#mimi's notes

something about him being a kinesthetic learner, hand under your pajama shirt and cupping one of your breasts as he scrolls through a document that is far too lengthy for the involved team's own good.

you blink once, then tilt your head, eyebrows scrunching. "i mean, if that's what you got out of this conversation, then sure, go ahead."

valko snorts.

"you literally called the guy incompetent."

"i'm just summarizing what you told me. if your company doesn't allow for one on ones or second chances, i guess that's the next step then," you start, turning back to your own computer screen and comparatively empty word document. then, you glance back at him.

"don't be mean, though."

"mean?!" he asks. his hand pauses, thumb resting on a pert nipple, then shakes his head. still not moving, his contact from your soft flesh, he pulls off his glasses setting them on the desk, then leans forward, rubbing his temples. "so my employee sucks, but it's apparently mean to fire him."

you shrug in his lap, "i dunno, the job market is bad these days."

he gives you another prolonged look as though you were impossible, then laughs again, before squeezing your tit again, a little more zealously this time. you give him a look of mock anguish and he releases reflexively, with an expression not unlike a puppy that's misbehaved, but you instead take his hand over pressing it back in place.

"okay see, you're the one who wanted to complain."

"i was venting, not asking for a solution, just like you do all the time." with that, he leans in, nuzzling the top of your head, then ending the head movement with a fond inhale. "not that you actually gave me any real answer, aside from calling me mean."

"i just agreed they were incompetent, baby." your fingers slide in the interspaces between his fingers, locking together.

"and i'm mean and awful for noticing," he murmurs into your hair.

"stop being a baby, you're literally the boss here."

fully distracted now, he wraps his arms around you, shrouding you in his scent.

"say you didn't mean it."

"come on... shit-!"

your laptop slips precariously to the ground, and he breaks its fall with his tail, popped out just in time.

You’re still putting away what feels like too much remaining of a huge sheet cake, piled high with strawberries and far too decadent mounds of cream, attempting to fit it into the apartment fridge in pieces. It’s a little after three a.m., and you’re surprised that your guests all declined staying over on your couch, but then again you’re all a little older now, and comfort and privacy - the opportunity for you and Ichigo to sleep in together in particular - are much more prized. Streamers still hang slightly from some parts of the walls, and you’re still surprised Ichigo didn’t bother to call them cheesy, nor is he removing them now. In fact, he seems partially transfixed by one in a high right corner of the living room, or perhaps the large picture of the two of you together hung next to it.

“Ichigo?”

Ichigo turns to you, face still flushed pink, with that dreamy look you’ve come to find cute when he’s the right combination of drunk and sleepy. He’s partially slumped over the counter still, exhausted by having fun for once, and you make your way over to run your hand affectionately through his hair. His eyes close, and he replies,

“What’s there to fight about?”

You laugh, not expecting such a defeatist answer. Pulling yourself onto the stool next to him, you rest against his side, still practically petting him.

“You sound like I’m bullying you into submission or something.”

He snorts, his eyes opening to gaze at you, then a smile spreads across his face.

“You love me.”

The straightforwardness of it all almost catches you off guard, and you’re warm in the face too.

“Of course I do, Ichigo.”

“Every year, you make me celebrate my birthday whether i like it or not because you love me,” he repeats. His eyes close again, and he sighs, then reaches over lazily to cup your face. “I’m lucky.”

You lean in closer, pressing your own face against the coolness of the counter. You’re eye to eye now, and you can see despite the haze of a little alcohol in his features, there’s a warm affection that keeps his gaze as sweet as melted chocolate.

“Obviously, I’m the lucky one because you were born.”

“I came after you,” he replies, softly. “I’m lucky you were already here.”

“It’s not about me, Ichigo. Let today be about you too.”

He snorts.

“Difficult as always.”

“Tell me about it," is your amused reply.

There’s another pause, and he rises, taking your face gently with him, before pressing his lips against yours. You kiss, not the first of the night, but the first unguarded one, one that lasts longer, more heartfelt, and serves as a nightcap to a wonderful night of celebrating the man you love.

“Thank you,” he says once you've pulled apart. “For taking care of me.”

