how the cold lingering on your skin evaporates in seconds. it makes the emotions within you mix and mingle together and pool in your eyes in the form of burning tears. all of your worry over him and the comfort you find in the fact he has trusted you enough to see him like this. the anger at hojo - shinra - for doing this to him again and again. a protectiveness over a man who had more power than you thought humanly possible.

reaching for the wet cloth, sephiroths touch on your waist moves slowly, weakly, in a soothing motion. comforting you when you meant to be comforting him. despite your attempt to force your watery eyes to dry and look anywhere but at his gaze that you know is on you, your eyes meet as you gently tab at his face with the towel, letting it soak up the sweat and heat from his forehead to his neck. 

“it’s okay,” he promises you with a tired tug of his lips that are looking more pink than they were only a few minutes ago and a swipe of his thumb along your waist. “i’ve had worse.”

he says it so casually, almost with amusement and you swear if he wasn’t sick you’d smack him in the chest with one of your pillows. instead you settle for a half hearted smile and a shake of your head that helps disperse some of the tension keeping hold over you. “that doesn’t really make me feel better, you know.” 

as you finish on the other side of his face, right under his sharp jaw, sephiroth's free hand lays over yours, easily stopping your movements and he calls your name softly, as though he didn’t already have your full attention. “may i hold you?” he asks, breaking his gaze away from you and giving you the perfect chance to see the healthy bit of color dusting the tips of his ears. pink and striking against the backdrop of your pillows and his halo of hair that looks like silky starlight.

his eyes return to yours, your tender expression reflecting back at you through the sparkling mako that still dominates the color of them. “shouldn’t i be the one asking you that?” you reply, your words quiet and mirroring your visage.

“is that a yes?” 

“as long as it won’t make you feel worse or more overheated.”

“it couldn’t possibly.”

before you can put the now warm cloth on your nightstand, sephiroth is pulling you on top of him. steadying you with the hand at your hip, his other helps guide your leg over him. he’s more gentle than he needs to be, holding back from crushing you completely into him but not daring to underestimate his strength right after a treatment. he places you directly on top of him with your legs laced comfortably through his, your ear directly over his heart that beats more steadily underneath you, his hands placed at the back of your skull and the middle of your back. like he means to keep you there for as long as you’ll let him.

your cheeks burn with a warmth that's all your own but you find it easy to melt into him, to find the rhythm of his breaths and match it, for your hearts to start beating in time with each others, as if they are one.

perhaps they are, and have always been.

“sephiroth?” you break the comfortable silence between you after some time, whispering his name as if to see if he’s still awake though you know he is. but there are words you want to speak. things you want to say that would maybe have been better spoken to his sleeping self, with no chance of rejection, but there’s no worries in your heart when you’re in his arms.

“yes?” he replies, a rumble you feel in his chest paired with the tightening of his embrace.

watching your fingers trace his collar bone, you continue, quiet and soft and unafraid. “will you let me care for you if - when this happens again?” 

he grasps your hand in his, so much larger compared to yours, with scars you want to map out and kiss better no matter how old and unpainful they may be now.

“you would want to do that? for me?” 

your chest aches at how genuinely surprised he sounds. you would do anything for him. 

curling your hand in his, you bury your face into his chest, taking in the scent of flora and leather that clings to him.  “of course,” you whisper against his skin. “i care about you so much and i..” he squeezes your hand reassuringly when you hesitate. “i want to protect you. as silly as that sounds.” the last of your words come out even quieter than before, in quick succession you don’t think any normal person would have been able to make out.

“it’s not silly,” sephiroth says with absolute resolution in his hushed tone, the kind that tells you he won't be having you saying such things again. “i’m thankful and more than anything else,” you feel the press of his lips to the crown of your head, happy to find them as warm as they should be and not a degree more. “i want to protect you too.”