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sykostyles · 2 months

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let you love me 1.2 (final)

wc: 15.6 k (listen, i'm sorry okay)

summary: in which y/n is a 26 year old bakery owner and she can't quite get this whole "love" thing right; settling on finding solace in being alone. One day, Jackson Cole: an egotistical, but oh so charismatic professional quarterback comes along and swears he can change her mind.. and for a while he does. nearly two years of breaking down her walls.. but they seem to argue about one thing a lot. y/n's "negativity". she swears she's not trying ro be a pessimist.. it just works out better for her if she keeps her expectations low. But what happens when she meets a handsome stranger, who wants nothing more than to see her smile? Will she push everything away again or will she finally accept the love she deserves? or ; tldr sunshine! harry x grumpy! afab reader part one, two

a/n: here we have it, the last part of my first story! thank you all so much for the love so far. I can't tell you what it means to me. I can't wait to see what's next. I know this is super long but there was so much I wanted to include with harry and y/n. I hope you all enjoy!

cw: this story contains suggestive and explicit language, minor descriptions of violence, and verbal abuse. please do not continue if these topics upset you!

Never once did you think that your handsome stranger that you met nearly five months ago would still be stopping in your bakery every day. His antics lately have been amped up, he’s very determined to treat you to a night out, but you’re constantly refusing; not quite ready to let yourself be vulnerable again.

“When will you let me take you out, love?”

“When pigs fly, Harry. Doing the same as yesterday?” You say gesturing to the case.

“You wound me, but I know I’ll change your mind. Yes, same as yesterday.”

“Ya know, Harry, the last guy said the same thing, and here we are.” You say, sliding his box over for the hundredth time at this point.

“Ah, but I am indeed not the last guy.” He glances down at his phone, “Give me one moment, I need to step out for just a second.” Harry says before excusing himself out front, Though he isn’t gone long, returning holding something behind his back.

You do often find yourself daydreaming about letting yourself be happy again. It’s a feeling you crave constantly, just the desire to feel heard, feel seen, feel loved.

But, you know that in the long run, it’s better this way. You can’t get hurt if you don’t let yourself get put in that situation. Even though you’re just hurting yourself, you'll just keep pretending you’re not.

“Hopefully this will make your day go a little better,” Harry says, revealing the secret behind his back.

You stare at his hand for a moment. “How did you know?”

“Pardon?” Harry asks, his hand still extended holding the cup of coffee out to you. From your favorite coffee shop down the street. The exact way you like your coffee.

“This. How did you know?” You inquired, taking the cup from his grasp.

“A true magician never reveals his secrets, love. But Ryan just picked it up for me.”

“Har-” you start,

“I know, you say you don’t like the nickname. I’ll make a liar out of you, though. Just give it time.”

“Thank you. For the coffee” You almost whisper.

“Course, love. I’ll bring it to you every day if you’d like.”

“Oh no, I couldn't ask you to do that.” You say, waving your hands back and forth.

“Well, it's a good thing you’re not asking. I’ll see you tomorrow, Love. Have a good rest of your day.”

“Bye, Harry.” You smile to yourself after he leaves.

“And you say you’re not interested in him.” Jesse says leaning against the doorframe leading to the back room.

“I’m not. He’s just being friendly.” You say. Your nose would be growing if your name was Pinocchio, that’s for sure.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, girl. Just give in, you never know what you might be missing out on. He seems to really like you.”

“He does.” You concur, “But so did Jackson.” You whisper, leaving him up front.

Nearing the end of the summer, you finally decided to switch up your answer with Harry. After many conversations with Carly, Jesse, and even Mr. Henry had something to say much to your surprise, you decided maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just see where it went. You didn’t have to sign your life over to him or anything. You were just scared. Harry knew that. “Whenever you’re ready, love. Just know I'll be waiting.” Everyone knew that. They were all just waiting for you to come out of the hole you dug yourself into out of self preservation. They can’t really blame you for being weary, Harry is doing almost exactly what Jackson was doing when he was pursuing you. Although, you do have to admit it feels different this time around. Harry feels different. Harry feels.. Real.

Of course, you were still planning on making him work for it. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t. But like Carly said, if he was deterred by your sharp tongue and witty comebacks, he wouldn’t keep pressing on like he has been. Even though you attempted to throw out the “Jackson was the same way.” excuse but she deadpanned “Not everyone is a egotistical, meathead football player that’ll do anything to get his dick wet.” You weren’t entirely sure if you should have been offended by that statement. But after she showed you all of the headlines Jackson has been in over the last six months regarding his failing love life you both had a few good laughs.

“Good morning, Love. How are you today?” Harry says, sliding the daily cup of coffee across the counter.

“Mm, it would be better if i didn’t have to get out of bed to talk to people like you, but here we are.” You say, bringing the cup to take a sip.

“Such arrows come from that pretty mouth. What will I do with you?” He says with a smirk on his stupidly handsome face.

“You could pick your flavors for the day and move on? There’s an idea.”

“Ooh, and the sass. I’m already practically in love with you, you don’t have to try so hard, love.” He says, turning to the case. “Do you still have that one with the marshmallow in the middle? Ryan really liked those ones.”

You pause, taking a look inside the case to check, “I don’t anymore, those were limited. But tell Ryan I'll make a special batch just for him.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that. We’ll do the chocolate peanut butter then. Those are a close second.” He says, mirroring your words from the first day he stepped foot in your bakery. You box up the order, and make your way to the counter. He hands you his normal black credit card, but when he goes to pick up the box, you stop him.

“No. Send Ryan in here to get them” You say, pulling the box back towards you.

“I beg your pardon, love?”

“Oh, don’t beg yet. There’s plenty of time for that later..” You smirk, “I just want to properly meet Ryan without your.. Influence.”

“Anything you want.” Harry states, making his way to the door. “See you tomorrow, Love.”

You can see Harry telling Ryan what’s going on. Ryan looks ever so confused, and maybe even a little anxious as he makes his way inside.

“Hello, Ryan. It’s a pleasure to officially meet you. I’m Y/N.” You say, holding your hand out.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Miss Y/N.” He says, taking your hand in his and giving you a delicate shake. “Your creations are delicious. Stopping here is the highlight of my day, as well as Mr. Styles out there, He quite enjoys your company.”

“So I’ve noticed.” You say, picking up a marker. You pull the box towards you once more, writing a note on top before sliding it back to Ryan on the other side. “Have a great day, Ryan. See you tomorrow.”

“You as well, Miss Y/N. Enjoy the rest of your day.” He says, making a swift exit.

Staring out the shop window after him, you see him hand Harry the box. Harry’s eyes immediately take in the note you left on top.

“Pick me up after we close at 6 tonight, Mr. Styles.” You signed with your phone number at the bottom. You can see his smile from here. It’s so contagious even Ryan starts to smile. Even YOU start to smile.

Unknown: very cheeky, love. See you tonight.

You: you shouldn't have expected anything less. See you tonight, Mr. Styles. What should I wear?

Harry: I honestly expected a little more from you. But, I accept your defeat.

Harry: And I’ll take care of everything, Love.

You: Defeat? Hold on there just a minute, mister. I haven’t lost anything.

Harry: I remember a certain “When pigs fly” phrase coming from your mouth. I told you I always get what I want. See you tonight, Love

"Shit. What did I agree to? Should I cancel? Should I close early and hide somewhere? Well then what excuse would I have when he comes in tomorrow? I could tell him I’ve got a case of food poisoning? Or a migraine?"

Just as your thoughts begin to spiral for the umpteenth time in your downtime, the bell on the door chimes. You look up to see Carly, holding a garment bag, and Jesse standing behind her.

“Uh, what are you two doing here?” You say, confusion very evident on your face. “Jesse aren’t you supposed to be like three hours away in some lecture hall?”

“Oh sure, just question why he’s not where he’s supposed to be.” Carly says, laced with a fake offended tone.

“Bitch, did you forget I went to college with you? I know you’re prone to play hooky every now and then.”

“Okay, fair.” She laughs, “But, I received a phone call so I’m doing my end of a deal I made.”

“Same here.” Jesse says from behind her. “I’m here to take over and close up for you.”

“And I’m here to help you get ready!” Carly erupts with excitement. “I’m so excited for you.”

“Wait a second, what deal?” Now you’re even more confused.

“Ah, can’t reveal anything else. Now, upstairs you two go. I got my own date with one of these cookies and cream cupcakes as my reward for helping you get laid.” Jesse says, guiding both of you to the staircase.

“Jesse!”

“Have the best time!” He says before closing the door behind you.

Carly refused to explain anything to you, other than she was given directions to be at your place to start helping you get ready at 4:30 pm sharp. She was just doing what she was told.

“Stop it.” She says, starting to remove the curlers from your hair.. “I know that look. You’re going to have a great time. He’s already head over heels for you. I can tell.”

“That’s what I’m scared of, Carls. I’m so scared.” You whisper. “I don’t know how to accept love anymore.”

“You accept my love. Jesse’s love. Mr. Henry’s. I know it’s different when it’s a romantic situation, but you’ve gotta have a little faith, babe.”

“You say that like it’s easy.”

“It’s not easy, but that’s what makes it worth it.”

“What if he ends up being just like Jackson?”

“Don’t you see how different he is from him already? He’s made all of this effort just today. He made sure I was out of work. He made sure Jesse was here on time, when Jesse’s supposed to be at school. He literally had an outfit picked up for you, Y/N. Jackson would never include me in a date plan, let alone plan anything with this level of thought behind it. I don’t even think he’s capable of deep thought, but that’s just my opinion.”

“Jackson never planned anything beyond a dinner reservation.” You half laughed. “See what I mean! I know you’re scared, babe, I know. It’s scary being vulnerable. It’s so scary. But it can be so rewarding. But you have to at least try. You won’t get anywhere if you don’t try.”

“But what’s so wrong with being alone?”

“Don’t even start with me right now. I love you, but I will kick your ass.” She says, totally serious.

“Okaaaay, jeez. I get it.”

“Good. Now, bring me your face.” She says, setting your makeup on the counter.

You never thought you’d be walking out your apartment door to meet a man you face planted into in a parking lot. For a date!

You see him leaning against the building opposite yours, dressed in a more casual outfit than you’re used to seeing him in. But you swear you might just prefer this look. His outfit compliments yours; the detailed color in the sun dress he picked out for you emulates the color of his sweater. He’s got his sunglasses pushed atop his head, one hand in the pocket of his jeans, the other hand holding his phone; and a bouquet of yellow tulips tucked under his arm. He looks divine. The casual sexiness just drips off of him.

“Well hello there, stranger. I almost didn’t recognize you.” You say, causing him to look up from his screen.

“I’m sor- woah.” He clears his throat. “You look.. Wow.”

“Well, that’s one way to put it. I guess I still got it.”

“I don’t think you could ever lose it, Love.” He says, sauntering over to you. Grabbing the flowers from under his arm, he extends them to you, “For you, milady.”

“Okay, seriously, which one of them told you everything about me?” You say, taking the bouquet from his grasp. “Yellow tulips have always been my favorite.”

He smiles down at you. “I would never throw your friends under the bus like that. But they all do love to talk about your interests and seem to have your best ones at heart.”

“They do. I appreciate them so much.” You say quietly. “Thank you. Let me put these inside real fast and we can go.”

“I’ll be right here, Love.” He says, kissing your hand before you walk away. You immediately felt your cheeks get warm.

You step inside the bakery and see Jesse standing at the counter with a vase of water.

“Oh, so you knew about these too? You’re the mole, huh? Do you know everything related to tonight?” You say, setting the flowers inside the vase.

Jesse looks at you with a smile and pretends to lock his mouth and throw away the key.

“I hate you.” You say walking back to the front door. “Thank you, Jesse. For everything.”

“You know I always got you, girl. Have a great time.”

“So, where are we going?”

“Ah, that would spoil the surprise.” Harry says, checking his mirrors before switching lanes. “But I have a feeling you’re going to enjoy what I’ve got planned.”

“Cutting me up and spreading the parts out across a fifty mile radius?”

“You’re a little morbid, you know that?” he chuckles softly

“So I’ve been told. Does that bother you?” you’re grinning at him.

“What do you think?” He smirks at you, sliding his hand over to rest on your knee.

The car comes to a stop outside a brick building. “Pottery Painting Class Tonight 8-9pm” Reads on the small marquee board.

“Okay now I know you talked to Carly.” You say excitedly as he helps you out of the car, “I’ve always wanted to do one of these!”

“I had a feeling.” He chuckles. “We are a little early, but there's a diner I love across the street. Come,” He says, holding his hand out to you. You gladly take it and begin to walk hand in hand to your destination.

Settling into a corner booth, your waitress comes and takes your drink order before leaving you to look over the menu. She returns and you let Harry order for you since you were stuck on two options.

“So, what made you finally cave?” He inquires, a heavy smirk upon his face.

“First of all, I didn’t cave. I figured if you’re going to kill me, I might as well get a date out of it.” You quip, leaning your chin onto your hand.

“Always so quick with the comebacks.” He teases. “I don’t think I’ll have time for that this time around, but there’s always next time.”

“You think there’s going to be a next time?” Your eyebrow raises, a smirk tugging on your lips

“Oh, I know it.” He states without even thinking about it.

“I do have a few questions for you, though.” You say, your tone somewhat serious.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Why me?”

“Why not you?”

“You don’t even know me.” You start, “Well, besides what you got out of my friends. You ran into me one day, and then just started showing up out of nowhere. Which doesn't make sense to me either. How did you find me?” Your tone started to seem kind of accusatory. You don’t even let him answer before you start again, “Don’t get me wrong, I love the daily business, but it just seems too calculated to me. It’s been plaguing my brain since the first day you walked in my shop. So, Why me, Harry?”

“I know how weird this all seems, and I profusely apologize for making it seem like my intentions were anything other than good.” He starts, reaching his hand across the table, his way of asking for yours. You hesitantly oblige. “But I will explain everything to you from my point of view, if you’ll allow me.” He says, thumb gliding over the back of your hand.

“Well yeah, I’m here aren’t I?” You smirk at him. “But, I’m also here because you got a stamp of approval from my entire peanut gallery. So be grateful to them.”

“I’ll be sure to send them a thank you card.” He says. “But let me start from the beginning, Love.”

Harry had just arrived at the stadium. Head coach Johnson requested his presence to show Harry just how far their dead last draft pick Jackson Cole had been improving. Harry was less than thrilled when his decision was overruled when it came to drafting Cole, he wanted a different pick from the University of Miami, but they went with majority ruling and thus here we are.

So needless to say, Harry didn’t really want to be here right now, but he knew it wouldn’t take too much of his time. Watch the kid throw the ball a few times and gauge his performance from that. Or so he thought,

“Are you kidding me? Star quarterback kid forgot his practice bag? His practice bag, for the championship game he should be grateful he’s even getting the chance to play in, since my first string is out with a torn ligament? Why am I here wasting my time?” Harry states, business mode turned all the way up to ten.

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Styles. He says his girlfriend is on the way with the bag.”

“If the bag isn’t here in ten minutes, I’m leaving. And something will be done about this.” He says, pulling his phone from his pocket.

The ten minutes pass, and Harry’s irritation rises. He stands from his seat in Johnson’s office and turns to Ryan on his right, “Call for the car, we’re leaving.” Looking to Johnson sitting behind his desk, he points at him, “We’ll be looking to extinguish your contract. If you can’t get your players to remember their gear, why would I think you can get them to remember plays?”

“Mr. Styles, I plead with you to thin-” He’s cut off by the sounds of yelling in the hallway.

All three men make their way out the door to see what the commotion was all about.

“You have got to be the definition of ungrateful. For the greater part of two years I have given you everything and you still think you can talk to me like that?” Harry hears from down the hall.

He turns and sees Cole’s back facing him, and just over his shoulder he sees a woman. A woman with tears in her eyes and shock and terror all over her face.

“Is that your star quarterback over there, verbally abusing that woman?” Harry inquires, turning to Johnson. “I swear on your life, i will remove you from this office myself if that boy over there causes any kind of uproar in the media, Do i make myself clear?”

“Crystal, sir.” Johnson says, fear laced in his voice.

Harry turns back towards the scene unfolding before him, but the woman was gone.

“Mr. Styles, the car is up front.” Ryan pipes up from behind him.

“Right, let’s go then. Don’t make me repeat myself, Johnson.” He says before they take off.

“Wait a second, you were there for that?” You question him. He nods, picking up a french fry.

“I was. I heard the whole thing. Right pissed me off. I wish I would have stepped in instead of threatening Johnson.” His jaw ticks.

“You don’t really seem like you could have that kind of scary demeanor.”

“I only show it to people that need to see it.” He says matter of factly. “But, you don’t get very far in business without being like that. At least sometimes. But outside of my business, I’m nothing like that. Unless you want me to be.” He smirks at you.

You blush, but a realization comes into your head, “Hold on, I completely just let this go over my head. Who are you, exactly, Harry?”

He smiles. “I was waiting for this. I’m the majority owner for the team, Love.” Your face goes pale.

Wait. Huh?? The Owner? This is the owner you embarrassed Jackson in front of?

“Jackson said I embarrassed him in front of you that day.” You say, looking down at the table.

Harry laughs, “If anybody embarrassed Jackson, it was Jackson. What grown ass man forgets his work gear? This is his job after all. And, who then verbally assaults the person who brings it to him? In front of everyone, nonetheless.”

He takes in the frown on your face, and decides to shift the direction of the conversation. “You really had no idea who I was this whole time.” He says, more of a statement than a question.

“Was I supposed to?” You respond quietly, still not sure what to do with this information.

“No, I don’t mean it like that. I’m honestly more surprised than anything.” He says, holding his hands up like he's pre-defending himself, “And i don't mean this in any kind of derogatory way against you, but normally I have women lie, saying they don’t know me to get closer to me. But you really had no idea this whole time. It’s honestly refreshing.”

“You seem really full of yourself.” You say, taking a bite of your pancakes.

“There’s a fine line between confident and cocky, and I know how to keep myself on the right side. But, let me continue.” He says before continuing his story.

Harry made his way out of the elevator with his band of associates behind him. Ryan was giving him the run down of his next meeting as they walked to the car.

“We have a 1:30 pm meeting with Lyons, but I can resche-” Ryan is cut off by the sound of Harry huffing.

“Woah there love, I gotcha.” It's her. It’s the woman Cole was belittling. She looks so.. sad. I should offer to do so-

“Sorry. You can let go now.” Nice one, Styles.

“My apologies, Love.”

“Don’t call me that.” She says, rolling her eyes at the man before her.

He continues to recount your first meeting exactly as you remember it. He throws in the detail of asking Ryan to look into you, wanting to be fully transparent with you.

“So you knew who I was before this? How is that fair?”

“I suppose it’s not, but I only requested your name and where you worked. I didn’t want to learn anything else before I heard it from you.”

“Say’s the guy who made a ‘deal’ with all of my friends in order to get me here today.” You chuckle.

“Okay, fair. But in my defense, how you take your coffee, what your favorite flower is, and something you’d be interested in doing for a date isn’t entirely sensitive information, Love.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Styles. I happen to take my interests and passions very seriously. These are very sensitive topics.”

“I’ll gladly discuss any sensitive topic you’d like, Love. But perhaps we should save that for when we’re alone, no? Unless you’re into that.” He teases.

“You know, Harry, I just might have met my match with these comebacks of yours, and I don't appreciate being threatened.”

“Is that a challenge?” He says, leaning closer to you across the table.

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” you say, matching his movements.

Just as he’s about to seal the deal, his phone buzzes letting him know your class is about to start across the street.

“Ah, but I guess that will have to wait until later.” You say, standing from your seat.

Harry ran his hand along his face, covering his mouth and breathed out a laugh. “This girl.” He thinks. He takes your hand after throwing more than enough cash down on the table, and you make your way back to the brick building that will be housing your date for the evening.

Throughout the course of the rest of your date, you learn more about Harry. He’s 30. His favorite color is orange. “Wait no blue. No, orange. Orange.” He’s an Aquarius, though he swears he doesn’t understand why that’s relevant. He was born in England but moved here when he was 22 to run the US branch of his company. He has his hands and feet in all kinds of different baskets. He’s in the market of construction, publishing, restaurants, real estate; you name it. He’s worked every single day since the day he graduated and he’s turned his business into what it is today. His successful business is what made it possible to be the majority owner of the team Jackson plays for. His parents and sister are still back in England and he misses them terribly, but he travels back as often as he can to see them. Especially now that he’s an uncle! He loves all sports, but American football just really spoke to him. He says soccer is his second favorite. Or the true football according to him.

“But why did you decide to pursue me so intricately? I was so rude to you both of the first real times we spoke.” You question, sweeping your paintbrush across the teapot you chose.

He ponders for a split second, “I got fixated with how it made me feel inside to be the one to make you smile” He says without looking up from the bowl that he chose to paint. “Plus, I saw your disdain for me as a challenge. And I love a challenge.” He smirks, still not looking up at you.

You stare at him in awe, taking in how his brows furrowed together in concentration. He answered you with such an easiness in his tone. “I just don’t know how someone like you could be interested in someone like me.”

“How could I not?” He says, finally looking up at you. ”You’re so determined, and incredibly talented. You’re undoubtedly the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. But you looked so broken and exhausted when I saw you for the first time at the stadium. It broke my heart. I wanted to do everything in my power from that moment on to put a real smile back on your face. I didn’t know you then, but I wanted to. I wanted to take all the pain you were feeling away. That’s all I know.” He says, setting his brush down.

You thoroughly enjoyed yourself tonight and you probably told Harry how much fun you had about 13 times in the time it took him to drive you home. It made his heart swell to know he’d made you so happy tonight. Harry walked you to your apartment door, before turning you to face him, his hands finding purchase on your lower back.

“I had a wonderful time with you tonight, Love,” He says, reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear; his touch ghosting your skin, giving you goosebumps.

You roll your eyes. “You won’t ever let up with that nickname, will you?”

“Never. Not when I get this reaction out of you.” He smirks, looking down at your lips. “May i?”

You don’t even hesitate before you nod. He immediately leans down and covers your lips with his. The feeling of warmth, and desire seeps into every pore across your entire body. His kiss feels like everything you’ve ever longed for. You feel safe. You feel at home. A feeling you hadn’t felt since you were twenty years old and lost the only two people you had left you were willing to call biological family. He made you feel alive again.

