#i always try to tone it don't because i'm afraid people think i have a crush | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

togenabi · 7 months

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pick me up

roronoa zoro (opla) x reader

♡—zoro never paid your jokes or pickup lines any mind. that is, until something happens that makes you stop.

word count♡— 3.2k

genre♡— mild angst, fluff, straw hat!reader

content notes♡— opla zoro, fem!reader, reader wears a dress and tells very bad jokes, creepy dude oc, don't be creepy be cool yall, reader pulls off a heist with nami, zoro gets jealous, alcohol consumption, no use of y/n, barely proofread

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— this is a request from anon! I'm sorry if I tweaked a few things, I'm not the best at angst hhhh I hope you still like it!

“Okay, okay. Wait. I got it this time.” You say, already trying to keep from laughing.

“Why were the kids having trouble in pirate class?”

Zoro only side-eyes you with his arms crossed, vehemently unimpressed.

“Because they were overbored!”

Watching for his reaction intently, you keep your eyes focused on his face... Nothing changes.

You tsk, but aren’t seriously discouraged. This is how he always reacts to your jokes, after all. “I’ll get you one of these days, Roronoa Zoro.”

The swordsman only sighs, leaning back into his seat to take a nap. “You do that.”

“Don’t listen to him, love.” Sanji says from the other side of the kitchen as he cleans the counter. “I thought that joke was good.”

“You’re lying, but I appreciate the sentiment, Sanji.” You grin at him. Focusing back on the book you were reading, you miss the amused, challenging look Sanji sends Zoro.

Everyone hears Luffy approaching the kitchen before he enters. “Guys!” He bellows. “We’ll be reaching land soon. Be ready to leave in fifteen minutes!”

The majority of the day is spent restocking supplies. You were all split up into pairs, but before you left, Luffy pointed to a restaurant with a flashy, illuminated sign on top that reads: ‘Bistro of Light’. How cringey of them.

“We should meet there for dinner! You don’t mind taking a break, right, Sanji?” Luffy asks eagerly, and you think that no one could say no to him when he’s so enthusiastic. Sanji nods, and you all go through the town until the sun starts to set.

The inside of the restaurant is just as ridiculous as the sign outside. Chandeliers of every color hang on the ceiling. Huge fish tanks and fountains lined with lights almost blind you. You laugh when looking at it all causes Zoro to wince.

“Hey Zoro,” You call for him. “You know what’s faster than the speed of light?”

“...”

“My heartbeat when I think of you!” You wink at him, proud of the joke even when he only sighs and looks away.

Usopp walks up to a receptionist standing behind a desk. “Hey. Table for six, if you would be so kind.”

“I’m afraid we’re at full capacity at the moment.” They respond. “You’ll have to wait, is that alright?”

Everyone shares a look. Except for Luffy, who looks dead set on eating here, you all feel unsure about waiting.

“When’s the next table going to be available?” Usopp asks. “We’re actually a really big deal. It’s gonna be really embarrassing for you guys if you don’t let us in.” The person frowns, face screaming, ‘is this guy serious’?

But before they can reply, a booming voice enters the restaurant. A tall man, dressed in a pristine white suit and wearing jewels on every finger, pushes you out of the way to yell at the receptionist. You stumble, but thankfully Zoro is there to catch you.

“What on earth is going on here?! Why are there so many people crowding the entryway?!” He fumes, angrily gesturing to your group.

“If they’re not going to eat, then I strongly suggest—” The rich man freezes suddenly, his eyes trained on you.

You keep your face as emotionless as possible, but you die laughing inside when Nami swipes a brooch from his jacket while he’s distracted with you.

“Ah,” The man says. His tone softening a considerable amount as he walks over to you. “I thought I had the best jewels in my treasury, but you're the most radiant gem I've ever laid my eyes on.” It takes everything in you to not back away. Zoro tenses beside you.

“Why haven’t these guests been guided to a table?” He asks, turning back to the receptionist.

“We’re at full capacity, Sir.” Oh. He must own the place. It makes sense that the owner is as gaudy as everything else in here.

“That won’t do.” He looks back to you, and you swear you could feel your skin crawl under his gaze.

“I am Helios. Welcome to my establishment.” The man introduces himself with a flourish, bowing to you. His jewels and gold accessories glint in the light. “What might your name be?”

Reluctantly, you introduce yourself. Had this been a normal situation, you would have turned around and walked away from him the second he saw you. But, you could feel the crew going hungry, and you’re sure Nami will want to snag another ring or two—so you play nice.

Helios smiles, repeating your name. He was probably trying to sound romantic, but he’s not doing anything for you. Not when Zoro says your name much better.

You keep Zoro’s voice in mind, remembering how nice it sounds. It’s easier to smile at Helios that way. Time to lay on the charm, “I was really looking forward to having dinner here. I don’t suppose you could help us out?”

“Follow me, my dear. You deserve to dine upstairs. The view is simply spectacular at this hour.” Helios holds out his hand to you, but Luffy—bless his soul—grabs it to shake it zealously.

“Thanks so much for letting us eat here, Mr. Helios!” Luffy claps him on the back. Helios looks dumbfounded, and the crew does an impressive job keeping their composure.

Helios tries to walk beside you as he guides you all upstairs, but Zoro is steadfast on your right, and Nami smartly positions herself on your left. Luffy and Usopp tug the restaurant owner along, chatting his ear off. You almost feel bad for him.

Nami murmurs, her voice carefully silent so only you can hear. “Treasury, huh?”

You smile. “Of course you’d be curious about that.”

“Think you could get us to his mansion?” She dares you, eyes aglow at the promise of a good heist.

“I know I can.” You pause walking to check your reflection on an ornate, sun-shaped mirror. After fixing your hair, you grin at your friends. “I’m irresistible, after all.”

Maybe if you weren’t busy buttering up your host, you would have noticed that Zoro wasn’t eating properly. Normally, you would force him to eat. You would pile food on his plate, telling that joke about fake noodles being impasta that always cracks you up.

Zoro frowns at the meal in front of him. The fish seems to frown back. Sighing, he decides to just order another drink. But no matter what he consumes, a bitter taste always blooms in his mouth afterwards.

The glass in his hand almost cracks when he hears your voice sucking up to Helios again. “So, you own this place? Do you live around here?”

Helios leans far too close towards you, but you grin and bear it. “Would you like a private tour, my gem?”

You place a hand on his arm, he may read it as affection, but you hold him so he keeps that distance. “That sounds wonderful.”

Zoro huffs under his breath. He needs another drink.

Thankfully, Helios serves good booze at his manor. Zoro almost didn’t want to drink any of it, but he needs alcohol in his system if he has to watch you flirt with this idiot so Nami can rob him blind. Whatever she steals better be worth all this, or else he might punch something. Or someone. Preferably Helios.

You share a look with Nami and give her an imperceptible nod. With that signal, she passes by and pretends to lose her footing. Wine seeps into your clothes, staining the fabric and sticking it to your skin. Did she really have to pick red wine? You liked this shirt.

“Oh, my dear!” Helios gasps. “You should get cleaned up. I’ll have my servants draw you a bath and bring you fresh clothes.”

“I’m so sorry, I should’ve watched where I was going.” Nami loops her arm through yours. “Let me help you with that.”

And so, with another fake smile sent Helios’ way, you rush with Nami to find the treasury.

“Be quick.” Nami says once you enter the luxurious bathroom prepared for you.

As tempting as the bubble bath is, you only take a few wet towels to tidy up. You step into the curtained area, about to strip when Nami holds out a hand to stop you.

“Wait.” She says, her tone serious. A teddy bear holding a rose is propped up on a shelf behind you. Tapping its eyes, Nami scowls before throwing the bear into the trash bin.

“A camera?” She nods. “Seriously? What a creep.”

You and Nami inspect the room. It’s not clear if there are other hidden cameras, but she stands guard in front of the shower curtains just in case.

“Hey,” She starts. “Did you notice Zoro acting weird tonight?”

You frown as you change into the dress Helios prepared. “What do you mean?”

Nami hums in thought. “He’s just…” A dumbass, she wants to say, but doesn’t. “He seems extra grumpy.”

That causes you to laugh. “I guess I should prepare more jokes for him when we get back.”

She winces. “...I’m not that sure he likes those.”

“Hm… Maybe not, but,” You pause to think. He may not laugh loudly as Luffy does, but he never shot you down for being bubbly around him. “Zoro would have told me to shut up by now if he didn’t, right?”

“Huh.” Nami says. “You got a point.”

You push the curtains aside, grinning at her. “Come on, let’s break into that treasury.”

“Of course, my gem.”

“Oh my god, if that sticks I’m going to be so mad.”

The treasury was a vault full of everything from jewels to ornamental weapons. Nami playfully crowned you with a diamond tiara, and she put on dangling emerald earrings that looked stunning on her.

After filling your bags and pockets with the most you can carry, you and Nami head out to find the others. You run into Usopp on the way back to the lounge.

“I see you two cleaned up well.” He jokes. “Luffy and Sanji are in the kitchen. I was just on my way there.”

“Where’s Zoro?” You ask.

“With Helios. You know him, still drinking.”

“We should leave soon.” Nami insists. “We risk getting caught the longer we stay.”

“Right.” You hand Usopp your bag, his eyes widen comically when he feels how heavy it is. “I’ll just go say goodbye, I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

Before you even enter the lounge, however, you hear Zoro speak your name. Are they talking about you? You press your back against the wall, straining to hear their conversation.

You almost wish you didn’t.

“She tells the worst jokes and doesn’t know when to quit it. Thinks she’s hilarious but she’s really not.” Zoro speaks in that deep voice that would usually be comforting to you—but his words now pierce through you painfully.

“What exactly is your relationship with her?” Helios asks, and Zoro is silent. It feels like your heart crumbles for every second he doesn’t answer.

You’re friends! You’ve been dreaming of more but, you’ve always been friends.

…Aren’t you? Doesn’t he think so?

“I don’t know.” Your heart fully shatters. What does he mean he doesn’t know? “She just sticks to me a lot. It can get annoying.”

“Well. That’s unfortunate, but it’s nothing to sob over.” Helios kisses his teeth. “I don’t care about her attitude. All that doesn’t matter as long as she has that pretty face.”

You wait for Zoro to say something. Anything. You want him to cut Helios where he stands.

But he doesn’t. The silence drags on. The air feels like it’s pushing you down, crushing your lungs. You have to get out of here.

You burst into the kitchen, trying your best not to cry. Nami immediately rushes to you, holding your shoulders to steady you. “What happened?”

Letting out a shuddered breath, you whisper, “You were right.” It’s impossible to think straight right now. “I want to leave.”

You look to Luffy, still shaken up. Your captain’s expression is serious as he nods. “Go ahead, we’ll get Zoro and catch up.” Not needing to be told twice, you head out the door.

Before she follows you, Nami hisses at Sanji, “Talk some sense into that dumbass, won’t you?”

The entire walk back to the Going Merry is silent. You’re grateful Nami doesn’t immediately press you for what happened, but you know that you should answer her questions. You finally get the words out in the safety of her cabin.

You sit cross-legged on the bed, and everything comes pouring out. “He called me annoying.”

“Zoro?” She asked, offering you a box of tissues.

“Yeah.” You sniff, taking the box.

“I’m sorry. That was fucked up of him to say.”

Unsure how to properly comfort you, Nami gets up and retrieves extra pillows from a storage compartment.

“Why don’t we have a girl’s night?” Nami asks, offering you a smile. It pulls a smile out of you too, the first one you mustered since Zoro crushed your spirit.

“I’d like that.”

Zoro is confused to find that you and Nami had left before them. Luffy gave Helios some lame excuse that you weren’t feeling well, but Zoro knew better. If you were really sick, the whole crew would be panicking and rushing to get to you.

He stares at Sanji and Usopp, trying to piece together what really happened. They both turn away from him, refusing to say anything.

In the next second, a maid rushes out, panting and screaming, “Mr. Helios! The treasury has been robbed!”

Fine. Answers can come later. For now, they need to run.

Once they’re back on the ship, Sanji follows Zoro into his cabin. He stares at the chef blankly, “Get out.”

“Did you do something?” Sanji leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Get out.” Zoro repeats, about to push him out of the room when Sanji speaks your name.

“She was upset. Asked to leave as soon as possible.” Sanji’s gaze is almost menacing, and his frown deepens when Zoro’s face falls. So, that’s what happened. You had heard him.

“Fuck.” Zoro groans, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Everyone noticed you getting bitchy over Helios.” Sanji notes “Did you confront him or something?”

Scoffing, Zoro sits on his hammock, the fabric dips under his weight. “It was something, all right.”

Wanting Zoro to explain himself unpromptedly, Sanji just watches him and lets the silence hang in the air. After a solid, suffocating minute, the swordsman caves.

“I called her annoying.” Zoro breathes out deeply. “I said her jokes aren’t funny and that she sticks to me a lot.”

“Man, that’s screwed up.” Sanji gapes. “I thought you cared about her?”

“Of course I do, but I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.” Zoro defends. “Luffy’s the only one who laughs at her jokes, and she’s always by my side.”

Sighing, Zoro continues, “...but I never minded any of it. I learned to care for those parts of her a long time ago. I was only trying to get that shithead off her back.”

“You’re an idiot.” Sanji concludes. “You have the emotional depth of a sink, sometimes.”

Zoro, surprisingly, doesn’t insult the chef back. He stares at the wall, slouched and looking the most empty Sanji’s ever seen him.

“What should I do?” He asks. “How should I make it up to her?”

Sanji’s eyes light up, he beams and claps his hands together in excitement. Even if Zoro hasn’t heard it yet, he already dreads the chef’s suggestion.

“I have an idea.”

When you woke up the next morning, you had every intention of avoiding Zoro like the plague. It was still really difficult to look at him, the hurt you felt still stings your heart.

But unfortunately for you, he had other plans.

You’re gazing out into the sea on the forecastle deck when you hear a familiar set of heavy footsteps. You sigh. “I don’t want to talk, Zoro.”

“I’m not here to talk.” You turn to him questioningly, but you really shouldn’t give him the time of day. Wasn’t he the one who complained about you clinging to him?

You don’t say anything. Only glaring at him and hoping he sees how disappointed you feel. Zoro stands here, appearing strangely vulnerable. If you weren’t so hurt, you would have hugged him by now.

But you are. So he has to wallow in the awkwardness of the consequences of his words. He—wait. What’s that on his face?

“I…” Is he… blushing? “I’m sorry I wasn’t around in the past.”

You make a face and blink at him. What is he up to?

“...Can I be part of your future?”

That knocks the wind right out of you, your jaw practically falls to the floor. Did Roronoa Zoro just use a pickup line? On you? You can’t help but glance at your surroundings to check if the sky is still blue.

No—hold on. He can’t win you over just like that. He needs to explain why he said what he did.

“You said my jokes are the worst.” You grumble.

“They are.” Zoro looks straight into your eyes as he speaks. “But you’re one of the best things to ever happen to me.”

“You said I always stick to your side.”

He doesn’t miss a beat and answers earnestly, “You do. And I wouldn’t want you to be anywhere else.”

“…You said you didn’t know what our relationship is.”

That causes Zoro to pause, searching your eyes as if he’ll find the answer in them. “…I don’t.”

Oh, this impossible sword-brain of a man. Your lips quiver, and you realize you can’t fight back your smile anymore. “I love you, Zoro.”

His expression shifts from anxiousness to shock, relief, and a bit of something else...

“I love you, too.” Ah, of course. Love, that too.

Slowly, tentatively, he raises his arms, inviting you to an embrace. He’s adorable, looking a teensy bit nervous that you wouldn’t want to hold him. Giggling, you rush to him, wrapping your arms around his waist as he envelops your shoulders.

“I bet Sanji taught you to apologize with that line.” You murmur into his chest. “If you tell me another one…” Zoro cringes, his frame tensing.

“...I’ll give you a kiss.” His expression lifts, seriously considering it.

After a minute, Zoro clears his throat. You almost squeal in excitement.

“Roses are red, violets are blue…” A classic. This is going to be good.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel awkward, I just want to have dinner with you.” You gasp, squeezing him tighter.

“Yes! That was perfect.” Laughing, you reach up and hold his face to keep your promise.

You plant a sweet, short kiss on his lips. When you pull away, he’s looking at you like he would fight anyone for you. He probably would, if you’re being honest.

“You’re perfect.” He breathes, mouth against yours and then he’s kissing you again.

Hiding behind a pile of crates, the rest of the crew whoop and cheer. (Silently.)

“That was such a good line!” Luffy whispers.

“I still think he should have used the ‘I don’t speak angel’ one.” Usopp whispers back.

“What are you talking about?!” Sanji angrily, quietly mutters. “That was perfect because he apologized and delivered the line.”

“Shut it, you guys. I was right, he didn’t last a day with her mad at him.” Nami holds out her palm. “Pay up.” The others groan, handing her some berry. All’s well that ends well.

taglist: @songsofadelaide-archive @amitydoodlez @sweetexistentialism @msmisasoup @writingmysanity @hotchocolattee @dimplewonie @hearts4zoro @kenkenmaaa @appalost @hi3431 @akakaze @lownna

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sweets4dolls · 3 months

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omg im literally obsessed with ur work !! the aesthetics and dialogue and everything is just so chefs kiss :3 this is my first time requesting something so hooray !! i wondering if u could do a bunny! reader with an over protective! alastor? i think he would be the security guard type of boyfriend like thats so yummylicious :D thank you so much and remember to drink lots of water and eat plenty of food !!!!!!

pairing: protective!possessive!alastor + fem!bunny!reader

content warnings: toxic relationship, emotional manipulation, canon typical violence, not proofread, kinda dark!alastor?

notes: but he totally would be thoooo :0 also I just added on possessive for fun oopsies - also, YAY CONGRATSON UR FIRST REQUEST! :D

its in his nature to be protective for people that he likes, so actually being in a relationship with him makes his possessive nature go into overdrive.

although most sinners know better than to try him, there are the occasional few along with some of vox's people that do come after him.

he doesn't like to kill in front of you, he just thinks that you're too cute n pure to witness those sort of acts:(, but don't get it wrong, he's more than willing to rip sinners apart, ready to destroy anything he deems a threat.

that also includes if anything were to say something bad about you, he'd be dragging them away from you and tearing them in two before coming back all smiles.

although he is a gentleman and doesn't like to kill people who he thinks don't deserve it, he'd be lying if he hadn't thought about annihilating some of your friends that he thinks get too touchy with you - if that is the case, you'll end up wondering where they went until alastor comes in, convincing you that you don't need them because you have him!

being so protective, he'd also coax information out of you if he ever saw that you seemed to be bothered, putting on that charming smile of his before he has you spilling your heart out to him.

definitely likes to be by your side 24/7, and at some point it almost gets invasive so you leave by yourself, which he gets very upset at since you didn't tell him first, so. he waits in your room until you get back.

"I thought that you weren't in the mood to go out, dearest bunny?" he says with a hum as he rests in the armchair in the corner of your room, eyes gazing down at you as you chew on your lip nervously.

"just went for a walk is all," you mumbled, hand shifting to grip your upper arm in a comforting fashion.

"to go and see that friend of yours?"

he's worried for your safety, not wanting his precious bun to be kidnapped or killed by one of his many enemies :(

sometimes it leads to fights between you too, you always claiming that you need space from him

"its like I don't have a life outside of you!" you cry, eyes slightly bloodshot from an abundance of tears falling.

"of course you do," a lie, "I just can't have my little bunny getting hurt, can I?" he says in a sweet tone, trying to get you to calm down.

if his words don't work on you, he would leave you to see how hell really was while he wasn't there, leaking information to his enemies on your whereabouts, letting them run after you before he swoops in like the romantic hero of your story that he is and saves you, this time not sparing your pretty eyes from witnessing the carnage he creates.

he takes you back to the hotel, you a mess, weeping in his arms, all frightened and shaking.

"oh, my sweet, silly bunny, how foolish you were to leave without me," he says, nearly patronizingly as he holds you in his arms.

"I'm so, so sorry alastor, you were right," you shakily let out between chest-heaving sobs as you cling to him, afraid to leave his presence for a mere second.

he's always right, he just needs to make you see that too <3

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor

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inkskinned · 2 years

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it is hard to explain without sounding vain or stupid - but the more attractive others find you, the more you're allowed to do. the easier your life is.

i have been on both sides of this. i am queer and cuban. i grew up poor. for a long time i didn't know "how" to dress - and i still don't. i make my sister pick out any important outfits. i have adhd in spades: i was never "cool and quiet", i was the weird kid who didn't understand how "normal" people behave. i was bullied so hard that the "social outcasts" wouldn't even talk to me.

i got my teeth straightened. i cut my hair and learned how to style it. i got into makeup. it didn't matter, at first, if i actually liked what i was doing - it mattered how people responded to it. like a magic trick; the right dress and winged eyeliner and suddenly i was no longer too weird for all of it. i could wear the ugly pokemon shirt and it was just "ironic" or a "cute interest."

when i am seen as pretty, people listen. they laugh at my jokes. they allow me to be weird and a little spacey. i can trust that if i need something, people will generally help me. privilege suddenly rushes in: pretty does buy things. pretty people get treated more gently.

i am the same ugly little girl, is the thing. still odd. still not-quite-fitting-in. still scrambling. still angry and afraid and full of bad things. of course it became my obsession. of course i stopped eating. i had seen, in real time, the exact way it could change my life - simply always be perfect, and things can be easy. people will "overlook" all the other things. i used to have panic attacks at the idea others would see me without makeup - what would they think? even for a simple friend hangout, i'd spend a few hours getting ready. after all, it seemed so obvious to me: these people liked me because i was pretty.

i worry about how much i'm being a bad activist: i understand that "pretty" is determined by white, het, cis, able-bodied hegemonies. if i was really an ally, wouldn't i rally against all of this? recently there's been a "clean girl" trend which copies latinx aesthetics: dark slicked-back hair, hoop earrings. i almost never wear my hair like that; i can hear the middle school guidance counsellor advising me that i might fare better if i toned it down on the culture.

the problem is that i can take pretty on and off. that i have seen how different my life is on a day where i try and a day where i don't. i told my therapist i want to believe the difference is confidence, but it's not. and when you have seen it, you can't unsee it. it lives inside your brain. it rots there; taunting. i get rewarded for following the rules. i am punished for breaking them. end of story.

pretty people can get what they want. pretty people can feel confident without others asking where they got their nerve from. pretty people can be weird and different. pretty people get to have emotions; it's different when they get aggressive, it's pretty when they cry with frustration.

of course people care about this. of course it has crawled into you. of course you want to be seen as attractive. it's not vanity: it's self-preservation.

