#robirion

“Good morning, Virion.” You responded in kind, turning your head to press a featherlight kiss to the fingertips hovering over your skin. 

He laughed softly.

“How did you sleep, ma femme?”

“Wonderfully.” You sighed in contentment, but your eyebrows quickly drew together. “Wait…’ma femme’?”

“That is what you are now, isn’t it? You are my wife, as of last night.” Virion replied with a hint of amusement, “Or did you forget in the whirlwind of festivities?”

“No, I thought…I remember when you taught me some of your native language, and I just thought…I mean, ‘femme’ is ‘woman’, isn’t it?”

“That is correct, amour.”

“Then why did you call me ‘your woman’ instead of ‘your wife’?” You questioned him with a mixture of curiosity and a hint of offense. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you refer to me as ‘woman’, before. That’s something Lon’qu does.”

“And I would never be so uncouth and barbaric to reduce you to such a disrespectful title!” Virion assured you, a dramatic hand on his toned, flawless chest.

(You were a little offended, but it didn’t change your mind that he was an absolutely beautiful man.)

“Then why did you say ‘ma femme’?”

“Because it means ‘my wife’, of course!”

“It has two meanings?”

“Well, in a manner of speaking, yes. You see, when we refer to a woman as such, we say ‘la femme’. However, when we speak possessively, it no longer means ‘woman’, but ‘wife’. It is certainly not disrespectful, or at the very least, we do not have such intent.”

“Why didn’t you teach me that when I was first learning my vocabulary?” You wondered aloud, and Virion shrugged, curling some loose hair behind your ear with a tender touch.

“I did not wish to give you the wrong idea. I was quite forward with you from the beginning, and I would not wish to teach you many words that would be irritating to you.”

“The first things you trid to teach me were ‘love, romane and kiss’.”

“You made it very clear quite quickly that such targeted behavior would not be tolerated.” Virion reminds you with a somewhat forced chuckle, recalling the violence he suffered (a flick on the forehead) for messing with you.

“But ‘husband’ and ‘wife’ are important words to know. Even if you didn’t explain it the way you did just now, I wouldn’t have been bothered.”

“That is true, I suppose…” He trailed off with a faraway smile, and you tilted your head. He could hardly say no when you looked so adorable, after all. “The other reason is that I was…rather nervous. I do not know why, but perhaps it is because we were becoming so close, and marriage was something I was beginning to think seriously on. When our vocabulary practice was getting serious, it came to mind to teach them to you.”

“But you were too scared.”

“Scared? Nonsense! I have proposed to you, and I have joined with you in marital union, have I not! You wound my pride, amour!”

“The truth hurts, ‘amour’.” You grinned at him, always enjoying a good tease. Virion pouted, turning his nose up at your terrible behavior.

“Honestly, this angel I have married seems more and more im pish by the hour…” 

You laughed, shifting from your side of the bed and wrapping your arms around him, resting your head on his chest.

“There, there, mon homme.”

“I see what you are trying to do, Robin. Very clever of you.” Virion mused as his hand found your hair, playing with it lazily as he laid back into his pillows. “However, the correct word for ‘husband’ is ‘mari’. ‘Mon mari’ is what you call me.”

You sat up and looked at him.

“Wait, so you get a different title, but I’m still just ‘a woman’??”

“I already explained-”

“No way, that’s not fair! Men get to differentiate between ‘man’ and ‘husband’, but I’m still stuck with ‘femme’? And here I thought you Rosanne types were all proud of equality and egalitarianism.”

“W-we are! It’s not my fault that languages evolve differently!” Virion sat up to pursue you, “Come now, don’t be upset, Robin. Here, we shall call each other something different, instead of ‘my husband’ and ‘my wife’.”

You glared at him, though it was quite obvious between the both of you that you weren’t truly mad.

Still, you crossed your arms and faced away from him, ignoring the brisk morning breeze nipping at your exposed body.

“Oh? Then what else will you call me?”

“Oh, I have so many pet names I have been dying to call you; mon amour, mon ange…those are the obvious ones.”

“Obviously.”

“But I am looking forward to calling you such things as ‘mon trésor’…”

“My…treasure?”

“Correct. ‘Mon coeur’…” 

“My heart.”

“So smart.” Virion leaned in, his chest against your back as his arm slid up your breast, drawing you into him as kisses decorated your neck. “‘Mon chéri’…”

“My darling?”

“Yes, ‘mon lapin’.”

“My…my rabbit??”

“Correct.” A sharp exhale warmed your skin. You glanced back at him.

“You’re joking.”

“No, it is a truly fond name that many married couples call each other. I do look forward to it, mon canard’.”

“You just called me a duck!” “I called you ‘my’ duck.”

“…All right, honeymoon’s over.”

“W-wait!! That is a legitimate name, as well!!” He protested your attempts to get out of your honeymoon bed, practically begging you to rejoin him between the sheets while failing to hide his infectious laughter.

You only agreed after making him promise to come up with better pet names than ‘rabbit’ or ‘duck’. Otherwise he could kiss his ‘femme’ goodbye. Though it was fairly easy to forget all about the teasing and threatening when Virion kissed you senseless the second you laid back down.