“Mm, exactly how I imagined.” He says in between rushed kisses, lips moving perfectly in sync.

“You imagined this?” You say breathlessly.

“Only every second of every. fucking. day, Love.” He says after he reluctantly pulls away. “But, I need to stop myself before I get too excited. I want this to be right.”

You shake your head, “You’re just fine.” You say before cupping both of his cheeks and capturing his lips with yours once more. “This is just right.”

“As much as I want this with you right now, we shouldn’t.” He’s gripping your wrists and gently pulling them from his face. “You have no idea how bad I want this.”

“So let’s go upstairs.” You say, trying to free your arms from his grasp.

“Love, look at me.” He says, now grabbing the sides of your neck to angle your head up at him again. “I want nothing more than to take you upstairs and give you everything you deserve.” You’re nodding along with his words, a desperate smile on your face. “But I want to take my time with you. Will you let me take my time with you and do this right?” He asks, sliding his hands up and caressing your cheeks with his thumbs.

“I guess so.” You say, voice echoing disappointment.

“Hey, none of that. I’ll take care of you soon, I promise. But for now, I want you to take your cute butt upstairs, and call your friends. I’m sure they’re all waiting to hear how much fun you had tonight. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Harry.” You say, rolling your eyes.

“Good girl,” He says, making your breath hitch and cheeks flush. “Now, Up you go. He says, not before pressing one last kiss to your pouty lips.

“See you tomorrow?” You say, turning towards him one last time.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Love.” He waits until he hears your door close behind you before making his way back to his car. He feels his phone vibrate in the cup holder.

You: Thank you for tonight, Mr. Styles. I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

Harry: The pleasure was all mine, Love. I would enjoy doing that again with you sometime soon.

You: Whenever you want, Harry.

Harry: Ah, I did mention getting what I want, didn't I? How about this weekend? Saturday after you close? I’ll pick you up.

You: It’s a date. Goodnight, Harry.

Harry: Goodnight, Love.

Throwing yourself down on your bed you call Carly. Of course she’s answering on the first ring because she’s as nosy as the rest of us. “GIRL YOU BETTER TELL ME EVERYTHING!” She says as soon as the lines connect.

“Why else would I be calling? I have so much to tell you!” You recount the night's events to her with as much detail as you can. Although that doesn’t stop her from trying to pry for more.

“What do you mean he rejected you? I am so confused.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. He just wants to ‘take things slow and do this properly’ as he said in his fancy accent.” You tell her.

“What a gentleman.” Carly muses. “I want one.” She huffs through the phone. “Is Ryan single?”

Saturday’s business hours come and go before you can even process them. I mean, you did close two hours early to get ready but you still didn’t think you weren’t that close to your date with Harry.

Although, you haven’t seen Harry yet today. Ryan is the one who stopped in at lunch time. Ryan claimed it was because Harry was taking care of some business he needed to attend to before your date tonight. Harry told Ryan to make sure you didn’t worry, that you were still on for tonight and that he was sorry he couldn’t be there today. You made your way upstairs and began your getting ready process. Which included a hot shower, exfoliating, shaving every inch.. You know, the everything shower. Carly asked if you wanted her to help you again, but you declined; wanting to take your time with your self care.

Checking your phone for the hundredth time this hour, you finally get the message you’ve been waiting for.

Harry: I’m on my way, love. Can’t wait to see you.

You felt immediate goosebumps all over and butterflies in your stomach. “Oh god.” You think. “I already like him. maybe too much.” You could hear Carly scolding you now, “Bitch, knock it off. You’ve been miserable for long enough.” You think maybe she's right.

Harry’s there to pick you up at 6 pm on the dot. His black Range Rover settled behind him as he watches you make your way across the street. He reaches his hand out for you to grab once you’re close enough and he pulls you to stand between his legs, hands settling on your hips.

“Hello, Love.” He smiles down at you, eyes peering over his expensive sunglasses.

“Ello, govna. Fancy a date wiff meh?” You choke out, in your worst accent possible. He chokes on his own spit at that.

“Oh my g-, what was that?” he says, unable to hold his laughter.

“I thought I'd give your accent a shot.” You say, shrugging your shoulders.

“It’s a good thing you’re talented in other areas, love, because impressions are not your strong suit.” He says, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Shall we go, then?” He says, nodding towards his car.

“We shall.” You let him guide you around the car and open your door for you. (Jackson would never btw) He makes his way back around before sliding into his seat and taking off.

Your second date ensues without a hitch. He took you to a record store! He perused the entire store with you for hours. You both showed each other different albums and explained what they meant to you. He showed you his favorite Pink Floyd record and you showed him your favorite band's sophomore album that had gotten you through some really dark times. He kept eye contact with you and nodded along with your words, expressing his condolences for you having to experience so much already in your life. The fact that he even remembered you mentioning you enjoy vinyl hunting had you sure of one thing, you’re certain you like this man more than you should. And you’re terrified. But in the best way.

Harry gets you home around 10 pm, and walks to your door again.

“I would like to ask you a pretty important question.” Harry states, placing the palm of his hand against your cheek. You lean into his touch and nod, letting him know to continue. “I know this is rather sudden, but I would like to start seeing you. Officially, I mean.” Maneuvering his hands to tilt your face towards him, he presses a kiss to your cheek. “Call you mine.” The other cheek. “Make you happy.” Now your forehead. “Treat you with the utmost respect, like you deserve.” He kisses your nose. “Will you let me do that, sweet girl?” He pauses, gauging your reaction.

You nod your head like a mad woman, a massive smile on your face, “Oh god, yes!.” You say. And it feels like an entire weight has been lifted off your shoulders. You never imagined all those months ago that you’d be standing here with your handsome stranger agreeing to start a relationship with him. Who are you? What have you done with Y/N? Is Y/N even in the room with us?

Harry smiles a smile that can only be described as.. painful looking. “My sweet girl, gonna treat you so well. The way you deserve. Been waiting months for this.” He says, pressing his lips to yours. You reach your hands up, tangling them in his soft curls, and pull yourself to your tippy toes, attempting to meet his height. “Please,” You whisper against his lips before kissing him again. He leans down over you, trying to pull you as close to him as possible. “Please what, sweet girl?” He teases, “Gotta use your words for me, pretty.” He says, tilting your head back and placing featherlight kisses along your jawline, heading towards your right ear and taking your lobe into his mouth.

“Oh my god, Harry–Fuck.” You groan out. “Please, don’t make me wait again.” You plead, pulling his lips back to yours.

“Is my girl sure this is what she wants? I thought we agreed to take this slow.” He teases again.

“I changed my mind! Please, Harry. Please.” You plead, making him chuckle.

“Who am i to deny you, Love.” He says.

You clumsily make your way upstairs, the both of you too damn stubborn to attempt to break your kiss. Layers of clothing are shed as you make your way into your bedroom. He pauses one more time at the end of your bed, both of you only left in your underwear, “Are you sure about this Love? We can stop right now and it wouldn’t change anything.” You shake your head and push him down, straddling his lap. “I seem to remember a promise you made about taking me upstairs and giving me everything I deserve. I’m waiting for that promise to be kept, Mr. Styles.”

“Well then, allow me to demonstrate.” He says, flipping you both over so you were under him, eliciting a shriek of laughter from you.

1.2.1 (please mind the tags before you read!)

A couple months have passed and it’s cold out again. Harry’s been making good on his promise to treat you well, treat you how you deserve. He still makes his daily stops to get his cupcake and drop your coffee off, and he makes sure to give you the dozens of kisses you demand before he’s allowed to leave. You feel like a different person; you would never be caught dead showing this level of affection to a partner, let alone in a semi public setting. All of your friends are so immensely proud of you, but nobody says anything lest to make you feel embarrassed. Harry claims the title of your biggest fan and your number one supporter. Although he and Carly like to “argue” over that title. You were thrilled to finally have a relationship where your boyfriend and your best friend actually got along.

When Mr. Henry stopped in the day after your first date, you feigned ignorance.

“Good morning, dear. How was your evening?” He inquires, a smirk evident on the elderly man's face.

“Eh, it was pretty boring. I tried out this new recipe for a chocolate ganache to put on a cake. Turned out pretty well. I’m kind of excited.” You say, boxing up his normal order, plus some extras as a thank you for him to find later.

“What do you mean? I thought yo-, wait a minute. You’re being a smart ass aren’t you?” He asks, brows furrowing together.

“What was your end of the deal? I already got it out of the other two. What’s your excuse, huh?” You tease him.

“You little shit. Haha, alright. You got me there. I didn’t agree to get anything in return. There isn’t anything he could give me that I need, dear. I have all I could ever need right here.” He motions to you and Rocco. “I just wanted you to have a chance to be truly happy, like I got to be. I want you to find someone to eat peanut butter cookies for after they're gone. That’s all I asked for from him in return. He said he would do his best to make me proud. And I believe him, dear.”

The tears well in your eyes before you can even process what’s happening.

“Well, now I didn't tell you that to make you cry.” Mr. Henry picks up a napkin and hands it to you, “I’ve told you before, no time for that. You’ve got cookies to sell.”

Jesse has returned from school again for winter break. He’s been keeping tabs on you while he’s been gone though. He was so excited for you when you informed him you and Harry were officially an item.

“Yeah, and you tried telling me you weren’t interested in him.” He says, spinning a rose nail between his fingers like you taught him.

“Ooh, see! now, twist it back and start where you left off.” You said, encouraging his progress. “Ya know, Jesse, I never claimed to be perfect.” You joke.

“I know, girl. I’m just glad you’re letting yourself be happy again. It right hurt my heart to see you so sad. Mr. Henry and I were about to start scheming together.” He picks the rose up off the nail, and sets it down where you have it marked on top of the cake.

“I think all of you did plenty of scheming, don’t you?” You say, raising your eyebrow at him.

“Okay, you got me there. But can you blame us?”

“I suppose not.” You say checking the time on your phone. “Hey, Harry asked me to make his cupcake drop at the stadium. Are you okay if I run these to him real fast? I’ll be back in no time at all.”

“Go on, girl. I got this. Go get your man.” Jesse says, starting another rose on the nail. “Still can’t believe you bagged a team owner. Badass — seriously.”

You make the drive to the stadium and you’re surprised to see the team in the parking lot doing drills. You don’t think anything of it and pull into one of Harry’s parking spots near the gate like he told you to do. Gathering your various items, you step out of your car and turn to close the door.

“What are you doing here?” You hear behind you. Jackson.

“Mm, I don’t really think that’s any of your business.” You huff before continuing on your way.

“We haven’t been together for nearly a year, I have no desire to see you here.” Jackson says, rather angrily, following hot on your trail.

“Well, it's a good thing I’m not here to see you. So if you’ll excuse me.” You make a hasty exit from the conversation and let your feet carry you to Harry’s office.

“Hello, my love.” Harry says upon your entrance. “What do you have for me today?”

You half smile at him, “Um, there’s a cookies and cream for you, and the marshmallow filled for Ryan.” You say, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” He inquires from his seat.

You nod, even though it’s a lie. He shakes his head at you. “Come here, Love.” he says motioning for you to join him on his side of the desk. He pulls you to sit in front of him on the desk, he cages you in with his arms “Now, you know I don’t like dishonesty, Love.” He starts, “What’s bothering you?”

“I hate that you can read me like a book.” you mumble, your eyes beginning to well with tears.

“Mm, Have been able to since the beginning. Are you gonna tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“It’s just Jackson.” You mumble, fidgeting with your hands in your lap.

“Did he say something to you?” Harry says, his tone serious now.

“No! I mean — kind of. The guys were all in the parking lot doing drills and when he saw me, he asked why i was here, I told him it was none of his business, and then he told me he didn’t want me here.”

“I hope you gave that punk an earful.” He says, running his palms over the tops of your clothed thighs..

“I told him that it was a good thing I wasn't here to see him, and to excuse me.” You said, recounting what happened.

“Good girl. That works too. I’ll deal with him. Wanted him gone a long time ago”

“No, please, just leave it be. I don’t want to give him a reason to hate me even more. He still scares me. I didn’t recognize him that night. H-he grabbed my face and told me I n-needed to be m-more obedient to him. Please don’t make it any w-worse, Harry, please,” You plead tears beginning to stream down your face.

“Woah, pretty, let's calm down, yeah?.” He coos, pulling you off of the desk and onto his lap. He rubs soothing circles on your back and guides your breathing. “It’s okay, my sweet girl. Nobody can hurt you. I’ve got you, baby. Everything will be okay.”

Harry holds you for a while longer while he continues to do some of his work at his desk. He glances down at his watch, taking in the time. “I’m sorry, Love, I’ve got a meeting in 15, I would cancel again but that would be three times in a row.” You sit up slowly before you say, “Oh, it’s alright. I’ve gotta get back to Jesse.” He tucks your hair behind your ears and kisses you softly. “Will you be alright getting back? Should I send Ryan with you?

“No, I’ll be okay. Will I see you tonight?” You inquire, standing from his hold.

“Well, of course. I expect my nightly dose of attitude when I get there, too.” He says before giving a light pinch to your ass, making you squeal. “Let me know once you’ve made it back, my love.”

“Yes, sir.” You mumble out and you swear you almost hear Harry groan.

“Keep it up, sweetheart. You might like what happens.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you.

You make your way to the door and he opens it for you, letting you step into the hallway before him. You’re trying to be cute when you attempt to leave without a proper goodbye, but he isn’t having any of that. Harry reaches out and spins you to face him, arms immediately wrapping around your frame, making you giggle.

“And just where do you think you’re going without my ‘see you later’ kiss, hm?” He inquires.

”I’m sorry, who are you?” You say, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Oh, baby, allow me to remind you.” And he's kissing you again, making you whimper, but not for long before he’s pulling away.

“Nooo, one more.” you plead, chasing his lips with yours.

“Who are you begging for a kiss from a stranger? Naughty girl.” He teases, making you giggle again. “Off you go, my love. I’ll see you tonight.” and he sends you on your way.

You begin to make your way to your car, unaware of the following eyes. You start to hear the echo of footsteps behind you, so you peer over your shoulder and see Jackson at the end of the hall trailing behind you. You panic and begin to speed walk the last bit to your car before locking your doors once inside.

“You know, I thought you were pathetic, but this is ridiculous.” You hear through your driver side window.

“Go away, Jackson.”

“How long have you been fucking him? Huh? How long have you been plotting this? Was this your plan all along? Sleep your way up the football hierarchy? I gotta say, you made one hell of a jump; quarterback to owner? Damn girl. Could’ve at least started with an offensive coordinator, or one of the coaches.” His words were coming at you so fast.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you wanted me first, remember?” You say, starting your car.

“You’re a right bitch, you know that? He’ll realize it soon enough and leave you in the dust like I did.”

“Did you literally forget that I’m the one who left you, genius?” You said before backing out, and pulling away.

Jackson stood and watched your car leave the parking lot, a scheme brewing in his big ass head. “I’ve got just the way to make you crumble, princess, don’t worry.” He says, laughing to himself before making his way back into the stadium.

Christmas is coming, really fast. Like in three days fast. You realize you have nothing for anybody besides Jesse. You’d gotten him a figurine of his favorite character from his favorite anime. With the promise to Jesse of as many cupcakes as he wanted, you asked him if he’d cover by himself for a few hours while you attempted to get something for Harry, Carly, Mr. Henry, Rocco, and Ryan of course. Jesse of course accepted, settling on the idea of continuing his cake decorating. You dress yourself for the cold and make your way to the mall you know has everything.

Carly, Mr. Henry, and Rocco are all very easy to shop for. Carly loves wine, makeup, and the show Sex & The City. Mr. Henry always enjoys extra cookies of course, but you also like to get him a new set of cold gear every year. He wears them until they’re worn out until the next Christmas. He says he always appreciates it because his wife used to do the same, and that it really makes him feel cared for. That man just loves to make you cry by being sweet, and then tell you to knock it off for crying. You can't ever win with him. Rocco of course loves a good treat bag and a new toy. But you always make sure to get him a doggy scarf to match with Mr. Henry’s.

You’d even surprisingly found something for Ryan, well two things. One of them is just a tie in a very specific color he mentioned liking, and the other is a pen that makes a sound when he clicks the top. It says “Yes, Mr. Styles.” in Ryan’s voice. You swore you’ve heard Ryan say those words more than you’ve heard him say anything else. Makes sense since he is Harry’s right hand man. But now, here we are. Nothing for arguably the most important person.

Taking out your phone on your journey back to your car, you tap on his contact. He answers the phone on the second ring. ”Hi, sweet girl. You okay?”

You giggle, “Of course I’m okay, why wouldn’t I be?” Reaching your car, you set your bags in the trunk and slide into the driver's seat.

“Well, you never have time to call me in the middle of the day, so I thought something might be wrong.” He says, his voice seeming calmer now.

“Oh, yeah, I’m out shopping. I guess I actually do kind of need your help.” You make his heart rate pick up at him hearing you needing him for something. He knew how hard asking for help was for you, no matter how small the act in question was, so he was proud of you.

“I’m all ears, baby. What can I do for you?”

You hesitate for a moment, “What is something you think you’d like for christmas?”

You can hear him sigh a laugh through the phone. “Baby, I don’t need anything from you. I have all I could ever need. You gave me everything the day you agreed to be mine.”

His words make you tear up, but your bratty side still takes over 99% of the time. “Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are?” You say, tone feigning attitude.

“Mm, sometimes my girlfriend does when she’s pretending to be pissed at me.” He quips back at you.

“She sounds like a handful.”

“She’s many things, but never that.” He’s doing that thing again where he talks about how easy it is to love you. “She thinks her words are sharp enough to cut.” He starts again, “But I think she’s just deflecting.”

“I hate you.” You whisper, but he can hear your smile through the phone.

“Are you sure about that, Love?

“Yes, you still didn’t answer my question. I asked what you wanted, not what you needed.” Attempting to steer the conversation from where it was going.. But that didn’t work out very well.

“Sweet girl, I don’t think you want me to tell you what I want over the phone when I know what I’d tell you would leave you an achy mess for the rest of the day.” there’s not a single ounce of hesitation in his voice.

“Like you’d pass up an opportunity to make me squirm.” You say, a real attitude prevalent in your tone. Since he wants to go there.

“Is that a challenge? I can start listing all the ways I plan on making you squirm once I get my hands on you. You want that?”

“Y-yes.” You breathe out. Until you realize you’re sitting in your car. Sitting in your car in a public parking lot. Y/N, get a grip. “I mean, n-no. No. Stop distracting me.” You clear your throat. “Tell me something you want for Christmas, I’m serious Harry.”

“You really want to know?” He says quietly, but you know that voice.

“Nope. Bye.” You say hanging up on him. You knew exactly where that was going. He immediately calls you back but you send him to voicemail. Putting your car in drive, you take off after the perfect idea popped into your head. You just hoped this place still had what you were looking for. Harry’s still trying to call you but you’ve turned on DND. You start to get excited wondering what his reaction will be to that.

Making your way back to the bakery, you’d called Jesse ahead of time requesting his help with the big box while you got the bags. “Where do you want this box?” He asks walking in after you.

“Would you mind taking it upstairs? Pretty pleaaaase?” You say, setting your bags on the counter.

“You got it, girl. Be right ba-, wait, keys? Oh, I see them. Be right back.”

You turn to see the cake he was working on, thoroughly impressed by his progress. His roses are damn near perfect at this point. Now if he could just get some not dude looking handwriting, he’ll be golden! You’re turning the cake to check out the other side when the doorbell chimes. Without taking your eyes off the cake you begin to speak, “Welcome in, give me just one second.” Lifting your hands up you begin to slide the cake off of the lazy susan before turning to place the cake in the cooler. But when you turn around, you’re met with Jackson; standing at your bakery counter with a blue folder in his hand, and a devious smile on his face. He has you cornered. And Jesse is still upstairs. The cake falls from your hands right onto the floor in front of your feet.

“I finally have a way to make you pay for what you did to my career, you football ladder climbing slut.” He sneers at you, waving the folder back and forth.

“I-I d-don’t, wh-what?”

“You. You ruined me when you left.”

“I didn’t do anything to you. I didn’t say anything about you. I don’t even think I unfollowed you for heaven's sake, Jackson.” You say getting louder, hoping Jesse will hear and come back down. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’ve played like shit since you left. You fucked with my head and I haven’t played the same.”

“I fucked with your head? You’re joking right?”

“Dead serious, princess. As serious as this folder right here. Here, this is your copy anyways." He says, sliding your bags off the counter, sending the limited edition Pink Floyd album that you had just bought Harry for Christmas onto the floor. Completely shattering it. The album was a first edition pressing from 1975 when the album came out. Harry wouldn’t let you buy it for him the night of your first date. “Haven’t got a turntable, Love. I wouldn’t be able to appreciate it properly.” But that’s what Jesse was taking upstairs. You’d bought him a turntable and his first record. That was now shattered on the floor. “Oops.” Jackson says, feigning an apology.

“What do you want, Jackson?” You say, snatching the folder from his hand.

“I now own this entire building, and you have one week to get all of your shit and get the fuck out.” He says, inching closer to you over the counter.

Your eyes widen. “W-what, what the fuck are you talking about? Jesse! Jesse, come back, please!” You scream, flipping through the pages of the folder.

“Jesse, come back, please!” Jackson mocks you. “Jesse can’t do shit.” but that's when Jesse comes barreling down the stairs.

“Ah ah ah, pretty boy. I will own everything you own in the matter of seconds once you lay a finger on me. Let me explain to the both of you — since you demanded an audience — how this works.” He says, sauntering over to the table by the window and plopping down in the chair. “You own this business, not the building.” That is true. Your business is a part of a strip of brick buildings and they all have apartments above them. You paid rent every month like everyone else did along the strip. “The building was owned by Jeff Walker, who just so happened to get a pretty nice cash offer from yours truly. And now I’m the owner. How does that make you feel, princess? You wanna sleep with me again now that I own something?”

His words make you want to vomit. You’re thankful Harry has never called you princess.

“Dude, get out of here. Don’t make me call the cops.” Jesse says, stepping in front of the counter.