#pretty in this post is a stand in for . literally all forms of normativity #warm up #tbd maybe idk #ps! hi!! i'm queer!!!!!!!!! it is how i identify! if you tag this 'q slur' i will fight you!!!#i am using it here in the EXACT way it is NOT a slur !! i am identifying as a queer person!#this is EXACTLY how people reclaim it !!!#it's like practically ACADEMIC in this usage!!#please do any reading into what the fuck the history of the word ''queer'' is before telling me #as someone identifying as queer #that i'm a slur. that the place i find comfort in is a slur #''well it makes me uncomfortable if people use it for me''#im sorry to hear that dude. that sucks. i hope things get easier for you soon #but you don't get to take it from ME #in case you can't tell by the REST of this piece #i DID hear queer used as slur against me. i DID get bullied with it. i DID hear a lot of shit said #i also heard it about lesbians #about ''being gay''#about pretty much any fucking term that could describe me.#i like queer. i like how it feels. and it's mine.#you don't get to undo the work i've done personally because it makes u uncomfortable #it's ahistoric to pretend like there are ''safe'' ways to identitfy if ur queer.#none exist. it has never been safe to be like this.

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kneelingshadowsalome · 10 months

Text

I Never Missed You 2/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.3 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. Smutty smut ahead in this chapter. Brace yourselves for impact.

Part 1

You have to admit that you look dashing tonight.

And not because you want to turn people's heads at the party… But because you want him to look at you like you're the most forbidden snack he will never have.

It's selfish and petty, and you're just seeking attention. But at least you have the balls to admit it: you want Simon Riley to drool after you. You want this man on his knees. And nothing else has worked except that bra.

So you turn to the world's oldest weapon. A woman's weapon. Seduction.

"I'd suggest you keep a low profile until we're done."

He looks at you through the mirror while you finish your hair. Uses the word we instead of I. It makes your heart ache… And you take even that lecturing comment as a compliment. So he does think you look nice, or at least nice enough to stand out. You read into every look, every little tone of voice he gives you.

"I thought we were supposed to lure him in," you say while you neaten your necklace. Of course you look nice. You have done everything you can to look ravishing tonight: a deep-cut, thigh-revealing dress, cat eye makeup, red lipstick...

"Yeah but not like this."

"I'm not locking myself inside the house because of this," you announce pointedly. "I'm not afraid to live my life."

You turn and look him up and down, give him a little tilt of the head. "Don't you have anything else to wear?"

He doesn't shrink, doesn't bat an eyelash. Just looks down on you from that ivory tower of masculine prowess and makes you feel like a fool for being so dolled up.

"There's a difference between courage and foolhardiness," he states, not falling for your attempts to make him feel small in your world. You suspect there is so much more to this man, but you don't care to know about the circumstances he grew up in, the situations that gave him that broken nose and lip. You don't want to know about his broken soul.

Or perhaps you do...

"I suppose you know everything about that," you say while looking straight at the uneven scar on his jugular.

"I do."

"Tragic past?"

"You could say that."

You feel even more silly, standing before him in all your glory, pearls in your ears and silver around your neck. You pay this man for his services; he's supposed to protect you. But something in his eyes told you from the start that there lies an abyss inside this man. And you didn't pay for that: a peek inside his heart. But a door is open a creak now, and what's inside is pure darkness.

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sorry you had to deal with that."

Your cultured attempt to dance around his chasm makes those brown pools melt. Finally, he melts. But not to compassion, or mercy, or anything that would make you believe that you two understand each other.

He looks at you like you're a stranger from another planet. He's intrigued but doesn't quite understand how a creature like yourself has come to be. You're not only a child in his eyes but a coward as well for not daring to open that door to hell.

"What do you think," you hurry to change the subject. "Will I do tonight?"

He’s always so hyper-vigilant, his stare fixed on everything else but you. It feels childish, to be jealous of his attention when all he’s trying to do is protect you.

But now… Now that alert darkness bores straight into you.

"You look good in everything, ma'am."

A breeze of arctic wind goes through your scalp, and a fainting warmth settles in your belly.

You tiptoed your way to the fridge yesterday morning, before official breakfast, in your knickers and an old band merch from your youth - the one you still slept in sometimes because it was far more comfier than your silk pajamas. He walked in fully dressed and mighty while you were sneaking back upstairs with a glass of apple juice. The humiliation was overwhelming, especially when he dared to look you up and down in your state of underdress.

"Goodness… Sorry."

It should’ve been he who was supposed to say those words. But you felt like an intruder in your own house. It was a dangerous slip: to look so homely, with no brush stroke gone through your hair, with no toner on your skin. With no makeup and standing there before him in all your…you.

"No harm done."

He had never looked at you like that, and you swore right then and there that you would only descend those stairs with your full battledress from now on.

"Even in an old t-shirt…?" You ask with a tight voice. Desperate. Longing…

"Especially then."

Simon Riley strips you from your weapons and charades in a second. Your tight, seductive smile slowly falls off your face, and from behind it, a fragile, naked hope arises to gape at him. He clears his throat as if he just offered you an entire bowl full of ice cream when he was supposed to give you only a little scoop.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," he says, calm and adamant, like a statue you would go to see at a gallery.

"I'm afraid we should be going already."

"Takes 5 minutes."

You purse your lips, and he's on his way to the bathroom before you can even give him your nod. The guy is used to military showers, then, and perhaps it's for the better that he puts on at least some effort.

When he comes out, you're sitting in the hallway, and he's only wearing a towel. It's the one you gave him when he arrived, the softest you could find from your closets. You remember how the first odd thought you had upon seeing this man is that he probably isn't used to softness.

And now you see why.

You can see the prominent veins and the sketchy forearm ink, his muscles are magnificent to the point of unholy, he has a delicious, thin layer of fat on top of his belly, and the eyelashes aren't the only breath of hair that's pale on this man… But he looks like he has gone through an inferno.

His back is full of scars, and half of his shoulder looks like it has been dipped into a deep fryer. You catch a hollow dent between his ribs, and there's more, but he walks to his room before you see the rest of it.

The taxi drive to the party is filled with silence as you try to digest what you just saw. You want to call your lawyer and demand him to tell you where the hell did he find this man and who Simon Riley truly is. Who exactly does he work for when he's not taking bodyguard jobs?

But the first thing you do when you arrive at the large party held in a small palace is to go to the punch bowl and down a glassful in one go.

He's on your heels the whole night, eyes everyone with a hawk stare, and does his job perfectly. He grabs your arm occasionally and whispers in your ear if someone seems suspicious. After one and a half hours, he comes to you and practically demands that you two leave. Normally, you would start an argument, but not tonight.

You kind of want to go back home, too. The people at the party seem tedious, and his scars have reminded you that even if you live in a world where violence is not the norm, it doesn't mean that other worlds don't exist. Otherworlds - where people get shot, stabbed, and blown apart. Whipped and cut and deep-fried. You're in danger, and it took his suffering to see that.

You have been so stupid that you just about wish someone would slap you.

Simon has been so patient with you that you nearly apologize on the ride back home. You want to beg his forgiveness and confess you have been a spoiled little idiot.

But again, that's not an easy thing to do. You turn to look at your forbearing bodyguard, ever silent in the taxi, and turn your voice to silk.

"You really should smile more," you suggest. He doesn't answer, just looks out your window as if there were perils there too. You suddenly realize anyone could shoot through the glass or the door at any given time. With a proper caliber, a bullet could pierce that window and coat his black shirt with the insides of your skull.

No. No. I'm not ducking my head.

There's no one there.

"Have you ever tried?"

You turn to humor and flirt to drive those intrusive thoughts from your head. He doesn't yet know that you're afraid, that you have been afraid this whole time. You should have bought that armored car.

"Am I your most annoying client ever…?" There's a smile on your lips, a little pardon for being so infuriating. His eyes drop there, then lift back up to your eyes with surprising seriousness.

"You're my first client ever."

Well… This was news.

"Oh. Why did you accept this job?"

His stare sails away from you and back to the London night. You stifle the urge to grab his hand, a fistful of his shirt, to draw his attention back to you. Every time he's around, you feel safe; every time he looks at you, everything else ceases to exist.

You want him so badly you could cry.

"They don't teach you manners at the SAS…?"

"No. They teach us how to kill."

You scoff and turn to look through the window, too.

"Brute."

"You're entitled to your opinion, ma'am."

When you reach your house, he uses that term again. You're 110 % sure he's only trying to annoy you.

"Good night, ma'am."

"Stop it," you nearly slam your purse on the table in the hallway.

"What?"

"The ma'am thing…!"

You sound like a wife who's looking for an argument after putting on a charade all evening. When the door to your home closes, volcanoes erupt, and bombs drop, your husband-like bodyguard gets the blunt of your fear and frustration.

But how do you argue with someone who never argues back? He's calm like the Pacific during a stormless season, always, always gets calmer when you're going berserk. He walks to the armchair in your living room like he owns the whole goddamn place and sits down with a sigh.

And there is a smile playing on his lips.

"What should I call you then?"

You look at him, dumbstruck, on that chair, spreading his legs like there's no tomorrow, arms comfortably on the armrests, and mouth drawn into a genuine, peaceful, thoroughly naughty smile.

"Oh, now you're smiling," you huff. The unbelievable audacity of this man… "Some ideas on what to call me popped into your head?"

"Verily."

"Go on then."

"Nah. You should go to sleep."

"I'm not going until you tell me."

You cross your arms over your chest to underline that ruling. His smile only widens. He looks wickedly delicious in that seat with his legs spread, and the chair doesn't swallow him like it swallows you. Actually, his shoulders are wider than the back panel of this enormous chair.

"Well," he begins, "’princess' came up first."

You try to catch what he just said through the stupor of wanting to climb on that wide lap.

"Truly? How original."

"Or spoiled brat."

You stop breathing for a second, then reel straight toward a spiral of–

"How dare you?"

You notice his eyes dropping to your heaving breasts again. This man is so different from a dinner-offering, cunning man in a suit. He has no pretenses whatsoever. He looks at you with that little smile, eyes burning, legs drifting apart even more, probably his cock stirring from how you are trying to chastise him. If you had pearls around your neck, you would clutch them. Or throw them at him.

"You son of a–"

"Pretty."

His next choice renders you speechless; it cuts through your insult before it even flees your mouth. You gape at him, jaw open, breathing and cheeks burning, pussy throbbing - soaked so thoroughly now that you feel a tiny droplet cascade down your thigh.

"Yeah. That's better," the man says as if he's also blessed with a Superman stare, knowing you're seconds away from drenched. "Better than brat or princess, anyway."

The darkness conceals most of him as he settles inside that massive chair he dwarfs. You are falling, or at least that's what it feels like. A tumble, a slip inside his Styx. But there's no bottom, and the water is warm ink, despite the fact that he's so blanched.

"Pretty…?" You whisper into that water, breathe onto the surface of his depths. The darkness answers immediately.

"Very."

Your swallow is a wet, nervous roll inside your throat when you sink into that river of lust and smoke.

You take your jewels off first, because you know he doesn't care for them. Money's not his chief interest, even if he's being paid. And fat, at that. But he's not here for riches, he’s not here for the jewels – or that's what you desperately wish.

The necklace and pearls are gone soon, tucked away on the table with your trembling digits, and he's sitting there like a statue.

You have no trouble with this dress: the zipper seems to cascade down on its own as you reach behind your back. He's motionless as you slip out of the straps that keep the dark velvet up. You feel like you're the Styx: but the darkness of the river pools at your feet as you let go of the gown, let go of everything and continue your freefall.

He doesn't move, doesn't give evidence that he's even breathing; he just sits there like a long-forgotten king.

The panic snares you with a drool-wet throat: you salivate not because of him but because of your nerves.

Are you… harassing him?

Does he want this…?

At least he thinks you're pretty – and you could laugh out loud; your thoughts are vain and petty, even when you're baring yourself before him in more ways than just one. Your breaths are audible distress inside that darkness, and he's still: everything's still.

But he moves when you reach for your bra.

It's just a hand that soars through the darkness, an involuntary reach for support and gathering of composure as his fingers find his jaw. They swipe across imagined stubble before he leans his head on that hand, just an ounce's worth of weight placed on his thumb and pointer as if he's simply in his thoughts. But the hawk stare is fixed on the lace covering your breasts as it falls on the floor too.

You hear his breaths now. Quicker on the inhale, heavy on the exhale. Your thumbs slide under the hem of the last piece of your veil, something you got from the store when you were feeling down. Now the underwear makes you feel better than ever - who would’ve guessed it's the moment you slither it off? Slowly, too: you’re being a tease, hip bones giving a two-second dance for him as he continues to watch you strip before him like the queen of the night.

You breathe in sync now, and your nipples perk up – he hasn't even touched you yet and you're more aroused than ever with a man.

Not a word spoken, and you fear you’re being delusional – if you've just imagined the heat between you two, but then those legs flare a hair's breadth more. His voice is the softest whip as it crackles through the void.

"Yeah... You're pretty. Now what?"

You breathe in gusts now. It's exhilaration, damnation.

"Jesus Christ, Simon."

The chair gives a creak as he rises, like an ancient shadow. Intimidating – intense, always, always, and you've been trying to coat him with soft towels and feed him toast. You wonder if he prefers black tea simply because it tastes more bitter than coffee rounded with milk.

Does he want this? Silly softness and toast and–

You get all your answers as he bends just enough to match your height, just enough to sweep you off your feet. Your hands go around his neck on instinct as he lifts you up from your rich, opulent Styx and into his sea.

You're quiet all the way upstairs – he can't fuck you downstairs, then, has to intrude on your luxury and privacy. You don't mind, especially when the steps give a desperate wail under your combined weight. He lets it sing its music to the night: your ruining already makes so much noise.

He reaches for his gun right after he’s placed you on the mattress. The sound of it is heavy when he sets it on the nightstand that has only seen glasses of water and apple juice and perhaps a few books.

He undresses with soldierly sharpness, no seduction there. But he doesn't have to seduce you: his stare and heavy-cold demeanor have already done that.

He's so, so different from the others… Looks at you on the bed like you're both a piece of tender sirloin and something akin to garbage. That's an accurate depiction of a princess, perhaps. You know wasps gather around both honey and bloodied meat.

He looks at you like that because you know nothing. And he's not here to ruin you… he's here to insert himself inside you like you're a foe that needs to be infiltrated, plundered and burned until you understand.

He's big. Daunting. A brute while you’re the princess, could be the sleeping beauty, the way you stay immobile and try to take in this man's sheer power. You saw him half naked already when he came from the shower, but it's nothing compared to seeing all that taut, scarred flesh up close, soon about to fall upon you like a broken mountain.

And what's between his legs is wholly proportional to the rest of him. That thing is a menace, and it's not even fully erect - hanging thick between thick thighs, foreskin revealing a fat, sloping tip, and he's veined all over…

Finally, your mouth goes dry.

His gaze sweeps your beauty, and that cock gives a throb – a good, hard pull that stretches out into the open air, and your eyes go wide. Then he prowls, like the king of the jungle, moving with a fluidity that must be scary to those who meet their end by this big brute’s violence.

You are able to take in air only when his hand falls next to your head. The other claims you by the middle as if to soothe you - but the truth is you're caged in like a tiny, quivering animal.

The hand is heavy as it slopes across your stomach and scales your mound. It doesn't cup or probe, only rests there over your most sacred place, like an enemy surrounding a city. Your thighs part slowly, hoping he would just sweep right in.

"This wasn't in the deal," he rasps as he looks down at you: heavy iron judging a diamond.

"Oh shut up," you breathe, thoroughly thrilled and shy. If you weren't lying down, his intensity would buckle your knees.

"Nor do I take orders from you, ma'am."

"I'm not- Don't call me a-"

His eyes spark as the hand dips down like a deep diver into the blue. You gasp a stunned whiff when he's met with a mortifying amount of slickness. Your arousal sings a pretty song as he draws a finger over your slit, the moist sounds followed by another stuttering sigh.

"Look at you all wet," he remarks, and you grit your teeth.

“Shut…up…”

"You know why I accepted this job?"

He wrecks you with one thick finger, rough skin lathering you with your own juice like he's trying to make a point here. And he is making a point: it comes across perfectly. The princess is a filthy mess for brutes…

And of course he was given a file on you too. With more than just one photo.

"Yeah," he rasps when you only look back at him with your felled deer helplessness. You could swear that he just heard your thoughts. "I think you know."

"You're–ah– a brute," you whisper, eyes shining. Your thighs part even more, feel yourself leaking over his fingers that stroke you agonizingly slow. You swallow with hunger, the need pangs on your cheeks. Your whole body is throbbing for him.

“Sticks and stones, love.”

He's so infuriating that you could slap him. Claw him, rip him apart. But you nearly laugh instead… It's far better an option to let him claw and rip you apart. He's tearing you apart right now, with those eyes and his hand, exploring you like you're the first course and he's here for the whole dinner. How can he be so calm?

"Could you…" You start, then realize you've never begged for this man.

"Hm? Talk to me," he commands. "Whatever ya want."

You whimper – from bliss or relief, you can't tell. The frantic need to serve is fully fleshed out in his tone. It surprises you. You thought he was here for his own pleasure.

You try to think through the bliss of his fingers. You've had all kinds of things... All you could ever want, most would say. But that's not entirely true. No man has ever promised to please you however you want.

"Could you go…"

"Go down on you?" He places a thumb, broad and hard, on your clit. Teases it with the slightest pressure and a circle. "Lick your cunt?"

Fuck…

He has no trouble saying it as it is, and you nod, still helpless.

"Sure. 'N after that I'll fuck you nice and good."

He's never, ever sounded like that before. Dark, and rich, the baritone reaching a level that speaks of hunger – no, need.

A brute, a pussy-drunk brute, the blood in your veins sing as he goes down. Nothing can prepare you for the way with which he manhandles his way between your thighs like they're only a petty distraction in the way. They're forced wide apart with a tight grip that speaks of urgency, but he takes his time to admire the sight bared before him. He’s drinking you in like ambrosia, towering above you while you’re being held open for him to just observe you like you’re a center-spread girl in a filthy magazine.

"You're fucking pretty down here, did ya know that?"

You don't even know what to say - his tone, his observation is base, and still, they're the most beautiful words anyone has ever said to you.

"No…?"

"Well now ya know."

He steals a final glance at you, and the fire in his eyes already makes your legs feel weak. He dives between your parted legs, right into your leaking, glistening folds, and you're suddenly glad that you've done all that yoga… Those shoulders are so broad they force your thighs even further apart as he makes himself home there between your legs.

A hot mouth presses against you like this man has been starving, even if you've fed him the best delicacies for days. An even, fat stroke is the first thing you feel before your toes curl and your head falls back.

"Goodness, Simon..." You try to keep yourself from stuttering as his mouth opens you like a flower. You should be quiet, for once, and let him do the job. He seems like an expert, even and especially there between your legs. "Do you-ah, always shag your clients?"

"Told you you're my first," he rasps a husky sigh on your folds. He could ruin you with that voice alone.... He gives you another sweep of his tongue, full and ample, and your fingers curl around the sheets, your hips buck; your ass drives up on instinct, trying to both escape his mouth and rub your pussy against those thin but eager lips.

"Don't worry," he tells your pussy with a warm chuckle. "This is free of charge."

You sigh, the first laugh of many up into the air. You're supposed to get angry, but you can't. You can't.

"Have… no words for you."

"Good. It's about time you stopped talking, love."

He grabs your hips to punctuate it that you should indeed shut up. Fingers sink into your flesh like you're a whole goddamn feast - no more fucking toast and teasing. His hands look so huge as they dig into your skin - so different from the hands of men who work in offices or wait for people to serve them. You upvoted those hands to be the best part of this man long ago.

And that bulk of muscle… Some of those men in suits might go to the gym, but they couldn't forge a body like his in a million years: that breathtaking mass built to work and endure harsh conditions. It's not a flex or a sculptured piece of art: it's simply survival - ancient and primal.

He's got darkness, and you got diamonds, but something tells you his depths are infinitely more valuable. You couldn't buy his intensity even if they sold it in the streets. The skull mask was self-made, everything in this man is self-made, and he's sampling what diamonds taste like, and you wonder… Does he think you're cheap, some fake piece of worthless junk? Does he laugh at how easy you are? That under your manners, you're only a spoiled brat and a promiscuous maneater…? Or that he couldn't care less, as long as he can push his cock inside you?

He gives you his best, that's for sure. A working man, with you as his assigned mission, and the feeling of being a spoiled little princess only increases. And how are you supposed to stay still if he's slow and attentive like that? You might be his first client, but you're not his first shag…

His lips seal tightly around your nub, suck it, lap it, sigh on it - he's already breathless from the need to make you moan and cum. A purpose-driven, ravenous man, and when he dips his tongue inside your cunt, your mind finally goes blessedly blank. Your legs shake and stretch, and you can’t prevent your hand from skimming down to grab his hair when he gives you deep, unhurried plunges with his tongue, huffing against you from the mad want to make you feel good.

You would never have guessed that Simon Riley would get such pleasure from licking a woman.

One hand disappears from around your thigh, and you guess it's one of his fingers that arrives, wide and thick, to tease your entrance. You can feel the smile on your folds as he slips it in, making you nearly jolt on the sheets. Your fingers instantly curl to tug that pale hair, to grab hold of something, and it makes him rumble inside you.

He doesn’t even wait for you to catch your breath as he adds another finger. Goes shallow at first, then pushes those fingers in to the knuckle. The feeling of being filled - and not being filled enough - is going to drive you crazy any second now.

"Simon…"

"Yeah?"

“I want you to… want you to…" you hear yourself choking on your beg as he works those fingers in and out of you while his lips are tight around your clit. He knows exactly what you're trying to ask.

And suddenly, it's he who breaks…

"Right. 'M gonna fuck you now, yeah?"

The spread is gone, and you're being moved - on your belly, and you briefly think whether it's because he can't bear to look into your eyes when he takes you. You don’t even have time to whimper from the loss of his fingers and mouth before heavy thighs force your legs aside. You’re being spread again, crudely, obscenely, like it’s just a procedure that has to be done. He’s both methodical and impatient, and you wonder - has he wanted to rail you like this ever since he saw you? Force you to lie down on your belly while he takes you from behind like a helpless damsel?

His hands come to your hips as if to make sure that you won’t run away from under him. As if you ever wanted to…

Something far fatter forces its way between your folds and straight onto your opening. He glides over your folds a few times, spreads your wetness all over his tip. Methodical still, but it makes you moan and swallow.

"Jesus…"

The lathering stops, the jutting cock settles right where your depths lie, and he chuckles. "Not quite, love."

Fuck…

Fuck this man's cheek and audacity. Fuck his size and pride, the way he knows what he's doing all the fucking time.

“Desperate for it?”

That stupidly fat cock just resides there, teasing your aching, leaking hole without going in. But it’s like he answers his own question because you feel the thick of him give a notch against your folds. So impatient. Thoroughly needy. It sends you further down the whirpool of desire, a searing white, fathomless deep..

“Yes..”

When he goes in with a leaden grunt, your muscles go into a spasm - he's too big, he hasn't prepared you right, and still, you force yourself to relax.

"Not what you expected?"

"It's… too much," you admit. He stops, realizing that for once in his life, he might've been an impatient man. Then he crawls forward, and you feel like you're about to be buried under a boulder as his weight bears down on you. Hands sink into the mattress on both sides of you, forcing you further up against him - you're floating, almost, to where you belong.

"Yeah? C'mon… You can take it."

You shudder. It's not even fully in yet?