“I’m only returning what you give everyone else,” you insist, but you smile into his chest. “Bedtime?”

He nods, and the hug you share lingers a little longer as he rubs your back, still filled with gratitude, satisfaction and love.

“Yup!”

As simple as that.

Around you, giants of all shapes and sizes tower you, the majority of which are thankfully friendly, and others at worst a bit too curious (you were carried more than a couple times against your will until Luffy threw a fit on your behalf). You’ve acclimated, but are still unable to imagine a giant of the proportions Luffy has described to you, let alone why he would immediately decide his first course of action is to set him free.

“If it’s a mistake, I’ll chain him right back up. Easy.”

A piece of bread nudges in your direction, and you take a bite before offering him a chuckle.

“Easy to you, maybe.”

Luffy shrugs.

“As long as it’s done, right?”

His hand rests on your leg, and because it’s the side of your dress with a long, perhaps a little too risqué slit, you startle for a second, which he catches, pressing his chin on your raised shoulder.

“It’s just me,” he whispers, but a man who lives so loudly doesn’t really know how to whisper, just to speak raspier and closer to your ear.

“Scaredy-cat.”

Your hand slaps at the palm-occupied spot on your thigh.

“Enough.”

He laughs, smacking a kiss to your cheek that’s greasy and mead-y and full of love.

“You trust me, right?”

His cheek presses to yours and nuzzles like a cat, and you roll your eyes.

“It’s not like I have a choice in the matter,” you murmur, face warming when a local meets eyes with the two of you then covers her mouth in amusement.

“Hey! You have all the choices!” he insists, now rising to stand in front of you emphatically. “You could walk away right now!”

The commotion starts to draw the eyes of a few others, but he’s still grinning, and even if you’re a little self-conscious, the eyes on you both are still kind.

“And you promise you wouldn’t follow me if I did choose to go?”

His mouth twists to the side.

“I’m not sure I can promise that…”

You rise too, and for a moment his jaw drops open, wondering if you do truly mean to leave, but you simply move a little closer to kiss his cheek back.

“I’m trusting that you know what you’re doing and I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

Your arms wrap around his waist, pulling his body against yours.

“You’re right, you’ve never chained me.”

For a moment, even he is caught off guard, but settles comfortably in your hold. It’s cold after all, even with all this mirth surrounding you and touch is always welcome in a land like this.

“Get a room!” Someone yells from afar.

Reflexively you pull away, but Luffy’s arm around your body is too fast.

summer at the estate is heralded by the first ripening of tomatoes in vergil's carefully tended vegetable garden in the front yard.

you had never imagined such a careful and patient hobby for him, and had only suggested it as a joke a couple years ago, but his natural sensitivities came out as freely as the first sprouts arranged in a neat line, and over time, the soil did begin to yield plants that would eventually turn into vibrant fruit.

this sunny morning in july, vergil slipped out of bed quietly, leaving you murmuring something about a few more minutes once he pressed his lips to your forehead, but what you hadn't caught on to was the fact that your son, on the cusp of 18 months of age, had been up and staring from the edge of his crib without a sound while vergil changed his clothes and prepared to make his way out. vergil took a glance at the young boy who knew better than to scream or wail while his mother still slept, and took his outstretched arms as a plea for more time spent together, scooping him up and changing him out of pajamas in a different room as you slumbered.

when you woke up about 30 minutes to an hour later and searched instinctively for vergil next to you and then nikolai, you wandered around your home at a brisk space before finding the front door slightly ajar, and immediately knowing to turn right.

you approach the garden, and your prized and delicate son is shoeless, biting directly on a tomato hanging off the vine as vergil crouches and watches.

"and how would you describe this one son?" he asks his apprentice.

"oh, you have got to be kidding me."

vergil and nikolai both turn suddenly at the sound of your voice. you're still in your night robe, with outside sandals sipped onto your feet, mild displeasure on your face initially which softens as nikolai's face lights up and he tugs at the queried tomato until it comes off before making his way towards you.

"mama eat?"

you crouch to receive him, and he trips into your grasp, the juicy, bitten tomato pressing messily onto your face.

you gasp then laugh, but once you pick him up and start to wipe the residue off your cheek, you give vergil a look.