“Oh, I’m not staying. Just gotta let my tenants know who their new landlord is. You got a week, princess. And you’re out.” He says, flinging the door open before leaving.

You’re frozen. You’re staring at the papers saying Jackson owns your building, and you’re frozen. You can’t move. You can’t think. You almost can't even breathe. You don’t even hear Jesse calling your name. Not until he grips your shoulders and shakes you.

“Y/N, come on, come back to me.” He pleads. But you’re sinking to the floor, pulling your knees to your chest. He panics. Looking in your bag, he grabs your phone and calls Harry.

“Oh, now you want to continue what you started earlier? I see how you are, Naughty girl.” Harry says when he answers the phone.

“Look man, I’ll pretend like i didn’t hear that if you please get to Y/N’s shop as soon as you possibly can.”

“Did something happen? What’s wrong?” Panic rising in Harry’s tone.

“Jackson was here, there’s some folder. I don–, just get here, please. She needs you.”

“Fuck, Okay. I am on my way right now. Thank you for calling me, Jesse. Tell her I’ll be there soon.”

Jesse gets down on the floor with you and wraps his arm around your shoulders. “Hey, you’re good. Harry’s on his way, alright?”

Harry gets to your shop in record time. Pushing the door open and rushing inside like his life depended on it. “Baby? Where are you?” he asks, not seeing anybody.

“We’re down here!” Jesse claims from behind the counter. Harry walks around the counter taking in the sight before him. You’re cradled into Jesse, absolutely shaking.

“Oh no, my girl. Come here, baby.” He says.

“She says she can’t stand.”

“Oh, I know she can. She’s strong. C’mon baby, let's go upstairs.” He says, placing his hand on your shoulder. “C’mon, I know you can.”

You shake your head. “H-he b-bought the building, H-harry.” You cry out, “I’m going to lose ever—” Unable to speak, your sobs take over.

“What is she talking about?” He asks, looking at Jesse, not wanting you to try to talk anymore.

“It’s all in that folder.’ Jesse nods his head towards the counter next to Harry.

He picks it up, flipping through the contents. “Hah, that fucker.” He says, folding the folder in half and tucking it into his jacket pocket. “Alright, Love.” He says, leaning down to pull you up and into his arms. “Up we go.” He tosses you slightly to get his arms in the right spots under your knees and across your back.

“I’ll take care of everything down here. Thank you for coming, man.” Jesse gently grabs Harry’s shoulder.

“Of course. Thank you for calling.” Harry responds before he disappears with you up the stairs.

He walks you into the bathroom and sets you down on the counter before trying to step away from your hold, but your arms remained locked around his neck. “No. Stay. Please.”

“I am, baby, I want to run you a bath.” He chuckles, “Promise, I'm coming right back, yeah?” he presses his lips to your temple to soothe you. You nod and let him go. Harry walks over to the bathtub and turns the knob. Setting his arm out to test the water until it’s warm enough for your liking, and drops the stopper in the drain. Before returning to you, he drops some of your lavender bubble bath that’s placed on the side of your tub. He stands between your legs again and places his hands on your hips. “Alright, my girl, arms up.” He says while grabbing the hem of your sweatshirt.

“Will y-you get in w-with me?” You ask as he reaches behind you to gently undo your bra.

“Of course, If that’s what you want.” He’s reaching down to unbutton your jeans and you slide down off the counter so he can pull them down your legs along with your underwear. “My girl. I hate seeing you so sad. Let’s get you relaxed. Deal with what we can right now, yeah?” You nod, trying to even out your breathing. He pulls his clothes from his body before settling in the tub. Harry holds his hand out to help guide you, “Careful, don’t slip.” he says as you set your foot down into the warm water. You sink down and Harry pulls you to lay on his front, wrapping his arms around your waist before sinking so you're both covered by the water. “Alright, sweetheart, you’re safe now. I’m here with you,” He says, rubbing soothing circles where his thumbs rest on your hips.

“He’s ruined everything, Harry.” You cry.

“Baby, he hasn’t ruined anything yet. He’s got a piece of paper saying he’s giving Walker some money. We can’t solve anything about that right now. Let’s focus on what we can solve, okay? What can we solve right now, even if it’s small?” He asks you, reaching up to rub his hands all over your back.

You shake your head, “Can you just hold me, please?”

“Course i can. We can talk later if you want?”

“Can you just talk? Distract me?”

“Absolutely, love. About anything in particular?”

“Talk to me about your tattoos.” You say, running your fingers over the ones you can see on his chest.

Harry goes into his story about when he started getting his tattoos. He tells you the stories behind the ones that mean the most to him. He explains his tattoos as a collection of memories of instances in his life that he never wants to forget. You think that sounds wonderful.

“Would you get one for me?” You ask, partially teasing.

“Of course I would. I’d do it tomorrow.”

“Wait, really? I wasn’t serious. That’s permanent, Harry.”

“Really? They are? I had no idea.” He teases you. “Better get my money back. I was wondering why they weren’t coming off in the shower.”

“You’re so annoying.” You huff at him, making him breathe a laugh through his nose. “What would you get for me?”

“Hm, hard to tell. Perhaps the outline of a cupcake?” He muses at you.

“I quite like that idea, Mr. Styles.”

“I enjoy any idea that keeps a piece of you with me forever.” He says placing a kiss on your forehead.

“You know, you give my cupcakes a run for their money with your sweetness.” You say earning a chuckle from him.

Harry continues to hold you until you begin to stir. “Are you ready to get out?” He’s looking down at you, continuing his ministrations with his hands on your hips.

You nod, “Yeah. Will you keep holding me though?” You ask.

“Anything you want, baby.” He assures you.

Harry gently dries you off before helping you brush your hair, and put a set of your pajamas on. You’ve seen every inch of this man but these actions here feel so much more intimate to you. You’ve never felt so cared for in your life. He slides into a pair of his clothes that you keep in a drawer for him in your dresser--He melted when you told him that it was his drawer– and he gets into your bed with you. He curls himself around you, face tucked into your neck, an arm sliding under your shoulders, and the other across your waist, and he pulls you as close as he possibly can.

You’re soothed by the soft thump of his heartbeat against your back, and the warmth of his even breaths against your neck. Your breathing finally begins to fully calm, and you slowly stop shaking.

“M’ so tired, Harry.” You whisper. He places a soft kiss on the nape of your neck.

“You wanna take a nap, baby? I’ll stay with you.” He says, breath tickling your throat.

“That’s not what I meant. I’m tired of everything going wrong.”

“Everything hasn’t gone wrong, sweetheart. I will look into this first thing in the morning, okay?”

“He broke your christmas present.” You say, turning yourself in his hold so you were facing him. “I found you the perfect gift and it’s gone. Shattered, Harry.”

“Baby, I told you, you’re the best gift I could have asked for. Material things are great, but I’d rather have you.” He says, cradling the side of your face.

“You have me all the time, Harry. Why do you always have the right thing to say?” You roll your eyes at him, trying not to smile. He makes it so hard to be upset. He looks at things with such a positive outlook and it’s so contagious.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” He quips, sliding his hand under your jaw and lightly squeezing, eliciting a whimper from you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You say, blinking your lashes at him.

“Sure you don’t, pretty.” He says, placing a chaste kiss to your lips. “I’m sorry you had such a rough day. We’ll start over tomorrow, okay? Is there anything else we can do tonight to make you feel a little better?” He says while peppering kisses all over your face, making you giggle. “Anything at all, baby?” You know exactly what he wants, how he wants to distract you.

“Nope, not a thing.” You say as he slides his other hand further down your body, teasing the hem of your sleep shorts. “Can’t think of anything else I n–eed toni–, ohh.” The tips of his fingers find that spot, and you’re at a loss for words; He stole them right from your mouth and replaced them with his tongue. You reach your hands up, winding them in his hair and pull him off of you, “Please, don’t stop.” You say before connecting your lips again.

“Oh, but I thought my girl didn’t need anything else from me?” He teases.

“Harry, I swear to god I'll kill you.”

“Ooh, she’s feisty now, everybody.” He says while gently turning you two over so he’s leaning over you. “Sure you can’t think of anything else you need?” You shake your head, trying to pull his face to yours, and hooking your leg around his hip to pull him closer, but he’s not budging. “Gotta use your words for me, baby.”

You pout at him, “I hate you.”

“Sure you do, sweetheart. Gonna tell me what you need?”

“You. Need you. Please.”

Harry wakes up a few hours later to the feeling of you wrapped around him. If you asked him, he’d take this version of waking up every day. But he'll have that conversation with you later, when he knows you’re ready to have it.

Slowly, he peels himself away from you, it warms his heart to see your sleeping frame frown at the loss of his warmth. “I’ll be right back, baby. Just need to make a call.” He whispers against your forehead before pressing a kiss. He knows you’re sleeping, but just in case a small part of you wasn't, he didn't want that small part to worry. Harry quietly pulls your bedroom door shut before making his way into your kitchen. He finds his jacket and retrieves his phone, immediately calling Ryan.

“Yes, Mr. Styles?” Ryan says as soon as he answers the phone.

“Ryan, I need you to do something.” Harry breathes into the phone. “I need you to get a meeting with Jeff Walker. As soon as possible.”

Stretching your arm to the right, you feel the cold sheets of your bed. You sit up and notice your door is slightly ajar, and faintly you can hear the clattering of pans in the kitchen.

“Harry?” You call out, slipping out of the comfort of your bed. You wince at the ache in your legs once you pull yourself to stand. Harry’s sweatshirt is laying on the ottoman at the end of your bed, so you slip that over your head and make your way towards the sounds in the kitchen.

Taking in the sight before you, a shirtless Harry standing at the counter, whisking something together in a large bowl. His sweatpants are hanging dangerously low on his hips, and his hair is wildly unkempt looking. But you’d wake up to this sight every day if he asked you to. He’s still unaware of your presence, so to really get his attention you saunter over behind him and slowly snake your arms around his middle, laying your cheek against his bare back.

“Good morning, pretty.” He says placing one of his hands over yours on his chest. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mm, like a baby.” You hum against his back. “My legs are sore though, you menace.” He chuckles at that, turning himself in your hold, wrapping his arms around you.

“Are you complaining?” He asks, placing a kiss on your temple.

“No, not at all.” You roll your eyes at him.

“Rolling our eyes this early? You a masochist or something?” He teases you, pinching your ass and making you jolt.

You shake your head and press your face into his chest. “No. You’re just annoying.”

“Mm, mhm. So annoying, baby.” He says before kissing the crown of your head. Harry then reaches his hands down the backs of your thighs and lifts you onto the counter.. “Let me finish this, and then I’m all yours until we have to get ready for work. How’s that sound?”

“I don’t think I can do it today, Harry. I’m so mentally exhausted. I don’t want to open my shop if I won’t be able to open it a week from now.”

“Oh, my sweet girl. Everything will fall into place, I promise.” He says cupping your cheek; swiping over the surface with his thumb.

“How can you stand there and say that? How can you know that?” You say, not accusingly but with a pleading tone. You want nothing more than to believe him, but you’ve lost so much in your life, it's hard to believe in any kind of positive outcome.

“I don’t. But you have to look at it that way. You have to give yourself something to hope for. You’re just making yourself miserable by expecting the worst.”

“It’s easier if I expect the worst and then the worst happens. I prepared myself for it at least.”

“No, baby. That’s not healthy.” He says tilting your head back to look into your eyes. “I know you’ve been through so much, and it always feels like life is out to get you. But I promise it’s not all bad out there. There are so many exciting things for you to experience, but you have to try. You have to have hope. Can you try for me today?” He asks, pressing a kiss to your nose. “Please, my girl?” You slowly nod your head in his hold, but he shakes his. “Nuh uh, baby. I need to hear you say you’re going to try for me today.”

“I pr-promise I’ll try, Harry.” He smiles at you.

“Good girl.” He says, stepping back to the stove, but not before pecking your lips.

He continues to make breakfast and serves you at the island. As he places the plates down, his phone vibrates next to him. A message from Ryan displayed on the screen.

Right Hand Ryan: Good morning Mr. Styles. Walker agreed to a meeting this morning at 10:30. I’ll see you when you arrive at the office.

Harry: Thank you, Ryan.

Going about the rest of your morning routine with Harry feels so domestic and right to you. You still can’t believe that a stranger you met in a parking lot would mean this much to you now. You’re certain of how you feel, but you won’t let the words come out. But Harry knows. He can see it in how you look at him. He just hopes you can tell he feels the same in the way he looks at you.

The two of you make your way downstairs, just in time for Jesse to make his way inside to help open.

“Good morning you two. I wasn’t sure what the plan was but I was gonna show up either way.” Jesse says from the doorway.

“We’re gonna milk this for all it’s worth and go from there.” You say, squeezing Harry’s hand beside you. He squeezes yours right back. “Everything will fall into place.”

“Hell yeah. I like the sound of that.” Jesse says, pumping his fist in the air. “I’ll get my stuff set up then. See you later, Harry. Thanks again for yesterday.” He says, giving Harry a fist bump before he goes into the back room.

“What a lovely pep talk, baby. Sounds like you’ve got a great life coach.” Harry says leaning down to kiss you.

“Mm, not sure about a life coach. But I’ve got a pretty good boyfriend.”

“Can he fight? Because you’re mine, in case you forgot.”

“Not sure about that. I’m sure he can though. He’s good at everything he does. Especially this one thing with his ton-,”

“Okay, pretty, I really have to go, and if you finish tha-“ you cut him off with a kiss.

“Off you go, my sweet boy.” You say smiling up at him. He’s got hearts in his eyes at the moniker. You haven’t called him anything but Harry all these months.

“I’ll be back for you later,” he grumbles before kissing you once more, and then he’s gone.

Jesse does his best to distract you throughout the morning. He kept showing you how well he could form a rose now on the nail. It was so nice seeing him so proud of himself. You felt so happy knowing that the knowledge you taught him was making this kind of impact on him.

It’s Christmas Eve. Harry asked you to spend the holiday with him at his place, but you begged him to spend it with you at yours. You said you wanted to spend as much time in your place as you could before it was no longer yours. It tugged at his heartstrings and he folded. You had no idea of the trick up his sleeve anyhow. So the place he presented it to you was of no matter.

“Baby, can you help me with this real fast?” You say from the living room. Harry nearly slices his finger off at you calling him ‘baby’. He still hasn’t stopped thinking about you calling him your ‘sweet boy’ the other day. After hearing both of these names you’ve chosen for him he’s certain he never wants to hear you call him Harry again.

“Y-yeah, of course.” He says setting the knife down and walking over to you. You’re setting up the christmas tree you had tucked away in the closet, but you can't quite reach to set the star on top. “What’s up, pretty? Oh, you’re being vertically challenged, eh?” He teases, taking the star from your grasp and placing it atop the tree. He turns and looks at you and chuckles at the frown etched all over your face.

“Shut up. It’s not like I can help it.” You huff. “Not everyone is a big, tall, pain in the ass of a man.” You say as he inches closer to you, winding his arms around you and pulling you closer with every word that left your lips.

“I know, I’m sooo annoying and such a pain in the ass. I know, baby.” He coos at you, placing a kiss to your forehead. You spin in his hold and take in the state of your christmas tree. “Looks beautiful, my girl. He places another kiss to your temple.

“Does it? Is it good enough to be our first christmas tree?” You ask quietly. Placing your hands over his arms as they lay across your chest.

“You kiddin’? Course it is. You did it, so it's perfect.” He says, making you roll your eyes. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me. It’s true.” One of his hands travels south to pinch your ass, again.

“How would you know I rolled my eyes? You can’t even see my face.”

“Mm, on the contrary, my love. I see your face every time I close my eyes. But I know you rolled your eyes because I know you.” Harry says, spinning you back around in his hold. “Now, come. We have much to do in the kitchen.”

“Harry, I’m not kissing you every 30 seconds because you bought yourself a ‘Kiss the Cook!’ apron.

“No, no. None of that in my kitchen right now. We’ve got a meal to prepare. Now, follow my lead.” He says placing your hands on his hips and guiding you to the kitchen.

Harry had two different gifts to give you, but he had to wait until early Christmas morning to get one of them. He wooed you with a delicious home cooked meal, some wine and another bath that wasn’t so PG rated thanks to said wine, and a good cuddle session before bed.

Harry stirs awake just a little before the sunrise. He eases himself from your hold and sneaks his way into the living room. Looking for the item in question, he places it into the gift box and sets it under the tree with the other presents, and then tiptoes back to your bedroom to lay with you until you wake up. He sets himself back down on your bed and inches his way towards you, careful not to wake you before you’re ready. (He made that mistake before) You stir slightly in your sleep and turn towards him, placing your hand on his chest. He takes the opportunity to take that hand in his and position himself under you so you could rest your head on his chest. He studies your face and takes in how serene you look. How at peace, how happy you look. It makes tears burn at the seams of his eyes, but you begin to move and he wipes them away.

“Too early.” You mumble, pulling your comforter up over your head.

“Ah, but baby, Santa was here and I think he wants you to open your presents.” Harry coos at you, slowly pulling the blanket off of you.

“Santa can fuck off.” You huff.

“Such language. You kiss your man with that mouth?” He quips at you, placing a soft smack to your ass.

“Mm, all the time. Says he loves my filthy mouth.”

“Oh, I do, sweetheart.” He concurs. “But, I do really need you to get up. We’ve got a breakfast to make and presents to open, my sweet girl.” He says placing his arms under your legs, and your back before lifting you from your bed.

“Harry! Stop, I need pants.” You say as he leaves your bedroom.

“Oh, I beg to differ on that one, love.” He says setting you down on the couch.

“It’s cold in here, you horn dog.” You scold him.

“Ah, but I can think of so many things we could do to warm you up that don’t involve pants.”

“Oh my god, down boy. Take your bone and chill.” You say making your way back to your room.

Upon your return, Harry is waiting for you on the couch, quite literally looking like a kid on Christmas. “Come sit with me.” He says holding his hand out to you. Taking your seat next to him, he pulls your legs to rest in his lap before reaching over and grabbing the two gift boxes he has for you.

“Oh, yours is that big box right there.” You point next to the tree. He smiles and grabs the box and places it in front of him. He hands you the first of the two boxes he wants you to open. Pulling the ribbon from the top of the box, you pull the top of the box off and open it to find a singular key. “It’s a key.” You say. “I’m lost.” You laugh out.

“That, my love, is a key to my house.” He deadpans, searching your face for a reaction. “If you want it, of course.” You snap your head to look at him. Tears have formed in your waterline and your lip begins to quiver. “Oh, baby. This wasn’t meant to make you cry. I’m sorry.” He says pulling you into his embrace.

“No, No, it's fine. Really. I’m happy.” You assure him. “I’m so happy.” You say pressing your lips to his. “So, so, so happy.”.

“So you’ll move in with me?” He asks excitedly.

“Of course I will.” You say, grabbing his hand and leaving a kiss on his palm. “I’d love nothing more, baby.”

“You keep calling me that.” He mumbles.

“I’m sorry, do you not like it?”

“No, I don't like it.” He deadpans, making you sweat a little. “I love it. Please keep going.”

“Oh, okay you narcissist. Your turn to open something.” You say lightly pushing him off of you.

“Alright, alright.” He slides the big box closer to him. “I thought I told you I didn't need anything from you.” He says.

“I thought I told you to shut up and open your present.” You scold him

“Okay, down girl.” He muses at you. Harry starts tearing the wrapping paper to get to the present beneath it. He’s met with the words ‘Audio Technica’ and a smile breaks onto his face. “A turntable? You got me a turntable?” He looks to you with adoration in his eyes.

“Yeah, thought you might like to start your own collection since you liked going through mine so much.” You say smiling at him.

“My sweet, sweet girl.” He says, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “Thank you, baby. I absolutely love it.”

“There was another part to it, but that’s the part that Jackson broke.” You whispered out. “I went back to that record store you took me to on our second date and got you that limited edition Pink Floyd record. I wanted to get you your first record too.”

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. I love this without the record. We can always find another one someday.”

“I guess you’re right.” You huff.

“Course I am. Now, I believe you have one more present to open.” He says handing you the other little gift box. He keeps his arm wrapped around your shoulders as you pull the top off of the box.

“It’s.. my keys?” You say pulling your keys from the box. “What is it with you and keys?” You ask him. He just stares at you with a shit eating grin. “Well?”

“Allow me to explain.” Harry says before his story begins.

The morning of his meeting with Jeff Walker, he’d been determined to change the outcome of this purchase no matter what it took. He was certain things would go in his favor; they always did. It also helped that Walker was a past associate of Harry’s so there was already a mutual respect there.

Walker knocks on Harry’s office door and Ryan lets him in. The men shake hands and proceed to take their respective seats. “Harry, you old dog. I must say, I was surprised to get your meeting request, old friend. How long has it been?” “Too long, Jeff. How’s the wife?” Harry muses from his seat.

“Ah, Janet is lovely. She’s actually in Japan right now, but she is not the reason you wanted this meeting. So, my good man, do enlighten me.

“Nothing gets by you, Jeff. I indeed do need your help.”

“Well, I am all ears. Always willing to help an old friend in need. What can I do for you, Styles?”

“First, let me ask you this, what exactly is your business with Jackson Cole?” Harry asks, fiddling with the pen between his fingers.

“Ah, that boy. He came to me a few weeks ago asking if he could buy a property of mine. Says he wants to delve into the realm of property owning.” Jeff begins, “But at first I wasn’t budging. That was until he offered to pay in cash. So I accepted his offer.”

“See, that’s where my problem is.”

“I’m not following, Harry.”

“Jeff, I met a girl this year and she’s turned out to mean more to me than anyone else on this planet.”

“That doesn’t seem like much of a problem to me.” Jeff laughs from his seat.

“No, that’s not the problem.” Harry chuckles, “The problem is that she used to be in a relationship with Cole. A toxic one; He was horrible to her. And now Cole is planning on using the building he’s purchasing from you to try and ruin her life. Her business is in that building, and he’s told her she’s got a week to get out.”

“Well, the sale isn’t even finalized until next week.” Jeff says from his chair. “And I don’t like the sound of this kid. I’m surprised he’s still here.”

“That’s being handled once we’re done here,” Harry muses, “So there’s time then? To cancel the deal?”

“Indeed, but i quite liked the idea of selling that building, Harry, i can’t even lie to you.”