He speaks too softly for it to be a demand, even when he's hovering on the brink of wanting to simply ram himself into your cunt. It's an encouragement. He’s cheering you on, like a coach. Or a leader... It’s leadership.

When you don't object, he starts to feed more of himself in. You try to remember how to breathe because you were wrong, you were so, so wrong - it was barely just the tip, and now you're stretched wide and tight. He's endless, and sinking in deeper, deeper….

And you want it so much - all of him- you want to grip him and never let go. One hand comes to sweep over your hip again, it caresses the swell of your ass, and you know he's looking down at how well you can take him after all.

"How are we doin'?"

Your lips are swollen, and your brows are creased tight. It's still not in…?

You’re fucked. Literally. But you can take him... You must.

You whimper when he slows down almost to a halt.

"Love. Tell me to stop 'n I'll stop."

"Just–gently," you whisper, brittle and shivering from joy.

"Don't worry. I got you."

Slowly, he arrives to the end of him and you. Hips flesh against yours, he’s out of breath before he even starts the thrusts. His length caresses places unfathomable in this position, and his weight is crushing you, even when he's supporting himself. It only feels like the safest place to be. Trapped there between your safe, soft bed and his safe, hard body.

The first thrust punches the air out of your lungs. It doesn’t hurt, and it’s not uncomfortable; it’s just too much to take. You’ve never been so filled.

"Fuck…" He swears, somewhere between the third or fourth thrust. "You're…"

"Good…?" You offer him when he doesn't continue. You know he was possibly going to say tight or something crude like that and corrected himself before it spilled. He merely grunts as an answer - a barbarian through and through, you decree. And then the brute speaks…

"The best."

God. You feel like a diamond after all, but you've never been under so much pressure, fearing you might break.

"You-too…" It's a sad little mewl. You sound like a child trying to make friends. Latching a hook on him, no matter how tiny it is. One shake, one ripple from the behemoth, and it will fall loose.

"Don't go lying with that pretty little mouth," he warns.

"I'm not lying."

"Yeah…? Keep squeezing me like that and perhaps I'll believe you."

It's a strange feeling, to meet your mistrust and jealousy on him. He has no pretenses, but he has secrets, camouflage, and flash grenades that blind you from the truth. But even he can't hide it all when he's moving inside you, so close, so terribly close.

You melt into a pool of heat and want, trying to meet him midway by offering your cunt, arching your spine, driving yourself up to give him better access. What was possibly meant as a desperate fuck turns into a sweet, weightless rocking, a rhythm of him and you. The hands on your hip start to gain weight as he holds you still for him, at times even pulls you against his cock.

"C'mon… wanna hear you," he huffs, then slides one hand to your butt and gives it a fond squeeze when you won't instantly make noise. "You're always givin' me that cheek and now you're silent?"

It's a warm question, a thick baritone that settles into your stomach, then shoots downwards and makes you clench.

"Wh-what do you want me to say?"

"Want you to sing."

Of course the man who never talks won't shut up in bed. But he's not bullying you into submission, nor is he being mean. If anything, he sounds like he's finally on his knees.

And you don't want to be mean either. Not anymore. But you just can't help yourself from having a little fun now that he's finally desperate and inside you.

"Make me," you whisper, delivering your cheek with a wicked little smile.

The response is immediate: he dares to land a flat palm on your ass. Like you're a broodmare, a sirloin steak for him to feast on. And it does the job: you almost shriek, or at least that's how it sounds like when a parched little whine pushes through your vocal chords with violence.

"That's better," he barks, pleased with his work.

"You're horrible," you gasp. You're glad he put you face down on a pillow: you can only hope he doesn't see how happy you are in the darkness of his night.

"Yeah? And you're sweet."

It's said with gravel wrapped in silk. It hits you and ignites, starts a flame inside you without permission.

You want him in ways you shouldn't. You want… more breakfasts, him carrying you up the stairs, taking in the way you tip-toe around the house in an old t-shirt. You want to serve him back rubs and tea and see who he is when he's not being paid. You don't want a lap dog or a guard dog, you simply want...

Simon.

"I'm– I'm sorry that I've been such a bitch," you whisper. He sinks back on top of you until his nose nuzzles the back of your ear. He leans on his elbows, trying not to break you into too many little pieces, but the feeling of being confined couldn't be more blissful.

"Cock's that good?" He drags the following thrust, sparking your nerves aflame as he hits your core. But it's not brutal; if it is, it's the sweetest wrecking you could ever have imagined.

"Don't make me take my words back," your lips pull to a smile and a silent, inner laugh.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

He's smiling too. Inwardly, perhaps, but you can hear the mirth. His weight on top of you while you're lying under him on your belly, unable to move, unable to do anything other than take the full brunt of his cock as it spreads you open, is pure heaven.

"Want you to cum when I'm inside you," he rasps in your ear, lips brushing the underside of your jaw. "Think you can do that, princess?"

Being told to cum on command is a bit ridiculous, you think. But not when it comes from that Cockney mouth. Not when he asks so nicely. Your cunt pulls, claws at him.

"... I'll show you princess," you sigh, but it's only a second away from laughter. His fingers dig into your skin, the flush flesh of your ass. It feels possessive… Fond.

"Yeah. Show me. C'mon."

The camouflage gets slightly torn off by a wind of a smile. You can hear it on his lips. Sex should be fun, one of your friends always says. You had never thought about it like that. Bed is not the place for laughter and humor, you had thought. But now you are both on the brink of bursting with it.

"You're a fucking pretty one…" He grunts: a breathless, silent joy. "Know you want this as much as I do. Ain't that right?"

"Yes."

"That's what I thought. So cum for me. Wanna hear the sounds you make."

You dance on the precipice already, and his voice causes your hand to shoot out to his. You drag that heated palm across your hips and your ribs, curl it next to you as if you were drawing a blanket over youself. It's a lover's caress, and his fingers slip between yours as he wraps around you like the protector that he is.

Your walls flutter, the thickness inside you makes you swell with every thrust. His hips are relentless as he buries himself into you with blunt force, his flesh clapping against yours and making your cunt clamp down on him. Sweet, sweet, sweet, your blood sings as your lids drift closed. The wave is coming, the final tsunami that will sweep you with it, and you will only succumb with joy.

"Don't-stop," you hear yourself beg through the heavy pants he's grunting on your neck.

"'M not gonna stop," he grunts into your ear, serious now.

"Fuh–Fuck me good and… hard," you're hiccuping through dry tears. It feels like there's a hammer and an anvil placed between your ribs. "I need you hard-"

"Shit…"

You barely grasp that he's about to lose his precious control before the midnight sea takes you under. The world fades into a tight know of blue and white and black, electric, ambient, something soft and hot at the same time. You're choking on your tears, moaning into the pillow like a poor, broken, tortured cat.

"That's fucking pretty," he swears on your neck as you cum. All humor is gone now, but he's not mocking you. He's just… emotional. The bulk of him rides you through the wave, but the rhythm of his hips becomes erratic.

"That's it, pretty… I'm gonna…Fuck," he huffs on your skin, a mist of want, and the cockhead rubs something profound inside you and makes you jolt in the middle of your molten euphoria. He grunts, swears, and does it again - bludgeons so deep it forces out a sob, just before he breaks too with a choked, wet swallow and a groan. A trembling colossus, you think, as he thickens and bursts inside you.

You're an aching mess when he comes, his thighs pressing over yours and forcing them far and wide as he buries himself into you to the hilt. He's a behemoth, spasming and crumbling right above you. The broad abs bunch against your back while his hips pin you down and spread you open. The cock pulses inside you, and you are barely able to think how it's a miracle that both his thick flesh and the pool of cum, all of it, just somehow fits there inside you…

A gentle brute until the end, he swallows again, thick and breathless, before giving a few tight rolls of his hips, emptying himself to the last drop. Slowly, you both still inside your bubble of warm, dark blue, something akin to a sea between a tropical storm and a calm sunrise, a drowsy reef shifting with the waves.

He's broken into a light sweat from the toil when he finally untangles your fingers. Your hips are kept in place with one hand as he slowly pulls out. You feel like you're left emptier than before, even if you feel the cum welling up inside, about to spill over.

Your bodyguard - your late-night fuck - collapses beside you, then reaches to pull you close again. Still back against his chest, still unable to look into your eyes when you're both vulnerable.

"I'm gonna get you a towel," his fingers tremble as he caresses your arm with the most delicate touch.

"No–don't, don't go," you whisper, then grab his hand and bring it back over you. You almost squeeze yourself with it. "Please?"

The tension behind your back decreases as he slowly falls back into bed.

"Alright love. I'll stay right here."

It's so peculiar how he reminds you of large water masses. A night sea under a pale moonlight. Not a stormy, roiling one, just a vast depth in an ever-swelling motion.

"I want… I need you to keep me safe," you whisper inside that swelling sea. You never want to come to the surface. You want to learn to breathe underwater. The heavy arm is draped over you; it covers nearly half of your chest as he sighs.

"Then let me do that."

His plea is not humble - nothing in this man is. He's not on one knee, swearing his allegiance and vowing to always protect you. He's not your Lancelot.

But in a way, his plea comes far too close to a beg. You feel a sting near your heart. It's electric, pure pain - the sweet kind, though, as you realize he doesn't only want to do his job… He wants to protect you. He has already tried his best to protect you while you run around like nothing is wrong.

"Simon… I'm sorry."

"I already forgave you," he hums on your skin, evidently glad that you two finally understand each other. It should send you laughing, the thought that you needed his scars and his…treatment to find common ground. And free of charge, no less.

"Do you still wish you were somewhere warmer…?"

He bows his head against the nape of your neck, and the gush of air from his nose is warm and jovial. "No."

It's hours till dawn, but you wish it would never come. The beauty of the night is only now unfolding before you. It feels far more safe than the violent dawn. You wonder how he would react if you moaned his name as you cum. If he would shudder. You wonder what the hell is wrong with you that you didn't already do it...

"Simon…?"

"Mm..?"

"What happens now?"

There's a pause, but he doesn't shift for more comfort. Still, the bullet vests and battle gears are back on; you just sense it.

"We're gonna get some sleep."

"No, I meant… What does this mean for us?"

"What do you think it means?"

Now he shifts, but only to draw you closer. You feel like jello as he pulls your scent deep into his lungs, then exhales the grace on your skin like you're the only tobacco he needs after a good round of sex.

"Don't worry about it, princess," he murmurs on your skin. So delicately that you could claim this man has never even seen the army, never barked and shouted and smoked his throat dry. "We'll talk in the morning."

You settle into his sea, an embrace full of gentle, heavy safety. It's the sweetest oblivion to slip in as you begin a dreamless sleep, soft and snug. But it's not merciful enough to make you forget that you two…

You never even kissed.

............................................

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formosusiniquis · 1 year

Text

y'know like barbie

ao3

It's Erica who gives him the idea, incidentally. Though she carries herself with a maturity that far surpasses the boys most days and though she's been through multiple life altering events, she does continue to only be eleven. Which is, it turns out, prime babysitting age.

The Sinclairs are going out of town overnight, it's their anniversary -- 18 blissful years, since our marriage can vote we thought we deserved a night away -- and they don't want Erica to spend the night home alone.

Enter Steve, who the Sinclairs trust with their children and who is inexplicably the only person Erica would accept staying the night with her. Steve honestly didn't believe it even as Mrs. Sinclair was saying it. But he smiles and nods, looks over the emergency numbers on the fridge when they're pointed to, nods at the money on the counter for food that he probably won't take, and waves as they walk out the door promising that he and Erica will be fine for the night and not to worry.

It's only when their car is out of the driveway and the door is shut that Steve realizes he isn't really a babysitter. He is a keep children alive while in a dangerous situation and when the situation is over drive them around because you feel bad that their childhoods have been marred by trauma-er which doesn't have quite the same ring as babysitter, and it's a lot harder to say with that rude tone the boys have been favoring. He also realizes that he's never actually dealt with children, or not girl children. The boys had all been older than Erica, when he had started keeping them alive. Max was definitely basically a teenager when he started really dealing with her; and she was usually okay to do what the boys wanted to do, like go to the arcade. Hopper didn't really trust him with El and that was fine, he wasn't sure he trusted himself with El either.

It put him in an awkward spot now though. Staring at Erica in her kitchen, a little afraid to ask the question on the front of his mind which was "What now?"

So he asks the second question on his mind, "What do you want to do that isn't eat ice cream all night?"

Say what you will about Steve Harrington, and a lot has been said, but he always keeps his promises and he always brings a pint of ice-cream for Erica to have when he comes over to the Sinclair house. Tonight he brought three, all different weird flavors he thought she'd like to try.

"Why can't I eat ice cream all night?" She says it with a challenge in her eyes, but he'd bet dollars to donuts that she's just doing it to make him sweat. "Because I've seen you eat ice cream, we've only got enough for two hours at most." His hand migrates as if of its own mind to his hip. "You need more than two people for Dungeons and Dragons, right?"

Her brows raise, for the first time since he's met her Erica Sinclair is stunned silent. Maybe she's just surprised he got the name right.

It lasts about as long as it takes him to notice it. "You'd play Dungeons and Dragons with me?" There's something fragile in the way she asks, and there is the eleven year old girl she's meant to be.

"Sure, you'd have to show me how, but if that's what you want to do I'm game."

Eyes narrowed in a distinctly intimidating way he kind of thinks she stole from Nancy, he does his best to make his sincerity clear on his face. "We need more than two people, but I've got something else we can do if you think your fragile manhood can take it."

He's got a retort at the tip of his tongue about just what his manhood can take and remembers just in time that yeah probably shouldn't make a joke like that in front of an actual child. "My pride isn't that delicate, I think I can handle anything you dish out."

"Famous last words."

He follows her to her bedroom, waiting outside the doorway to let her space stay private until he's told to come in. A clear plastic tub slides out from under her bed, out of sight but easily accessible and when the lid pops off he gets why. Rows of Barbies stacked neatly on top of each other, a mass grave for childhood. Steve has a stuffed bear, fur rubbed off of one ear, tucked up on the shelf of his closet that also got put away sooner than he would have chosen to, when it was too babyish.

“Alright, so who is the, like, elven warrior.”

“That’s not how you play Barbies.”

It’s snapped so fast that he thinks it embarasses her. He tactfully avoids eye contact, pulling out a doll with blonde hair snipped into a professional, if uneven, bob and a green skirt set. She's missing a shoe. “Then how do I play Barbies?”

“That one just won the Nobel Peace Prize, she solved world hunger, but she has plans to kill the Barbie who won the prize in Physics because she stole Barbie One’s research and gave it to NASA claiming it was her own.”

“Right, of course.” This was the kind of shit that happened on Dallas, only Barbie had a lot more awards. “And they’re all called Barbie?”

“Except for Ken, but Ken doesn’t do anything.”

“Well if Barbie just won the Peace Prize wouldn’t she use Ken to kill Barbie so she doesn’t get caught.”

Erica manages a look that is both condescending and considerate. “Barbie can do anything, including get away with murder; but she wouldn’t want to dirty her hands with that sort of thing.”

“And if Ken goes to jail it’s no loss.”

“Right.”

So maybe it's more accurate to say that Dustin actually starts it.

Dustin with the shittiest attitude this side of the Ohio, something Robin blames him for.

“Like father, like son.”

“Dustin doesn’t even know his dad.”

“I mean you and Eddie, dingus.”

“I am not that kid's dad. A brotherly figure at best, strong male role model more likely.”

“He’s a bitch because you are, Steve. Maybe if your and Eddie’s love language wasn’t being as bitchy as possible it wouldn’t have rubbed off on your kid.”

“Please don’t put Dustin and rubbing off in the same paragraph let alone the same thought wave.”

Dustin comes sprinting into Family Video on a Tuesday afternoon. “Steve! I need your car.”

“Did you learn how to drive when I wasn’t paying attention?”

“Obviously, I meant I need you too.” His hands are on his hips, eyes rolled. Shit maybe he did get it from Steve. “There’s this theoretical physicist coming to Notre Dame to give a talk on the Multiverse Theory.”

Steve was allowing himself a second to consider whether this was worth it, for once, instead of just blindly agreeing to drive Dustin wherever. The drive sucked ass, but it would put him close enough to Chicago that he could try to find a music store that would carry albums from the international metal bands Eddie couldn’t stop talking about.

It was a second too long for Dustin. “Steve, a theoretical physicist-”

See Steve had this suspicion that the kids did actually think he was an idiot. He was pretty sure that none of them, hell maybe none of Hellfire, save for Lucas realized that every athlete in the school had to keep up at least a 2.5 GPA. Which might not have been anything to write home about but Steve kept a 3.2 for most of high school, until the multiple concussions started to catch up with him. He wasn’t stupid, was the point and even if they didn’t think he was an idiot in a mean way he was a little sick of the shit.

“I know, like Barbie.”

That shuts Dustin up real quick.

“N- no, not like Barbie! Barbie is some girl's toy.”

“Excuse me?” Robin, who told Steve that she would not help him parent his children on work days or any other day ending in y had remembered that Martes doesn’t have one and her shift was almost over. “What does that mean, exactly, a girl’s toy?”

“And,” Steve adds, because he can and because Eddie made him drive him to fucking Bloomington because he was fixated on time travel and needed access to some science journal that only existed at Indiana U apparently, “Barbie is on a research team looking for the Higgs particle so she can start figuring out time travel.”

The bell chiming as Dustin leaves has never sounded sweeter.

He’ll definitely end up taking the twerp to stupid Notre Dame.

The thing is that Steve thinks he’s never really stopped being a bitch.

He doesn’t want to stop. He likes being bitchy. It’s fun, when you’re doing it with people you like it’s pretty funny, and honestly he’s kinda like Spiderman. With great power comes great responsibility, he’s only bitchy responsibly now.

And it’s actually perfectly responsible as an older brother type babysitter figure to correct the behavior of the younger siblings by being bitchy. If they don’t learn at home they’ll go out in the world thinking that kind of behavior is acceptable, see Steve Harrington in his early high school days who talked to people like his father did.

So when Mike interrupts El with, “I’m not going to ask Steve, he probably doesn’t even know what a Pulitzer is either.”

He says, “Oh, yeah like Barbie won. Or Nancy will someday, probably. It’s a journalism award, Wheeler.”

And when Lucas corrects, “I don’t actually think you can win an award for comics. It’s still really great though, Will!”

“Barbie won the Kirby Award in 1985 for best artist, I’m sure Will is soon to follow.”

Or when Nancy tells Holly, “Are you sure you wouldn’t want to be something important instead?”

“You could be an actress and do something cool like go to space if you want, Hols, like Barbie.” And maybe he says it with a little more bitch than he should that time, but he’s seen the ballerinas in Nancy’s room, she didn’t always want to be an investigative journalist.

It gets to be second nature. When someone starts being shitty about something or to lighten the mood.

Erica doubts whether she should run for student council. It's her first step to being actual president, like Barbie.

Dustin makes a crack about Steve's possible future prospects when he butts in on a conversation between Steve and Robin. "I could do all three, I could be a counselor and a hair stylist and an engineer. Maybe I'll add EMT too, Barbie wouldn't stop at three, why should I?"

Or when Mike sneers at him, "What are you a cop?" All because Steve told him not to buy weed now that Eddie had stopped dealing.

"Ew, no, because you look like a fresh-faced little narc trying to be cool and you're gonna get ripped off."

"What so not like Barbie?"

"The Barbie world has achieved equality at a level that it doesn't need the cops." Eddie sometimes has to get high after a run in with Powell or Calahan who he still doesn't really trust after the spring. Steve has been treated to many a lecture on why the police were a waste of resources.

He lets Mike sit with that for a minute before he adds, "Like Barbie, I am very cool and know what it looks like when I'm being taken for a ride. If you're gonna get pot from someone other than Eddie, ask Hop where he used to get all of his shit."

It doesn't feel stupid, until El comes running into the cabin one afternoon that Steve has decided to join the rebuilding effort. It’s actually just him and Hop, who has started trying to quietly parent him, something he’s not entirely convinced isn’t revenge for telling Wheeler that Hop has smoked pot before. Steve is pretty sure El was crying when she came in, something he bumps up to a certainty when he sees how awkward Hop looks right now.

“You mind taking that kid? It’s been a long time since high school.” he rubs the back of his neck, Steve does appreciate that he has the decency to feel weird about asking. “If it’s anything outside of big brother shit I can take over.”

He does let himself get suckered by that big brother line.

El is facedown on her bed in a clear ‘leave me alone I’m crying’ pose but he figures he’s already here it’s not like he can turn around and tell Hop that he was too afraid to approach a crying teenage girl. Like that wasn’t the whole reason he’d been sent in the first place. “Hey Ellie, can I come in?”

She sits up, tear tracks plain on her face but no more are falling, and nods in that endearing, aggressively certain way she’s got. “Is everything okay?” He pauses and asks, “Was it Mike?” because he knows that’ll be the first thing Hopper asks when Steve comes back out.

“You are worse than Dad.”

“That stings, Ellie Bell.”

She takes a deep breath, steeling an already impressive will, “Lucas says it is okay to just want to be happy right now, but all they talk about is what they are going to do. Dustin is talking about going to admission early, Will talks about talking to Dad and Joyce about art school, Lucas worries about his sports and scholarships, and Mike talks about classes that count twice. I do not know what I want to be. I do not know why I have to be anything.”

“You guys have been through a lot. I don’t think anyone would blame you for taking time to just be a kid.”

“What if I never want to be something? What if I do not ever want to go to college?”

He’s made his way over to the bed with her, sits tentatively on the edge like he’s seen Joyce do before. “Then you don’t. You’ll probably have to get a job at some point, but that doesn’t have to be what you are. Lucas isn’t a landscaper just because he mows lawns in the summer.”

“You don’t think Dad would be upset?” she asks.

“I don’t think there’s anything you could do that would really make Hop mad. And you might change your mind. I've been out of school for almost two years and I’m only thinking about college now. Or you could go to college and change your mind about what you want to be. You could be a hundred things, you could be anything! Like Barbie.”

He feels like an idiot almost immediately. A jerk quickly after that. He’s made El’s genuine crisis part of his stupid running joke. But something settles in the room. The underlying tension, the thing that had the hair on the back of his neck raised. He realizes, now, that her powers had probably also been on edge.

"Like Barbie." She says it with a graven seriousness, like Steve's dumb little joke is a mantra now.

"Yeah, and you're a sophomore you don't have to have your whole life figured out right now. And don't take life advice from Henderson anyway, he thought it was a good idea to raise an Upside Down slug as a pet."

He mostly just used it to be a bitch though. Because it was fun. No, it was what he was good at. So good at it he didn't even have to try.

Because Steve had a plan to be bitchy. Specifically to Mike Wheeler who kept flirting with Steve’s boyfriend while taking advantage of his hospitality. Sure it was at their stupid Dungeons and Dragons game, and yeah Steve was the one who said they could host the game at his house now that Eddie had graduated. Yes, he knew Eddie didn't mean anything by it when he responded and usually didn't flirt back with the kids. But it was still the kind of behavior that had to be gently corrected, for Mike's sake because if he didn't stop things were going to get drastic.