"unwashed?"

vergil shrugs.

"it challenges the immune system."

"he's still too sma"- your attempt to speak is interrupted as nikolai still is pushing tomato into your face, saying 'eat', 'eat' - "yes, baby i'll eat."

you look at the tomato, sigh internally, and take the tiniest bite. nikolai looks delighted, then tries to take it from you for another bite. as you look back at vergil, he's caught in a smile for a moment, and when your eyes meet, it's as though he forgets that he's a married man (married to you, even) with a wife and child, and turns quickly to keep his stern persona intact.

"the fruit has ripened quite nicely this season."

another plump tomato is in his hand, inspected with a gentle touch from the tips of his fingers. you carry nikolai over who now alternates bites with you, appearing to appraise the fruit himself, then crouch next to your husband.

"i'll admit it is sweet."

vergil gives you a sideways glance, then presses a quick kiss to your temple, to which nikolai gives him a sustained look, clearly willing one too for himself.

vergil watches him, pale blue eyes into hazel and back, then presses a kiss to his forehead too.

"eat too!"

it's still early in the 'official' part of your relationship, notwithstanding the fact that you've been well acquainted with each other for far longer, and you expect it's not much more than a good morning text from him, or perhaps an early plan to meet in the afternoon, but you're surprised to receive a picture instead of a coffee shop menu that appears miles long.

what do you recommend here?

another second passes, and another bubble pops up.

good morning, accented with the kitty emoji you've dubbed his lookalike, and it brings a smile to your face.

when you finally look closer at the menu, you realize it's actually one of the coffee shops you acquainted him with, about a block down from your usual workplace, but it's been so long since you've actually looked at the ever-changing menu instead of just ordering your usual, that it occurs to you that the wide selection is a bit ridiculous for a newcomer.

morning <3... hmmm, i'm not sure. what do you like?

... depends. what do you like?

you pause.

is this a tricky way to order me coffee? did you forget my order?

it's meant to tease, but when the text bubbles pop up again, then disappear, you worry you pushed a little too far. or, even more embarrassingly, he was genuinely asking for himself, and now you look conceited.

when he types again, he has your entire complex order written down to a t, and you're shocked he remembers it to begin with. you blink a couple times, incredulous, your face warming, but he's too quick to continue the conversation for you to dwell on your bashfulness.

i just wanted to get something for myself too.

another text follows.

i don't really buy coffee, and i have no idea what "funky girl summer mocha" is... or "tween dream popsicle latte" while i'm at it.

you can't help but snort, just imagining him squinting at the menu in abject confusion, while a trendy barista waits.

i feel like this woman will laugh me out of here if i order a black coffee

you can't help but send a couple of sobbing laughter emojis.

is it really that pathetic? he asks.

this only makes you laugh harder, then compose yourself to think.

you could try a dirty chai.

why is it dirty?

... aren't you asking me for the recommendation? a green tea latte then!

he sends a smile emoji, which subconsciously draws your lips upwards too.

It’s pointless. Before you can stop him - or even have him reconsider - you’re already soaring tens of feet in the air, and you’re not sure where Luffy’s outstretched arm has gotten purchase, but you’re clearly off the ship now, your veil flapping in your face, and short dress bunched up in Luffy’s arms as he carries you out of your own wedding onto the nearest coast.

Your initial plan for a marital grand cruise had seemed a lot less taxing before you were actually in the thick of it, at day four of a weeklong sail throughout the Grand Line with huge feasts everywhere you sailed, but you should have known that by what felt like perhaps the 8th separate feast, you’d start to run out of steam.

The mistake you made just now was to give Luffy a helpless look, and him knowing you a little too well, had decided enough was enough for now, and you needed a break.

So he simply jumped with you in tow. 

Your landing was not a crash, with him blowing himself up just enough to soften the blow, and laughing as you caught your breath, coming down from panic in his own open arms.

“Are you fucking crazy?”

His mouth twists cheekily to the side. “Maybe.”

You raise an eyebrow but he grins, and before you can roll off of him onto the sand, he grabs you again, rising to his feet, to continue your pace on the beach. You reflexively wrap your arms around his neck, less activated now but still shaking your head.