“I’ll buy it then. I’ll give you what he was going to give you. I’ll even throw in covering the cancellation costs and a stipend for you.”

“You really like this girl, huh, Styles?”

“You have no idea, Jeff. Do we have a deal?” Harry asks, reaching his hand across his desk.

“Of course, old friend.” He grabs Harry’s hand in a firm shake, “Let’s try to not let as much time pass before our next meeting, Harry.”

“Agreed, Jeff. Have a great trip back to the city. I greatly appreciate your time today.”

“I hope you make that girl's day when you tell her.” Jeff says before making his way out. Harry lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. He was certain he’d be able to get what he needed from this meeting, but it still shook him to his core to know that Y/N’s business was on the line. He was willing to do whatever it took, but he was thankful Jeff was so willing to help Harry out. Although it might be because Harry had been Jeff’s biggest donor when he was starting his company. But Jeff would never admit that.

“Are you going to tell Y/N?” Ryan asks from his desk in the corner.

“Soon, yes. First, I need you to get Cole in here. Tell him I’m not asking.”

“Yes, Mr. Styles.” Ryan says before leaving the office in search of Jackson.

“Y-you bought this place?” You ask him, unable to contain your tears anymore. "I thought you said Walker backed out of the deal."

“He did, out of the deal with Jackson and into one with me. It's all yours, Love.”

“Wait. Harry, I don’t know how to be a landlord.”

“Ah, not to worry, love. I’ll take care of all of that. You just worry about making your sweets and running your business. But I still want you to come home to me every night.”

“Harry.” You say. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, baby. You don’t have to say anything at all.” He says cradling you to his chest.

“I just can’t believe someone would do something like this for me.” You say cupping his face with both hands.

He reaches up and grips your wrists lightly and looks into your eyes, “I would do anything for you, my perfect girl.” He kisses you softly. “I love you.. So much.” He says, happy tears streaming down his face as he looks at you with such adoration.

Those words. Those words you’d been so desperate to hear for the longest time, and for someone to mean them? You’re a mess. Harry showed you that it’s okay to get your hopes up, because he’ll max out your expectations every time. You’re sure you’re bawling but can’t seem to care. You’re certain you feel the same. “And I love you so much, my sweet, perfect boy.” You say before kissing him with more fervor than you ever have before. He pulls away and he’s looking at you like you hung all the stars in the sky. “Merry Christmas, Baby.” You say to him.

“Merry Christmas, Love.”

Bonus:

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Styles?” Jackson says as he enters Harry’s office.

“Indeed, son. Have a seat.” Harry motions to the chairs across from his desk. Jackson takes a seat and glances around the room warily.

“Now, I’m going to explain this to you very quickly and carefully, Cole. You are going to walk out of this office, go into the locker room and clear your shit out.” “Wait a sec-” Jackson begins to speak, but Harry’s quicker.

“Silence. I’m speaking.” Harry says, waving his hand. “As I was saying, after you’ve cleared out your locker, there's a plane waiting for you at the airport. Your apartment is in the process of being sold and all your items are being packed at this very moment. The plane will be taking you to Los Angeles where you will join their 53 man roster as a third string quarterback.”

“Third string? What is the meaning of this, sir?”

“I am so glad you asked.” Harry muses. “It seems you can’t leave alone what’s mine. So I'm removing you from the situation in a way that keeps you alive, me out of prison, and my girlfriend's mind at ease.”

“Mr. Styles, with all due respect I’m of more use to you here.”

“Really? A dead last draft pick that cant keep his feet on the ground is of use to me here? How does that make any sense? The same dead last draft pick that fumbled the ball more times than I could count in last year's championship game?”

“Sir, please, I’ll do anyth–”

“Enough. The decision has been made, Cole. You’re free to go. Say goodbye to your teammates and be on your way.” Harry says, making Jackson stand from his seat. “One more thing,” Harry starts before Jackson can leave, “If you ever try to speak to, bother, or even breathe the same air as Y/N again, I will have your career. You’re lucky you still have one. You can thank her for that. She wouldn’t be able to live with it if I’d gotten to do what I actually wanted to. So, count your blessings, boy.” He pauses briefly, taking in the look of anger and desperation all over Jackson’s face. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Y-yes, Mr. Styles.”

a/n 2.0: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR COMING ALONG WITH ME ON THIS JOURNEY!! THANK YOU AGAIN TO MOTHER @freedomfireflies FOR THE ENCOURAGEMENT AND LOVE. I really owe so much to you!! I absolutely adore you 🫶🏻🩵

please like &/or reblog if you enjoyed <3

taglist: @stylesfever @olipoli21 @hermionelove @st-ev-ie @mrs-anna-styles211994 @hannah9921 @velvetballaspark

#harry x reader #mdni & dividers both by @/cafekitsune #harry imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry edward styles #harry styles one shot #harry smut #harry styles

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mechaknight-98 · 28 days

Text

Gathering: Collected Company

Authors note: Knock knock bitch! burnout is gone and I finally returned to my first series and no one is safe. @existslikepristin

"Oppa, carry me. I'm tired," Chaewon pleaded, her voice a mix of exhaustion and playfulness. Percival turned to his girlfriend with a knowing smile.

"Ah, but you have two perfectly functional legs," he teased, fully aware he'd give in to her request anyway. He enjoyed the little game they played, her earning his favor with just a touch of effort.

Chaewon pouted, halting their progress with a dramatic slump. "But OPPA, I've been performing all week. I'm utterly exhausted. Can't you please give me a lift?" she implored, weariness evident in her posture.

"Alright, hop on, Chae," Percival relented, unable to resist her puppy-dog eyes. Chaewon's face lit up as she eagerly climbed onto his back, her fatigue momentarily forgotten as he carried her into the Card Shop.

"Hey, Percy!" the cashier greeted them warmly. "Here to pick up your order?" they asked, oblivious to Percival's concealed discomfort. As the cashier fetched their items, Chaewon's eyes landed on her new commander, Loot, Key to the universe, and her excitement was palpable.

Sensing her gaze, Percival turned to her with a smile. "Excited?" he inquired, noting the spark in her eyes. Chaewon nodded enthusiastically. After settling the bill, they found a nearby table to sleeve their new cards and decks.

Percival observed Chaewon's focused demeanor with admiration and affection, finishing his task before her due to years of practice. When she finally looked up, he couldn't help but smile at her.

"What?" she asked, curious at his expression.

"Just admiring my beautiful girlfriend," Percival replied, his affectionate tone not lost on her. Though she rolled her eyes at his sappiness, deep down, she cherished his displays of affection, finding solace in his care.

"Wanna get a quick game in?" Chaewon proposed eagerly.

"Chae, you know we're supposed to wait," Percival reminded her sternly, though he knew she could easily sway him.

Pouting cutely, Chaewon persisted, "I know, but I just want to see how well you pilot this new deck."

"As much as I'd love to dive into games with this commander, our friends might not appreciate it," Percival reasoned.

"Come on, just one quick match. Everyone else got to practice," Chaewon insisted, pulling out her phone to show him proof.

"Those sneaky ones," Percival grumbled, feeling annoyance.

"Yeah, now you know. Let's play," Chaewon said with a grin, and Percival couldn't resist her enthusiasm, setting up his deck to her delight.

The tension between them heightened as they faced each other across their playmats. Chaewon's smile widened as she glanced at the custom playmat featuring her own likeness, a thoughtful gift from Percival. Observing his meticulous setup, she marveled at his methodical movements, admiring the way he arranged his mat, deck, and commander. Her heart fluttered with anticipation as Percival graciously allowed her to take the first turn.

With a confident demeanor, Chaewon laid down an Island and cast Mystic Remora, initiating her strategy. Meanwhile, Percival swiftly established his own board presence, starting with Command Tower, followed by Sol Ring, and culminating in the summoning of Tinybones, the Pickpocket. As she drew three cards from the trade-off, Chaewon couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement, even if she didn't fully grasp the intricacies of the exchange. Undeterred, she continued her turn by playing another land and attempting to cast Three Visits, leveraging her resources to their fullest potential.

Percival acknowledged her play with a thumbs-up, his own strategy unfolding smoothly as he summoned his commander and led an offensive with Tinybones. Chaewon, bracing herself, took the hit and begrudgingly exiled the top two cards of her library, knowing they might come back to haunt her in Percival's hands. With a calculating gaze, he stored the exiled cards beneath his commander, his mind already racing through potential plays.

Glancing at Chaewon, then at his hand of cards, Percival knew he had a decision to make. While he understood the correct path to victory, he also recognized Chaewon was not ready for the following turns. Chaewon's growth was undeniable though and her request to remove the metaphorical training wheels during their matches. With a newfound determination, Percival focused on navigating the game, his senses sharpened as he observed Chaewon's next moves. As she played another land and cast Nature's Lore, fetching an OG Dual Tropical Island, Percival couldn't help but be pleasantly surprised. It was the first time Chaewon had demonstrated the strategy of fetching dual lands, a sign of her evolving understanding of the game. This realization emboldened Percival to raise the stakes, ready to test Chaewon's skills further.

"Ah, that's new," Percival remarked, acknowledging Chaewon's innovative play.

"You like it, Civy? I figured it out a few days ago since Tropical Island is both a forest and an Island," Chaewon explained proudly, her confidence evident.

Before they could delve deeper into their match, they were interrupted by the arrival of Yunjin and the rest of their friends (including me), who questioned why they were starting without them. Chaewon swiftly countered, pointing out that they had all begun practicing before receiving their decks. As everyone settled down, they took a moment to assess the state of the game.

"I see you were about to run her over," I commented to Percival, noting the disparity between their board states.

"No, he wasn't," Chaewon retorted, defending her position.

"Hey, Percival, mind showing us your hand since we're starting a new game?" I requested, eager to see the contents of his deck. With a nonchalant gesture, Percival revealed two win conditions and counterspells, while also flipping over Chaewon's cards to reveal a Rhystic Study and an Underworld Breach. Chaewon's eyes widened in realization as Percival simply shrugged.

"Oh yeah, that game was pretty much over," Eunchae chimed in teasingly, her words stoking Chaewon's frustration.

"Yah" Growling in response, Chaewon watched as Percival rose from his seat, taking a moment to stretch before returning. "Game two?" he proposed, unfazed by the previous interruption.

"You mean game one," Yujin corrected, irritation evident in her tone. Percival rolled his eyes. As they all prepared for the next round, anticipation hung in the air, each player eager to prove themselves in this new iteration of the game.

"Hey Civy Oppa, can I sit next to you?" Kazuha's voice broke through the pre-game chatter, drawing Civy's attention. With a thumbs-up, he welcomed her to his side. Watching their interaction was always intriguing to me. Despite Civy's reserved nature, he seemed to open up more around Kazuha and Chaewon.

It wasn't lost on me that Civy, much like myself, was guarded about sharing personal information. Yet, he appeared more at ease with Kazuha, perhaps because of their shared quirks and tendencies. Despite his flamboyant demeanor, Civy maintained a calculated distance, revealing only the bare minimum about himself. It was a curious contrast, especially considering his ostentatious presentation would suggest otherwise. Beyond the surface, all we knew was that he had a family consisting of a dad, a mom, and two sisters. Chaewon might have been privy to more, but she kept it under wraps, leaving me with a lingering sense of curiosity.

"Question before we begin. Can we do a two-headed dragon game? I don't want this game to last 3.5 hours," Civy interjected, addressing the group with a reasonable request. We all agreed, pairing off as usual: Connor with Yunjin, Dexter with Eunbi, Sakura with Siyeon, Chaewon with Civy, and Yujin with myself.

"Are you two together again?" Civy inquired, noticing the proximity between Yujin and me. We both nodded, accustomed to Civy's silent approval before he proceeded to shuffle his deck.

"So, what does this deck do, Oppa?" Kazuha inquired politely, leaning in closer to Percival with genuine curiosity.

"Well, Zuha, this deck capitalizes on the combat damage dealt by my creatures to gather insights and resources from our opponents' decks. I aim to either secure victory later using those acquired cards or force our opponents into a stall," Percival explained, his tone animated with enthusiasm. "Plus, the artwork is super cool," he added, gesturing towards the vibrant illustrations adorning the cards. Kazuha nodded appreciatively, while Chaewon watched pleased to see this side of Percival opening up to the group.

However, after Sakura sternly scolded Percival about his interactions with other members, he noticeably withdrew. Though we all noticed the shift, we understood it would take time for him to regain his comfort level.

"Okay," Kazuha replied, observing as Percival set up his deck.

"Last question, everyone. Are we going hardcore or taking it easy?" Percival inquired, seeking input from the group.

"Hardcore. I'm eager to fine-tune Narset," Connor declared confidently, though met with disapproving glances from the rest of us. He relented with a sigh.

"Hey, Oppa, can I give it a try?" Kazuha asked, prompting knowing laughter from Cival and Chaewon.

"Why are you closing up? I wanted to play," Kazuha expressed confusion as Chaewon groaned, eventually handing over $45-50 to Percival.

"Oh, I just wanted you to experience the deck we got for you," Percival revealed, presenting a blue and white deck box to Kazuha. Opening it, she revealed Dr. Madison Li, eliciting surprise from the rest of us, except for Chaewon, who grumbled about losing the bet. Percival goes to sit outside of our little circle and begins gold fishing his deck

"Hey unnie so how do we decide who goes first," Kazuha asks shyly.

"Usually we roll dice but you can go first. RIGHT GUYS," Chaewon says to the rest of us and we agree.

Kazuha sets herself up comfortably and begins. we all look at starting hands and Kazuha asks Percival, "Hey Oppa What does 0 mean in the mana cost."

Percival sits up and says "Oh dear!"

"Can you believe Civy gave Zuha all those powerful cards in her first deck?" Yunjin questioned Connor as they headed back to his place

"Yes Percival is crazy but that's not what I want to think about," Connor replied finally happy to have some alone time between him and Yunjin.

"So what do you want to talk about," Yunjin asked her voice taking on a deeper and more sultry tone.

"Oh the amazing dinner I am going to prepare for you," Connor replied. Yunjin smiled as they entered the apartment. As they arrived at Connor's place, the atmosphere shifted subtly, charged with anticipation and desire. Connor led Yunjin inside, their hands brushing against each other as they moved through the familiar space. With a shared glance, they both knew that the evening held the promise of intimacy and connection.

In the kitchen, Connor began to gather ingredients for their dinner, his movements deliberate yet infused with a sense of eagerness. Yunjin watched him with admiration, appreciating his culinary skills and the effort he was putting into their evening together.

As Connor started to prepare the meal, Yunjin moved closer, her presence a warm and comforting presence in the kitchen. Their conversation flowed effortlessly, interspersed with laughter and affectionate glances.

As the aroma of the cooking food filled the air, their shared anticipation grew, each moment imbued with a sense of intimacy and connection. And as they sat down to enjoy the delicious meal together, their hearts were full, knowing that they were exactly where they were meant to be.

After dinner, Connor and Yunjin both got calls on their phone

"Come on Pick Up. Come on Pick up." Percival fretted as Chaewon mirrored his call and fretted with hers directed to Yunjin.

Thankfully Connor picks up,

"Oh thank God you two are safe. We have a situation." Percival says worried.

#kpop fanfic #fanfic #edh #mtg commander #le sserafim yunjin #le sserafim fanfic #le sserafim chaewon #ive yujin #ive fanfic

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blindmagdalena · 2 years

Text

Say It

18+ 5.2k homelander x f!reader, second person (no y/n), possessive behavior, dubious consent, mild torture (not of the reader), canon typical violence, psychological warfare, unhealthy relationship. AO3 link

Homelander finds you in an empty hall with a man he doesn't recognize.

You don’t know the man either, and he doesn’t know who you are. That doesn’t stop him cornering you against a wall to ask your name and tell you about what good money he makes, about how good he’d treat you if you would just let him make use of that pretty mouth of yours.

If he knew who you were, he wouldn’t have done that in Vought Tower, even if the floor is supposedly empty, under construction. You certainly hadn’t thought anyone would be here.

“Well, hey there.” The sound of Homelander’s voice sends a sharp chill down your spine. Anyone else would hear the smile in his voice, but you know better. His jovial tone is a veneer, his smile is thin and stretched too wide. Your heart races. You want to be relieved, but you don’t know what he’s going to do. “What’s goin’ on here?”

“Nothing,” you race to say. The man leaning over you simultaneously stands up straight. His smile looks sincere, maybe even a little awed.

“Wow! Homelander, wow. Big fan!” He says, and you want to shake him. Yell at him to stay away. How does he not see it? Looking at Homelander, you don’t see America’s favorite hero. You see a wild animal without bars, shoulders squared, hands folded behind his back.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Homelander throws right back at you, his stare piercing. He hasn’t even acknowledged the man standing next to you. “Sure didn’t sound like nothing,” he says, and that’s when something begins to click with the man who’d cornered you.

Of course he heard everything. He’s The Homelander, and you belong to him.

“Nothing happened,” you correct yourself. You take solace in the idea that if he truly heard everything, he knows that. He heard your rebuffs. You haven’t done anything wrong.

Looking between you and where Homelander is blocking the hallway exit, the man gives a nervous chuckle. He’s finally picked up on the miasma-thick tension in the air. “Hey, listen, I don’t want to—“

“What were you going to do with it?” Homelander cuts in, the weight of his stare leaving you and landing squarely on the man. This man has no idea that he’s fighting for his life right now.

“What?”

“Her mouth,” Homelander answers, his smile still broad, teeth pearly white and sharp. “Let me guess. You wanna fuck it?”

The man’s own mouth hangs open, and he begins to fumble up a response, but Homelander lifts a finger, and starts closing the distance between them with slow steps, like a stalking tiger. “Ah, ah. C’mon. Let’s be real,” he says, voice low. “You wanted to fuck her mouth, right? I mean, I get it,” he says, voice fading off into a mirthless laugh. “I do it all the time.”

You feel your cheeks turn hot, your stomach churning. Beyond the humiliation, it’s like you aren’t even here. Just a useful object to be discussed.

“I didn’t know,” the man says, lifting his hands placatingly. “I didn’t touch her, I swear to god—“

Homelander takes hold of the man’s head and slams him against the wall so close to you, you feel the sleeve of his jacket brush your arm. You throw your hands over your mouth to muffle your own cry of surprise, pulling away from the wall with stumbling steps backwards.

The man looks delirious. His head is sunken back into the perfectly shaped indentation his skull has just made in the wall. “I don’t give a fuck what you swear to god,” Homelander hisses in his face. “You’re talking to me.”

“Don’t!” You plead, horrified. The sound of his skull cracking against that wall is still echoing in your mind. “Oh my god, please don’t kill him!”

“Oh, relax,” Homelander dismisses, laughing airily. It’s frightening how rapidly he can bounce between these moods, looking at you like you’re the one overreacting. “What’s wrong, were you enjoying yourself? Did you want him to fuck you?” He asks, tone remaining perfectly even, despite the way his jaw sets at the thought. His tone drops again, “Is that why you didn’t break his fucking nose?”

“No,” you answer immediately, mortified. “No, no, I didn’t want—“

“Say it. I want to hear you say it,” Homelander cuts you off, his palm pressed over the man’s mouth, muffling the gradually building sounds of distress. “Say ‘I wanted him to fuck me.‘“

You can hear the wall strain with the pressure Homelander is applying. The skin around where those red leather gloves press in has already begun to darken.

“Stop it!” You’re not above begging, but you know what he’s asking you to do. He’s setting you up for punishment. He will use this to justify whatever he deems necessary to keep you under his thumb. “Homelander, please—“

“Tick tock, tick tock,” he taunts, his smile curled up like a snarl. The man’s screams are dulled behind Homelander’s palm, but they’re loud in your ears. Veins are straining in his neck. His nose is covered, he can’t breathe. You’re not sure if he’s turning purple from that, or because of the building force Homelander is pressing against his face with. Homelander practically sings your name, dragging out each syllable. “You gonna let him die?”

A bone somewhere in the man’s face cracks, and it shatters something inside you.

“I wanted him to fuck me!” You sob, covering your ears, screwing your eyes shut. You don’t want to hear this man die. “I wanted him to fuck me! I wanted him to—“

Gloved hands close over top of yours. It’s not until you feel how steady and unyielding Homelander is that you realize how badly you’re shaking, each sob tearing through you. When you open your eyes, vision bleary through tears, Homelander’s expression is serene. Amused, even. His golden hair is backlit by the fluorescent bulb above, giving him an artificial halo. He’s beautiful, a perfectly manufactured angel.

Homelander gently pries your hands away from your ears. Even when he’s careful with you, his hands feel like thousand pound machines. Resistance is a joke. He makes that clear every day.

With your hands down, you hear now that he’s hushing you, his lips pursed slightly. He brings your hands down to your sides, and then places his hands on your shoulders. Your ears are ringing. The man is limp on the floor, but you can’t bring yourself to look at his face.

“Well…” Homelander begins, thoughtful. “No more wandering around empty floors, hmm? Next time you want some attention, you can just ask, you silly-billy,” he says, giving your shoulders a subtle little shake. His smile isn’t so thin anymore. He looks delighted.

You’re doing everything in your power just to breathe. You hear him purr a soft ’awwww’ as he pulls you in against his chest, the textured fabric of his suit pressed to your cheek. You know he likes you best like this. Tormented, fully at his mercy. He’s made it clear that you’re a plaything, but what’s important is that you’re his plaything.

Homelander strokes your hair. It’s gotten longer. He prefers it that way. His other hand is splayed firm against your lower back, but when you don’t reciprocate the affection, hands hanging limply at your sides, he does take a moment to lift each of your arms, wrapping them around his own middle before he returns his hands to their positions.

“You made a mistake, didn’t you?” He prompts, giving you an opening. You know that it’s a baited trap, but you nod anyway. You even hug him a little tighter, and you feel him lean into you when you do.

“And you’re gonna make it up to me, aren’t you?” He pushes further. You feel like there’s a giant knot in your stomach, balling up and getting heavier with each word he speaks. Your throat is too tight. You just nod again.

“Good,” he says. You can hear his grin. “There’s my good girl.”

Chapter 2

The first thing Homelander tells you to do is take a shower.

“I can still smell him on you,” he says derisively. “Make it snappy. And don’t bother getting dressed.”