His initial plan is already in action. He encouraged El to come along to watch the Party play. It was, admittedly, a half hearted plan. Wheeler got so awkward anytime El was around he mostly just hoped that would keep him from trying anything.

It isn't. Eddie starts to describe a new character, "Blonde and statuesque, she has a long bow in hand and delicate elven features."

And even though El is sitting a few feet from him Mike perks up the way he always does when there's a new NPC to flirt with. He is going to have to have a talk with Eddie about letting the kid try out a bard.

He does at least have one other tool in his belt. "Oh, like Barbie."

Steve knew what he'd get as he said it. A groan from Dustin, who falls for this as being sincere about as often as he falls for the dumb-dumbs and dipshits line -- which is everytime for the record. Will and Lucas keep their laughs small, enough that they're covered by Erica's snort. The original Hellfire crew mostly looks confused, it's becoming less and less their default as they warm up to the Steve he is rather than the Steve they thought they remembered; but he likes to keep them on their toes.

Eddie is charmed. He can tell. Sees him duck his head behind his screen and his binders, trying to preserve the stern and scary dungeon master image. That apparently isn't possible if you're smiling like an idiot at your stupid boyfriend, so he's been told.

And Mike has maybe been on the wrong end of the joke a few more times than everyone else. He turns an interesting shade of red, two parts anger and one part embarrassed is Steve's guess. The foot stomp is unexpected, but he expects its been passed down the Wheeler line as a shared signal of outrage. "Not like Barbie, this isn't some stupid kids game. She's probably a hot, wisened archer ready to reward us for helping her village, not some stupid doll that you're obsessed with."

Eddie's blank face with the twitchy eyes has fallen into place when he sits back up from behind his screen. His things aren't going according to plan, panicked face. "I think that's a good place to end things this week. Wheeler, Henderson, Jeff, and Lady Applejack you've all cleared enough experience to level right? Do that before next week."

Steve knows enough to keep his mouth shut while everyone packs up to leave. Sends a small smile to Erica on her way out to the family minivan, he knows she struggles a little being the youngest at the table even if she won't say it. He has to imagine that the outburst had stung a bit.

"You gotta be nicer to little Wheeler." Eddie chides once everyone is gone, halfhearted at best when he's telling Steve off into the soft skin of his neck. When he feels the admonishment more than hears it.

"I'm not mean to Mike." He says on instinct, he does try not to be. "And he started it."

"Definitely think you started the Barbie thing, Sweetheart."

And well, yeah. "I Barbie all the kids equally."

Eddie hmms Steve can feel the vibration of it through his back and on his neck. Eddie is about to start something he better plan on finishing. "He asked Hop where he should get weed."

Oh. "I didn't think he'd actually do it!" And then, "Is that why he keeps flirting with you, revenge?"

"No, he's got a bunch of misplaced jealousy because Will and the girls think you're hot." He toys with the edge of Steve's shirt as he says it. Perpetually cold fingers brushing the clothes warmed skin beneath making him shiver.

"The girls don't think I'm hot."

He hums again, nips at the blush red skin at Steve's neck. "El used to, Max definitely has a taste for jock.

"That's not my fault, you let Mike play a bard." He wishes he didn't sound so desperate.

"Wanted to leave the Paladin spot open for you, baby."

"I'm starting to feel convinced, we could go upstairs and you could show me your character sheet."

The things he'll say to get laid.

"Don't think I can do that Stevie, smooth as a Ken doll down there. Could show you the actual character sheet though."

His back is cold as Eddie pulls away, smirking unrepentant as he lets Steve have the tiniest taste of his own medicine.

"Barbie has a very active sex life, actually." He's never been one not to double down. "Let me show you the fun we can have without getting your dick out."

He does leave it alone for a little while, even though he really, really doesn't want to. But despite what his friends, his fifth grade report card, and his mom might think; Steve is capable of keeping a hold of his worst impulses when he wants to.

So he lets opportunity pass him by.

He makes no comment about Barbie when Eddie talks about how John Carpenter is a film auteur. Not even when Dustin tries to define auteur for him. Incorrectly, but Robin comes to Steve's defense.

Barbie goes unmentioned, barely when an argument breaks out about Nobel prize winners, of all things. He thinks the kids argue more now than they ever have like it's the only way they have to get their bloodlust out now that the Upside Down was closed. He was quickly boxed out of the conversation, even if Erica kept sending him little glances over everyone's heads. (She'd let him have Peace Prize Barbie a couple weeks ago and maybe he was a little obsessed.)

Holly wants to be a vet now, a singing vet who is also on TV, but mostly a vet. She tells him all about it while he waits for Mike to find his shoes? Definitely not his quarters for the arcade, the day any of them bring those is the day Steve brings the nail bat back out. He’s one impulse purchase away from getting one of those little coin dispenser belts that the employees have -- Gareth just quit, maybe he still had his? Mike's frown is a little less general annoyance at Steve and a little more confusion when he's finally ready to leave and Barbie has gone unmentioned.

He almost breaks again when Eddie starts talking about sports. Or he starts talking about NASCAR which is close enough for Eddie, he has a surprising taste for racing for someone who never wanted to put his van on the starting line at parties. A woman led a Busch Series race for the first time, what a year '86. He's got no opinion on Barbie's ability to drive at all.

He could let a joke go. He could be nice. It wasn't so out of character that it needed this kind of attention.

Mike has forgiven him by the time the next session rolls around. Delayed two weeks after Eddie screamed so loud on stage that he couldn't speak for two days, and then again for Jeff's emergency appendectomy. Eddie has stopped leaving pointed gaps in conversation for Steve to fill with mention of Barbie, he has had his thinking face on instead which is good for Steve about as often as it isn't.

He leaves it alone. A little bit of non-life threatening surprise is good for the soul, or something. Listen, he’s made it this far by only asking questions when shit is about to get really, really bad and Eddie’s thinking face has only resulted in something bad once or twice -- and they probably should have spent more than a couple minutes negotiating that particular kink anyway.

When the kids start showing up and nothing has come from the thinking face, he assumes it was just for them anyway. He settles in to see whatever shit Eddie is going to do.

"From the ditch you pull a human man, a paladin. His plate is dirtied by his time on the ground but clearly gleams in its typical state. He's handsome, a square jaw and fluffy brown hair-"

"Ugh is this Steve? You already made us do a quest for him," Mike complains, maybe he hasn’t completely forgiven Steve for that last interruption.

Steve has, by his own count been the inspiration for at least three NPCs for this campaign: a white light faction rogue, Sol, that the party had to rescue from the dungeons of the nightmare King after he was caught sneaking into the bedrooms of the prince -- like it was Steve's fault that Wayne had super hearing; a young fighter from the gladiatorial combat ring who helped the party rescue a group of kidnapped children that were going to be used as bait in the next round of fights; and the most obvious Prince Stefan who sent the party on a quest to kill his betrothed a Duke called Thomas the Boarish and rescue his knight Rowen and beloved Bard Edwin -- it's not like he could unkiss Tommy, and he could be a dick but boarish was dramatic.

He was not this paladin, assuming Eddie was telling the truth about saving the Paladin he'd made for Steve.

"Cut the out of character chatter, Michael, before it starts counting in game. The Paladin before you is handsome in a bland, approachable, non-threatening way," Mike opens his mouth again, how is that not like Steve surely perched at the edge of his tongue and stopped in its tracks by elbows from Erica and Joey. "He introduces himself to his rescuer, Will the Wise, 'Thank you, kind sir, I would have been down there for ages before my lady noticed my absence. I am Sir Kenneth.'"

"What deity does he serve?" Will asks, something suspicious drawing across his face.

"Is there a holy symbol on his armor?" Gareth follows up. Gareth has been backing a lot of Will's plays lately, Steve thinks something might be going on there but he hasn't wanted to deal with Eddie teasing him for being a meddling matchmaker, again.

"There is no identifiable holy symbol on his clothes or armor." Eddie says, there's a mischief in his eyes, the way he tilts his head with quiet challenge and smiles.

"What God do you serve?" Erica asks, blunt and to the point. She gets cranky when her rogue doesn't have anything to stab.

"'The Lady in Pink,' he answers."

Any time Eddie reveals lore shit there's always a bunch of people talking over top of each other. It always turns into the kind of mass blob of shouting that Steve has a hard time parsing out, especially these days. Eddie somehow manages to distinguish not only people but the things they're saying and keeps his cool enough to keep the story going.

"Roll your insight, Gareth. Jeff, with a 15 history check, you have heard some whisperings from your homeland about a newly ascended goddess but not a name. Dustin, you're not getting shit with a 5 don't even try that but my back story says shit with me. Will, pretty sure that's a cleric spell but I'll let you have it he's a Neutral Good alignment. An 18, shit, yeah Garebear he does seem to be telling the truth that is the deity he follows; but that isn't the whole truth, you know a lot of the newer pantheon have a colloquial name and a true name."

"I'm sorry," Lucas says, "we aren't familiar with your lady. What can you tell us about her? Why would she leave you there? And that's a 14 on persuasion before you even ask."

"Why would I have asked that, Sinclair the elder? He has stars in his eyes when he speaks, 'before she ascended she was already limitless. A powerful warrior, an expert marksman, a mage beyond compare. Her power grew and grew until the only place left to explore was godhood.'"

"And what's her real name, if we wanted to spread the word?" Joey asks.

"'Oh she's everything. She's the lady in pink, she's the goddess with the golden mane, but before she ascended she favored one name I assume she has kept it.'"

"What is it?" Mike asks, perched at the edge of his seat.

"Oh no," Dustin whispers, a dawning horror on his face.

"'Barbara, though she preferred it shortened. Nicknames you call them," Steve sees the joke, knows where this is going a split second before reality breaks through the haze of fantasy for the players around the table. Eddie's smirking now, smile too pleased and too attractive. "'Y'know like Barbie?'"

#steddie #steve harrington #steddie fic #and in 1996 when steve and eddie are expecting their first kid - a daughter #erica gifts them the barbie camper so steve has something while he waits for the real thing #listen you know that oh like barbie post with the steve speaking image below it #i saw that and this happened #i just wanted to try out a little steve and erica bonding #and it turned into steve being a bitchy big brother #steve and eddies love language is being dicks #but their secondary love language is not letting the bit die and i do believe that #so eddie had to take it up when steve set it down

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dragon-ascent · 4 months

Note

Hello, how are you ? Since you have open request I’d like to ask something : How do you think our favorite dragon Zhongli will react to his wife being accused of lying because they have corrected an historian on a false fact about Morax ?

Since English isn’t my first language I’m afraid this is not clear, I’m sorry.

Ooh, I like it, here's what I've come up with <3

-----

The tension is palpable and certainly not what you were hoping to land yourself in when you accepted Zhongli's request to be his plus-one aboard the Pearl Galley.

"Forgive me, Mr. Changying, but that's where I'll have to correct you," you tell the stocky man before you. The food and drinks on the table are long-untouched. "Rex Lapis didn't take on such a grand ten-headed and eight-armed form to exterminate those sea creatures. In fact, he personally went door to door to trap them in little Geo contraptions, even having a bit of trouble with the.... particularly wrigglier ones."

Changying's eyes practically roll into the back of his head. "Do you truly believe that rubbish just because that is what's commonly peddled? That the Geo archon, who could raise the mountains and calm the tides without breaking a sweat, found the task of getting rid of tiny sea creatures tedious and challenging?"

Sighing, you say, "Even the gods are subject to being less-than-perfect in their methods. And besides, the damn things were inside people's houses - brute strength would not have been handy at all. Rex Lapis needed to be careful and meticulous so that none of his people were harmed. Hence the Geo cages."

Despite how neatly you'd presented your counterpoint, Changying merely scoffs as he adjusts his glasses. He jabs a finger at you accusingly. "You're lying, just like everyone else," he growls, "and you clearly have no respect for our late archon! Do you even like him?"

Your breath nearly hitches in your throat as you gaze up at him in shock. "Ex...excuse me?"

The man pulls no punches as he continues his rant against you. "How can you so blindly believe what the masses think? Maybe if you were a real Rex Lapis follower like me, you would learn some critical thinking skills and draw more accurate conclusions!"

"I'm afraid I am on the side of my partner here, Mr. Changying," cuts in Zhongli, placing an arm on your shoulder. Relief floods your veins as you let out the breath you'd been holding. "They are correct in explaining that Rex Lapis had to go the simplistic route when dealing with Liyue's sea creature infestation."

Changying's eyes grow wide. "Forgive me, Mr. Zhongli," he murmurs, and you're not ignorant to the way his tone mellows out and becomes more respectful as he continues to speak. "I didn't know you were also in agreement of that story. But let me explain why he likely-"

"It is alright for you to have your own interpretations of events, especially for a being with an expansive history that is always being debated over," says Zhongli calmly, poised as always, "but when these interpretations are unrealistic and you still try to present them as fact...while belittling other people, no less...the line must be drawn somewhere, yes?"

Changying blanches, stammering, "Er, but don't you think Rex Lapis would appreciate deviating thought processes more, especially when..."

Zhongli's eyes narrow ever so slightly, his visage still calm as a pond. "Perhaps so, but what he would not appreciate is his people trying to one-up others in an attempt to prove they are his most loyal followers." Your husband glances at you. "I know my partner well, and they love Rex Lapis dearly. Not only do you accuse them of lying, you also undermine the love they hold for the deity."

His hand brushes against yours and he interlaces his fingers with you, giving a gentle, reassuring squeeze. You smile softly.

Changying scrambles for words, useless excuses and explanations that hardly justify him being on his high horse.

Zhongli, unamused, fires his parting shot. "Far be it for an ordinary man like myself to tell you what to do, but here is some advice: gather reliable citations for your claims, provide succinct evidence, and be respectful of those with opposing views, and perhaps then Rex Lapis would consider you a favorite of his."

With that, Zhongli escorts you away from the scene, knowing full well you will always be his favorite by far - the approving smile he gives you conveys that perfectly.

#sini writes #zhongli #genshin impact #zhongli x reader #genshin x reader #rex lapis

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talesofesther · 1 year

Text

I guess that's love

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Summary: Wednesday sees herself stuck in the memory of one night; the night you almost died. She feels it's her fault, your blood on her hands says as much.

A/N: This is loosely based on Can't Pretend by Tom Odell and After Hours by The Weeknd which was suggested by the lovely @abelvrla. Also, I think it's valid to say that this story is mostly me having fun with some of my favorite tropes, so idk if this turned out kinda bad or similar to any of my other works; but I do hope you can enjoy it anyway. <3

Word count: 4,5k of feelings.

Masterlist

It's red. All she sees is red.

It stains the white porcelain of the sink before going down the drain.

Blood never bothered Wednesday, one could say she enjoyed the sight of it.

Now, she's almost rubbing her hands raw. It's a hurried motion, she brushes the soap over her palm with urgency, clawing at her own skin under the running water; yet it's still there.

She feels a little nauseated. Maybe it's because her breathing is all over the place. Sometimes too fast; sometimes not fast enough, clogged up in her throat.

She washes. And washes. And… keeps washing. The skin of her hands becomes reddish. The blood — your blood — eventually, finally fades.

But does it really? Wednesday feels the stain to be permanent.

Looking down at her hands — her vision a little blurry but she doesn't think about that — she catches herself shaking. Her chest is impossibly tight, it hurts to feel the beating of her own heart.

How'd you do it? How'd you get her to dread your death?

She's disoriented when she exits the bathroom, not registering immediately where she is. The white walls of the hospital hurt her eyes.

It's been such a long night.

Is it still night?

The tie around Wednesday's neck seems to be choking her. She reaches her hands up to loosen it, but the feeling doesn't go away. She discards the garment altogether.

That's when she notices the blood stains on the cuffs of her white shirt. She curses under her breath. She wants to throw up. Or change out of these ruined clothes, but it feels like a waste of time.

"…nesday? Wednesday!"

She looks up upon hearing the calls of her name, only to see Principal Weems regarding her with evident worry. She's a little paler than usual, the night definitely hasn't been kind to her either.

There are only a few doctors walking around, some of them give Wednesday a strange look as they pass her by. A pungent smell of disinfectant hangs in the air. The sky outside the window bleeds in soft shades of dark purple and orange — the sun is already rising to a new day.

"You need to get checked out too, follow me." Weems reaches out to Wednesday's shoulder, trying to guide her to an empty room.

Wednesday ignores it, shrugging off the hand on her shoulder. "Where is she?"

Weems avoids her eyes then, sighing exasperatedly because she knows arguing will lead her nowhere; "she's being treated, we'll be able to see her soon."

"I want to see her now," Wednesday states, before walking past Larissa without even knowing which door she should go to.

"She's in surgery, miss Addams," Weems insists, finality in her tone. "We'll only make things worse going there now."

It's funny, how you've always told Wednesday she should put herself out there more, not be afraid to feel or let people close. Yet now you only prove her right in her reasoning that emotions only exist to torture people. Not in a good way.

But she did it anyway, didn't she?

She allowed herself to feel things.

Wednesday is frozen to the pristine tiles, her nails almost piercing her skin as she clenches her fists.

"I'm worried too, but all we can do now is wait," Weems softens once she notices the shaking of Wednesday's body. She takes a careful step closer to the girl, "if you don't want to see a doctor come back to the school with me, take a shower, put some clean clothes on. I'll drive you back when we're allowed to see her."

—

The warm water soothed Wednesday's muscles, it washed away the dried blood from her hair and the dirt clinging to her skin. It was relieving.

She's now standing in front of the bathroom mirror and the reflection staring back at her is not one she easily recognizes. Her skin looks paler than usual — if that's even possible — there are dark circles around her eyes and even she has to admit she looks exhausted.

Wednesday reaches a hand to touch her abdomen, nimble fingers tracing the spot that should be ripped open but isn't. Not even a scar remains; no telltales that she had been stabbed just a few hours ago.

She shivers at the thought. Death's cold embrace is a little more taunting when seen up close.

For a fleeting second, Wednesday catches herself planning to go to your room — as she usually did most nights before she pushed you away. She would sit beside you on your bed, her shoulder would brush yours and she'd comment about how you could even sleep in a bed this small, yet she wouldn't pull away. She'd talk with you about how good it felt to drive a knife into the old pilgrim's heart. Maybe she'd even tell you she had been scared. Maybe you'd try to hold her hand and she'd let you, gripping you tighter than she should.

Your comfort was Wednesday's most prized secret. You were her favorite broken rule.

The salty taste of a tear on her lips brings Wednesday back to reality. The reality where she doesn't have a single scar on her body and you're in a hospital bed fighting to stay alive.

She dries her cheeks harshly, turning around to put on her sweater and dark pants.

—

It's 6 PM when Principal Weems brings her back to the hospital and Wednesday is finally allowed into your room.

There's a stillness to it that she hates. You are too still. Several tubes are attached to your body as you lay on the hospital bed, there are bandages around your torso, some of them faintly tainted red. The machine that tracks your heartbeat is beeping in a lazy rhythm.

Wednesday doesn't dare breathe as she walks closer, stopping right beside you so she can cast over each scrape on your skin.

There was too much blood loss, Weems had told her moments ago. Wednesday knew that, she was the one who kept what was left of your blood inside your body until the ridiculously slow help finally arrived.

Weems also told her the bullet was short of doing major damage, and that despite now being weak, you were lucky and should wake up within a few days.

It does absolutely nothing to set Wednesday's heart at ease.

You're too still.

She can barely see your chest moving with the soft breathing. Your features are so serene, so emotionless. She could say you're dead if she didn't know any better.

Wednesday doesn't move for several moments, it's almost as if she's afraid to. She holds herself stiff at your side, glaring at you as if you'd wake up only to hear her scolding.

She hates that this is the first time she's been this close to you, in what? Two or three weeks?

It feels unfair, unfitting. Like it's all wrong.

But she can't complain. It's her fault.

A vain attempt at keeping you safe. Maybe it only made things worse;

—

"You know, as far as dates go, this is pretty creative," you told her, dodging fallen logs and rocks as you walked amongst the woods.

Wednesday turned back to look at you with an unreadable expression, "no one said this was a date."

"What would you call it then?"

"Investigating."

You groaned, falling into step beside Wednesday. Just so you could see the heavenly way the moonlight shaped her features. There was fog in the cold air, trees nothing but dark silhouettes around you; it suited her. "You're no fun."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Wednesday felt your hand brushing hers. She hated how it made her focus waver. "Besides, you're the one who agreed to accompany me."

"Of course I did," you explained easily, "you asked me to."

Wednesday gulped, things felt more intimate than they should when the only witnesses around you are trees.

"Why was that?" You dared take hold of her hand then, your cold fingertips closing around her own. She stopped abruptly, and you observed the way her shoulders tensed. "You say you don't need anyone, yet here I am."

Wednesday's breath turned shallow, she didn't feel like looking at you. Because you were right, it was a break in her pattern; her rules.

How'd you do it? How'd you get her to break her rules?

You came to stand before her, your other hand taking hold of her free one so you could pull her closer. And she let you. Another step and any left space between you will vanish.

"Why won't you tell me?" You asked for what felt like the millionth time, but you didn't really hope for an answer.

You're familiar with her. She allows you close; you hold her hand, you touch her cheek, you braid her hair. Yet she never tells you why she allows you to do it.

Wednesday kept her eyes focused somewhere on your lips, counting the specks of color there, still as a corpse.

She saw the ghost of a smile that came to your lips before you leaned closer. And alarms were blaring inside her head, her lungs aching because of how she refused to breathe; yet she didn't move away.

You kissed her softly, gently. Your lips mapped hers in a way that felt like it always should've been.

And she melted against you, her hands clutching yous.

But as all things do, as Goody warned her time and time again; it didn't last. Shockwaves cursed through Wednesday's body and she was taken to another reality.

A reality where you were screaming her name in one second, and the next you were laying on the dirty ground, a pool of blood forming under you.

Wednesday jumped away from you the second she came back to herself, her eyes wide and breathing frantically as she strived to not pass out from what she'd just witnessed in her mind.

You were speaking, trying to reach out for her again as you asked what was wrong.

Wednesday felt her eyes sting, all she could see was your blood on her hands.

—

Her vision from that night came back in the form of nightmares for many nights after. Getting Wednesday to start dreading sleep.

She remembers warning you to never come near her again just before she sprinted away, leaving you alone in the woods with no further explanation. She avoided you, accepting the fact you might hate her, but it was okay because you'd be doing it alive.

All in vain, because her vision became a reality anyway.

"How could you be so stupid?" Wednesday tells you, but only the hospital walls hear it. "Jumping in front of me like that, it was ridiculous. Don't you see it? That's why you should've stayed away."

It's useless, you won't wake up to hear her complaints.

Wednesday exhales sharply and turns away from you, "it shouldn't have happened, I tried to-" There's a lump in her throat, it tangles her words, "but you're so stubborn… If you die before me, I'll kill you, I will-"

I don't know what I'll do. Wednesday thinks to herself. She sits on the chair that's beside your bed, watching through the window as the sun hides behind Jericho's mountains.

"You're missing your stupid sunset," Wednesday finds herself whispering. A last attempt at getting you to open your eyes, because for some reason, you liked to see the ending of sunny days.