“You know…” you start for a moment, and then you pause, hearing the boom of loud music not yet paused on the ship in the distance, before continuing, “they’re going to look for us.”

Luffy shrugs, still grinning.

“That’s their problem.”

“It’s our wedding,” you remind him, but he gives you a glance that’s both loving and stabilizing and softens your urge to quip when you’re anxious. Your face turns slightly into his chest.

“You need some time away, don’t you?” he asks, his voice a little gentler now.

You don’t respond immediately, but nod. It’s embarrassing at times to know that Luffy can so easily sense when you’ve decided to thrive through a situation rather than survive, to grin whether natural or not.

“They’ll survive without us for a while.”

You chuckle into his half loosened suit jacket. “And what if they eat all the meat?”

He stands still for a moment, which has you laugh even louder as you turn to look at his face, but then he pulls back that cumbersome veil of yours to kiss you on the forehead.

“I think there’ll be more,” he says softly. Your lip quivers for a moment, then you slap him on the chest.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?"

“Making me feel like that.”

“Like what?” And he blinks, then inspects you closely, and in the moonlight on this beach, with your far too long wedding still underway, but the two of you still seeing each other in private, you find that you’re so full of love it’s hard to put it into words.

A few moments pass with this sustained gaze, and in each other’s eyes, you see a tender present, a hopeful past and a promising future. Luffy sinks into the coast and sets you down slowly. 

“I love you too much,” you whisper.

It’s a common complaint. He laughs, then lays his head in your lap.

“I think I still love you more.”

“Impossible.”

Your hand leaves into his hair, affection obvious through your fingertips, and he cups your other free one between his palms. 

“Then it isn’t too much,” he replies. His eyes close as he pulls your hand onto his heart, then presses it there. “After all, every time my heart beats, it thinks of you.”

Can love really ever be too much? You wonder. You desire your husband, and he desires you back. One might even think this is harmony in and of itself.

An abundance of something good is not greedy or selfish, not love, not joy, not happiness. Luffy has endless space for those intangibles, and you know a little thing or two about limitless storage.

You lean down to kiss him again and even with his eyes closed, he meets you halfway.

The silence between you isn’t heavy or tense, but still pregnant with words that you aren’t quite sure how to say, out of fear of being needy. A purse is hung along the arm of a couch, a wallet on the nightstand, you stand side by side stripped down to bare essentials as you wash your face and he brushes his teeth.

Water splashes on your face, cold enough for you to gasp, and you stare in the mirror for a moment, then look at him. He’s paused, staring at you through the mirror as well, mid-brush before your eyes meet.

“Mm?”

You decide to come out with it.

“I know you think your father is goofy sometimes over your mom, but…” you trail off a bit, then twist your mouth to the side as you apply cream to your face with your fingertips. It’s an attempt to stay casual while speaking your heart, and Ichigo catches it, finishing his toothbrushing but still listening attentively.

“It’s a beautiful thing to be so loved.”

Ichigo spits into the sink, chasing it away with water, eyes lingering on the sink drain for a bit longer.

“It’s not like I don’t know,” he murmurs.

You adjust your hair for bed.

“Maybe it’s bold of me to say this, but…” and you pause again, choosing your words carefully, then turn to face him fully, leaning your hip on the sink. He’s slightly leaned forward, and you can feel yourself naturally soften as you always do when it comes to him.

“Just say it,” he urges gently.

“It’s dumb.”

His hand takes yours stroking over the back softly.

“Don’t make that decision before I get a chance to.”

You find yourself laughing, then press your head against his chest.

“It’s reassuring to see it, because I’m hoping maybe one day if something happens to me first, you’d be more likely to remember me too.”

Ichigo tenses for a moment, and you straighten and pull yourself away, but with an arm pressed closer he holds you a bit closer, then snorts.

“You want me to make you a giant shrine?”

Your face warms.

“I-”

“You won’t die before I do, okay?” he reassures you. Your head tilts up towards him.

“You don’t know that.”

“I’ll ensure it.”

You blink twice, then decide to let it go.

“Do you love me that much?”

Ichigo laughs, letting his hand pat the top of your head.

“You’re really competing with my parents right now?”