This in and of itself isn’t uncommon. Homelander’s not exactly a germaphobe, but he is sensitive. He always wrinkles his nose when you’ve been around cigarette smoke or alcohol too long. You’ve started bathing daily, sometimes twice, just to abate his temper. He’s significantly more pleasant with you when you only smell of your clean vanilla soap and him. Almost kind. Sometimes you can lose yourself in those moments, and forget everything else. You can pretend he really is the hero, and that you’re both in love. Those are the times that you hold onto.

You keep the shower short for your own sake as much as his. You’re beginning to dread what’s waiting for you on the other side of the bathroom door, worrying that every moment you spend away, he’s making it worse. Beyond some incidental bruising, Homelander has never hurt you, he doesn’t need to do that. He even likes to make a point about calling men who beat their women cowardly.

You think that he also likes pretending he’s the hero.

Stepping out of the shower, you wrap a fluffy white towel around yourself. Even now, you swear you can feel the weight of his stare through the walls. He’s never been shy about the fact he watches you through the walls, sometimes through several floors of Vought Tower. It’s left you with a perpetual paranoia, making your every move careful and hyper aware. You brush your teeth for good measure, but otherwise don’t dally long.

When you open the bathroom door, he’s seated on the bed, hands on his knees, his gaze already perfectly at your eye level. You were right, he was watching. His lips spread slowly into a cheshire cat grin, the kind that highlights the lines at the corners of his eyes. He sniffs in a deep breath, and then exhales from his mouth. “That’s better,” he says, lifting a gloved hand to beckon you to him with two curling fingers. “C’mere.” You approach him steadily. The marble floors are cool beneath your feet, a stark contrast to the cozy rug that encircles Homelander’s bed. He stands once you’re within arms reach, putting his gloved hands on your hips to swap places with you, the backs of your legs brushing up against the edge of the bed.

Your hair is still dripping wet from the shower, droplets of water streaking down your arms. Homelander extends his hand out to you, palm facing up, and you already know what to do. You pull the glove off for him, watching briefly the way he flexes his bared fingers before you move to the other side, sliding off that glove as well. You turn around to set the gloves on the nightstand, but before you can turn back to face him, Homelander presses in behind you, bare hands curling around your upper arms.

Homelander blows faintly on your neck to change the trajectory of a drop of water, rolling it down your chest, where it disappears into the towel. You can hear the amusement in his little huff afterwards. You’ve noticed that it’s the little things for him; quiet moments of intimacy, of complete comfort in another person’s body.

You lean back against him, tilting your head out of his way. You feel his nose graze from the shell of your ear to the side of your throat as he breathes you in. “What was his name?” Homelander asks, his voice a low rumble in your ear.

“I don’t know,” you answer, closing your eyes. You hear Homelander sigh like he’s disappointed, and he turns you around to face him. You open your eyes, but the expression you’re met with isn’t what you expected. Homelander’s eyes are half-lidded, pupils dilated, his lips slightly parted. Where you had expected to see impatience or irritation, there is only heat. Homelander gives a thoughtful hum, moving his hands from your arms. He untucks where you have fastened your towel, and peels it away from your body, exposing you properly. The towel falls to the ground in a heap, and his gaze drifts slowly down, evaluating you. You can hear the dry click of his mouth opening as he says, “You really oughta know the names of the guys you’re fuckin’."

Your lips part, words delayed by bewilderment. “I do. I never fucked that man. I’ve never even—” “Sssshhhh.” Homelander lifts a hand and uses his thumb to caress your nipple in slow circles, coaxing it erect. Goosebumps erupt across your chest, all the way down your legs. He brings his opposite hand up to do the same on the other side, watching with rapt attention. He’s always had a fascination with your more involuntary reactions, teasing your body into responding to him. It’s working. You can already feel a faint pulse between your legs. You keep your focus on his face, your lips pressed tightly together.

Homelander cups both breasts, stroking his thumbs along the tops of them, massaging lightly. There’s something almost clinical about it, despite the intimate familiarity, as if he’s examining you. You make a noise before you can stop yourself, a tight little whimper that escapes the back of your throat.

Predatorily, his gaze snaps up sharp to your face. The corner of his mouth twitches in several almost-smiles, like he can’t quite decide, before settling back into a neutral line. He looks back down at your breasts, and his hands move further down, along your ribs. He pauses there, squeezing in a way that makes your breath hitch. The gesture feels like a reminder that he could break you in half if he wanted to. “Alright. Go ahead,” he prompts, smoothing his hands further down your body. They settle on your hips, where his thumbs press in right at your hip bones, anchoring his grip. He looks back up at you, expectant. “Name them.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “You.”

“I said name them ,” he snaps, voice dropping to a near growl. His thumbs dig hard into your hips and you gasp at the sudden pain, grabbing reflexively at his wrists. His grip on you is infuriatingly gentle, and yet the power in just the press of his thumbs is enough to have you keeling into him. “Say it.” “Homelander!” You cry out, pushing down as hard as you can on his wrists. You might as well be trying to pry a steel vice away. “Just you, it’s only you, Homel–” Homelander swallows the word right off your tongue, kissing you with a fervency that steals the air from your lungs. His thumbs ease up and you suck in a breath of relief through your nose, your grip on his wrists becoming less desperate in turn. Finally, you understand fully what he wants from you. He lets go of your hips so that he can grab hold of your face, leaving a dull ache pulsing where his thumbs had dug in.

“You’re the only one,” you manage to say, slipping in each word between the hungry presses of his lips. Your words only spur him on, make his kisses more feverish. He wants assurance, you realize. To be wanted. “The only one I want.” You’re right. Homelander makes a sound like you’ve wounded him, exhaling a sharp breath against your lips through his gritted teeth. There’s a neediness to the way he holds you, his fingers tangling in your wet hair, pressing his forehead to yours. “More.” Your heart is racing. “I want you. I need you,” you tell him, stressing each word. He groans low in the back of his throat and relinquishes his hold on your face, dropping his hands down to hurriedly unclasp his golden belt. He lets the accessory hit the ground with a thud.

“Don’t stop,” he grits out. You hear the harsh hiss of him yank down the zipper of his pants, and then he’s taking hold of your hand, wrapping it firmly around the length of his cock, closing his own hand over top of yours. He sets the pace immediately, practically using your hand to jerk himself off.

“I–I want you,” you fumble, trying to focus on what he wants to hear from you, and not the way you can feel his cock growing harder in your hand. You wrack your brain for something, anything. “No one makes me– makes me feel the way you do.” “No one,” he rasps, his hand coming up to the back of your neck, pulling you in for another bruising kiss. You open easily when he pushes his tongue into your mouth, licking up the fresh mint taste of you. “I’d rip out their fucking spine.”

With every stroke of your hand, you feel more wetness spread from the head of his cock. He’s fully hard now. You yelp when he abruptly pulls your hand away and pushes you back onto the bed, your legs hanging off the edge. You get up on your elbows and try to move yourself backwards, but he snatches hold of your ankle and effortlessly pulls you right back to the edge of the bed, back to him. “Keep talking.” It sounds equal parts like a warning and a plea, like he’s barely keeping himself together. “You want me to fuck you.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you echo without hesitation, wide-eyed and breathless. “I want you to be mine. You be mine, I’ll be yours.” The corners of his mouth twitch, and you see his tongue roll along his top teeth, over those pronounced canines, like the fangs of a wolf. He moves in between your legs and descends over you, kissing you while grabbing hold of both of your legs, hiking them up around his waist. In your addled mind, you wonder for a moment how he’s managing this, before you remember he can fly . He starts kissing your neck, trailing a line down to your collarbone.

“Mine,” he murmurs. “Yours,” you answer. “Yours.” “Mine.” He’s at your chest now, brushing his lips along the swell of your breasts. Almost tentatively, he flicks his tongue out along your nipple, making you jump. His eyes flicker up to yours, devilish, and he holds your stare as he sucks you into his mouth, swirling his tongue in rhythmic patterns. You bring both hands up to grab hold of his hair, exhaling a harsh breath, the heat of his mouth intense. His eyes eventually flutter closed. Between your legs, you feel his cock prod, eventually settling in the crease of your thigh, where he begins to rock back and forth, smearing his precome.

You gasp when he grazes you with his teeth, and reflexively yank his hair. That earns you a sharp look up through his lashes, though his pupils are blown black, and he doesn’t actually seem to mind much. He just nuzzles back in against you, minding his teeth and sucking like you might develop something to yield. You reward his gentleness by pushing your hand through his hair, scratching along his scalp with your nails. He rumbles at that, and you take that as encouragement to keep going, watching as his eyes fall shut. You’re just starting to get sore when he switches breasts, leaving you cold on one side and swallowed by a sudden heat on the other. Meanwhile, two fingers press in between your legs without warning. Your whole body jolts, and you feel him smile against your chest. His index and middle finger are swirling circles on your clit, his hands softer than any you’ve ever known, impervious to scars or calluses.

Homelander uses his middle finger first, breaching you in a smooth, albeit impatient glide all the way down to his knuckle. Even the way he fingers you is needy, thrusting his hand back and forth to open you up as quickly as possible, demanding you make the space for him. He adds a second finger and you start rolling your hips, meeting each thrust of his hand. He makes another pleased noise at that. “Feels good,” you tell him. If he likes when you talk, you're going to talk. “ You feel good inside me.”

His eyes open at that, and he lifts off your breast with a wet noise, withdrawing his fingers. You think for a second that he’s done with that, but instead you watch as he lifts those slick fingers to his lips, and sucks three of them knuckle-deep into his mouth, wetting them generously with his tongue. Your stomach flips at the sight, at the shameless way he laps up the taste of you. You can smell yourself on his fingers, and now on his lips. Homelander pulls his fingers out with an obscene slurp, and immediately returns them to your cunt, pushing all three inside. You moan with it, a chill shocking up your spine. Without thinking, you fist your hand tight in his hair and kiss him hard, wringing a noise from his throat that sounds suspiciously close to a whimper. He reciprocates readily, fucking his tongue into your mouth in time with his fingers pumping in and out of you.

You suck the taste of yourself from his tongue. He curls his fingers and gives you his thumb to grind your clit against. You wonder briefly who taught him to finger like this, but the thought disappears as quickly as it had appeared. He shifts his fingers just right and hits a spot inside you that makes you moan loud against his lips. “There, right there, don’t stop,” you keen, feeling an exquisite pressure building low in your belly, stemming from where his thumb is slipping wetly against your clit. He obeys effortlessly, maintaining the exact same pace without so much as a stutter. He’s relentless, his endurance inhuman. When you meet his stare, the intensity in his eyes borders on terrifying. He’s not even grinding against you anymore, focused wholly on taking you apart, feeling you dissolve around his fingers.

“I’m going to make you come,” he breathes, barely above a whisper. You nod fervently, lips parted on shallow breaths, but that’s not enough for him. “ I’m going to make you come,” he says again, voice sharper now, words pushed through gritted teeth. “You’re going to make me come!” You assure him, remembering yourself through the haze of your steadily building climax. “Homelander, I’m going to– you’re making me come! Homelander! Homelander! ” Your voice crescendos into a scream as your orgasm hits. Your eyes shut, but you snap them back open when you feel a hand on your throat, strong fingers giving a brief squeeze.

“Look at me,” Homelander snarls, teeth bared. “You fucking look at me.” You do. Every breath you take sounds like a whimper, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through you. His fingers feel bigger, heavier inside you, but it’s just the way your cunt tightens around them, quivering. Your hips are still, but he hasn’t stopped moving his fingers. Your pleasure dissolves into sensitivity.

“T-too much,” you tell him, squeezing your knees in on either side of him. That finally snaps him out of it, and his hand stops abruptly. His eyes flicker back and forth between rapid blinks, examining your face. His jaw is tight. You can still feel his hard cock throbbing against your thigh. He withdraws his hand, and you keenly feel the emptiness he leaves in his wake. Homelander takes his hand from your throat and settles it on the bed next to your head. You finally feel his weight sink the mattress down around you as he drops fully from his hover, landing on his shins. He puts his hands on your knees as he sits upright and spreads your legs wide, staring down at his own handiwork. When he glances up at you, his expression is expectant.

Breathing hard, you already know what he wants. You know that he’s not seeking permission, he doesn’t need that. He needs you to want him. Say it. “I want you to fuck me,” you tell him, slipping your hand down between your legs. Spreading two fingers, you open yourself to him. Your heart is thudding wildly in your chest, your body still coming down from the high of your orgasm. His eyes drop to your presentation, and his lips draw back around his teeth like he’s ready to devour you. “Please. Please f–” The ‘please’ must hit him particularly hard. You don’t even get the chance to finish your sentence. You choke on your own words when the fat, slick head of his cock pushes into you with ease. It’s free of friction, but no less a shock, splitting you wide open.

You throw your head back with a breathy cry, grounding yourself by pressing your feet to the bed. He grabs you by the hips, and pulls your lower half slowly into his lap. He enters you now the same way he did with his fingers– a single unrelenting slide until you feel him bottom out. The thatch of hair at his groin presses firmly to yours. He’s girthy, and long enough to touch the deepest parts of you. You try to breathe deeply, but you feel stuffed too full of him to get in a proper breath.

You’re not the only one affected. Homelander’s brows are knitted tightly together, eyes screwed shut, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think him angry. He’s exhaling each breath through his teeth, inhaling through his nose. You can see the strain in his expression, but you know it isn’t from exertion. It’s restraint. He wants to fuck you, not shatter your pelvis. You reach out to gently touch the side of his face, thumb caressing the wrinkles at the corners of his eye. When his eyes open, you’re shocked to see they’re glassy.

He looks stricken, leaning his weight into your palm. His expression is vulnerable enough that he triggers in you an overwhelming urge to comfort him. You hush him softly, thumb delicately stroking the high of his cheek. “It’s okay,” you say, immediately bringing your other hand up to the opposite side of his face, cradling him between your palms. “Good. You’re doing good. Feels so good,” you praise, unsure if you’re helping or hurting his cause. He lets go a frayed breath, pushing into both of your hands now. Luckily for your pelvis, you think it’s helping. He begins to move in earnest, grinding into you with slow, shallow rolls of his hips. Gradually, he begins to build momentum, thrusts becoming longer, deeper. He never takes his eyes off you, instead looking at you like you’re the only thing holding him together.

As Homelander moves, pleasure begins building back up in you. He moves in close to kiss you, and you welcome him. You push your hands up into his hair and cradle him against your lips, coaxing him to move his mouth more freely against yours. You try to ease the tension from him, but you can still hear in his breathing how he’s struggling. “Homelander,” you murmur, nails soothing along his scalp. “That’s it. That’s so good… You fuck me so good. You’re gonna make me come again,” you tell him, voice hitching precariously. He groans against your lips, and suddenly he’s pulling away from you, lifting himself upright, leaving your hands empty.

Taking hold of your legs, Homelander hikes them up over his shoulders. He practically bends you in half when he pushes back close to you, hands falling to the bed on either side of you, just above your shoulders. The position brings him even deeper, and the shift in angle makes you see stars. “Oh, fuck!” You gasp, dropping your hands to twist them up in the bedding below. You know he’s still holding back, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s fucking you better than any purely human man could hope to. The sound of flesh hitting flesh is loud in your ears. The pressure that had begun building back up is suddenly spiking, each snap of his hips like the strike of a match.

Homelander hisses your name like it’s an expletive. He’s unraveling inside you, moving with speed in place of force to keep himself from breaking you. “Touch me,” he says, but all the bite is gone from his bark. He sounds wrecked, desperate for it. You oblige him, bringing your hand back to his face, tangling the other in his disheveled hair. You touch his bottom lip with your thumb, and he surprises you again when he immediately takes it into his mouth, sucking fiercely at it. It makes your stomach flip. You lick your own lips, fixated on the way his are closed around your thumb while his eyes remain focused solely on you. Each thrust punches these breathy little sounds from you. You know in the morning you’ll be battered and sore from your hips to your cervix, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re at his mercy, and for once, he’s at yours. Still sensitive from your first orgasm, you can’t catch your breath. Every grind of his hips hurls you closer to another eruption.

“Yes, yes , fuck yes, fuck me. Make me come on your cock, you’re so good, good boy, fuck me so fucking–” You don’t get the chance to finish the thought. Your mouth falls open on a silent scream, your whole body seizing on an orgasm that hits you harder than any you’ve felt before. Your vision goes to white. Homelander isn’t far behind you. He thrusts a handful more times before he’s lost to the vice-like grip of your orgasm, your cunt milking him for absolutely everything he’s worth. You only vaguely feel him relinquish your thumb and bury his face into the crook of your neck. You’re far more keenly aware of the spill of him inside you, liquid heat that borders on burning. It spreads through you like molten metal, harboring the same heaviness. The two of you stay like that for what could be hours or seconds, you don’t know. Homelander has at least enough thought to lower your legs. He lays himself right back down against you, resting his head on your chest, between your breasts. He’s a solid weight atop you, and each breath feels hard fought.

You feel like you’ve just run a marathon. He moves again, but only to snake his arms around your waist, nuzzling against your breastbone. You muster the energy to move your hand to his face, where you can feel a wet streak down his cheek. Tears?

Shaken, you move your other hand to the back of his head, cradling him against your chest. You stare dazedly at the ceiling, unable to properly process everything that just happened. Embracing him like this, you think you better understand the story of Icarus, and why he was so compelled to fly to the sun, even as it scorched him.

There is an inexplicable feeling that comes along with holding close something that burns so hot.

“I love you,” Homelander murmurs against your skin, words slightly slurred in the hazy afterglow of his pleasure. He doesn’t need to prompt you this time. “I love you, too.”

Chapter 3

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fic #homelander fanfiction #homelander x ofc #the homelander #uhhh hello everyone this is my first homelander fic #and my first published fic in UHHH 7 years??#also only my second time with reader/second person pov #i have an idea for a smutty sequel but lets see how this one does first #enjoy!#my writing #say it verse

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ollieofthebeholder · 4 months

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to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 77: July 2001

Gerry moves as carefully and quietly as he can, boots in hand, paying special attention to the floorboards. It’s not that it’s early, or at least not so early that his mother is sleeping…which is part of the problem, really, that she’s awake and likely to hear him if he’s not cautious. So he concentrates on each step, putting his weight just right, moving as slowly and smoothly as possible so nothing rattles or jingles, trying to summon his inner Martin—he’s always been extremely light on his feet, it’s almost uncanny at times. If he can just make it to the steps without—

“Gerard? Come in here.”

Ah. Shit.

For a split second, Gerry considers pretending he didn’t hear her and making a break for it, but she will come after him, or send someone after him, and he doesn’t know who—or what—she’s in league with this week. He quickly sets his boots down and steps into them before opening the door and coming through, trying to swagger like he’s walking around with his shoes untied on purpose. “Yes, Mum?”

His mother peers at him over the top of her pince-nez glasses, her habitual scowl in place. She never wears those glasses where anyone but him or Aunt Lily—or sometimes Melanie and Martin—can see; she’s incredibly vain about a lot of things. Even Uncle Roger doesn’t know she wears them. “Were you going somewhere?”

Gerry considers his options for a split second, then shrugs. “Out.”

His mother waits, but he doesn’t elaborate. For once, she chooses not to push him. “Pick up a bottle of aspirin while you’re at it. And be back in an hour. We have a train to catch.”

“Where are we going?” Gerry tries to remember if there’s something planned he’s forgotten about. He doesn’t think so. He would have said something to Melanie and Martin if they did. They’ve been making plans, or at least firm intentions, for their summer break for weeks now, and today’s the first real day of it. He can probably put them off for a day, though, as long as his mother wants to go somewhere local.

“Brussels,” his mother replies, dashing that hope instantly, and then further crushes it by adding, “To start with, anyway. My contact wants to meet us there and will take us where we need to go after.”

Gerry definitely doesn’t like the sound of that. It could mean they’re going somewhere within walking distance. It could mean they’re meeting someone with a personal car or a private plane. It could also mean they’re going to point him at the mouth of a pitch-black cave and tell him to go retrieve whatever’s inside it. It definitely does not mean he wants to go.

“Do I have to go with you?” The words pop out of his mouth before he can stop them, or even think about them.

As soon as his brain catches up to his tongue, everything inside him goes cold. He has never, not once, not in his entire life, argued with his mother about one of these expeditions. She says come along and he comes—sometimes dragging his feet, sometimes shaking in his boots, but always, always doing what she asks, demands really, without question or pause. He’s never refused to go, or asked if there was another option. Because he knows there isn’t. There is only his mother, and what his mother wants.

The resentment over that has been building for a while, at least since November, when the trip took just a little longer, Gerard and he missed Melanie’s birthday. It’s been fueled by listening to Melanie and Martin talk about school and activities and the like. Gerry’s never been particularly interested in attending a traditional school, he learns plenty, but it’s been slowly dawning on him (more slowly than it should have) that what he’s learning is what his mother wants him to learn, not always what he needs to know. Or even wants to know. He might not have a lot of use for some of the things in Martin’s maths book, but it looks fascinating. He’s even been considering making an argument for him to attend the local school starting in the fall, just to get an official diploma.

He knows what she’ll probably say to that—common schools are for common children, and you have the blood of the Von Closens in your veins—but he has no idea what she’ll say to him whining about getting dragged off on one of her work trips again.

Mary Keay removes her glasses to hit him with the full force of her glare. His instinct is to apologize, to back down immediately, but he holds his tongue. She’s going to be furious with him either way. He might as well be honest.

After several long moments of silence, she says coldly, “What else would you do, Gerard?”

“Stay in London?” Gerry gestures around them. “I’m fifteen. I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“You’re still a child,” his mother says. “For a night or two, perhaps, but you are far from old enough to spend potential weeks on your own.”

“You’ve taught me how to defend myself,” Gerry protests. Against magical threats more than mundane ones, but still, that should be good enough, right? “Besides, I wouldn’t even be on my own all that much. I’ve got plans.”

A look of disgust crosses his mother’s face. “Plans.”

Gerry stands his ground, with difficulty. “With Melanie and Martin. They’re on vacation, Mum. I just want to spend time with them. I never get to do that, and when we’re home during the school terms, they’re busy except on weekends. This is the one chance we get to have together. Besides, if they get time off from learning, why don’t I?”