Nothing happens. You remain still. The beeping tracking your heart rate is still slow. The room remains too quiet.

Wednesday leans back on her chair, she stays motionless for several minutes; until her hand eventually finds you.

Wednesday wraps her fingers around the pulse point on your wrist, not trusting the machine to tell her you're not dead yet.

She holds tightly onto you. There's no one around to witness it.

—

You didn't wake up for four days. And every day, without failure, Wednesday came to see you. She'd sit beside your bed and wait, sometimes silent, sometimes speaking as if you'd talk back to her.

It was her own way of keeping herself calm, busy.

Though the sleepless nights were starting to take a toll on her; sour mood and thinner patience being her new normal, along with the dark circles around her eyes.

Every time she closes her eyes, she's back there — warm blood on her hands and your life slipping from her grasp — so she refuses to do it.

Enid has seen her roommate nap hunched over her desk too many times to not get worried, but with being shut out every time she asked what she could do to help, she eventually stopped.

Wednesday could hate you for messing up her life.

She doesn't.

—

The day you woke up, Wednesday was nowhere to be seen.

All of your friends came to see you, overwhelming you with love and tales about how each of them missed a part of you in their lives.

You felt sore all over, as if you'd been hit by a truck — getting shot then staying unconscious in bed for days will do that to someone, you figured.

Enid was the one who stayed to accompany you back to school when you were discharged from the hospital, along with Principal Weems, of course.

"It feels like I'm learning to walk all over again," you groaned, one hand coming up to clutch at your abdomen as you got to your feet.

"Take it slow, we've got time," Enid kindly held a hand out for you, which you promptly took.

There are a million questions swimming in your mind, losing these many days from your life feels strange. You halted but the world didn't.

You asked the one that you first thought of when you woke up; "Enid," you stop walking so you can look into her eyes, "how is Wednesday? Did she got hurt?"

A complicated array of emotions pass through Enid's features, too fast for you to put your finger on any of them. She looks at you with something akin to sympathy; "she's… fine." Enid chews on her bottom lip, pondering whether she should tell you or not. Naturally, she can't hold back, "she hasn't left your bedside once."

You must have looked rather surprised, because Enid keeps going; "it's true, there wasn't a day that she didn't come to see you."

You don't know how you should feel. You think it's unhealthy for your heart to be beating as fast as it is right now after what you've just been through, but you can't get it to slow down, not when such a bomb is dropped on you.

Almost a month ago, Wednesday told you to never come near her again. Today, Enid tells you she's been by your side this whole time.

"Why?" You ask.

Enid doesn't know the answer.

—

It feels like a fever dream. Your bullet wound, the hospital visits, the remains of the fight. Everything. It feels like it didn't happen.

Because when you got back to Nevermore, everything was back to how it was. The damage to the school was repaired, classes were steadily going back to being routine, and Wednesday hasn't looked in your mere direction once — she, being the epitome of healthy coping mechanisms and dealing with feelings, avoids you like the plague.

You asked Enid to tell Wednesday that your door was open if she ever wished to talk.

Several days have gone by already and she hasn't taken you up on your offer.

You walk out of the cafeteria with a heavy heart and twirling an apple in your hand. You miss her. You hate how your days still feel hollow without Wednesday's presence on them, it's weird because she's not the type of person who usually makes her presence known; but you miss the weight of her shoulder resting against yours, the familiar comfortable silence you'd share when only enjoying each other's existence while reading.

It's a grey day outside. You see her before you see anything else when you walk into the quad. She has her back to you, black braids haphazardly done falling over her shoulders as she sits with Enid on one of the tables.

The werewolf notices you and waves you over, an encouraging smile on her lips. You give her a look that shows your uncertainty, but she insists.

You take a deep breath and follow the stone path that leads to her table. There's a limp on your steps still, telltales of the fight; sometimes you feel the eyes of your peers lingering on you. You wonder what they're thinking about, what they see when they look at you. A brave hero or a stupid kid?

What do they see when they look at her? A lonely, unfortunate soul or the savior of the school?

You sit down beside Enid, consequently in front of Wednesday, your hands resting in your lap as your knee goes up and down anxiously.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Enid greets you happily, as if there isn't a tension thick enough to cut through in the air.

The question almost goes over your head. You're focusing on the Addams girl in front of you, on the way her knuckles suddenly go white as she grips the lunch tray like her life depends on it.

"I'm alright," you answer, eyes fixed on Wednesday — she holds you in a trance.

"I've been meaning to ask if you have the notes from our last class?" Enid continues, in a kind effort to make things less complicated.

"I uh-" you start, but cut yourself off when Wednesday hastily gets up from her seat, not sparing you a glance as she turns around and walks away.

You watch her retreating figure, the ends of her skirt bouncing with her steps. With a groan, you begrudgingly take a bite from your apple, "there's no figuring her out, I'm done," you mumble over your mouthful.

Though you're not sure if you truly mean it.

"Don't say that," Enid pouts, keeping her eyes on Wednesday until she disappears through the doors that lead inside the school.

"She made it explicitly clear she wants nothing to do with me, Enid," you shrug, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips, "I think it's my fault anyway, so… I won't bother her anymore."

Enid turns, straddling the bench she's sitting on so she can fully face you; "what do you mean?"

You breathe in deeply, feeling the familiar flutter in your stomach just thinking about it. "A few weeks before all that shit happened, we shared a- a moment."

Enid instantly smiles, her eyes twinkling with excitement, "you kissed?"

You chuckle timidly, smiling along with the memory, "yeah," but your gaze dropped to your hands right after. "I think it was a mistake."

"I doubt it," Enid tells you confidently then, as if she's in on a secret you're not.

You raise an eyebrow at her.

Enid glances between you and the door that Wednesday had disappeared into, tasting the words on her tongue before she spills them over for you. She breathes in, and relents; "after you passed out…" she gulps, dreadful memory still fresh, "right after you got shot, from the blood loss. Wednesday, she- I never saw her so desperate."

Only from the emotions swimming in Enid's eyes, you could tell she was being honest. You couldn't help the tightness in your chest upon imagining Wednesday going through that.

"It was almost as if she knew you wouldn't make it, that you wouldn't survive," Enid keeps going, "or at least that's what she believed in."

Clarity shoots through you like a bullet as your eyes widened with the words. Ironic much, but that was the feeling.

Because there was a possibility, that Wednesday saw your misfortune before it even happened. Right when you kissed her, no less.

And if that was the case, you couldn't imagine the torment she's been under ever since.

—

The night is calm, you can see clouds shaping the moon as you walk the path outside that leads to Ophelia Hall. It's a little late, just past curfew but you prefer it that way — fewer people around, the hallways will be empty.

It's a struggle for you to walk up the stairs, you have to stop once to catch your breath and allow the nagging pain that shoots up your leg to subside. Details. Tonight feels important, because you're going to see her; you'll make sure of it, even if she insists otherwise.

You stop in front of the dark wooden door. If you strain your ears, you can hear the faint noise of her typewriter. Enid isn't there, you know she's at Yoko's room tonight — her idea, not yours. Privacy is important, she told you, right after all but commanding you to do what you're doing.

With a deep breath in and feeling more nervous than you thought you would, you raise your fist, and knock.

The typing noise stops, you hear her chair scratching the floor. You couldn't breathe even if you tried.

The door pulls open and your heart melts a little at the sight; Wednesday stands in front of you with a hoodie and sweatpants on, and her hair free of braids, clearly not expecting anyone to show up at this hour.

You're snapped out of your trance when you register the door closing again. You quickly hold it open with your hand; "hear me out, please."

"No," Wednesday huffs, "I told you to stay away."

"Yeah, and not much else," you push through, squeezing your way inside her room and closing the door behind you. Wednesday takes a big step back as if you'd burn her. It hurts. "Could've given me a reason."

With a deep breath in, Wednesday sets her jaw tight, "I don't owe you anything."

You avoid her eyes then, "maybe not, but I thought we had-"

"We didn't," Wednesday tells you, the shake of her voice makes you look up, and you think you see her eyes glistening, "we don't."

You nod slowly, and despite the bleeding of your heart, you speak softly; "did you see it?" You chew on the inside of your cheek, fumbling with your hands so they don't tremble, "that night, you had a vision didn't you? About what happened to me?"

There's a sudden stillness to the room that feels awfully familiar to Wednesday. She hates the way she can't seem to control her breathing pattern, she hates that the image of you in front of her is becoming blurry.

"Is that why you've been avoiding me? Because I got hurt?"

Your words urge Wednesday's mind to travel back to that night. She closes her eyes tightly, causing a tear to roll down her cheek and part of her wants to kick you out of the room for making that happen.

"You're a liability," she tells you the first thing her mind conjures up.

You chuckle humourlessly, "ouch, considering I saved your life that's-"

"Exactly the problem." Wednesday interrupts urgently, "are you stupid? If you insist on staying close to me you'll only hurt yourself." Her voice breaks at the end of the sentence, as if it caused her physical pain to speak.

You've never heard her this vulnerable, this scared. Your heart bleeds but for a different reason; for the affection you hold for her, for not being able to protect her from what happened. You take a step further towards her and breathe a sigh of relief when she doesn't take one away from you. "And what if staying away hurts me just as much? What then?"

It's quiet. Wednesday doesn't make a single sound. All you see are her cheeks slowly being stained with tear tracks as they roll all the way down to her chin and drip to the floor, her eyebrows scrunching in hurt. But she's so quiet.

You take one more step. "Tell me why."

A beat of silence, and then; "you made me… care about you and then you go and almost die." Wednesday chokes out angrily.

You smile sadly, finally hearing the words you've been chasing; though you'd prefer them in better circumstances, "caring about people can be… scary."

You don't think she registered that you were so close. Wednesday flinches when your hand touches hers, it's a ghost of a touch, barely there, yet it feels almost like an embrace.

"But I promise you, I'm not going anywhere," you say quietly, tears pooling at the bottom lid of your eyes as you carefully hold her hand properly.

Wednesday is frozen in place, it feels like someone reached past her ribs and is squeezing the organ that pumps her blood. She hates that she must look like a mess, yet this is the first time in weeks that she feels she can actually breathe. Part of her has been stuck on that night — hands stained with your blood as the paramedics take you away from her — until now.

Her fingers tentatively close around yours, her lips part and she struggles a little to get the words out, "it's not a promise you can keep."

"I can try," you whisper. You see it clearly in her eyes; the guilt she's been carrying. "What happened that night, it wasn't your fault, you have to know that, Wednesday."

"It was because of me," she reasons just as quietly, "and almost took you from me."

Goosebumps raise on your skin at her words. Your thumb gently traces her hand. It's private, it's delicate, it's a moment that belongs to you two only. "It'll take more than a bullet for you to get rid of me," you tease with a tearful grin.

Slowly, you bring her hand up so it rests over your chest; her palm flush with your skin as your heart beats rhythmically right underneath it. "I'm right here," you breathe.

It's all it takes for her to, finally, surrender. Wednesday stumbles forward, and you're there to catch her. Her head rests on your shoulder and her hands clutch at the fabric of your shirt to the point of ripping. You encircle your own arms around her waist, pressing her tightly to you.

Wednesday is still mostly quiet, the only thing you can hear if you focus hard enough is the occasional hitch of her breath. But you feel the way her tears soak your shirt, the way her body trembles as she gives her all to contain her sobs.

"There was… so much blood," is all she tells you, words muffled against your skin.

"I know," you slide one of your hands up to her head, entangling your fingers through her hair, "I'm so sorry it had to be you." You plant several kisses on her temple and on her hair, each one is a different promise.

I'm here.

I won't leave.

My blood will never be in your hands again.

You think she understands, because you feel her own lips brushing the skin of your shoulder; cold, damp with tears. Tender.

I love you.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @maria-403 @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69 @yangsroboarmm @8e-h-e8 @irish-piece-of-trash @femalehomosexual666 @wol-fica @wednesdays-woes @vorsdany

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x fem!reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesday addams x you #wednesdayedit #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #wednesday addams fanfic #jenna ortega #wednesday x reader #my story

1K notes · View notes

kasagia · 11 months

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Bruises and scars

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x fem! tidemaker! reader Summary: Kaz Brekker believed he was too broken and bruised to ever count on you reciprocating his childish crush. You were a powerful Grisha, someone who wouldn't be content to be in a relationship with the human shell that he was. That's why he gives you the cold shoulder, that's why he avoids you like the water you wield so well, that's why he tried to drive you away after the day you confessed your feelings to him. Kaz Brekker couldn't love anyone. It would not be beneficial to either side. But Kaz Rietveld rises from the dead, reminding him of what it's like to feel unconditional, blind love. And he won't give up. Not until he gets his girl back... isn't it too late for that, though? Warning(s): Kaz and his trauma; violence; he's afraid of his feelings but loves the reader; generally Kazzle misses the reader; angst with fluff; I'm a sucker for happy endings, but the boy suffered WITHOUT HIS INVESTMENT; mentions of de@th and bl00d Word count: 7,4k

Counting days, counting days since my love up and got lost on me

"You're sending Jesper to do your dirty work for you? I didn't know you were afraid to talk to one of your own crows." you stormed into his office without even bothering to knock. Kaz swallowed. He really should have been better prepared for this conversation. After all, he knew you wouldn't give up so easily. "What is this?" you asked, slamming the wad of paper onto his desk.

"I thought you could read. This is your next job." he replied calmly, not looking up from the papers in his hand.

"In some snobbish fucking king's palace? Are you kidding me?"

"Nikolai isn't that bad. You'll see when you get there."

"And what makes you think that I will voluntarily leave Ketterdam, the club, my friends, and the Crows for two bloody years, Kaz?" for the first time since you walked into his office, he looked up from his papers, fixing you with a cool, impassive gaze.

"That I'm your boss, and you have to obey me. You needed a reminder, judging by the tone of voice you use when you speak to me."

"Was it because of what I said to you when I almost..."

"No!" he growled at you, stopping you from finishing your sentence. That day had already joined his nightmares anyway. He didn't have to constantly recall your almost-death. "It has nothing to do with it." he said, hoping that would put an end to your conversation and went back to writing down the numbers.

"Do not lie to me. I know when you do it, Kaz. You got scared because I said I love…"

"You can go and get ready, Y/N." he said without looking up from the paper he was holding. He had never felt her gaze so hot and intense on him before. They always glanced furtively at each other, discreetly indulging in the silly fantasy of loving each other.

Like they could ever afford to live a normal life. As if he could ever love you properly—the way you deserved.

You stared at him intently, trying to find any trace of emotion in him, any evidence that he didn't really want to send you away from Ketterdam, that he was only doing it because Dirtyhands was afraid of the growing feeling between you two.

"I can hold on like this, Kaz." your soft whisper cut through him, making him shiver. He could bear your screams, your anger, your madness, but the tenderness, the vulnerability you showed only around him… was much more dangerous to the cold Barrel Bastard. "I can go and return to you like nothing happened. I can stay near you and pretend I don't feel anything towards you. I can stop myself from wishing for your slightest touch. I can hide my true emotions around you and other people, just like I have done before… but please just prove to me that it's all worth it. That you can slowly take off pieces of your armour and let me see and be with the real you. Not the Brekker's mask you wore every time we were on Ketterdam's street. Not the Dirtyhands' cruel version of yourself that you created to survive in this town. Not the Bastard from the Barrel, who has so much power in his hands to take down his every enemy. Just the real you, Kaz. The genius-mind boss who cares about his people, not only the kruge. The man who loves his friends more than anything on this earth. The man who risked his own life and saved me from death's arms more times than I could count. Please… just give me this little piece of hope." he tried hard not to raise his gaze to meet your captivating, imploring irises that could touch Brekker's heart.

He knew that the moment he looked at your face, he would doom you both by giving in to this burning desire to be with you.

But he couldn't.

He had to keep you away from him.

"You must be foolish or delusional to think like that. I'm the Bastard from the Barrel. And I care about my crows, because they are good investments. Nothing more and nothing less, Y/L/N."

"Is this everything that we are? What am I to you? An investment?"

Kaz's mouth went dry as he felt the waters rising around him, when a familiar feeling of panic began to seep through his practised mask. He looked away, not wanting you to read his true emotions. Not wanting you to see how much he wanted to confess his true feelings to you.

No. You're my moon, my sun that illuminates me in my darkness. The reason why I'm even bothering to learn how to touch people without going under the water again. You give me hope and peace every time you're close to me. You're my greatest power and weakness. The only one in this bloody world who can change my plans. The only one I care about in the mornings, afternoons, nights, and midnights. I can't drink, eat, think, sleep, or work without thinking about you. You have the power over me. And that's terrified me.

He desperately wanted to give in to his desire.

But he couldn't.

He was too bruised and broken for you.

"Then I have my answer, Mr. Brekker." you broke the long, tense silence between you two. Kaz was too terrified to shift his gaze from the papers on his desk to the only woman who could easily crack the wall around his cold, almost dead heart with one of your smiles towards him. Too afraid to watch the tender expression on your face turn into a cold detachment, just like your tone of voice. "Sorry for taking up your precious time, boss. But I would rather be the foolish girl who falls in love too easily for her own good than a powerful man who doesn't want to feel anything. Nobody will sit around the table and tell a story about a man who loves only his kruge. No matter how great he was." your disappointed whisper lingered in his office long after you left.

He sat dazed in his chair until the candle stub burned out completely, leaving him alone in the darkness of his office. He stood up, lit a new candle, and watched the flame. He couldn't focus on anything other than replaying your conversation.

Rietveld's voice echoed in Brekker's head, somehow getting through his wall, mocking powerful Dirtyhands.

Coward.

And every breath that I’ve been taking since you left feels like a waste on me

"No way!" Jesper's loudspeaker scream snapped Kaz out of his thoughts. He sighed, rubbing his face with his hand, and got up from the desk.

He has done nothing since that fateful conversation. Absolutely nothing. He limited himself to staring blankly at the wall as his thoughts of Y/N effectively took complete control of him. He needed a distraction. Jesper's screams outside his office were perfect.

Without his cane, he walked to the door, eavesdropping on what was going on outside his office.

"Find another idiot to tell him. Or better yet, grab some suicide guy from the roof. If he wants to die anyway, he might as well act as a messenger for their one last time before Kaz rips their head off. SHIT!" the sharpshooter screamed in panic, nearly losing his balance as the door he was partially leaning against was opened by his rather worried boss. "Kaz, the fuck, since when are you sneaking around like that?!"

"Why exactly would I want to have ripped someone's heads off, Jesper?" he ignored his comment, eager to find out what they were hiding from him as soon as possible.

Maybe that would effectively occupy his head, so he could stop thinking about the tidemaker for a while. Unfortunately, neither of the two were in a hurry to answer his question.

"You know, there's always an occasion. Theft, insult, threat, frown, bad day, wedding, christening…" Jesper shut up, seeing that his attempts at a joke only infuriated an already irritated Kaz.

"Y/N is gone." Kaz unconsciously held his breath, feeling the whole world freeze around him for a moment, until anger and panic took hold of him.

"What? Did someone kidnap her? How did you look after her?!" he growled furiously, walking back to the office and limping towards his cane. His crows followed hesitantly, watching him struggle as he tried to put on his cloak in his haste.

"She runaway. I lost track of her around the harbour." a new revelation made Kaz freeze again. He stared blankly into the space between Jesper and Inej, turning his cane's crow head in his hand.

He should have anticipated that too. Had a backup plan. But he didn't. He's been acting strangely lately. He didn't recognize himself. But after all, that was what he had wanted all along - to stay away from Y/N. So why had her disappearance made him feel so much worse?

"Kaz? Should we send some people to…"

"No need, Inej. Go back to work. You too, Jesper." the gambler looked like he wanted to argue with him, but the Wraith, seeing their friend's strange behavior, grabbed his hand, and they obediently walked away from their boss.

Kaz leaned against the desk, dullly staring at the closed door.

It was supposed to be better that way. Neither you nor he will ever meet again. You won't exchange those longing glances again. You won't act like a couple of teenagers in love, and no one will ever attack or harm you to get to him again or to threaten him. Nobody was going to get hurt.

So why did he feel like he was going back under the water?

I’ve been holding on to hope That you’ll come back when you can find some peace Cause every word that I’ve heard spoken since you left feels like an hollow street

One week, two days, 10 hours, 34 minutes and 29 seconds. That's how long it's been since he last saw your face.

He was secretly hoping you'd come back to him and the crows. Fuck the crows, he just wanted you to walk through that damned door again and start arguing with him, shouting at him, cursing his name at all the saints you knew, so he could hear your voice again.

He missed you. More than he thought he would.

Irritatingly, everything around him reminded him of you.

Especially your empty seat during Crow's meetings. No one dared to occupy it, as if every one of the gathered was waiting for you to come through that door (or window) again with a malicious, characteristic smirk on your face, mumbling some insincere apology for being late.

It never happened. Though Inej prayed to her saints every day for your return. Just like the others. Although each of them experienced your departure differently. Jes stared often at the places you once occupied, imagining you were still there. Nina found herself often making too many waffles (of course, accidentally making exactly the few you were used to eating). Wylan often creates his bombs and other things in your favourite colours.

But Kaz probably took your absence the worst of them all.

If he had slept little before, fearing that nightmares about Jordie would haunt him, now he hardly slept at all. Because every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face. He heard your laugh. He smelled your perfume. He felt cursed. Cursed by you the moment your eyes looked at him full of sadness, anger, and disappointment... full of pain.

He thought that if you disappeared from his sight, he would forget about you and go back to normal. But your leaving only made him think of you more often and longer. He sat behind his desk for hours, staring blankly at the papers in front of him. Spread out plans, bills, and maps; it all stopped making sense to him. It stopped coming together, creating a perfect plan in his head.

All he could think about was you.

And Rietveld's voice, instead of being silenced and buried alive in his cold heart with your disappearance, only broke through his hard surface more and more often with the passing days without you by his side. And he wasn't holding back from taunting Dirtyhands at all.

The great Kaz Brekker fell victim to one of his own plans.

There must be something in the water Cause everyday it's getting colder And if only I could hold you You'd keep my head from going under

Even Ketterdam has felt your absence.

This time of year, it usually warms up enough for people to shed their heavy winter coats. However, it was the middle of spring, and a cool, icy wind still blew through the streets, bringing occasional, small snowfalls that melted on the street, creating mud.

Kaz had never despised the city he lived in more. Even it laughed in his face at his stupidity, reminding him that it was his fault that the only spark of joy and bewitchingness in this damned city had gone.

He shuddered as a child shoved past him, running happily to the ship that had come into harbour and thrown itself into its father's waiting arms. Brekker began to take rapid, panicked breaths. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall of one of the buildings, trying to imagine something other than Jordie.

His haphephobia got worse.

Earlier, he could bear the fleeting touch of strangers, such as being brushed up against him in a crowd. It was no problem for him to touch his crows for a few minutes (especially you and your comfortable hugs, holding your hand, or just feeling your warm skin under his bare fingertips).

But now even the slightest contact with a stranger brought him immediately under the water. And the tiny touch from his crows raised the waves he had to calm in the privacy of his office.

He was rolling down. He knew it well. But he saw it as his personal punishment for hurting your feelings in a brutal way instead of gently cutting you off. Maybe then it wouldn't hurt so much.