“No! Not competing, just…”

You trail off, but he tilts your head to take your lips in his. It’s a short-lived kiss, but not rushed, and when the two of you part, he tilts his head slightly. 

“I do love you that much.”

You pull your lower lip between your teeth, but his finger presses against your pout.

“No complaints, and no I’m not gonna start acting like him.”

You make a pretend motion to bite him and he retreats but laughs.

“But I do love you that much. I promise.”

despite the excessive formality with which you choose to address him, dimitri's aware that it's you before he even looks up, if not for the fact that he'd recognize the sound of your voice even without eardrums, let alone the fact that it is approaching 3 am, and he is holed up deep in his office still, attempting to catch up on piles upon piles of administrative work.

you pause at the door, still clad in your night robes, holding a lantern with ever blazing flame at the center in one hand, and holding a small blanket that hangs over your shoulders together across your bosom with another. you lean slightly, and he glances over at you, part shame, part surprise washing over his features in the candlelight.

"you're awake."

you nod. "so are you."

for a moment, he pales, but you're not in the precise mood to nag him as would dedue, and while you are his wife, and in some part his subject, you also a confidant and his equal, and you understand intimately what drives him to work incessantly like this. so instead, you draw closer - the pen in his hand stays steady - and you gently press your chin on his shoulder, peering over at his work spread over the large desk.

"how much longer?" you ask.

he mumbles something quiet, and you press your cheek against his. you can feel him soften as he exhales some anxiety out through a soft sigh.

"you must be upset with me."

"never," you reply.

and your arms come around his broad shoulders slowly, lovingly.

"i've abandoned you in the night."

"you simply needed a couple more hours as king and not as dimitri. i can endeavor to understand that."

his face turns, his gaze tender, then he takes your hand. his thumb strokes over the back for a moment, then he pulls the knuckles to his lips, closing his eyes in rest for a few seconds.

"i'm falling short as a husband as much as i am to this kingdom."

you shake your head.

"i disagree. it's a period of great need. as your queen, i admire your tenacity and your devotion, plus i can also take on some tasks if you ever so allow me to."

your eyes glaze over a particular set of letters pushed to the upper left corner of the table, and shake your head, more vigorously this time.

"for example, this monthlong dispute over the custody of feral chickens can be delegated to me or literally everyone else. in fact, i believe even one of the patrol dogs can come up with a solution for this mess."

dimitri can't help a dry laugh, even if it's weighed down by fatigue.

"i fear that's the most weighty of all the tasks. i wouldn't let my sweet wife have to suffer the wrath of the involved counts."

slowly, he guides you into his lap, and your blanket makes its way around you both. he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"i'm sorry i left our bed."

your hands leaf through more documents for a moment, then you snuggle closer.

"i'm not upset. i aim to be more of a magnanimous queen than a frivolous, jealous wife."

his arms gently wrap around your waist holding you closely.

"and i find you quite magnanimous always. lovely too."

it's whispered close, loving words into your skin.

"dimitri, even if i support you as your queen, as your wife and lover, i will not allow you to keel over and die of overwork."

he mumbles.

"i know."

"but i'll stay here while you work," you offer.

"and keep you up as well? hardly sounds like a better solution."

"you pity me more than you pity yourself. it'll help you prioritize."

he snorts, but an arm stays anchored around your waist as he reads through another letter. you turn and your head rests against his chest.

"they can crown another king but i won't ever have another you."

he pauses for a moment, then laughs.

"you'd never remarry?"

your frown is deep as you shift to give him a disapproving look.

"surely you've worked yourself into insanity."

dimitri gives you a look, longer than usual, and it's as though the intensity makes the many candles and lanterns in the light flicker. your breath catches, the thump of your heart suddenly loud.

"you'd never?" he repeats again, a little softer, as though prompting you to continue.

"never."

he laughs, but perhaps it is the time of night where emotions are felt too intensely and the heart is easily swayed and defenseless, but there is a sudden rush of sentiment that overcomes you, quelled only by the joining of your lips.

he must return to his tasks, but he indulges you first, accepting your kiss and returning fervor of his own.

the two of you share a moment of intimacy as if resealing a fraying contract.