The look on his mother’s face is a terrible thing. Gerry suddenly knows she’s about to skin him and bind him into her Book, where he’ll forever be her servant. He tenses, ready to spring the instant she goes for him. He’s not as nimble as Melanie or quick as Martin, but he might be able to dodge her and make it to the shop. Maybe if he trips over his still-untied boot laces, he’ll gain enough momentum from tumbling down the steps to give him a decent head start, and surely she won’t kill him if he makes it outside and into public.

And then, suddenly and inexplicably, her anger clears away. “You want to spend time with Martin and Melanie? Well, why didn’t you say so?” She gets to her feet. “Come along.”

Gerry blinks, taken completely off-guard. “What?”

“Don’t waste time, Gerard. Come with me.” His mother pushes in her chair and closes the book she was studying—which is, in fact, the Book. Before he can think up an escape plan, she grabs his arm and drags him out of the flat.

His mother’s car is a Vauxhall Viva that’s at least ten years older than Gerry and about as stubborn. Because she drives it so rarely, she hasn’t bothered to fix a lot of minor things that aren’t technically affecting its ability to run but definitely make it less than optimal, like the fact that the passenger side door has a broken lock that won’t disengage no matter what they do or the fact that turning the dial on the radio past a very narrow set of stations causes the indicator lights to turn on and refuse to stop until the dial is fixed and the car is restarted. (Gerry doesn’t even know how that’s possible, but he’s not a mechanic or an electrician and has simply concluded that the car is probably possessed.) His mother’s solution is to open the driver’s side and physically shove Gerry into it. She barely gives him time to get over the center console, let alone properly oriented into his seat, before she starts the car and pulls away from the shop. Her driving is less terrifying than the people and things she usually interacts with, but not by much.

Gerry briefly contemplates rolling down his window and screaming for help, or possibly bailing out the window, but the crank is rattling around in the backseat somewhere.

After not nearly as long as the journey reasonably should take and several near misses—including one with one of the red double-decker buses that Gerry is prepared to swear takes at least a decade off his lifespan—they pull up in front of the Blackwood-King residence. His mother pulls the car in behind Uncle Roger’s still old but much better maintained sedan, switches off the engine, and gets out. “Come,” she orders Gerry again, and he scrambles to comply. His boot laces briefly tangle in the gear shaft, and he momentarily debates leaving the boots behind, but manages to free himself and scramble after her as she marches up to the door and knocks.

Uncle Roger opens the door, looking very surprised. He’s clearly getting ready for work, but he’s completely polite. “Good morning, Mary, Gerard. Is everything all right?”

“Do you have a few minutes, Roger?” Gerry’s mother says, in the same tone of voice she usually speaks to Uncle Roger in—a coldly, painfully polite voice with a brittle edge to it that indicates he is testing the limits of her patience. “I have a proposition for you and Liliana.”

Surprise and hope rise up and mingle in Gerry’s chest. She’s actually…considering his request. Even come over to talk to Uncle Roger and Aunt Lily about the idea. It must be his lucky day.

“Of course, of course, come on in.” Uncle Roger steps back to allow them in, then addresses Gerry. “I think Melanie and Martin are awake if you’d like to head upstairs. Melanie definitely is, anyway, and I can’t imagine her letting Martin sleep in, even if it is the holidays.”

“Thanks, Uncle Roger.” Gerry offers him a warm smile, steps out of his boots and tucks them by the door, and takes the stairs two at a time before his mother can stop him or call him back.

Technically, the master suite is up here, but Lily can’t manage the stairs, so she and Roger have the smaller room on the ground floor. Gerry remembers the fight Melanie and Martin had over which of them would take the master suite—both of them wanted the other to have it—but eventually Martin prevailed with the very compelling argument that Melanie sleeps more heavily than he does, so if she has the master suite he can slip past her to use the bathroom or take a shower without waking her, while she’s less likely to do the same. Her door is ajar, and Gerry can hear voices coming from behind it, so he taps on the door and then pushes it open further, enough to poke his head in. “Can I come in?”

“Gerry! Get in here.” Melanie waves him in impatiently but doesn’t get up. “And shut the door, would you?”

Gerry complies. Martin and Melanie are both dressed for the day—Melanie in dark denim dungaree shorts over a bright yellow t-shirt, Martin in a simple blue and white striped shirt and khaki cargo shorts—and sitting on Melanie’s bed, Melanie’s legs dangling over the edge and Martin cross-legged behind her as he brushes out her glossy dark brown hair. It’s the first time Gerry’s seen it loose in a while and he hasn’t realized it’s been getting so long.

“Morning,” Martin says, peering over Melanie’s head with a cheery but slightly confused smile. “I thought we were meeting in the usual spot.”

“We were, but Mum brought me over instead.” Gerry comes closer. “Can I join you?”

“Yeah, of course.” Melanie pats the bed next to her. “How’d you convince your mum to give you a ride?”

“I didn’t know the alleged car was even running,” Martin murmurs. “Neens, you want a braid or a bun?”

“Braid. Donna told me the way you did it last week was really pretty.”

Martin nods and begins separating Melanie’s hair into three equal bunches. Gerry picks up Melanie’s brush and begins getting the knots out of his own hair. “It’s running. Just not well. And I didn’t…exactly ask her for a ride. She’s planning to go out of town.”

Martin freezes for just a moment. Melanie’s shoulders slump. “Oh. You’re going away again?”

“Well, that’s the thing.” Gerry recounts the conversation he and his mother had before leaving the shop. “I was really just sort of hoping she’d say I was fine as long as I checked in with Aunt Lily or something, but she told Uncle Roger she had a ‘proposition’ for him, so I’m wondering if maybe she’s going to ask if I can stay with you all while she’s gone.”

Martin brightens. “That’d be wicked awesome!”

“It’d save loads of time with hanging out,” Melanie agrees. “And if your mum’s gone for a while…”

“I won’t miss Martin’s birthday,” Gerry completes. “Maybe I can even enroll at your school.”

“You wouldn’t be in our classes, though.”

“No, but I could get a proper education, you know? At least some legitimate learning. Maybe even take—what do you call them? My O levels?”

“They don’t call them that anymore. It’d be your GSCE exams.” Martin taps Melanie’s shoulder. “Hand me a hair tie, would you?”

Melanie complies, handing over one of the twisty, loopy ties with the bright plastic balls on either end that she still favors even though they’re all stretching out of shape. “I don’t know if they’d let you do that, but it would be pretty neat to have you at our school, I won’t lie.”

“It all depends on if Aunt Lily says yes, I guess,” Gerry says. He knows Uncle Roger will agree in a heartbeat, so in the end it really does hinge on Aunt Lily. He wonders if he should have stayed downstairs after all to plead his case—like the fact that he’s happy to “watch” Melanie and Martin so Aunt Lily won’t be bothered, or that he doesn’t eat much really. Which isn’t exactly true, but it’s closer to true than not, so it counts, right?

Martin smooths a hand down Melanie’s braid. “There, is that good?”

Melanie touches her hair, then jumps up to run into the bathroom and look in the mirror. Gerry nudges Martin. “Hey, would you do my hair like that too?”

Martin’s cheeks turn faintly pink. “You don’t have to tease me.”

“No, I’m serious. That is really nice. And it’s hot out there.”

“Maybe if you didn’t wear twice your body weight in black leather all the time…” Martin takes the brush from Gerry’s hand. “Turn around, then.”

Melanie comes back, beaming, and beams even wider when she sees what Martin is doing. “Hold on, I’ll get you a hair tie.”

“Oh, yeah, I didn’t think about that.” Gerry just hopes Melanie doesn’t come back with a pink one. “So once Mum gives in and lets me stay, what are we doing today?”

Melanie, of course, has a list of things she wants to do, and it takes Gerry a few minutes to convince her they don’t have to do all of them today. He’s just about to suggest a first stop when there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in!” Melanie calls.

Uncle Roger opens the door and smiles to see them. “Melanie, you look lovely as always, sweetheart.”

Melanie smiles up at Martin. “Martin did my hair for me.”

“And mine,” Gerry adds.

Uncle Roger laughs, not in a mean way. “I can see that. Well, when you’re finished braiding Gerard’s hair, Martin, you can get your things together.”

Martin freezes. “Wh-what?” he stammers.

“Dad?” Melanie gets to her feet, her whole body tense. Gerry suspects she’s about to start a fight and just barely keeping herself controlled. “What do you mean, Martin can get his things together?”

Uncle Roger blinks and turns to Gerry. “You didn’t tell them?”

“We were a little busy,” Gerry hedges, because he’s not sure what he’s supposed to be telling them.

“Huh.” Uncle Roger turns back to Melanie and Martin. “Well. Exciting news! Your Aunt Mary is getting ready to go on one of her buying trips, and since it’s your summer holidays, she and Gerard thought you might like to go along and help. It’s a good opportunity to start learning more about the business, and you’ll get to travel. Won’t that be fun?”

Melanie does not visibly relax at this. In fact, she turns towards Gerry and Martin, and her expression is mingled anger and panic. Gerry is, admittedly, not sure how to respond either. There’s a sense of things spiraling out of control, to say nothing of the fact that he definitely did not want Melanie and Martin any more involved in this than they already are. His mother is going to exploit Martin’s talent for picking Leitners, and heaven help them if she realizes he can see the marks of the Fourteen on people too.

Martin, however, smooths his hand down Gerry’s braid in the same gesture he did for Melanie and speaks in a bright, excited tone. “Oh, that does sound like fun, Dad! Thanks for letting us go. How long should we pack for?”

“Just a week,” Uncle Roger says, and Gerry breathes a silent sigh of relief until he adds, “I’m sure there will be places to wash your clothes if you’re gone longer than that. And I’ll make sure you each have a bit of money to buy things if you need them.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Melanie echoes. She doesn’t sound quite as excited as Martin does, but she darts over and hugs her father anyway. “Can you tell Aunt Mary we’ll be down in just a few minutes?”

“Of course, little moth.” Uncle Roger bends down and kisses the top of Melanie’s head, then extracts himself and heads out of the room.

The second the door closes behind him, Martin sighs heavily. This time, his voice is more resigned than excited. “So where are we going?”

“Brussels, to start with.” Gerry echoes his mother’s words. He twists around to see Martin, so pale his freckles stand out like lint on black velvet, wringing his hands hard. Gerry reaches over and gently takes them to keep him from digging his fingernails into his wrists. “You’re not really excited?”

Martin shakes his head. “I like the idea of spending time with you two, but not your mum. And…what is she going to want us to do?”

“I dunno.” Gerry looks over at Melanie. “You know that isn’t what I wanted, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” Melanie crosses back to the bed and hugs Martin tightly. “How come you sounded so happy before, then?”

“What good would it have done to tell Dad that actually, we want to stay here in London? At best he’d tell Aunt Mary and Gerry would have to go off without us, which none of us want, and at worse Mum would drag herself up here and scream at us for being lazy, ungrateful brats and then we’d get in trouble for making her overexert herself on top of that and we’d probably still end up having to go.” Martin shrugs. “And he wouldn’t understand why we’re scared anyway. At least if he tells Mum and Aunt Mary we’re looking forward to it, they’ll either think we don’t know what’s really going on or that we’re brave enough to face it, so Aunt Mary will think twice about trying to feed us to something.”

Martin’s only twelve. Gerry hates that he already knows how to maneuver the adults in their lives to keep them safe. “I guess you’re right. I still don’t have to like it.”

“That’s fair. I don’t like it either.” Martin slides to the edge of the bed. “Let me go put a bag together. We’re taking the train, right?”

“Yeah, out of Waterloo, I think.”

Martin nods. “Meet you at the top of the stairs in five minutes?”

“Sure thing.” Melanie is already going for her bag.

It’s probably closer to ten minutes before they’re downstairs in the living room, Melanie and Martin with bags over their shoulders and smiles on their faces, Gerry with his hair neatly braided back and his hands in his pockets; his mother gives him the hairy eyeball, but says nothing. Aunt Lily lectures them about behaving and listening to their aunt; Uncle Roger hugs them both and gives them a couple of folded bills, and then they’re out and attempting to maneuver their way into the backseat of the Vauxhall.

“Gerard and I have to gather our things,” his mother tells Melanie and Martin as they pull away from the house. “Then we’ll be on our way. Martin, I’m sending you to the shop to pick up a bottle of aspirin while we do that.”

“Yes, Aunt Mary,” Martin says obediently.

“We’ll go over what I expect of you once we’re on the train. Mind you’re back quickly. This has already set us back.”

“Yes, Aunt Mary.”

“Good.” Gerry’s mother goes back to driving. Gerry doesn’t dare twist around to look at his brother and sister, but unease and nerves churn in his stomach and make him want to roll down the window, lean out of it, and throw up.

What awful things do they have in store for them on this trip?

#ollie writes fanfic #tma fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)#gerard keay #martin blackwood #melanie king #mary keay #parental abuse #esp. emotional abuse #threats #manipulation #terrible driving (incl. mention of a near-car accident)

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goddessapostle · 9 months

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The Makings of a Mess

Fandom: Genshin Impact Characters: Kaveh, Minor Alhaitahm, still Kavetham Warnings: Violence, Suicide threat/reference, Non-consensual kissing Summary: Mehrak comes to him on day six. No, wait, that's not true. Mehrak comes on day two; it only feels like it's been six days. Alhaitham isn't sure why time has tripled in Kaveh's absence. It never has before. Ah, but then, Kaveh's not just absent, is he? He's missing.

5.8k // AO3 // Masterlist

Kaveh doesn't know when the best years of his life happened.

Was it when he was a child, young and carefree and careless enough to kill his father?

Or was it when he was freshly graduated, hopeful to bring art into an increasingly artless climate?

Or perhaps it was building the Palace of Alcazarzary, despite the fact that it left him broke and homeless.

The weeks following that certainly did not count. Not when he spent every morning trying to gain control over his new Vision and every night deliriously drunk.

It was only Alhaitham that provided him solace in that time — everyone else, save for Lambad, thought he was just living the life accompanied by his title. He's never been sure just how Alhaitham saw through his ruse. But since moving in together, it's been….

Well. It hasn't been great but it hasn't been terrible, either. Alhaitham gives him free reign of the house, whether to live or to decorate, and while his beer seems to 'mysteriously' disappear, other drinks are left to take its place. Not all are alcoholic, and Kaveh's half sure it's meant as a discouragement to drinking. So he makes a promise to himself — no more drinking, save for those nights he's out with Cyno and Tighnari.

He's actually grateful for the chance to sober up when a cup of sake is set in front of him.

"It's imported," says the man — Aizen? Aziz? Something with an 'A' and a 'Z' — before he downs his own cup. "Straight from Inazuma. You should try it." The man gives a cruel grin.

"Mm," hums Kaveh. "I wish I could. But my hands are tied at the moment."

At this, Azia guffaws. "See?" he says, cuffing Kaveh on the shoulder. "I knew it was a good idea to let him keep his Vision. He's a riot!"

Kaveh grits his teeth as he's jostled. He does not want any of these men touching any part of him. Not unless it's to let him go.

Because his hands are tied, not just by the promise — they've been wrenched behind his back and secured with the roughest rope known to man. He wasn't trying to be funny, but maybe Cyno has rubbed off on him without his noticing.

"Here you go, Little Light." Aizik(that will be his name from now on, Kaveh decides) stands and moves to Kaveh's side of the table. One of his hands gingerly picks up the clay cup, the other yanks Kaveh's head back with a fistful of hair. Kaveh cries out, Aizik dumps the sake into his open mouth.

He gasps and it floods his airway.

His scalp burns as he jerks forward. His chest heaves, he coughs and gags. The sake spills from his mouth and nose, pooling on the surface of the table.

"Hey!" Aizik shouts. His hand slams against Kaveh's cheek, splitting the skin where his heavy ring hit. "Do you have any idea how expensive that shit is?"

A rage the likes of which Kaveh has never before felt blooms alongside the blood on his tongue.

He hears one of the other Eremites gulp.

"Hey, boss?" a woman stutters. "Maybe, uh, maybe we should take his Vision."

"Pah!" Aizik waves her off. "We took his weapon already. What's he gonna do? Besides," he sinks onto the bench across from Kaveh, "have you seen that little Rtawahist girl? She can barely swing a sword!"

Wait a damn minute–

Is he talking about Layla?

Now that makes Kaveh's blood begin to boil. Layla may not be the strongest physically, but she's a bright student and dependable ally! The number of times she's saved his life with her quick shielding is immeasurable. He glares at Aizik, letting his rage simmer between them.

Aizik bursts into laughter. "Got a problem, Little Light?" he asks.

"Don't badmouth her!" Kaveh hisses.

Aizik smirks. "Touchy subject, huh? She your little girlfriend? Maybe we ought to go collect her, too."

Kaveh lurches forward as far as the table allows. "Don't you touch her!"

Aizik smiles and forces him back down. He waves his hand to the crowd, and two come forward to tie Kaveh to the bench.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head," Aizik says. "We're not looking for your sidepiece." He takes Kaveh's chin and tilts his head back and forth, studying everything from his red eyes to the blood dripping down his cheek.

"You know," Aizik says, "you'd make a killing in a whorehouse. Everyone would line up for a piece o' you. We could sell you to the highest bidder." He drops his hand back to the jug of sake. "But I have a better idea.

"You're worth a pretty penny on your own, but to the right person, you'd be worth the world, I bet."

Kaveh raises a brow. "And who do you suggest would pay the world for me?"

"You don't know?" Aizik pours himself another cup of sake, this time sipping at it. "We catch you together all the time."

Tighnari or Cyno. It has to be one of them.

"And from the way he looks at you, it's clear just how much you mean to him."

….wait. Tighnari and Cyno are together. And, as much as Kaveh would love to be included in their lives, he knows that is not the case. He frowns at Aizik. "There's no one who looks at me like that."

"He does." Aizik shrugs. "Looks at ya like your worth… oh, say, five million mora? Guess we'll see if he really does value you that much."

Kaveh's mouth drops open. "Five million?!" There is not a single soul in Teyvat who would consider him so highly.

Then again, kidnappers don't really care for that, do they? All they see when they look at people is a pile of mora.

Kaveh wants to slam his head into the table, but his chest has been secured to the backrest of his bench. "You're an idiot," he says instead. "There's no one in Sumeru that even has that kind of money!"

Except for Dori, of course. But Kaveh would much rather be sold to the whorehouse than end up in more debt to her.

"Maybe not individually," Aizik agrees, "but he has access to all of Sumeru's finances. I'm sure he could figure it out."

Someone who has access to all of Sumeru's finances? The only people with that kind of authority are the sages. And considering that most of the sages are still exiled or injured….

"You don't mean Alhaitham?!"

Aizik's smile widens.

Ooooooooh, Kaveh is screwed. Literally, considering the whorehouse is more likely to pay his ransom than Alhaitham.

Kaveh sighs. "You're making a mistake. Alhaitham doesn't like me like… that."

ʚїɞ

Mehrak comes to him on day six.

No, wait, that's not true. Mehrak comes on day two; it only feels like it's been six days. Alhaitham isn't sure why time has tripled in Kaveh's absence. It never has before.

Ah, but then, Kaveh's not just absent, is he?

He's missing.

Alhaitham paces the space between their sofas. One for Kaveh, the other for him.

It was a plain box. It didn't have an address. It didn't even have a name. He must have skipped over it several times.

Because Kaveh was missing.

It was a regular outing. Kaveh, Cyno, Tighnari. At Lambad's. Alhaitham passed because of the book he wanted to read. (The unfinished book is now a pile of ashes in his fireplace.)

Kaveh got very drunk that night. He was barely awake and stumbled every time he tried to move. That's what Lambad said, anyway. It's why he stepped out to send someone for Alhaitham. Kaveh was gone by the time he came back.

As if that wasn't worrying enough, Cyno revealed that Kaveh was only slightly tipsy when he left ten minutes earlier.

So Kaveh was not drunk.

He had been drugged.

ʚїɞ

Kaveh tilts his head as far back as it can go, but Aizik is relentless. He grabs a fistful of Kaveh's hair and forces their lips together. Sake floods his tongue, carried to him by Aizik's mouth and followed by his tongue. A hand pinches his nose, and Kaveh has no choice but to swallow the alcohol to breathe.

Aizik leans back, licking his lips. "Told you it was good. Let me know if you want more." Kaveh thinks he winks, but it's hard to tell behind the ribbon that covers his eyes.

Kaveh wrinkles his nose. "Let me take the whole thing back to Lambad. I'm sure he'd cut a deal with you."

Aizik waves his hand. "Too slow. Kind of like your roomie. It's been, what, a day since we dropped off the ransom note?" He looks around for confirmation.

"Even if," Kaveh begins, "and that's a very big if, Alhaitham did decide to pay, he'd need more than a day to gather the funds. Even the Grand Sage has limits."

"Right," Aizik nods, "like your newly freed god." He plants his chin in his hand. "You have a point, Little Light. We gave him three days. I thought he'd be out looking for you by now, but he hasn't left his house."

Kaveh frowns, tilting his head to the side. That's doesn't sound quite right; if his timing is correct, it's a weekday. Alhaitham should be in his office at the Akademiya.

But then, Kaveh was out for who knows how long. "What day is it?" he asks, just to be sure.

Aizik hums. "Tuesday?" he says after some deliberation. "Yeah, Tuesday."

Kaveh raises a brow in confusion. "He should be at work."

"Nope." Aizik shakes his head. "Hasn't left since we took you.

"He hasn't? But how would you…. Wait, have you been spying on us?!"

"We were spying on the Grand Sage." Aizik swirls the jug of sake around before pouring another cup. "Imagine our surprise when we saw that the Light of Kshrewar shared a life with him.

"Our original plan was to nab the Grand Sage and demand payment from Kusanali. But you know, dealing with humans is much safer than dealing with gods. Gods can kill ya just by looking at you funny."

Kaveh, while he has never personally met Lord Kusanali, knows she is not so cruel. She would let Cyno and his unwavering morals deal with apprehending any criminals, then pass judgment based on evidence and give a fair punishment.

"I don't think you know your Archon very well," Kaveh says.

Aizik shrugs.