Kaz knew he was fooling himself. He would suffer anyway. He let you go too deep under his skin, penetrate his essence, and know his soul too well to just give up on you, and forget about you.

And what terrified him most was that, given the choice, he would let you in again. Even knowing he would be devastated after letting you go.

But it was better for you. You deserved something better than this life you would live with him.

And that one thought kept him sane. That he did it for your own good, that wherever you are now, he's sure you're better off than you were in Ketterdam.

Which didn't stop him from checking every ship that came into port in the sick hope of seeing your angelic face.

He just had to get over his grief. He did the same with Jordie.

The only difference was that he didn't dream of holding his brother back in his arms like he dreamed of you.

Maybe I, maybe I’m just being blinded By the brighter side Of what we had because it’s over Well there must be something in the tide

Kaz was on your bed, reading one of your books you accidentally left behind. It was all he could do lately. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd left that room for anything other than food and a change of clothes. He missed you. And he had no idea what he should do.

He inhaled your faint scent on the pillows.

In some strange way (probably because of your ability to control the water), you always smelled of the sea, even when you weren't near the harbour. Kaz hated water and hated the salty sea smell that hit him whenever he passed near the harbour. It reminded him of Jordie. But inexplicably, the smell of the sea on you brought him comfort, safety... peace.

Now it was a reminder of something else—how he let you slip through his fingers. In fact, he pushed you away from himself.

He shook his head, trying not to think about you. However, the world was always against him and never made things easy for him. The fact that the dried flower had fallen out of the book onto his chest was proof of that.

With trembling hands, he set the book aside and reached for the flower, afraid he would ruin it. However, the need to see if his eyes were deceiving him was greater than the fear of spoiling such a precious thing.

He remembered that flower. He put it in your hair himself.

"Just the two of us in a field of flowers? If I didn't know you better, I'd think it was a date, boss." he rolled his eyes as you giggled at his reaction.

"Stop it. Or they'll notice us." he muttered, trying to ignore the cool wind that somehow made its way through the high grass. He wrapped his cloak around him, enviously noting that the girl next to him didn't seem to feel that cold. He internally slapped himself for wanting to share his cloak with her.

"I highly doubt they'd want to look for us in that thicket of grass. Besides, usually when a woman is giggling at a place and situation like this, stealing some noblewoman's jewels is the last thing on her mind, Kaz. The same applies to her potential partner."

"As if I heard Jesper." he sighed, focusing on the nobles in front of them. The plan was for Jesper to distract them while he and Y/N collected what they had come for. Simple and fast, if his childish desire to be paired with Y/N did not overwhelm his senses. She distracted him more than he could afford.

"You and Jes also had a secret meeting among the wildflowers? Now, I'm jealous."

"Jes?" he asked, turning his surprised gaze on her.

"Yes, do you mind?"

"You've known him for a week." he remarked dryly.

"Yes, and what?"

"It took you two months to start calling me by my first name, let alone a nickname."

"Just because you preferred to call me tidemaker instead of using my name."

"To be honest, it might have slipped my mind then." he muttered under his breath, not realising she heard him.

"You forgot my fucking name?! Kaz Brekker you are the most ignorant person I've ever seen." Kaz knew from the anger in her eyes that only his haphephobia kept him from getting his ass kicked by Y/N.

"Well, now I remember." he tried to defend himself.

"I don't care, Brekker. Now you can even call me the fucking Easter Bunny and I won't answer you anyway."

"Don't be a child, Y/N. Y/N?" Kaz sighed in frustration when he got no response from you.

He had to come up with something; he knew this name thing wouldn't be resolved until he appeased you properly. And he didn't have time to indulge in your sulks. You had to rob these people. (It's not like his heart ached when you were mad at him.)

Fortunately, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something that might help him. Your favourite flower, growing at his fingertips. He plucked a plant and put it behind your ear without thinking. You flinched at the sudden touch, staring at him in shock as the material of his gloves brushed your cheek as he pulled his hand away.

"Maybe I forgot your name then, but now I remember and know a lot more about you than just a stupid name."

"But how… how do you know I like y/f/f?" you asked in shock, never in your wildest dreams imagining that Kaz Brekker would bother with something like your favorite flower.

"You are my tidemaker. My most important investment. It's logical that I'll know you inside out."

"Should I be afraid or appreciate this unsettling but sweet effort?"

"You should know by now that nothing I do is sweet."

"Of course, big, terrible, Dirtyhands." you replied with a small smirk, similar to the one that kept Kaz from your sight.

To her, he could be more than Kaz Brekker. He could be Kaz Rietveld. And it terrified him more than the urge to reach out his hand again and fix her windblown hair.

The mastermind has been deceived by his own heart.

I’ve been told, I’ve been told to get you off my mind But I hope I never lose the bruises that you left behind Oh my Lord, oh my Lord, I need you by my side

"Zenik. Follow me." he muttered as he finally found the woman at the bar. He headed for his office without looking back, knowing full well that she would do as she was told this time.

"Yes, Kaz?"

"You are contacting Y/N." it wasn't a question. He knew it the moment Nina sent you her first letter a month ago.

He himself tried to send you his letter a week ago. It came back unopened, and the delivery man said no such person lives at this address. A lie he recognised without even knowing that Nina and you were still writing to each other.

"I am." she replied coolly. Kaz, seeing that he did not want to voluntarily cooperate, sighed and sat down in his chair. His leg was starting to hurt more and more often - another thing that went bad with you leaving.

"How is she?"

"Happy. Relatively. She is tormented by nightmares and unwanted thoughts about you." if Nina wanted to make him feel guilty, she did it brilliantly.

He already felt terrible without her judging eyes and dry answers. She must have seen the shadows under his eyes, as he did in his mirror. He had no right to pity himself. He knew it well. That's why he put up with Nina's attitude, in his stupid desire to know how you were doing.

"So… is she better off than here?"

"No. But that's not your problem anymore."

"Did she find someone?" he asked hesitantly, afraid of an affirmative answer.

"Possibly, things are evolving."

Kaz felt the world stop around him for a moment. The idea of someone else watching how you play with water and create ice sculptures, someone listening to your beautiful voice and making you laugh, someone capable of holding you and kissing you, made him sick. A sick sense of jealousy that Kaz only experienced when he saw the wealth of others.

A rash desire to come for you overtook him. He had to have you back. Before you fall in love with someone other than him.

"Do you think if we…"

"No, Kaz." Nina cut him off before he could ask a question. "You wanted to get rid of her, so hold on to your fucking decision. You hurt her, and you knew damn well you would, by ordering her to return to Ravka. Honestly, Kaz, did you think about how it would impact her? How she would feel? If you wanna break her heart again, go on. Chase her. Let's see if she forgives you also this time."

"Then what should I do?" he asked, and the desperation and hopelessness of his tone terrified both him and the woman standing in front of his desk. Nobody had ever seen him like this. Even you. And now he was ready to open up to anyone just to have you by his side again.

"Forget about her. After all, that's what you wanted, right?" he did not answer.

She was right. He wanted to get rid of you. Now he was paying the price, and he had no right to ask you to ease his pain and return to the Kettedram. Return to him. Which doesn't mean that his stupid heart will just let him forget about you. He's learned that over the months without you. And he cursed all the saints that he didn't know it until he gave you the cold shoulder.

Kaz no longer had the right to your affection. He had to accept it. He had to accept that he had given up his chance to love you. That now you had every right to go and love someone else. Even if the very idea drove him crazy and desperate.

He must have forgotten about you. For the sake of all of you.

But Nina's slamming of his office door only brought him back to his memories of you.

There must be something in the water Cause everyday it's getting colder And if only I could hold you You'd keep my head from going under

Kaz fell. He was in the most pathetic position.

He didn't care, though, as he sat like a fool on the shore of the same lake where he met you. At which he irreversibly gave you the remnants of his heart a few years ago, without even knowing it.

He told himself that Nina was right. Once he let you go, he had to persevere in that resolve. Ketterdam will only bring you pain... so why was it so hard for him to let go of his last ties to you?

"Why are you coming here with me?" your gentle voice snapped him out of his thoughts as he stared spellbound at your little water show.

"Am I bothering you?" he asked, shifting in his place on the dock as he watched you float in the lake.

He wouldn't even dip his little toe in himself, but he liked to silently watch you become one with what was dear to you. And by the way, he could admire your skills and beauty as much as he wanted. He didn't have to look for any particular excuse.

"No. It's just that I've never seen you watch your other crows train."

"They're not like you." it slipped out before he could think about it. "If anyone sees you, I better get them before they announce to the world that one of the Black General's tidemakers has taken refuge with me." your smirk dropped at the mere mention of your former life. Kaz cursed in his mind. "You are also too valuable an investment. And the rest of the crows liked you. It's a big achievement. Inej doesn't let new people in so easily... me too."

"So you like me after all, boss?" you asked with that mischievous smirk on your lips that made his heart beat like crazy. Good thing water was your specialty. At least you didn't hear his heart pounding.

"You're tolerable company, and what you can do… what you can do is amazing."

"It's just little tricks." you murmured, forming different shapes out of the water. "At the king's parties, I was quite often one of the highlights." you waved your hand, freezing the water to form an ice statue. His statue. "Not every tidemaker is strong enough to freeze water." with another wave of your hand, to his silent displeasure, you melted the ice. "Not to mention turning ice into water again. Most just stop at its liquid form and don't train any more. I like to think I'm too curious to ever stop exploring my powers."

"Or stubborn." he said with a small smirk, listening to your wonderful laugh.

He must have been cursed from the start, since fate had put someone so perfect in his path... someone he could never have. But he could have been watching you. Enjoy his eyes with your beauty and his ears with the tone of your voice.

"Sometimes that's a good trait too. You taught me that yourself."

"How convenient for you to learn from me only what you want and not what you need."

"Sometimes what we want is more important than what we need and what is more rational for us."

"What for example?"

"Love." he tried to keep a poker face, but apparently his eyes betrayed more than he would have liked, as you gave him a confused, questioning look. "What? You've never been in love?"

NO. Not until he looked into your eyes and heard you laugh. Not until he got into your first argument with you and lost with a smile on his face. Not until he first saw you use your powers to outsmart the bandits who attacked you. Not until he saw how the moonlight in Ketterdam made your eyes shine even more than usual, so that you might as well have lit up all of the city with your beauty. Not until he first heard his name come out of your mouth. No, until he foolishly began to believe in Inej's saints, when he saw how tenderly and kindly you treat the orphans in the streets of Ketterdam.

"This silence means either a very powerful heartbreak, or you really only love a kruge."

"What if I really never loved anyone? What if I don't believe in love?" he whispered, looking up at you. You sneaked up to him so that you were standing in front of him. Water trickled down your hair and along your neck to the hand you held out to him. You opened your hand, handing him a small shell.

"The world is too cruel for such beliefs, Kaz. If we don't believe in love, why should we get out of bed at all? Why do we accumulate all these riches and try to survive each day?" Kaz didn't know the answer. Not one that would allow him to avoid the uncomfortable subject of his feelings for you.

He took the shell from you and, being careful not to break it, put it in his pouch. Along with the other little things you fished out of the water.

Your eyes met. You stared into the other's eyes for a moment, lost in your own dreams, which were not too different from each other... Yet neither of you had the courage to admit them out loud and risk everything you had been so carefully building between yourselves. Even if your hearts burned for more.

So he sat with you in silence, watching you play with the water and analysing what you told him. What was the reason for his existence?

Kaz from a year ago would have answered quickly and without thinking. Revenge. But now that he was looking at you, he wasn't so sure about his answer… or at least it was closer to something much different than his desire for revenge.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh It's your love I'm lost in Your love I'm lost in Your love I'm lost in And I'm tired of being so exhausted

He sat behind his desk, involuntarily reminiscing about the day it all began.

The day he almost lost you. The day you almost died in his arms. The day you told him something he secretly wanted to hear but wasn't prepared for. The day he will curse forever.

This was your first assignment after returning from Ravka and the whole sun summoner thing. A childish, simple burglary. Something to warm up his crows—a return to the reality of Ketterdam without queens and kings and politics.

And so it was. You filled your pockets with valuables and were about to leave when one of the guards spotted you. They were much better armed than you (it was supposed to be a simple robbery with no witnesses and no blood spilled, so you only had daggers and knives "just in case") and strangely familiar with all the secret passages in the small mansion.

Even though you found yourself in a terrible situation, you managed to leave the property. You laid out in the finish as you and Kaz ran towards the club. One of the guards shot at you and hit you. Very accurate, almost piercing your heart with a bullet.

Kaz stared dazedly as you screamed in pain as you clutched your chest and tumbled onto the muddy, cobbled road. He reacted faster than he thought, throwing the dagger at the man who shot you and killing him instantly. Inej would have praised him for such a throw.

But that effective kill didn't matter to him now. He ran over to you in a panic and kneeled beside you, tugging at the fabric of your shirt. He hissed as he saw the blood pouring down your skin.

"Kaz..." you groaned, looking at him terrified. Kaz ripped off a piece of his shirt and wrapped it tightly around your waist, trying to stop the gushing blood. "Cold." you mumbled, shivering in his arms. Brekker didn't even notice as he placed you in his lap; he was too busy to stop the bleeding until he found bloody Zenik. Where was she when he really fucking needed her?

"Shhh…. I know. Just try to hold on a little longer, okay? Nina and Jes will be here soon." he tried to calm you down by running his hand through your sweat-soaked hair. He rocked you back and forth, not knowing who he was trying to reassure—you or himself.

"We both know they won't make it on time."

"If you're wasting your energy talking, at least say something useful instead of talking nonsense, tidemaker." he growled at you, tightening his grip on you. "You're not getting away from me that fast. I didn't invest so much in you to make you leave before…" Until I tell you how much you mean to me... "Until we fill our vault with tonnes of Kruge."

"I could have predicted that even on my deathbed you'd be talking about the fucking Kruges." you laughed, coughing up some blood, which didn't calm his already madly beating heart. Where is that damn Zenik?

"Die in my arms and I promise I'll go back to hell for you. The devil can wait for you - I signed a pact with you first." you suddenly became serious, squeezing his gloved hand tighter and staring into his eyes as if they were the only stars in your dark sky.

"Kaz… I… I have to tell you…"

"Shut up, Y/L/N. You're not dying today." he snarled a warning, squeezing you so hard that he was sure to leave bruises on your arms. Panic rose in him as he felt your body slowly go limp, your breaths becoming less and less frequent.

"Kaz… I love you." you whispered, making him freeze in a daze. You only said those words in his wildest dreams. He had secretly dreamed of it many times, but certainly not like this. Not while your soul was slowly escaping from this cruel world unworthy of you.

He doesn't remember exactly when Nina came running, or how Jesper took you out of his arms, or how he kept up with Jesper's frantic pace as he ran with you in his arms.

But he surely was shaking all the way to the Crow Club. He only breathed a few hours after Nina announced to everyone that you would live. Then he left, without even entering your room to make sure Zenik's words were true, and locked himself in his office.

Tears began to fall from his eyes as he leaned against the door.

He could have lost you. Forever. Another person close to him.

His dreams would be tormented by the sight of your bloody corpse in some dirty alley. Again, he felt like that helpless little boy who had lost his brother. He found himself with Jordie THERE again.

Kaz couldn't go through all of it again. He wouldn't get up after your death. And there was only one thing he could do...

Fuck it all.

He needed you.

He was too exhausted to pretend any longer.

He was Kaz Brekker. He didn't need a reason. But his slowly dying heart without you seemed to be enough of an excuse to see you. Even if you're going to completely break it. Even the cold Bastard from the Barrel saw it as a good deal.

"JESPER!" he shouted, jumping out of his chair with his cane in hand.

"Yes?" his friend was at his side faster than ever.

"Tell the others to pack up. We're leaving in an hour." he muttered, taking out his travel bag from the wardrobe. Even without turning around, he knew a big smile had formed on Jesper's face.

We're going to get my girl back.

"About the damn time, Kaz." he patted him on the back and ran out of his office, telling the other crows the good news.

Your love I'm lost in Your love I'm lost in Your love I'm lost in Even though I'm nothing to you now Even though I'm nothing to you now

Kaz had been afraid of a few things in his life, but walking through the threshold of your new apartment seemed to be the most terrible of all his fears.

His crows obeyed him without objection for the first time in their lives and stayed at the hotel. He came here. On trembling legs and a rapidly beating heart. With his soul on his shoulder, ready to sacrifice and do anything to get you back. And if you didn't change your mind, it would be with a mind ready to carve your image into his memory so he could enjoy seeing you one last time in his miserable life.

Before he could change his mind, he knocked on the door.

He waited patiently, hearing footsteps approaching. He held his breath as the key turned in the lock.

But you weren't the one who opened the door for him.

"What?" a well-built, dark-haired man stood in the doorway.

Kaz began to compare himself to him, concluding that, when it came to appearance, he was superior to him in everything. He didn't stand a chance against someone like that for your heart. Doubts began to flood back into him. What if Nina was right?

"Are you going to stand here for half a day or..."

"Jackson!" your voice from the depths of the apartment shook Kaz. It froze him completely, irritating the man in front of him even more. "I need your help here, you big fool. What are you doing?" a moment later, you were standing in the vestibule. Your eyes met. Kaz shivered under your gaze, cursing himself for how quickly he fell under your spell as he stood there completely dazed.

"Y/N." your name came out of his mouth reverently, like a prayer, like a song long forgotten by a wanderer. You looked exactly the same as you did a few months ago. Except for the faint shadows under his eyes, which Kaz considered his greatest enemies.

"Kaz."

"Jackson. Hello there." the man waved at him, stepping between you. Jackson looked at you, worried. Kaz felt both anger welling up in him, a feeling of envy at how close you were with this strange guy, but also relief that you had someone close to take care of you. Not that you couldn't overcome the worst hell alone. He just felt relieved that you didn't have to. "Let him in, or should I kick his ass, wave?"

Wave? Did you two have nicknames for each other?

"It's all right. You can leave us." you said as you walked past him to face Kaz. The man behind you sighed, shaking his head.

"I hope you know what you're doing."

It might as well have been directed at Kaz. For the first time in his whole new Dirtyhands' life, he didn't have a plan, an emergency exit, or another backup plan. But now he was standing in front of you, staring at you helplessly as he absorbed your form. And that damn sea smell in your hair...

"Kaz."

"Y/N." he said as he came back down to earth. He took a small, calming breath. "How are you?"

"Really? Are you here just to ask how I'm doing?" she asked incredulously, folding her arms.

Kaz wrinkled his nose at your dry, angry tone. As he could see, it would be even more difficult than he thought. He stood in front of you, twirling his cane nervously in his hands.

"I'm here for a completely different reason, but I couldn't… I couldn't not come and see you." he admitted turning his gaze back to you after lowering his head in embarrassment.

"I'm alright. My brother and I are having a great time."

"Brother?" he asked. Relief and joy washed over him. Nor could he help himself to this naive hope, which began to warm his cold heart.

"Yes... Jackson. Who did you think he was?" he did not answer. You could have guessed. He knew you saw the flicker of jealousy in his eyes after that strange man called you a wave. You were his tidemaker, his wave, his sea, and all the fucking things. For a moment, he forgot that he was the one who had deprived himself of the right to claim against you. "You saw me, you asked how I was, so you can go now. Goodbye, Kaz." you were about to close the door on him, but at the last moment he put his cane between them, preventing you from doing so. You opened your door again, giving him a questioning look.

"Come back with me." he whispered, defeated. He couldn't let you go. Not again, not after there was still the slightest chance you might still want him.

"What?" you whispered softly, pretty sure you misheard him.

"There's no other reason why I'm here... I can't eat, I can't sleep, and I can't think or function like a normal person without you next to me. I'm one step away from daydreaming about you, hallucinating, and being insane that you're still by my side, so please... I'm begging you to come back to me. I know I don't deserve you and that I hurt you. You have every right to kick me out, but please, Y/N, just come home."

"What exactly am I supposed to come back to, Kaz? A cold, surly boss who is afraid of his feelings? Who doesn't hesitate to hurt me to protect his heart?"

"I'm not... I'm not good at this. Feelings. I... I don't know what it's like to love, but I know that when I'm with you... when I'm with you, nothing else matters. Not Ketterdam, not power, not Kruge, not wealth, not profit—nothing has ever been on my pedestal. Only you. Always you. And maybe I'm terrified of it, but now I know that I'd rather fight my own demons for you than let you go. I will try my best. If you still want me." he stared at you with undisguised hope in his eyes, only now realising how close he had come to you during your conversation. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek uncertainly. "I love you, Y/N... even if I'm nothing to you now." he murmured, risking everything and resting his forehead against yours with a sigh.

There must be something in the water Cause everyday it's getting colder And if only I could hold you You'd keep my head from going under

He inhaled your scent with his eyes closed, waiting for your move. Hope grew with him every second you continued to let him be so close to you.

"You're an idiot, Kaz Brekker." he didn't contradict or argue with you. He was a complete idiot, pushing you away and begging you to come back, all the while acting like a love-crazy fool… however, he wouldn't have it any other way if it meant you taking your place in his office again. If someday he could hold you in his arms… "You have lucky you're my idiot. With all of your bruises, scars, and everything else." you promised, hugging him tighter. You pulled away from him with serious eyes, making Kaz swallow. "But if you do that shit again, forget I'm coming back to you. Also, we need to seriously work on your communication, Brekker. Do you know how long I've had to struggle here with that other idiot who claims to be my brother?"

"I can hear all of it!" you sighed at your brother's grumbling and gave Kaz a meaningful look. Brekker smiled slightly, causing a matching goofy smirk to appear on your face.

"See? But seriously, I'm not kidding. Last chance, Kaz."

"A deal is a deal. You're never going anywhere without me again."

"A red flag!" your brother coughed from the kitchen. You rolled your eyes, grabbing the edge of Kaz's coat sleeve.

"Shut up, Jackson. I'm leaving, I'll be back in an hour! Try not to burn down the apartment, spitfire."

You didn't wait for his answer as you slammed the door behind you and stepped out with Kaz into the street. Brekker led you towards the hotel where the other crows were staying. His hand in yours, which did not escape your notice. You turned your head towards him, giving him a confused look, which made him smile slightly, shifting his gaze to the port and the sea.

At one point, he noticed that one of the waves "attacked" a trader, washing him over. He cursed so loudly that you could hear him even from this distance. Kaz shifted his gaze to you, immediately noticing the sly smirk on your face. Suddenly, the wallet fell from the sky right into your waiting hand, along with droplets of salty, cool water.

He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement as he pulled you closer to him, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. A self-satisfied smirk formed on his face after seeing your blush.

One day, he will be able to touch you without his gloves. Hold in your arms without layers of clothes on. He will do it. No matter how long it takes him to get rid of the greatest demon of his past. But something told him that you'd keep his head from going under the water again. His queen of waves. His crow. His anchor. And he will make sure that he holds you in his arms forever.

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pumpkinbxtch · 1 month

Note

:D omg, you are going to make me addicted to apolo, the man cries out to be loved, a request for the favor of our dear apolo (in devinart there was a farm where the reader dated leo but he cheated on her with calypso, then the He realizes that he made the worst mistake of his life, seeing that because of calypso he was attracted but he loved the reader)How does Leo react when he discovers that his ex-girlfriend, whom he still loves, is now Apollo's partner(fiancee) pleeeees

i'm a loser.・゜-: ✧ :-

leo valdez x fem!reader x apollo

summary: Leo realizes that he messed it up a little... well no, he totally screwed up. And now he's going for you, he's going to tell you that he loves you, that you should be together for the rest of your lifes oooh, wait. Are you married with Apollo? THE GOD APOLLO? warnings: THIS IS SO LONG, HAHA but another one? mmm nope, i don't think so. a/n: yeaaaah, the concept you gave me is so hilarious, i love it. Leo is literally my boyfriend but making him suffer makes me laugh, it's like YES DAMN CRY FOR ME, but whatever. i was even inspired by that song by my beloved Beatles. i hope you like it.

w/c: 2.617 (the longest I've done so far, followed by "lovelorn")

Apollo wanted to laugh, he really wanted to, but he had learned not to make fun of other people's shit, but damn, could you blame him? He definitely never thought that Leo Valdez was an opponent for him, don't get him wrong, he was saying it because he likes him. (really) and helped him during his mission, but there, standing from his palace on Olympus, he could see everything, including if someone was threatening against you, his wife.

Flames rose as Leo threw the map into the air in fury, totally frustrated in Festus. He couldn't find you, in fact, Apollo kept wondering how he was tracking you, but he didn't seem to want to answer that question. No, or he would end his patience, yes, he had appreciation for the Son of Hephaestus, but when they messed with you, he would lose his mind immediately, or worse, try to get into their relationship? He would be in charge of throwing Leo from the Mount Olympus.

Of course, he wasn't afraid, much less jealous, but he knew what the relationship with Leo had meant to you. You were totally in love, even Apollo knows that you would have married him if only Leo hadn't screwed things up, and boy did he do it big.

He mean, cheating on you with the now ex-sorceress Calypso? Oh, man. Who the fuck would cheat on you? Hmm, yes, Leo Valdez.

The main doors of the palace opened and Apollo dissolved the image. Some murmurs were heard, followed by footsteps heading towards the main throne room, it was definitely you.

— Apollo?— He heard the doors opening, and he stood in front of the fire, he didn't want to lie to you, but he couldn't interfere either, he knew that would make you upset. The footsteps approached and he felt you take his arm. — Apollo!—

He looked at you and feigned surprise. He raised both hands in welcome and cradled your face with them before giving you a chaste kiss on the lips. — My beautiful wife.

You closed your eyes when his lips touched yours, and you smiled tenderly.

— Dear husband — You said in a soft mocking tone. You used to do it when Apollo couldn't help but sound so… posh. But to tell the truth, he filled you with joy.

He ran his fingers over your forehead, removing some baby hairs, and made a golden wreath of laurels appear on the crown of your head. He always spent his time adorning you and making you feel loved, you loved him.

Then, Apollo forced himself to blow out the bubble.

— Do you want something, dear?

— I know we're on… — your cheeks turned pink — the honeymoon, but I need to go to Camp Jupiter.

Your pleading eyes, damn, not even Zeus would dare say no to you. Then, he realized what was happening. Apollo tried to hide the realization from himself, but that name began to swirl in his mind; The Fates. Those antiques would hear about him.

—The honeymoon is an old concept, with traditions that we really don't take so… literally anymore —Apollo said as he gently ran his fingers over your blushing cheeks. —So, you know you can come and go whenever you want. I'm not like my uncle Hades.

The blonde giggled, and you poked his arm, making him jump.

— Apollo!

— My love!

You looked at him with a frown, and he smiled even more, trying to push aside all those thoughts where you could get hurt.

It was a fact, you were going to meet Leo at Camp Jupiter, and he wouldn't be able to do anything.

He caressed your face once more and turned, walking to the large window of the great room.

You felt bad leaving him alone, you didn't want to leave him like that, but you were in the last semesters of your degree. Yes, you were on vacation, but you had to leave some paperwork behind.

— I won't take a second.

Apollo let out a short laugh, full of knowledge. He knew it would take you at least a day and a half to get back to him. He turned to you and walked slowly.

—Just come back to me, dear.

Your eyes shone, and you walked the distance he needed to close the distance between you. You took his hands and kissed his knuckles.

— Always.

He turned his hands so that he was the one holding yours now and made a wedding ring appear on your ring finger. When you looked at the diamond, you raised your eyebrow and your look became amused.

—Do you mark your territory?

Apollo smiled and kissed your forehead.

— In case some fool hasn't heard the great news that I am your husband.

The fool was Leo, yes. Apollo said it for him, if not, for who else?

Your husband had done you a favor and made you appear right at the entrance to Camp Jupiter, advantages of a god making you his wife. When the campers guarding the doors saw you, they immediately opened it for you.

You excused yourself and made your way towards New Rome, in fact, you hesitated whether to go there first or go say hello or… If you would meet them anyway near the university.

You walked to the limit.

You loved New Rome, it was definitely home to you, at least when you had to stay on campus during the semester. But to live the rest of your life there would also have been pleasant, although Mount Olympus wasn't bad.

You made your way and some looked at you. So, you quickened your pace, you didn't like to attract a lot of attention like that.

You moved quickly towards the university and found the campus. Blessed be the gods.

You clutched the papers to your chest and walked.

— HEY!

You turned around slowly, not really wanting any questions. But you turned completely around when you saw Frank holding hands with Hazel, trying to reach you.

— GUYS!

They both caught up to you and smiled hungrily. They wanted to hug you, but they backed out at the last moment, which made you frown.

— What was that?

Frank started babbling and Hazel laughed nervously.

—Can we hug you?

You laughed and threw yourself at both of them, so you hugged at the same time. — You fools, I'm the same as always. Just how married and that's it.

Frank denied. — WITH APOLLO

Hazel punched him in the belly, making him double over. The three of you laughed, and then she looked at you nervously.

—Have you seen anyone else? —She asked. You denied.

— I figured Percy and Annabeth would be in New York for the holidays. Nico and Will, Camp Half-Blood, Jason finishing his accounting for the new altars. Piper, in Oklahoma… — You made loops with your hand and thought if you had forgotten someone.

Hazel looked at Frank, and he encouraged her to say whatever had them both acting that way.

Hazel sighed.

—Leo arrived in the morning.

Your expression did not change at all, a reaction that your friends had not expected.

— AND?

Frank scratched the back of his neck nervously. — He is actually searching for you.

Then your eyebrows raised, showing your confusion.

— what? — You snorted. You looked for any sign that it was a joke, but there was none. — So? Do I owe him money?

Hazel laughed nervously and shook her head.

— I think he's looking for you because he wants to fix things with you.

— He's desperate — Frank agreed.

You laughed sarcastically.

—But he knows that I'm already married, right?

— Apparently… no one told him.

— What? — You asked again, raising your voice a little more. Both exchanged nervous glances. You mean, how far is Indianapolis? — Wait, he was with Calypso, he literally cheated on me with her because he said she was the love of his life.

The two of them raised their shoulders and you scoffed.

—Anyway, I'll leave these documents and go off to enjoy what's left of the vacation. Apollo waits for me. Will you accompany me?

Damn, the three of you were about to enter when you heard someone call your name, then Hazel's and finally Frank's, he was definitely the one who turned around, consequently forcing you and Hazel to do the same.

What your eyes saw were priceless. It was Leo running across campus with half his shirt burned and a desperate expression. Your heart raced, and your feet wanted to run away, instead, you stayed still and speechless.

—You are seeing the same thing, right?

Your friends nodded.

—He wasn't like this when we last saw him— Hazel said, forcing a smile and shaking her hand at Leo.

Leo had stopped at Camp Jupiter for supplies, also to check that you weren't there, and you definitely weren't there when he arrived, but rumors spread fast. You wondered if your ex-boyfriend had heard about why everyone was whispering about your arrival, but it seemed like not, or at least he seemed to ignore it.

And so it was.

Fate, the planets, and the stars aligned to ensure that Leo was ignorant about it, so that you would be the one to deal the final blow.

Things with Calypso didn't work out, why? Leo couldn't get you off his mind. Oh, what had he done? He literally cried like a baby when he realized he still loved you. He loved you, you loved him, so as always, he had to screw up.

Leo ran harder; He was taller, a little stockier, and his curls were fluffier than ever. Everything you used to worship was probably just a shadow of its former self. You weren't saying that he was bad, but you definitely no longer felt anything for him, although you couldn't help but feel a tug in your tummy full of melancholy, pain, and anger.

You had already forgiven him, but his recklessness made you want to kill him.

With little breath, Leo crouched down in front of you, grabbing his knees and looking for air.

You took a step back, your face dripping with confusion.

Hazel and Frank looked at him disapprovingly.

—I've been looking for you—he finally said.

— That's what I heard.

Leo stood up and wanted to hug you. To your surprise, you didn't stop him. You missed your friend Leo Valdez. Not your cheating ex-boyfriend, Leo Valdez.

Frank and Hazel screamed and became nervous.

—I've missed you.— He said, breathing softly, taking in pinches of your scent.

Your heart clenched and you forced yourself to smile.

—Me too, Leo.

That gave him courage. He broke the hug and gently took you by the arms.

— I was wrong… — His brown eyes projected remorse and sorrow. — I was seriously wrong, I shouldn't have…

The son of Hephaestus took a deep breath.

— I betrayed your trust. I put your love aside to think that my place was with someone else, but what a jerk… My place has always been with you. You are the one I love the most. Please forgive me …

Those words, as you would have liked to hear them so long ago, but now they were slipping over you, completely meaningless.

—Leo…

— Please! Give me another chance.

His plea resonated, drawing the attention of some residents. They took it as just a student love situation until they saw you. Oh shit, weren't you the wife of the great Apollo?

— Leo, you see… No. We can't have another chance.

Leo's heart beat so fast that he felt like it would jump out of his heart. He held you a little tighter and leaned down.

He was going to kiss you.

— No! — Hazel gasped and Frank hid behind her.

People around the campus seemed on the edge of their seats, they even plead the gods for Apollo didn't appear out of nowhere and incinerate them all. The god was definitely struggling to control his breathing from the palace. Where did his Yoga classes go? Someone meditate with him, please! He wanted to hang Leo.

You put a hand on Leo's lips, and he felt something cold. You slowly pushed him away with a frown on your face.

— I said no.

You turned your hand and revealed the glow of the diamond to his view. The Sun made it look ethereal because, well, it was.

Leo's soul fell at his feet, and he shook his head in confusion.

—I don't… I don't understand.

— I'm married, Leo. I married someone. Did you think I would be heartbroken since you

cheated on me with Calypso? That I will wait for you? — You snorted and pushed him gently.

— But with who?! Who the fuck-

You put your hand over his mouth again and shook your head.

—Don't do that.— You sighed brokenly and tried to do it delicately. If you named Apollo, everything could go to Tartarus. —He considers you for helping him during his mission as a mortal.

The gossipers laughed, some adults denied indignantly, and their friends, shit, Frank was almost having a heart attack fearing that Apollo would burn Leo to ashes.

—Apollo? —He said, with even greater confusion.

The god was still clinging to the edge of his throne, expectant.

You looked above and came to the conclusion that he was giving your ex-boyfriend a break. That action fell like a bucket of cold water on the son of Hephaestus.

He walked away from you.

— what?

You turned your gaze and caressed his cheek kindly. — I don't hold a grudge against you, Leo. I loved you so much. But I found someone who did not doubt his love for me and without thinking wanted to grow with me.

The boy shook his head and stumbled as he relented, leaving your hands suspended in the air. A gust of sweet air embraced them in that silent moment.

He let you go and thought he might have you back.

You were his friend, his confidant, and the love of his life, yet he let you go.

He disguised his doubts with bad jokes, dishonest touches, and lies.

How could he have been so stupid?

Haha, there goes the idiot that lost the love of his life to a god.

How could a love like the one you used to possess lose?

Look at me, then, Leo said to himself.

You returned with Apollo and your nerves were overwhelming you. This time you felt so distant to the palace, as if you were not worthy to enter. Still, they received you and welcomed you.

— is in his room.

You thanked and headed to the bedroom. Taking care not to be noisy and watch your steps.

Being at the foot of the entrance, the door opened and revealed your husband. Smiling?

Apollo opened the door and pulled you into the room. You couldn't help but laugh.

Your clothing magically changed upon entering, your modern clothes replaced by a white robe edged with gold. Your hair now adorned with laurels and golden jewels.

The jingle of jewelry amidst your loved one's laughter seemed like the most exquisite sound to you. He held you in his arms and hid her face in the crook of your neck.

You stroked his fluffy blonde curls.

— Welcome.

He said, bumping his forehead against yours.

— Did you miss me?— You said with humor. Apollo kissed your lips, instantly making you feel disoriented. He traced your cheek, your chin, and your neck. Kissed you behind your ear and hummed.

— I know I told you it would be fine if you went, but gods, how I missed you. Don't leave me the rest of your holidays.

You nodded.

That was your home.

#maría's shared dreams☆｡ﾟ✧#pjo hoo toa #leo valdez #leo valdez x you #heroes of olympus #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x y/n #lester papadopoulos #lester papadopoulos x you #apollo x you #apollo x reader #trials of apollo

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faye-writes-stuff · 1 year

Text

welp here we go again

INCORRECT QUOTES TIMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

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Y/n: petition to remove the 'd' from Wednesday Dream: Wednesay Y/n: Not what I had in mind, but I'm flexible

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Y/n: Dream, stop! This isn't you, you've gone mad with power! Dream: Well of course I have. Dream: Have you ever tried going mad without power? Dream: It's boring.

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Y/n: Today is a day of running through hurdles. Ranboo: Aren’t you supposed to jump OVER hurdles? Y/n: Whatever. Fear is only something to be afraid of if you let it scare you.

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Y/n: Ranboo... Why did you draw a pentagram on the floor? Ranboo: Your text told me to satanize the house before you returned. Y/n: Y/n: I wrote sanitize, Ranboo

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Y/n: Sorry it took me so long to bail you out of jail Sapnap: No it’s my fault, I shouldn’t’ve used my one phone call to prank call the police

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Y/n: Is letting someone win at chess sapiosexual bottoming Sapnap: Does anyone in this godforsaken group ever think before they speak

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George: Welcome, fellow idiots Y/n: Hello, George George: No, no, not you, you're not an idiot Y/n: You underestimate me

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George: *Gets down on one knee* Y/n: Oh my god, it’s finally happening. George: *Falls over* Y/n: The poison is kicking in.

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Tommy: Change is inedible. Y/n: Don't you mean inevitable? Tommy, spitting out coins: No, I did not.

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Tommy: Ok, maybe playing ‘whose family is most dysfunctional’ wasn’t the best idea we’ve had. Y/n's been crying in the bathroom for an hour. We can’t get them out...

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Tubbo: Man, I only ever see you awake, do you ever shut down or stop running? Y/n: Oh, I’m always running Y/n: The question is from what

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Tubbo: I know you’re deflecting by making jokes about how hot you are. Y/n: It’s not a joke. Y/n: *sniffles* Y/n: I’m a legit snack.

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Foolish: Lol heads up if you try to make a candle with food coloring, the food coloring will just sink to the bottom of the glass, and when the flame eventually reaches the bottom all the food coloring will catch fire and become one giant tall flame that you cannot possibly blow out and the glass will start to crack and then you'll throw your tea on it in a panic and then the extremely hot food coloring will boil and sizzle horribly and then the glass will shatter. Please take my word on this lmfao Y/n: What did you do op? Foolish: A MISTAKE

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Y/n: Foolish... Foolish: Oh no, 'Foolish' in b-flat. Foolish: You're disappointed.

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Technoblade: WHAT’S YOUR TYPE Y/n: Anything, honestly, but nerds especially Technoblade, desperately, as Y/n bleeds out: YOUR BLOOD TYPE Y/n: Oh! B positive. Technoblade: DONT TRY TO CHEER ME UP JUST TELL ME YOUR BLOOD TYPE Y/n:

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Technoblade, in a meeting: My policy is if you see something, say something. Y/n: I saw a squirrel in a tree today! Technoblade, with the tone of someone who is used to Y/n: Outstanding. Technoblade: This is what I’m talking about people.

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Technoblade: You're the love of my life and my best friend, I would do anything for you. Y/n: I want you to eat three meals a day and have a decent sleep schedule. Technoblade: Absolutely not.

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i accidentally hit post on this too early so if you saw this b4 it was finished- no you didn't

ANYWAYS enjoy, because the last one got over 300 likes so

ic master list :)

#techno x reader #technoblade x reader #platonic technoblade x reader #ranboo x reader #platonic ranboo x reader #tommyinnit x y/n #tommyinnit x reader #platonic tommy x reader #platonic!sapnap x reader #platonic tubbo x reader #platonic bench trio x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #dream x reader #dsmp incorrect quotes #sapnap x reader #georgenotfound x reader #georgenotfound x y/n #Faye writes #Faye's incorrect quotes

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itstheghostofmypast · 1 month

Text

☆22.59☆

(College AU) Choi San x (f)Reader

Summary: Of course, they loved each other. He was obsessed with her. She, with him to some extent, but to recognise each other outside the four walls of their comfort was a 'no-no'. Perhaps because as much as they loved each other, who knew being academic rivals would be so problematic.

Genre: Hurt + Comfort

Rating: nc-17

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.9K

Est. Read Time: 13 min

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels

Banner: @cafekitsune

"I'm so glad we're done with exams." He sighed, sitting down and rolling his shoudlers, before rubbing his neck and eying the food, then deciding to order another round.

"Mhmm... I was so glad to close all the tabs today. My laptop practically thanked me." Smiling, she leaned forward on her elbows, "Is this why we're having an expensive meal?"

Her words held no real malice, but an air of unease, she never liked how he'd casually spend like this, especially on her, she had done nothing to deserve this, and the constant reminder of how he'd always pay whenever it was pricey would nip at her self pride.

He paused to look at her before pouting, "No, I just wanted to treat my girl." Mumbling he moved the tray towards her, gesturing for her to start first, trying to ignore her lingering gaze, the eerie nostalgia setting in, he knew what she'd get like during exam season, extremely cynical and skeptical, to be honest he was no different- but they were finally free and perhaps he just wanted to enjoy a nice meal with her, no hidden intentions or ulterior motives, nothing to think about but each other.

"Then let's go dutch-"

"Not a chance." His abrupt words cut her off, for a split second his tone reverted back to the one she was used to, the tone he'd use back in the day, to snub her or out do her while answering, this tone was often accompanied by a scoff, the only gesture that would mildly indicate that this was but a fun little game, though she knew when the tone was all that would surface, he'd be serious, in no mood for negotiation. Fortunately, he had barely ever used it with her, often in times of forcing her to do something good for herself, like to rest or to eat, but she'd seen him use the same tone with a few people, who were once her friends, he didn't know she was there, standing behind the wall, listening to him call out her so called friends, people who'd just use her for her work, leeching off her academics, knowing she'd be too tired to even argue or say no, or even too guilty when one of them would bring up how smart she was and that made her arrogant- she heard him that day, the crisp morning air wasn't as cold as his words,

"Your incompetence is a curse you should bear on your own. Don't drag others down in that pitiful hole of yours, especially her."

That day she had lost an entire circle of friends, at a point she wondered if it was even worth it, wondered why he even said that when a class ago he had called her 'a silly little girl' for arguing about what a Freudian slip was when she was clearly wrong, now here he was defending her honour? On the same day he had come to her, sitting next to her in the library and slipping her a coupon, initially she had thought he was insulting her- a typical bourgeoisie move, only to realise it was a coupon for a couple's meal, noticing him side eying her to read her expressions. She had turned to him, pointing at the coupon, herself and then him, and as wordlessly as she had spoken, he too nodded, pointing at himself, her and then the coupon. Something had begun to blossom between the two that day, a relationship both were too afraid to talk about, perhaps because of their on going rivalry since the beginning of their academic year, or the way they'd ignore each other until one would bother the other, or perhaps the fear of being questioned by the lingering gazes around the hallways, the whispers the wind carried around the campus- wanting not to be part of the gust of wind, choosing to keep whatever this was hidden, a secret shared by just the two.

"I mean...I'd prefer you don't, I wanted to treat you," his argument coming out softer, as he nodded to the waiter who had entered the private section after knocking, to place another tray in front of them, "Just us and a nice meal...I haven't spent enough time with you....that's why." Clearing his throat , he avoided the way she studied him, eyes scanning each feature, every gesture, every breath he'd take, to be able to study his next more, to prepare herself. Truth be told he hated it when she'd do that, this was the first thing that irked him about her, and although he had always been gentle natured, this trait of hers would always have his ulterior ego surface, ready to claw her. It took him some time to realise that was just the face she'd make while thinking, not only at him but everyone, including her exam sheet. That did not mean that being together made it any easy for him, in fact, now he'd feel small when she'd look at him like that, he'd feel as if his sincerity was being questioned, it made him dislike himself, was he not clear enough? Was the choice of words not point to point? Maybe his tone was ooff-

"Oh...well you're right, I guess I am to blame for that, I kind of mentally blocked you out." Mumbling sheepishly she reached across the table to hold his hand, her the tips of her fingers caressing the back of his hand, noting how he visibly relaxed, "In my defense there's this annoying guy in class who thinks he's so smart-"

"Thinks?" With a scoff he laced their fingers together, leaning closer to the table to eye her, his frown morphing into his signature dimpled smile at the sound of her laughter, before he continued, adding onto the playful banter, "Last time I checked this guy beat you in the Moral Philosophy 101 quiz and assignment."

Shrugging in response she grabbed the chopsticks with her free hand, "Beginners luck. Also consequentialism sucks, you're just a utilitarian at heart, that's why you got lucky." With that verdict she began eating, earning a cackle in return, the atmosphere around them calming down once more, allowing her to relax, much to his pleasure. He had begged her to go out with him last week too, claiming that they were left with just one exam so they could relax a bit, though she had threatened to block him if he kept pestering her, which is why he had stopped spam texting her.

However, finally tonight, now that they were free he had earned the right to become her Sannie again, to roll around on her bed, messing with the sheets while she would be scrolling on her phone trying to ignore how his antics were toppling off her plushies to the floor. He'd be able to whine and complain when she'd wake him up early because the 'cafeteria is serving Yaki Udon',

"Go, they let you sneak some to your dorm, sneak some here"

"It's...6 am...let's just eat something else."

"If I had the rich boy privellage, I'd go myself, but alas-"

"Are you really guilt tripping me for being rich?"

"No, my sweet nepo-baby I'm stating a mere fact."

"A nepo-baby would be a business major like his father, not a communication major-"

"And that's why you're my favourite boy, Sannie."

That day he got her four bowls of udon, even sneaking in the dessert Wooyoung had gotten for himself, and when asked he told Wooyoung he had eaten it, never mentioning her.