Kaveh sighs. How did he get into this? He remembers Cyno escorting Tighnari from the bar, both lightly drunk. And while Kaveh had a bit of a buzz, it wasn't enough to pass out on the way home. His memories turn to fuzz, then, at the juncture of one drink and another. When he woke, he was already bound.

He tests the bonds now, wrists scraping against rope. They were tightened when his torso was bound. No wiggling out.

Aizik stands, lightly tapping Kaveh's cheek. "That's enough chit-chat for now. It's late, and we need some rest."

He motions for the Eremites to leave. Two of them stand back; probable guards appointmented in some way Kaveh didn't catch. "Boss," says the one with long hair, "shouldn't we move him to the steel cage? His Vision is Dendro…"

"Bah!" Aizik smacks him over the back. "You worried about the bench? Thing's wood, not grass. That tree's been dead for ten years! He won't be causing any trouble."

Both guards relax. Aizik begins to leave.

"Wait!" Kaveh shouts. "You're going to leave me tied up? I can't sleep like this!"

"Aww." Aizik walks back over to him and leans down. "If you want," he says, sneaking a hand down the back of Kaveh's shirt, "you can come to bed with me. Give ya a taste of life in the brothel."

Kaveh shivers at the touch, disgust rolling through his stomach. He grits his teeth against the bile that threatens to rise in his throat.

Aizik leans closer until he can shove his tongue into Kaveh's mouth.

Kaveh tries to stop himself. He really, truly does.

He bites. Hard. Hard enough to taste copper from blood that isn't his.

"Son of a bitch!" Aizik falls backwards, landing on his ass. Kaveh spits the blood to the floor between his legs.

Aizik rises and backhands Kaveh. His ring cuts another gash on his cheek. Both of his hands squeeze Kaveh's throat. "Think you're clever?" he seethes.

Kaveh's jaw drops, trying to breathe.

His vision darkens.

He's on the edge of unconscious when the hands pull away. He gasps, letting air fill his lungs. His head is still fuzzy, still unable to process the movement beside him.

It clears at the thunk! of a dagger.

One that's dangerously close to his hand.

He blinks up at Aizik, holding his right hand by the wrist.

Aizik forces his palm flat against the table.

He drives the dagger through the middle.

Kaveh screams.

ʚїɞ

Cyno paces Alhaitham's office.

It's very distracting.

Not that he's been able to focus in the last three days.

"I know you two are stressed," Lord Kusanali begins, "but you must rest. Kaveh cannot be rescued if you are unable to fight."

"We will find him," Alhaitham says, "and we will be well enough to take him back. Trust me." He leans his elbows on his desk, hands clasped before his face. There's a darkness in his expression that Lord Kusanali also finds in Cyno's face.

She sighs. "This is a personal case for both of you. Just… try not to take things too far."

"I do not let personal matters cloud my judgement." Cyno hisses for perhaps the fifth time.

Lord Kusanali doesn't bother looking to Alhaitham. He cannot make such a promise. His fingers burn already with the desire to slit the throats of whoever conspired against him.

The ransom note sits on his desk.

5 million, 3 days written on a scrap of paper, the handwriting rough and unpolished. The other side is a crudely drawn map with an 'X' at the dropoff point.

Alhaitham doesn't have the mora. Nor does he plan to prepare it. He has Cyno. He has the matra. He has his own blade.

And he plans to put them all to good use.

ʚїɞ

The blood is sticky, even after it dries.

Kaveh thought blood flaked if it wasn't absorbed. But his fingers stick to the table.

Or perhaps he just can't lift them.

He's not sure if that's a physical limit or a mental one. The dagger still pins his hand to the table, after all.

Aizik didn't bother to remove it when he left. And that was hours ago. Maybe days? Time has blurred together, marked only by the pain in his hand. (A deep throbbing at this point.)

His head spins. When did he eat last? When was he given any water? His stomach turns, far past the point of grumbling for food. He's not sure he'd be able to keep any down, anyway.

His own blood spreads across the table, puddled where spit-up sake once was.

Gods, is he glad he's ambidextrous. He won't be able to use his right hand to work for quite a while. Maybe never, if he doesn't get medical attention soon.

He won't get it from these mercanaries. He knows that much.

Kaveh finally tilts his head to the door of the chamber. Two guards — different than the ones left before — regard him with cold gazes before turning their backs to him.

What kind of idiot leaves a hostage in a room with an open doorway?

The same kind of idiot that ties a Vision bearer to the element of their Vision.

The wood is dead.

The Dendro inside it isn't.

Kaveh has felt it — small pulses of energy reacting to his Vision — since the moment he woke. It's just a little harder to manipulate than a live tree.

Every moment not spent in agonizing pain was focused on gathering that energy into his fingertips. His blood seeping into the wood helped, actually, to share his own energy with it. He’s managed to create a small blade in his left hand, no bigger than the dagger buried in his right.

The ropes slacken. Slowly, gently, he presses his left hand to the bottom of the table under his right. The wood dissolves, freeing his hand in a more silent, less painful way than pulling the dagger free. It’s still stuck through his palm, rendering his hand useless.

Kaveh wishes now more than ever he had learned to fight with a sword. Alhaitham has often offered, after sparring sessions that left them both winded and bruised, but he’s always declined. His claymore is enough, he’d said, and hits plenty hard.

Just a shame it takes two hands to wield.

Kaveh grabs the handle of the dagger and begins to force his own power into it. It doesn't take much until the dagger is his and he's able to dismiss it to the same space he keeps Mehrak and his claymore.

Blood drips from his hand. He can bend his fingers, but only a tiny bit. His grip is completely gone.

He glances at the door. Both guards ignore him.

His gaze travels the room. It's a plain space, no furniture save for the table and benches, and dimly lit by candles. There are, unfortunately, no windows. He'd been hoping to sneak out, but he has no option except to fight.

He summons the metal dagger and uses it to cut strips from his shirt. He wraps the strips around his right hand, using them to secure the dagger to it as well. Grip won't be a problem if the weapon is tied to him.

He ties the point opposite of his thumb. He doesn't want to give them a chance to use it against him.

He carefully slides the bench back. It makes a single scrape on the ground.

That's enough for one of the guards to turn.

Kaveh jumps over the table and punches him in the face before he can speak. Then he holds the metal blade to his throat.

"Not a word," he says to the other one, pointing his wooden knife at her. "Get the rope."

She lifts her spear and calls for backup.

Kaveh curses. He shoves the other guard at her. They both fall to the ground.

But there are footsteps ringing in the distance, coming from her direction.

Kaveh runs the other way. Eremites surge from every doorway he passes.

He loses count of how many he has to stab.

He only hopes they're not dead.

Kaveh only stops when he slams into a behemoth of a man.

The man lifts Kaveh by his shirt and slams him into the ground. He coughs, spittle flying into the air. There is going to be a huge bruise on his back tomorrow.

Or maybe he won't be covered in bruises tomorrow. Maybe he'll be dead long before then.

The man pins Kaveh with a knee on his chest and a hand on his throat. Kaveh stabs the man's arm with both blades. He only grunts.

Kaveh stabs again. And again. "Let go!" he shouts. "I don't want to kill you!"

"Killing is your only option," says a voice that makes Kaveh's skin crawl. Aizik leans over and pats the man's shoulder. "This one's more scared of me than he is death." He lowers the collar of the man's shirt to reveal a chest full of branding scars.

The man lifts Kaveh by the neck and carries him to a dining hall. A fire blazes against one wall.

Kaveh squirms as the remains of his shirt are ripped away.

"Now," Aizik says, pulling an iron poker from between the burning logs, "I don't have that particular seal here. But this will work just as well."

He jams the pointed red tip into Kaveh's side.

It burns.

Gods it burns!

It's the only thing he feels, the heat spreading up his ribs. He tries to scream, he tries to plead, but his lungs freeze. The best he can manage is a choked cry.

Aizik twists the poker deeper before he removes it. Kaveh hangs limp in the other man's arms. The scent of burning flesh rises to his nose, and it takes more than a moment to recognize it as his.

Aizik stabs his other side.

Somehow, that is worse.

Kaveh gasps when Aizik twists the poker again and throws it back into the fire.

Kaveh can't think. He can't even breathe.

"Come on," Aizik says to the man restraining him. "We'll put him in a proper cell this time. I'll teach him the same things I taught you."

No, Kaveh's addled mind objects. I won't go. The man shifts him, forces him to his feet with one hand around the back of his neck. I won't go!

His claymore appears between his captor's shoulder and elbow. The arm falls to the ground.

Kaveh falls with it. He rips the hand from his throat and dismisses the dagger.

He picks up his claymore, ignoring the pain in his back, his hand, his hips. Then he begins to swing.

Left.

Aizik shouts something.

Right.

He doesn't hear.

Left.

He doesn't see.

Down.

The sun warms his face.

He's out. He got out! He can run, now, run for help—

His feet slip in sand. He falls on his face.

He might as well have never felt hope with how quick it dissipates into the dry desert air.

He has no idea where he is.

He will never make it home.

He leans against his claymore to stand again. His makeshift bandages have fallen from his right hand; his blood makes it difficult to grip. Aizik and his Eremites exit a fortress ruin. Kaveh turns, claymore angled between them.

There are ten, fifteen of them? How is he going to fight?

Two arrows sink into his left arm. His claymore falls.

He grips his left shoulder with his right hand.

"Come now, Little Light," Aizik says. He has a sword in either hand, both leaning against his shoulders. "You can't survive on your own. You don't even know where the closest town is. Come back. I'll even let you join us!" Aizik twirls the blades around. "We have a few sudden openings in our ranks. Oh, but," he smiles with too much teeth, "I will have to punish you for creating them."

Fuck. Fuck! Did he– how many–

Kaveh's hands begin to shake. He shakes his head to distract from them. "I'm not going back."

"You are," Aizik says, "you don't have a choice." He eyes the arrows in Kaveh's arm. "You can't even hold your weapon."

Kaveh frowns.

He can't hold the claymore, true. But it is not his only weapon. He summons the dagger to his right hand.

Aizik laughs. "You can't fight us off with that!" He gestures to the roof of the ruins with his head. Lined across the top are a row of archers, crossbows aimed lazily for Kaveh.

Aizik is right. He can't fight.

But he can bargain.

He holds the point of the dagger to his own throat.

Aizik raises a brow. "What do ya think you'll achieve with that?" he asks. "We get the money either way."

Kaveh grits his teeth before he shouts. "Do you know who I am? Do you know who I know?" His chest heaves; he has to breathe before he can continue. "My best friends are the Head Forest Watcher of the Avidya Forest. The Acting Grand Sage. The General Mahamatra. What do you think happens if I die under your custody?"

He laughs, wild and frantic and half delirious. "It won't end well for you. They will hunt you down until your very last breath. It won't take long, either. Cyno's a master hunter. He will find you."

Kaveh presses the knife into his skin until a thin line of blood trickles down his neck. "Give me food and water, and then let me go. I won't say a word. I'll forget this ever happened."

It's a reach. Gods, is it a reach. But he is not scared if this is how he dies.

He's only scared of what they will do to him after.

Aizik stares. For a long, torturous moment, he stares without saying anything. Then he smirks.

"Let them try."

Aizik lifts a sword from his shoulder to point to the sky. The archers ready their crossbows, hone their aim.

Kaveh shuts his eyes to offer one final, silent prayer.

The result will be the same either way, a voice whispers, soft and sweet inside his head. Please, please, don't do this to yourself.

Yes, Kaveh agrees. Kaveh will die, right here and right now.

But there will be no more debt. There will be no debt, there will be no more drinking himself into a stupor, there will be no more annoying roommates.

Gods, if Alhaitham could see him now. Would he laugh? Would he mourn? Would he try to stop Kaveh, place himself between Kaveh and the thing that threatens his life?

Alhaitham is not here.

Kaveh will die, and his blood will spill across these sands, and his body will be carted off to the depths of the desert, and it will be used to feed vultures and coyotes and foxes.

And he will not give these mercenaries the satisfaction of killing him.

The trickle turns into a flow.

"You idiot!" Kaveh hears. He opens his eyes to green-tipped arrows flying above his head. The archers on the fortress drop their crossbows as their hands are pierced.

The relief is sudden; it takes every ounce of restraint Kaveh has to not collapse.

Aizik's eyes widen. "Run!" he calls out. "Retreat!"

The mercenaries scatter. Some return to the fortress, likely to run from another exit. Others go around, only to run into waiting matra.

Aizik scans the dunes around them — he's been completely surrounded.

Kaveh drops his hand from his throat.

Aizik raises both of his and throws his swords straight at Kaveh.

He has no strength to block or dodge.

He doesn't need it.

A flash of purple fills his vision, and metal clashes against metal as the swords are knocked away. An impressive figure stands before Kaveh, his element dancing along his spear.

If Tighnari came for him, Cyno did as well.

This is when Kaveh allows himself to fall. His knees finally falter, and he crumples to the ground. Cyno spares him half a second — far more than the stoic general would allow any unknown stranger — before he shouts to someone behind them. "Get him out of here!"

Cyno waits until there are hands on Kaveh's waist to follow Aizik into the ruins.

Kaveh is thrown unceremoniously over someone's shoulder. He gasps as something hard and hot digs into the burn on his stomach.

"Wait," he chokes out, "please, stop. It hurts."

The person slows, but doesn't stop. Kaveh grips at the cape swinging from their other shoulder…

Wait…

Wait! He knows that stupid fucking cape!

"Alhaitham?" he asks. Alhaitham turns his head to meet his gaze from the corner of his eye.

Kaveh blinks away tears. He starts laughing.

His vision blanks.

ʚїɞ

The woman above him is beautiful. She has rich dark skin that shines in the candlelight. Her hair is in tight curls, even darker than her skin. Her forehead is adorned with a silver-gold circlet, a crescent moon rising from the back of her head.

And her eyes — her eyes! One a deep blue, the other the color of amber. They are, perhaps, the most unique eyes Kaveh has ever seen.

Kaveh does not know who this woman is, but if he had to guess? One of those terrifyingly beautiful death gods Celestia sends to ease a soul's passing.

She must be able to read minds, because her mismatched eyes crinkle in a smile. "I am no god," she says, smoothing the hair from his forehead, "and you are not dead. Not even close."

He doesn't feel quite alive, though. Just breathing sends tremors of pain through his chest.

"Then who-?" he tries, but his voice rasps from his throat like it's filled with broken glass.

"Ah-ah," the woman says. She helps him sit and brings a glass of water to his lips.

Kaveh hisses at the pressure of her hand on his back. She whispers apologies.

"Well," he asks as she leans him to sit up against the pillows, "where am I?"

"Aaru Village," she answers. She puts a hand on her chest. "My name is Candace. I'm the guardian of this village."

"And what-what happened?"

He asks like he needs to be told. Like it isn't seared into his memory. Like the scars won't last forever. Like his body doesn't ache with the memory of pain.

Candace purses her lips before she answers. "Alhaitham brought you here after you passed out."

Alhaitham? Wait, no, that's right. It's the last thing he remembers, being carried off while thrown over Alhaitham's shoulder.

"How long has it been?" Kaveh asks.

"A day and a half. Your experience with the mercenaries must have worn you out." Candace sets another glass of water on the table beside the bed.

"You could say that." He lifts a hand to the bandages wrapped around his throat. Then he studies the ones around his right hand. He curls a finger, hissing when pain shoots up his arm. "How bad was the damage?"

Candace frowns. "We don't have any healers here, nor do we have proper doctors. I patched you up while Alhaitham went to fetch one. The doctor was able to repair most of the damage, but there will be some lasting effects."

Ah. Great. Just what every artist wants to have: a permanent hand injury.

That's alright. It's okay. He's always drawn better with his left hand anyway. His right hand was always better for fighting. Kaveh isn't a bit close to panic.

(He really hopes Candace can't read minds.)

Candace holds his hand between hers. They blur behind a rush of tears.

"What about the mercenaries?" he asks. "What happened to them?"

At this, Candace gives a small smile. "Cyno is relentless. He found every single one that tried to escape." She rubs her thumb over his knuckles. "They won't be able to hurt you again."

Join us! We have a few sudden openings in our ranks.

"And what of the dead?"

She hesitates. She hesitates, and Kaveh's heart plummets.

"Candace," says a voice by the door. Alhaitham stands, arms folded across his chest as he leans against the doorframe. He is way too relaxed for someone who looked half-panicked a day ago.

Candace stares, and when did Alhaitham ever make friends? She nods and stands, leaving at some sort of silent request that Kaveh didn't think anyone else could read from Alhaitham.

Alhaitham takes her chair by his bed. Kaveh's heart pounds.

"You came for me," he struggles to say. He struggles to keep it at that, to not ask why he would do such a thing.

Alhaitham pulls an apple from his pocket and summons a small knife. "I did," he answers only after he begins to peel it.

Kaveh has always had a terrible poker face. He knows this, and he knows this is why he often loses games against anyone. Questions burst in his throat, whether out of curiosity or guilt or some unknown aspect of being a scholar.

"Two were killed in battle with the matra," Alhaitham says before they can choke him. "Two more took their own lives to avoid punishment."

“And the others?”

Alhaitham hasn’t broken the peel yet.

“I know there are others, Alhaitham. He said so.”

Alhiatham does not lie. Nor is he cruel. He is simply blunt, and he does not hesitate to deliver bad news. It is best to get it dealt with quickly, if you ask him.

So why, why oh why, has he decided to shave off another three inches of peel before he asnwers?

“They were criminals, Kaveh,” he whispers.

If there is a right thing to say — if, if, if — that is not it. That implies that there were other deaths, that the fleeting hope he had of Aizik lying was false. That there is blood on his hands that he has no hope of washing away.

“How many?” Kaveh asks, hands pressed into his temples.

“They were trying to kill you,” Alhiatham says.

“I have a right to know.”

The peel falls to the floor in one long strip. Alhaitham cuts the apple into slices. His lips thin. He's unsure of his words; a rare sight for a scholar of any kind, much less Haravatat. Much much less Alhaitham.

“Four,” he says finally. “Four were already dead when we arrived,”

Kaveh gasps. “Four?” he chokes out, “Four?”"

He doesn't even remember. All he remembers is blood and pain and the sting of desperation in his veins.

He curls in on himself. His fingers clutch the front of his oversized shirt.

"Hey," a soft voice whispers. There is a weight on the bed beside him, and hands unfurling his fists. Someone shushes him, a gentle thumb running under his eye to catch his tears. He finds his face buried in the dark fabric of that stupid cape. A hand sits on the back of his head, another holds his fingers out straight.

Kaveh curls his left arm around Alhaitham.

And then he sobs.

There are so many things running through his head, his heart, his soul. Relief fights with fear fights with grief. And above it all, looming over him as it has his entire life, guilt.

The guilt of losing his father.

The guilt of selling his childhood home over one stupid mistake.

The guilt of living in Alhaitham's house, wasting Alhaitham's time, ruining Alhaitham's life.

And now that he's ruined four others…

"Please," Alhaitham says, "please don't mourn them."

Do-don't mourn? Them?!

How does Kaveh explain that they are not the cause of his mourning? That, as much guilt as he's felt in his life, he knows it will wash away in time, sculpted into a facet of himself in the same way as all his other attributes:

His blond hair and red eyes.

His genius architecture.

His kind heart, much too large and much too soft, that cares for every being that crosses its path.

Save for four.

He sees nothing when he thinks of them. Not their names, not their faces. Not their deaths. Nor does he feel any remorse for the families his mind would fabricate had they been anyone elase.

There is nothing, not even the spark of relief.

How can he mourn someone he has no feelings for?

How can he explain that he is able to understand that he should be upset, but isn't?

It is not guilt, this time, that causes him to fracture.

It is the absence of it.

#genshin impact #kavetham #haikaveh #genshin kaveh #genshin fanfic

7 notes · View notes

aaternum-a · 2 years

Note

he misses her terribly.

in between streams, vanitas has altogether too much time to sit and think (and pine), and he's been doing quite a bit of the latter lately. he's set to putting together a box of some things: things he wants to send to her, things he hopes she might enjoy.

what are its contents, one might ask? simple things, really: his old, bright-blue timex watch (the one he'd worn when he'd set a personal record and placed second overall in the race) --- it still works; a collection of some spiced hot cocoa, carefully mixed by hand and put in a cute ornamental tin can with a cat on the top, sealed with a blue ribbon; some shelf-stable shortbread he's made; and a little note:

thought i'd give you something to help you keep an eye on the time until we get to see each other again; i hope it'll bring you the same good luck it's brought me. in the meantime, enjoy the treats and drinks. sending all my warmth from a very foggy paris! toujours à toi, - vani.

Listless and wilted by the night’s end she all but dreamed her journey home, lazily dragging herself up the stairs of the five-story apartment. The only solace she finds in this tiresome cycle of work and sleep were the dwindling days between next time. A promise that eventually they’d see one another again. She sighs softly; dreamily, gaze languidly darting over the peeling embossed letter to her floor. It sucked to miss someone this much! Even if she were to eat the cost of the plane ticket, there were only so many hours she’d get to spend in his company before turning back into a pumpkin. It never felt enough. A blink, really. Someone really ought to find the secret to managing this distance. Until then, these late night video-chats would have to do. Some of the most enjoyable parts of her day. She fishes through her pocketbook for her keys, squinting through her chaotic mess as she walks to her door. Thankfully, she feels the anomaly before she trips over it. End of her shoe brushing against the cardboard box planted squarely in front of her door. She bends at her waist to retrieve it, circling through memory to recall any scheduled deliveries. But she’s drawing a blank, balancing the package between her arm and hip, free hand inserting the key into her doorway as she glances over the packing slip.. Scribbled at the top is her name, sure enough, but that’s not what grabs her attention. It’s the postal code for Paris. Surprise shifts in her expression as she scrambles into her doorway, kicking off her shoes and coat to make a beeline over to her coffee table.