That was another issue, he had to keep his relationship a secret from his friends too, initially it was fun, the thrill and excitement would have him shivering with glee, but recently, after most of his friends now had a significant other whom they would publicly walk around with or show affection to, he had begun to wonder if she'd ever want that with him. Or were they just college sweethearts, soon to be forgotten, a bitter sweet memory plastered at the back of their minds, one to return to when times would get rough.

"What's wrong?"

Her question cutting off his thought process only for him to realise how he had just been staring at his food, while she was half way done. Clearing his throat he gave her a gentle smile, shaking his head before reaching for the soda, pouring both of them a glass. Maybe some other time, he'd ask her some other time, right now he could see how she was enjoying herself, he could see how comfortable she was with him, he had no real intentions of ruining the moment.

"Are you sure? You're making the same face you did, when you had to present last semester." Just like that he had lost all the love he had for her, no, he was dating a monster, a demon in the skin of an angel, the human embodiment of Godzilla. Eyes narrowing at her direction he scoffed, leaning back to take off his jacket, before responding with a taunt, "Says the person who forgot the meaning of utility while presenting".

With a gasp she placed her hand on her heart, staring at him in faux shock, "You fiend, that's because I'm a Kant girlie at heart."

"So...you don't think the ends justify the means?" He asked cautiously, though not of her feelings, but of the risk of his own fragile heart, too afraid to let it slip out of her grasp and shatter.

"The ends, never justify the means, Sannie." She smiled, staring at him only for it to drop when she noticed him frown at his plate, slowly nodding as he looked up at her, "Yeah...I guess..."

"What's...wrong, something has been bothering you since we came here." She sighed pushing her plate aside, watching him take out his buzzing phone, choosing to stare at the phone rather than him.

"Nothing."

His blunt response nipping at her insecurities, what did she do? Should she not have said that? Did she offend him? Was he going to leave her now? They were in their final year anyway, the time spent together was supposed to come to an end and as much as she wanted to cling onto the false hope of him somehow spending the rest of his life together with her, she knew that was but a wish, reality was far too bitter, far too grim, leaving the two to wonder when they'd become a distant memory.

"Okay."

There it was, his eyes flickered up to scan her face, that defeated look she'd hold when she'd give up, why would she never fight for him? Why didn't she pester him to finish his statement, why didn't she cling onto him, pulling him closer even though he knew he'd run to her at any given moment, he was only waiting for the signal, waiting for her to say the word. Maybe Wooyoung was right, this was just a fun arrangement for the two, a temporary one, which is why Hongjoong had asked him to confront her, but he didn't want to, yet, here he was by choosing to not confront her he had somehow made it worse.

Visibly flinching under his glare she averted her gaze, clearing her throat, playing with her fingers as she stared at her lap aimlessly, so what now?

"What about us?" His words a gentle whisper as he put his phone on the table beside his plate, hunching forward to get a better look at her face, "Does our end justify our means?"

Her head snapped up in his direction, the burning sensation of the flood of tears at the brink of falling, she could feel the fat droplets clinging to her lower lashes, chewing on her lower lip as she tried to compose herself, "Which end...Sannie, the one where we say goodbye?"

His frown only deepened at her question, taking in her shaking form, pinching himself as he tried ro remain rooted to his spot. Seonghwa had told him to listen to her, to comfort and console her because women need time to process and cope, especially someone like her, but then Hongjoong's persistent 'What if she really is with you for the ride', kept bothering him, what if he were right, but at the back of his mind, this little voice was yelling at him, telling him how that was not true, how he'd seen her take care of him, how he'd felt her love for him; from when she'd slip in her extra notes in his bag for him to study to when she'd slip in a few packets of mint oreo in his bag as a treat. He knew they were more than just a fling, or at least he would like to believe that.

"Do you ... want us to?" His words as soft as the first time he had confessed to her, making her feel even more nauseous than before, though with a gulp she held it back before shaking her head and mumbling a, "No...do you?"

Shaking his head, much like her he sighed before staring aimlessly at her, "Then...why won't you fight for me?" This was less of a question, but more of a whine, a plea, one that had her finally snap.

Her sniff having him focus on her, watching her bring up her hands to cover her face, as she hunched over, making sure he couldn't see her cry, a trait that bothered him, he'd barely ever see her breakdown, even during the stressful exam season, she'd lock herself in the washroom and let it out, while he'd either wait outside the washroom (if he was lucky enough for her to let him into her dormroom) or like most exam seasons he'd be at his own dorm, trying to call her or text her.

"Why can't our end be happy?" He mumbled, finally choosing to get up and walk around the table and to her, glad he had reserved a closed off private section. Sighing he reached for her, gently gripping her wrists as he pulled her hands off her face, ignoring her whines and protest, "Tell me, why do you think we can't have a happy end?" Pulling her up to wrap his arms around her, letting her fist his shirt, soaking it with her tears, sobbing out a, "Because our means of doing so aren't good."

Pulling her back he stared at her, gripping her shoulders, "What do you mean? Do you not want to keep it a secret anymore?"

"I never wanted to keep it a secret, at least I dont want to anymore." She mumbled trying to hide in his embrace once more but he pulled her back again, much to her disappointment as he tried to read her, "I just thought...your image and...I...maybe you didn't want to tell anyone."

By now he had sat her back down leaning against the table as he looked at her, holding onto her hand, his thumbs caressing the back of her hand, listening to her, raising his eyebrows, "No..." he sighed before gently smiling at her, "I've been dropping hints for a while now. My last hint was what led the guys to pick up on the fact that we are together."

So his friends knew?

"Do they think I'm weird?" She whispered, trying to pull away her hand but he held onto her tighter, shaking his head and letting out a laugh, "If anything they thought I tricked you into dating me...Wooyoung didn't even believe me until he saw our pictures." He smiled at her, the memory of his friends accusing him for lying, making it even funnier, "Yeosang said he could tell you're into dumb guys."

"Well, you are dumb. There's no doubt about that." She mumbled, standing up and moving closer, so she was standing between his legs. Cupping his face, she smiled when he glared at her. The eerie sensation that was once slithering in her veins long gone, "I don't remember a single hint, though."

"How?" He whined, pouting at her, leaning into her touch, closing his eyes as he basked in the attention, the same attention he knew he would recieve publically from now on, there would be nothing holding them back, not her toxic friends, those who stared or whispered, in fact his friends would just support them, perhaps she needed such a support system too, would be good for her, "Yesterday after the exam I called you out, I said see you tomorrow babe."

"Thought that was a Freudian slip."

"Oh, so now you know what a Freudian slip is?" His eyes snapped open, brows furrowing at her smug expression, hissing when she squeezed his cheeks together, only to pull back when he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tight until she was wheezing out apologies. Giving him a proper hug once he eased down on her, she sighed, pressing her forehead against his,"I really do like you, Sannie."

"I like you too." He smiled, feeling her brush her lips against his, whispering against her lips, only his next statement had him feeling her stiffen and possibly struggle against him but he held her tight, not wanting to be smacked, "They updated the marksheet, I scored higher than you in Moral Philosophy....again...sorry babe." Followed by his boisterous laughter and her whining to let him go, greatly ruining the moment.

A/N: I had to get this out of my system okay- my exams just finished. The next update ya'll will see will be of Meow Chapter 4

Taglist: @edenesth @yessa-vie @marsvillee @spooo00oky @the-kpop-simp @mlysalt

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perfinn · 2 months

Text

you're out of touch, i'm out of time

aegon ii targaryen x reader

wc: 3.3k

summary: you have a tendency to pick up strays, but when you pick up the king of westeros (who was supposed to have died hundreds of years ago), things begin to get a little complicated

cw: NSFW, f!reader, aegon being a creep (shocker), aegon being deeply pathetic (also shocker), aegon is drunk or possibly hung over, attempted sex (aegon begs for a handjob but doesn't get one)

read on ao3, divider by saradika

You’ve always been too nice. You’re aware of this unfortunate fact, though you staunchly refuse to admit it’s a weakness. Has this trait left you without necessities from time to time because you gave them to someone who needed them more? Yes, but you sleep better at night knowing that that homeless girl had sturdy new shoes, even if you had to walk home barefoot. You can always handle a bit of discomfort if it means improving someone’s day marginally. It’s not as though you’re without any sense of self preservation– you know when to say no, or when to walk away. When someone is out for their own self interest, or just plain dangerous.

You’re smart about it. Mostly. Sometimes, though, your sympathy gene takes over, and you approach the danger because you feel there’s more beneath the surface. So far, it hasn’t put you in any troubling positions. Still, first time for everything. And as you stand on the edge of the pavement, toes of your shoes swinging down into the gutter as you sway back and forth, you wonder if you’re about to break your successful streak.

There’s a man in the busy city street, raving and desperately trying to get someone’s attention. Usually, he’s the type you’d regretfully ignore for your own safety, but he seems different. He doesn’t seem like the usual King’s Landing crackheads. He’s dressed too nice, for starters. Strange, yes, but still nice. In fact, it looks to be better quality than anything you own. And he’s young– which isn't uncommon in this situation, but it always makes your heart ache when they’re young.

He looks desperate, terrified, and as another person ducks their head and walks past him, you feel yourself moving toward him. You don't know why. Maybe because you know if you leave now, you’ll not sleep tonight for the sheer guilt of passing him by. He spots you making your way over and turns to you, seeming to hope against hope that you’re going to acknowledge him.

“Hi,” you say in a calm, even voice. It's a tone you’ve gotten quite good at. You’re not professionally trained by any means, but these things generally come with the territory. “Let's get you out of the road, okay? You could get hurt.”

“What the fuck are those things?” He demands of you as a car stops to let you take him across. You wave your thanks to the driver, who looks mildly disgruntled, and take the young man gently by the arms to get him onto the pavement. “Where are the horses?”

You know he must be confused, so you’re gentle with him. “There's no horses,” you say, still holding his arms as he finally looks away from the disappearing car and into your eyes. He looks so deeply afraid, but you notice he does take a moment to look you over. You let him, trying to see the best in him and hoping it's just curiosity. It doesn't matter right now anyway, you tell yourself. “Are you okay?”

“No!” He snaps. “Course I’m not bloody okay! Where am I?!”

“You’re in King’s Landing,” you say. “Let's get you somewhere quiet, okay? Are you hungry?”

“This,” he laughs in disbelief, looking around. “Is not King’s Landing, I know what King’s Landing looks like!”

“Okay,” you nod. “I believe you. Let's go sit down, I’ll buy you something to eat.”

The man looks at you with what you think is an offended scowl, but the offer of food does seem to intrigue him. “And wine?”

“No,” you say, and he deflates.

He scratches at his chin, but nods in agreement. “Yes, fine.”

You smile, a bit of relief easing the worry in your ribs. Sometimes people won't cooperate, or they’ll turn you away when you say you won't buy them booze or give them money outright. This young man seems to be content enough without wine, so you wave your hand and lead him down the road toward the nearest fast food joint.

He follows behind you, panicked eyes still looking around as though he's never seen the world before. It's not wonder, but something close to anger, indignation maybe. You make it to a diner you like, opening the door for him. He's clearly astounded by the ugly cacophony of colours inside, but you can't blame him. You don't come here for the aesthetics.

“Go sit down?” You tell him gently, framing it like a suggestion as you point to your favourite booth. He scowls, but does as bid.

The teen behind the counter takes little notice of your strange company. It's King’s Landing, he's probably seen something ten times as strange already today. Once you’ve paid, you join your new stray, sitting down across from him and folding your hands on the table.

“So, what's your name?” You ask him, and he looks away from the bustling street outside the window to stare at you in what you assume is disbelief.

“What’s my name?” He echoes, leaning slightly over the table. “Are you serious?”

You blink. That’s… not a question anyone’s ever been mad at you for. You learned quickly which questions to steer clear of to avoid pissing people off.

He scoffs, leaning back in his seat and tapping a dirtied fingernail against the peeling surface of the table. “Aegon,” he says, almost experimentally. Like he's testing the waters.

You nod politely, and tell him yours.

He stares at you. “Nothing? Aegon? You’ve not heard the name Aegon?”

“Well, of course I have,” you say, confused smile pulling at your lips. “It's a common enough name. I think I knew a guy in school named Aegon–”

“You have been to school?” Aegon asks, eyebrows shooting up and a laugh spilling from his mouth. He leans back, dragging his hands over his clammy face. “Have I been drugged?!”

You’d put serious money on that being a resounding yes.

“This is crazy,” he says, leaning forward again. He says your name slowly, glancing around before his eyes land on you. “Can you tell me what's going on?”

You bite your lip, thankful when the cashier calls out your order number. You rush to get up and get it, fearing you may be way out of your depth this time. He talks like he’s never seen the world before, and his comment about you having gone to school… none of it makes any sense. You’ve never even had the thought of dropping someone off with someone who’s better equipped to handle problems of this magnitude, but Aegon has you really considering it. When you return with the tray of food and set it down, Aegon has the specials menu in hand and is squinting at it.

“I got you what I usually get,” you say, setting the tray down and placing his wrapped burger in front of him, leaving the fries on the tray. “Aegon, I want to help you, but I’m at a bit of a loss.”

“That certainly makes two of us,” Aegon says, unwrapping the burger curiously. “What meat is this?”

“It’s beef,” you tell him, unwrapping your own. He watches as you take a bite of yours, and he nods as though in satisfaction before taking a hefty bite of his. “Aegon, I want to understand what’s going on in your head. Can you just…”

You’re not sure how to say it, really. It’s invasive, and you don’t want him to feel like you believe he’s crazy, or lying.

“What’s your deal?”

He chews slowly on his burger, eyeing you suspiciously. “My deal,” he echoes, lips turned down in a scowl. “Is that I’m the King of Westeros.”

You nod slowly, biting into your burger so you don’t have to answer right away. You hope if you stay silent long enough, he’ll feel compelled to keep talking.

“King Aegon,” he says slowly, like you’re the deluded one. “Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, Protector of the Realm, all the rest. Are you serious?”

You swallow your mouthful and nod. You’re not particularly well versed in history, but the titles ring a bell. It’s some sort of messiah complex, you’d wager. Trying your best not to seem dismissive, you pull out your phone. “Let me see,” you say.

“What’s that?” He asks, leaning forward and trying to snatch it from you. You move it out of his way, yelping softly in contrition.

“My phone!” You say. “I’m just looking you up, Aegon.”

“You’re what?” He says, looking horrified. “Give me that!”

“Dude, no! Let me just–” You stand up from your seat to be out of his reach, hurriedly typing the name he’d told you into the search bar. “Look, I know the name Targaryen, that’s the Conqueror's name!”

“Yes! Aegon the Conqueror!” He cries. “You’re finally making sense!”

“What? No, I mean Daenerys!”

“Who!?”

“Aegon, sit back down!” You snap, and he pauses in his pursuit of your phone, stunned into silence by your firm tone. Slowly, he returns to his seat, picking up a fry to eat it.

“Only because I want to,” he says childishly.

You frown at him, shaking your head before looking back at your phone as it pulls up the results for your search.

‘Aegon II Targaryen, also known as Aegon the Elder, was the sixth Targaryen king to sit the Iron Throne, succeeding his father, Viserys I Targaryen, as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.’

The search pulls up a picture as well, one of those terribly done paintings from the dark ages. It’s hard to say whether the Aegon in front of you looks much like the one in the painting, but he does have the same pale blonde hair and violet eyes. He’s a lot more pathetic than the portrait, too. He has the qualities of a wet cat, and you hate that it’s somewhat endearing. When you keep scrolling, you find a painting that can’t have been contemporary. This is a more detailed portrait, likely from half a century ago, where Aegon is covered in burns and lies dead in a carriage.

You look up, meeting the wary eyes of the confused but un-burned man before you, and slowly sit back down. You know that he isn’t actually the king from nearly a millennium ago, but there’s an uncanny quality about him that makes you want to doubt the logical truth. His clothes, for one. You don’t know many homeless guys with such fine embroidery on their clothes. And there’s his features… you know them to be Valyrian, but rarely does anyone still pop up with the stark blond and violet irises. You remember well enough from your high school history classes that the Targaryen dynasty had those features.

“What does your little brick do?”

You blink, looking down at it and pulling up the contemporary portrait – part of you tells you not to show him the other. He scowls at it, but nods. “Seven hells, that’s not flattering. Where did you get this miniature? You have this and yet claim not to know me? What game do you play?”

You sigh. He truly doesn’t understand, does he?

“Aegon, what year do you think it is?”

He rears back and regards you with more suspicion. “129 AC,” he says.

“And what were you doing before this?”

“I will not tell you that,” he says. “You’re one of Rhaenyra’s spies, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know who Rhaenyra is,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, Aegon, I’m not a history buff.”

“History–” He stops, and goes deathly silent for a long moment, as though the whole situation is finally processing for him. You wonder if it’s the stench of wine that hangs off him explains his slow processing. “What year do you think it is?”

You tell him the year, even tack today’s date on for him. He stares are you, and you can see his brain buffering yet again.

“Seven hells,” he murmurs. You find you share a similar sentiment.

He picks up his burger and begins to eat it slowly. He’s silent for a long while, eyes seeming far away as he contemplates. You try not to stare at him, but it's no easy task.

“This is going to sound crazy,” he says after a long while. “But I believe I may have travelled… through time.”

“I’d say so, yeah,” you respond. At this point, it's the only explanation. You’d usually say something about eliminating all the impossible options, but that just doesn't work here. Time travel is impossible, or it should be. And it's possible Aegon is just suffering from a deeply intense messiah complex. But that doesn't seem right. Your instincts haven't led you wrong before, you’re not about to ignore them now.

“What am I going to do?” asks Aegon.

You want to tell him you’re going to try to find a way to get him back to his own time, but you’re struck once more with the image of him burned and twisted, dead in a carriage. How can you send him back to his fate knowing his grisly end?

You take in the man in front of you, this historical figure you’d never heard of until five minutes ago, and bite your lip. “We’ll figure it out,” you promise him. “You… can stay with me until we do.”

That’s probably dumb, and you’ll probably regret it. But not more than you would regret leaving him out on the streets.

“I suppose,” sighs Aegon like he’s spoiled for choice. You get up to ask for a bag for your food, glancing back as Aegon chews sadly on his burger.

You get Aegon back to your place, and he wanders into the flat ahead of you. You watch him go with a soft huff, rolling your eyes. If everything else hadn’t convinced you, his attitude is proof positive that he’s from the past. He has all the entitlement of a prince and none of the consideration of those around him that modern men have (sometimes) gained.

Your flat isn't much, two bedrooms and mostly paid for by your university. You had a flatmate for a time, but their sudden withdrawal left you without anyone and the school doesn’t seem to have noticed. Aegon can stay in the empty room until you figure him out.

Aegon’s standing in your living room, staring in wonder at the decor you’ve collected over the course of your degree, at your television, maybe he’s just looking at all of it. He’s turning in a slow circle, eyes narrowed.

“This is very nice for a commoner. Very strange, but it is not… disgusting.” He pauses in his assessing, looking between you and the ridiculous tapestry you purchased one night after far too many drinks. “Who is this man?”

“Oh, he’s this guy from a movie,” you say, not really processing that he won’t understand what a movie is. He stands there, dumbstruck, while you go to put your leftover food in the fridge.

“A what?”

“Just… don’t worry about it. There’s going to be a lot for you to take in, but with any luck you won’t be here too long.” You come back over to him, taking him in. He looks out of place standing here in his king’s threads. “Let me get you something to wear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this,” he says, shifting and taking in your clothes. “Where is your father? Your husband?”

“My father is in my hometown, and I don’t have a husband.”

“You live without a man?” He eyes you suspiciously. “A whore?”

“Okay,” you say, gently grabbing him by the shoulders and walking him over to the sofa. “Sit here, I have some men’s clothes lying around. Do not move.”

Aegon huffs, rolling his eyes and sitting back with folded arms. You wonder, as you go into your room to find something for him, if he’s heard the word ‘no’ very much in his life. It wouldn’t seem that way, but sometimes the way he reacts to you telling him off leaves you thinking otherwise. He’s a bigger mystery than you’ve ever faced, but something tells you he’s worth it.

You emerge after a while to see him flicking through the book you’d left on your coffee table, frowning. He looks up when you enter, setting the book down. “Your home is peculiar,” he informs you.

“I know,” you say, handing him the soft clothes you’d found. “Student housing is kind of a lottery. You can get changed in the spare room, if you want. I’m going to go shower. If you get hungry, your leftovers are in that big white box there, okay?”

“Yes, yes, whatever.”

You watch him enter the near-empty bedroom and shut the door, heaving a heavy sigh before you go off to your own room. You don't shower. Instead, you pull out your computer and set out to learn all that you possibly can about Aegon.

What you learn twists your stomach into knots so tight you feel that they would trap the nausea that grips your throat from escaping. Aegon was no saint, no, but what you find is that his life is steeped in tragedy. If he believes himself to be king now but remains unburned by his cousin’s dragon, he must be near the end of his life; but the worst of his troubles have yet to begin.

It is strange to think of the pathetic and bratty man in your flat as growing into the role of a king, if one could say he ever did. He seems nothing but a lost young man, unloved but for the power he afforded his Hightower family.

The reports on him are so extensive and exhaustive that an hour has passed before you realise you haven’t been disturbed. You get up from your desk, wondering if Aegon has somehow wandered out of your flat and back onto the street.

When you open the door, you’re greeted by the sight of your kitchen cabinets strewn open, and your cheap bottle of vodka now empty on the counter. Aegon is sprawled on your sofa, cradling a novelty ceramic beer mug you won in a pub quiz in your first year.

“Seven hells,” you mumble, going over to him and snatching the cup from him to be met with his whining protests. You sniff the cup, nose scrunching in disgust at the acetone-y smell. “Not even a mixer…”

Aegon looks up at you, trying to reach for the cup and whining your name. At least he changed into the sweats. The King’s Landing University jumper rather suits him, actually.

“Please,” he says, looking even more closely akin to a wet cat. He seems on the verge of tears. “You’re pretty, do you know?”

“I’ve heard,” you say, setting the cup down on the coffee table and turning to him.

He grabs your wrist, tugging you closer with surprising strength considering how sloshed he is. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers. He almost sings your name. “Will you get me off?”

“Wh- Aegon!” You snap, tearing your wrist away. “No!”

“Please! Just your hand, you’ve got such soft hands!”

“Aegon,” you hiss. “No. You’re drunk. Even if I wanted to, that wouldn't be okay. You don't know what you're saying.”

Aegon pouts at you, falling back against the sofa and letting out a soft hiccup. “That doesn't make sense.”

“Maybe not in your time,” you say, grabbing him a blanket and laying it over him. “Gods- just- just try to get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning when you're fully sober.”

“I’ll die before that,” he says, snuggling up to the soft blanket with a ridiculous cartoon of a wolf on it. Another of your decor purchases you thought would be hilarious in the moment. You grab his cup and pour what’s left of the vodka into the sink before gathering up your remaining bottles and vowing to take them to the cabinet in your room with a lock.

“Maybe. But if you vomit on my carpet, you’ll be paying the cleaning bill, your grace.”

#don't love this but i need to get it out of my system in the hopes that someone else will #my work #aegon #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #i cant be fucked adding more tags #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #excet thst one #yootioot

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