“ Ah, light, light .. ” She rocks her elbow against the wall switch, fluorescent light illuminating the empty space as she sets the box over the wood countertop. At just a half-hour over two in the morning, opening a package should hardly rank high within her priorities, but she’s already tearing at the tape with the end of her keys, kneeling beside the table as she pries out its contents. The watch comes first, along with his note, that she reads out loud to herself, “ Toujours à toi … always yours … ” The edges of her lips curl into a tender smile, wrapping the loved watch around her wrist, its weight foreign, but comfortable. She extends her palm and twists her arm, gingerly noting the way it feels, near giddy as she looks over the other gifts. “ How cute! ” Ryu is near giddy with the surprise, dramatically falling to her back and onto the floor, arm stretched out to eye her new accessory. “ Until next time, huh .. ” Ah, she needed to take a shower and get ready for bed – morning was just a few short hours away and rest was so very important, and yet she’s dialing his number, rolling onto her stomach as she waits for him to pick up. It must’ve been early evening there. If she were lucky, she’d catch him before he started streaming. And to her luck, he lights up her screen, sleepy teal hues sparkling with delight.

“ I know you gotta stream soon, I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t help myself! Look! ” Drowsy, mirthful laughter following as she poses her wrist before the screen and gestures towards the torn cardboard sitting on the table. “ You’re so sneaky, y’know? I wanna yell but my neighbors will probably kill me. ” She sighs, pretending to swoon off camera before reemerging with an affectionate beaming smile, “ I miss you. More than I think you’ll ever know. My heart is just … so full of you these days. I wish you were here. ” She pauses, “ But I’ll just have to add up all the time not spent with you so I can make up for it ten-fold .. until next time. ” Another laugh as she waves at the screen,

“ Okay, okay! Sorry, I’ll let you get back to work! ”

#chironitas #— v. modern day ( ❛ innocence was fleeting like a season )#she loves ittttt ! <3

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miekasa · 3 years

Text

slow hands

+ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

+ genre and warnings: fluff, some angst? but hardly, levi is the sweetest, please do not mistake his quiet affections for apathy or lovelessness

+ word count: 3k

+ summary: based off of a request about physical affection and acts of service being levi’s love languages—which i agree! i’m so happy you asking about that, i could write essays about how physical touch is important to levi, but instead, i will leave you with this for now lol

i. in crowded spaces (so you don’t get lost, or so he claims)

Levi isn’t particularly fond of the way you like to go shopping in the inner walls. He is, however, fond of you; so he forgoes the prissy upper-class men and overall stingy aura of Wall Sina’s inhabitants just so you can get your favorite kind of bread and fruit.

Today, it seems like everyone and their mother wanted to visit the outdoor markets, despite the scheming merchants and obviously overpriced merchandise. From the crowd to the noise level, none of it is really up Levi’s alley; but he has to admit, watching people fail to successful haggle the price of eggs is immensely amusing to him.

What isn’t amusing is the way you keep stopping in the middle of the square, distracted by anything remotely shiny or with a pleasant smell you come across. Levi stops in his tracks, sensing a lack of your presence behind him; he turns around, and sure enough, you’re standing a few meters away, squinting at the price written above the basket of apples in front of you.

He sighs, trudging back to you, and watching from a step away as you scan over the fruit scrutinizingly. The merchant behind the stand does his best at selling you his product, boasting about how the fruit is fresh and hand-picked, and some other bullshit.

“These look good,” you muse to yourself, picking up a single, red apple in your palm for closer observation, “I could make a pie for the kids later.”

“Ah, pretty and she cooks, what a woman,” the bearded merchant smiles, adjusting his hat as he looks at you.

He only seems to notice Levi’s presence when he pushes forward just a little bit, looking at the apples, bored, then to the man, who speaks to him next, “Can I interest you in a basket, too, sir?”

Levi doesn’t respond with anything but a slight shake of his head, before looking back to you. You’re standing upright now, having placed your sample apple back with the rest, unfazed by Levi standing next to you; like you were completely unaware you’d left him in the first place.

He holds back a scoff. You can be so unaware of your surroundings at times, he honestly thinks it’s a miracle that you make it back from your missions alive. You’re also seemingly unaware of just how many inner wall pigs flirt with you, as you look completely oblivious to the advances of the merchant, who offers you two baskets for the price of one—the only caveat being that you allow him to take you on a date later that evening.

Levi lolls his head to the side, tired eyes gazing at the old man who tries to cut himself a bargain. He knows you’re prepared to give an overly polite and nonchalant response to wave the man off, but Levi doesn’t have time for your pleasantries today.

Quietly, he reaches for your free hand, lacing your fingers together firmly before pulling you away from the merchant and the stand.

“Levi!” you call for him, borderline whining, “I wasn’t actually going to agree to a date with him, but the apples—”

“There’s a stand a few streets over that Hange claims is better than anything she’s ever eaten,” Levi grumbles, questioning under his breath about where the hell the piece of shit men in the interior get their audacity from, “And you don’t need two baskets. One is enough.”

Levi doesn’t turn your way, so he misses the fond look in your eyes and the small curve to your lips. He does, however, feel the way you wrap your other arm around his, leaning into him gently as to not disturb your stride as you keep walking.

“But I want to have enough to make a pie for the kids, later,” you tell him, slowly rubbing your thumb against the fabric of his blazer.

Levi scoffs audibly this time. “You don’t have to make shit for them.”

“I don’t have to do shit for anyone,” you smile, “But they’re just kids, Levi. Besides, I know you like pie, too, you big baby.”

Levi doesn’t say anything at that, only choosing to flash you an unamused scowl, before pulling you down a smaller, less crowded street.

“Let’s just get the fucking apples and go home,” he says, decidedly, passing by a group of MPs sharing a flask, “I don’t know how much longer I can stay in the interior without snapping some pig’s head off.”

ii. during long meetings

Levi thinks that if Erwin weren’t Commander, he could probably make a living as a pastor with the way he preaches for hours on end.

It’s going on hour two of this long, drawn-out strategy meeting, and Levi knows that he’s not the only one about to lose his fucking marbles. Albeit, he’s much more composed than some other people around the table; he still wants to retire to his office for the evening. Even the mountain of paperwork waiting for him would be more entertaining than this.

Levi listens, admittedly a little more carefully, when you speak up, offering information about the layouts of a small town destroyed on your last expedition, where you’d lost a member of your own squad. Erwin nods, looking back down at his map to take your words into consideration.

Levi looks to his right where you’re seated, notices the guilt flash in your eyes as you think about your last failed expedition. It wasn’t your fault, and you know that; but he knows, more than anyone, how difficult it can be to lose one of your own soldiers.

Quietly, he lifts his teacup with his right hand, and places it down in front of you. He says nothing beyond an almost unnoticeable nod towards the cup once it’s within your reach, before looking back towards Erwin and Armin.

If anyone else seemed to notice his gesture, they don’t make it known. Except for Hange, of course, who flashes him a knowing grin before resuming her conversation.

Levi knows you’ve finished the tea when he feels your hand resting lightly atop his knee, tapping your index and middle fingers against his pants—a silent thank you. In the middle of his own conversation, he doesn’t turn to you or say much other than slipping his right hand on top of yours, loosely curling his fingers between the slits of yours.

His hand stays there for the rest of the meeting, his thumb rubbing slow, unidentifiable patterns into the skin on the back of your hand; an empty teacup, and a mutual gratitude between the two of you.

iii. when you’re working too hard (or for too long)

If not the gigantic humanoid monsters out to swallow you whole, the paperwork is probably the worst part about being a captain in the Survey Corps. Levi would know, having spent countless nights up reading proposals, approving plans, signing documents, filling out death certificates.

It can be grueling work, even if it is, essentially, reading and writing whilst being sat at a desk. And while, sometimes, he can admit that the paperwork is more bearable than his own nightmares; he knows that for you, it holds no such solace.

If anyone thought that Levi worked himself to the bone, they must not have met you. Your meticulous mannerisms and work ethic could almost make him seem sloppy by comparison. It’s not uncommon to find you training yourself or your cadets into the ground, theorizing with Hange and Erwin, or—Levi’s personal least favorite—hunched over your desk, eyes scanning away at stacks of ink-ridden papers.

You must be five or six hours in by now, if he’s calculated correctly. The last time he saw you was around midday, when he’d been watching you spar with Jean. It’s dark out now, the other cadets and soldiers having retired to their rooms for the evening after dinner.

“You’ll end up a hunchback if you keep this up,” he drawls upon entering your office. He watches as your head snaps up to him; he figured you hadn’t even heard him enter, seeing as you didn’t respond to his knocking. He wonders how it’s possible for you to be so aloof, yet so scrupulous all at once.

Embarrassed, more likely at your lack of awareness than his comment, you push yourself up a little bit, elbows on your desk and fingers crossed. “You’re not exactly one to talk, you know.”

Levi only hums at your jab, inching towards your desk. He likes the way your eyes track his movements as his proximity to you increases, stepping around your desk to stand behind your chair.

“Sit up,” he orders, voice soft yet firm.

He waits for you to straighten your back, but frowns when you scoot your chair closer to your desk after doing so. He takes it upon himself to move your chair back, ignoring the terrible squeaking of the wood scraping across the floor. Well, at least that was an indication that the floors were clean.

“I can’t write if I’m this far from my desk,” you complain, just as the palms of Levi’s hands make contact with your shoulders.

“Good thing I’m not asking you to write anything,” Levi replies, digging the heels of his hands into your shoulder muscles. This would work better with your shirt off, he muses to himself, but this would have to do.

You open your mouth to protest, but your words fall short on your tongue, an exhale of relief coming out instead as Levi continues to massage your shoulders. Levi can feel you melting into his actions, your body going slack and the knots in your muscles uncoiling themselves. He counts about five minutes in passing before he hears your breath calm, too; the shallow exhales of your overworked body replaced with deep inhalations and extended sighs.

He lightens his movements as his massage comes to and end. The palm of his left hand runs across your throat gently, allowing him to tuck his thumb and index finger under your chin, and tilt your head backwards for you to face him. Levi’s thumb pads against your jaw line as you look up at him, and him back at you.

Finally, he leans down, his lips making contact with your forehead for a gentle kiss, “You work too hard.”

“I learned from the best,” and just as gently, you reach your arm up and backwards, your palm clumsily finding its way to Levi’s hair, pulling him down, towards your lips this time, “You take such good care of me.”

“Obviously,” Levi mumbles, stealing another kiss between his words, “That’s my job, brat.”

iv. during dinner time

The Mess Hall is among Levi’s least favorite places, for obvious reasons; but he does enjoy sharing a meal with you, and ensuring that you’ve eaten a full serving to sustain yourself.

He can look past Hange and Nanaba’s overly enthusiastic conversations, despite sitting directly across each other, Erwin’s sloppy eating habits, and the overall rowdy atmosphere of the Mess Hall, as long as he has you beside him to numb the pain. Which is why he’s been exceptionally grumpy these past two weeks, as you’ve taken to sitting with some of the younger cadets during dinner time.

It’s not unusual and it doesn’t surprise him, or anyone really; everyone can see how much they all adore you. Especially Mikasa, strangely enough. Probably because of the way you treat Eren, and how much he and Armin look up to you; and probably because she was your first pick to fill a vacancy in your squad.

He walks with you across the floor, the both of you holding your own tray of food—a watery soup, some bread, and a piece of fruit as a treat. He knows you won’t finish your soup, and that he’ll have to give you half of his bread to make up for it; but he also knows you’ll slice up your apple for him to eat in exchange.

So Levi is not too happy when he sees Eren waving your way, the clumsy idiot almost hitting Armin in the head from the uncoordinated shaking of his hand. You smile at the younger boy, turning your body to walk towards his table.

Levi, however, stops your stride before it can begin, pulling tactfully at the back of your shirt, and forcing you to turn back around. He pokes at the nape of your neck, gently pushing you forwards, and in the direction of the table where Erwin, Hange, Mike and Moblit are seated.

You seem to get his silent message, flashing Levi a sweet smile before turning to offer Eren a sorry glance as you continue to head in the direction of the table with your colleagues. Levi hums when you start walking again, following closely behind you, and turning back to offer Eren a not-so-sorry, not-so-friendly glare.

Levi was getting his apple sliced for him today, whether the brats liked it or not.

“You know, you should sit with them sometime,” you tell him, breaking his small loaf in half to dip it into your soup, “They admire you a lot.”

“I think they’d shit their pants if shorty even came near their table,” Hange jokes, earning chuckles from some of your colleagues.

Levi says nothing and refrains from rolling his eyes. He could care less about the admiration they hold for him, or for you. If Eren and Amin wanted to spend time with you that badly, then they should train their asses off and make it onto your squad.

“Oi,” you call to him, mocking his voice and tone, “Here, they gave us yellow ones today, I know they’re your favorite.”

Levi shoves you with his elbow affectionately, before taking the slice of apple from your hold. He chews gratefully, heart beating against his chest in admiration as you carefully place the rest of the slices on his tray.

He squeezes your thigh in thanks under the table once you’ve finished slicing both apples for him. Sure, he could do it himself, and sure he could technically see you in your room whenever he wants, but that’s not the point; Levi will be damned if he catches any of those other brats with his apple slices.

v. when you come home

It’s not often that Levi becomes overly worried about your well-being, as backwards and apathetic as it may seem to other people. He trusts you, and knows that you’re stronger than you look—stronger than him, even—and he has no reason to doubt you; you’ve always come back to him.

But now, it’s going on eleven days since your squad was supposed to return from specially designed and assigned mission from Erwin himself, and Levi was beginning to let his nerves get the best of him.

He knows he’s not the only one getting antsy for some kind of message—any kind of sign at all—that you and your men were okay. Two days ago, Hange had pestered Erwin for the greater part of an hour about sending just one more tracking squad to look for yours; Mikasa and Armin hovered around for any news that you had returned, and that you’d brought Eren back unharmed; hell, even Mike had come to check in with him, rocking on his feet, asking Levi if there had been any news from you.

It’s dark out now, the day coming to a close, marking the twelfth night since your estimated return date. Levi sighs, untucking himself from his desk, intent on marching down to Erwin’s office and demanding he let him go look for you.

“You know we have to give it fourteen days, at least,” Erwin sighs.

“That’s a bullshit rule and you know it,” Hange interjects, having burst into the room only seconds after Levi; hung up on your lack of return just as much as he was.

Of course she is—you’re Hange’s closest friend. Not to mention, you’d taken Moblit with you on your mission, setting Hange’s work back significantly without the presence of her valuable second.

“I know,” Erwin nods, “But the first tracking squad found no evidence of any bodies. They’re most likely alive.”

“All of them?” Hange questions, incredulous and hopeful.

“That’s what we hope for,” Erwin responds, voice heavy. He looks to Levi, “She’ll come back. She always does.”

Levi knows that; he knows. But he still can’t shake this feeling. He opens his mouth to refute, when Sasha comes bumbling into Erwin’s office, heaving.

“Commander Erwin, Captain (Y/N)’s squad has just returned!” Sasha squeaks, “No casualties, four in the infirmary now with minor wounds, but nobody’s in critical condition, sir.”

Levi can barely register the young girl’s words, before he’s storming towards the infirmary, desperately searching for your familiar face amongst the soldiers in the cots. He sees Moblit amongst some of your other men and hastily asks him about your whereabouts.

“She had Eren,” Moblit tells him calmly, wincing slightly as a nurse rubs alcohol into the cut along his arm, “I thought she’d take him here—maybe in one of the smaller rooms across the hall?”

Levi nods, grateful, and moves so that Hange can squish Moblit with her affections, heading towards the hallway. He sees just a sliver of light coming from a room two doors down, and he doesn’t hesitate to search for you there.

He all but bursts through the door, relieved to find you tying and cutting a bandage around Eren’s forehead. Levi wants to scold you for taking care of someone else wounds before attending to your own, but he doesn’t have time for that right now.

You stand up straight after you’re finished wrapping Eren’s larger cuts, with barely enough time to register that Levi’s entered the room before he has one hand around your waist, and the other cradling the back of your head.

Levi can feel that he’s knocked the wind out of you, but that doesn’t stop you from slowly wrapping your arms around him to complete the hug. He tucks his head into the juncture of your neck, ignoring the faint scrapes along your skin.

“You’re back,” he hums, holding you a little tighter against him.

Levi feels your laughter reverberate through his own body, as you mirror his hold on you; your right hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, your fingers loosely coiling into his hair.

“Of course I am,” you hum, reveling in Levi’s shallow breaths that tickle your neck, “I’ll always come back to you, Levi.”

#aot x reader #snk x reader #levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x reader #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #aot imagines #snk imagines #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman smut #eren x reader

9K notes · View notes

levi-txliesiin · 3 years

Text

lay all your love on me

okay!! so this is my fic for @magpiencrow's 1.2k writing challenge.

this is based off of the song lay all your love on me, slowed, by putin

pairing: nikolai/reader

rating: general

tags: gn!reader w/ gn pronouns, fluff

summary: falling in love with nikolai lantsov told through several vignettes

or: mindless nikolai/reader fluff with a alina and ivan being little shits

warnings: right off the bat there's a nightmare about drowning in the ocean, and there's one (1) swear word at the end, but other than that, there's nothing

word count: 4.1k

read on ao3

constructive criticism, feedback, and reblogs are greatly appreciated !

I haven't written anything in a while, so i may be a bit rusty, but please enjoy :)

You were drowning, and also pretty damn sure you were going to die out here. Your lungs were on fire, screaming for air, but you couldn't emerge from the ocean for long enough to suck in a breath. Sure, your hand or head breached the surface every now and then, but a wave would come crashing down on you immediately after, destroying all your progress.

The undulating waves threw you around like a football - a very pathetic one, at that. As hard as you tried to fight the current, it still insisted on moving against you (stubborn bastard), so really you weren't going anywhere. Just pathetically bobbing around in the same pathetic place. You couldn't feel your limbs - the only thing you could feel was the agonising ache in your chest. It was as if your arms and legs had frozen over along with your will to live.

How easy it would be to just...

...let the ocean take you...

Suddenly, someone grabbed you by the wrist. You screamed, which was a mistake; immediately, salty seawater filled your mouth, making you gag and choke. Nevertheless, you valiantly tried to release yourself from whoever - whatever? - had their hold on you.

"Y/n, Y/n! Relax, darling, relax," a voice said, sounding out of breath. "It's me."

You whirled your head around. Sagging with relief, you gasped out the name of your saviour. "Nikolai."

"Yes. Yes, Y/n, my love, it's me. It's Nikolai," he soothed, running his hands over your wet hair.

"Nikolai," you breathed. "Nikola-" - a wave reared up on its hind legs, ready to come crashing down onto your friend, ready to take him away - "no, no, Nikolai, NO-!"

You startled, eyes flying open. You were shaking like a leaf. Were you cold, or was it just the adrenaline from the nightmare still making its course? You shook your head as if to rid your mind of the dream. It wasn't real. Nikolai had saved you that night. It was fine. It wasn't real.

But it could very well have been real, a traitorous voice in your mind whispered. Scowling, you cursed your pessimistic side. Even if a wave had separated you two, Nikolai would have fought tooth and nail to get to you again. You would have done the same. After all, you were childhood friends, and you knew better than anyone that Nikolai didn't let go of his loved ones so easily.

He hadn't wanted you to accompany him on his journey overseas as Sturmhond. You insisted otherwise, channeling some of Nikolai's stubbornness that had rubbed off on you. ("You're not getting rid of me that easily, idiot. So let me come, unless you want me to steal your kneecaps.").

A half-smile appeared on your face as you thought back to the memory. Slowly, you got up from your bed. Your blanket was draped over your shoulders. You slipped out of your cabin quietly, walking down the hallway until you found yourself in front of Nikolai's room. He stirred in his sleep when you entered. The door creaked slightly, but it didn't seem like his distress was because of the noise.

You sat on the edge of his bed. Nikolai, previously facing away, turned over to face you. His eyes were still screwed shut, eyebrows knitted together and an unhappy expression on his face. You frowned.

"Nikolai." you nudged him gently. "Wake up. You're okay, just wake up. It's just a dream."

He opened his eyes, blinking at you. "Y/n?"

"Hi," you said. A lock of golden hair fell over his forehead, and upon instinct, you reached to brush it away. He let you, not uttering any of his usual complaints.

"You were gone," he mumbled, undoubtedly referencing his nightmare. "I- I couldn't save you, and you were gone."

You shifted into a more comfortable position - your whole body was on the bed now, with your back against the headboard. He leaned his head against your chest, and you ran your fingers through his hair. "It wasn't real. It's okay. You saved me - I'm not going anywhere, 'Lai."

"Me either," he agreed, wrapping his arms around your middle. A beat of silence. Then, "Thank you."

You were more than content to fall asleep like this. Even if it meant waking up with an ache in your neck. Judging from the way he was curled up, practically drinking in your presence, Nikolai felt the same way.

What a feeling it was to have found solace in Nikolai Lantsov, and to know he had found solace in you, too.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Nikolai's pov

Nikolai watched from the corner of the ballroom as you laughed at one of Ivan's jokes. One would say that he was scowling, but the Prince of Ravka didn't scowl. No - he was simply observing your conversation with the Heartrender with visible distaste. He was not scowling. And he was not jealous.

You and Ivan were smiling at each other, standing by the refreshments table, mouths moving quickly, the both of you obviously interested in whatever you were talking about. You threw your head back in a laugh. You looked gorgeous. Nikolai wanted to make you laugh like that - more than he wanted to admit.

The last straw was when Ivan lay a hand on your shoulder, and then snaked his arm around you. You didn't seem perturbed by his touch - no, actually, you leaned into it. He bent down to whisper something in your ear that made you duck your head in embarrassment and lightly hit his chest.

Nikolai's glare deepened, if that were even possible. Okay, fine, maybe he was jealous. Did he even have the right to be jealous, though? It wasn't as if he was dating you, as much as he'd like to be.

And oh boy, he'd like to be.

Suddenly, Alina appeared at his side, seemingly out of thin air. He flinched. "Alina."

The girl in question had a mischievous look in her eye. Her hands were clasped in front of her, the long, flowy sleeves of her dress falling just past her wrists. The bottom half of her gown was a sparkly gold, whereas the top half was a dark blue. The two colours faded into each other at the middle, creating a gradient effect. It was a beautiful dress. You had helped Alina pick it out yourself, if he remembered correctly.

"Hello, loverboy." she poked him in the side, grinning knowingly. "How's your crush on Y/n going for you?"

"I don't have a crush on them, Alina, for Saint's sake."

"Oh, is that so? You do seem... ah, what was the word... utterly whipped for them, contrary to what you just said," she said, tilting her head to the side, feigning innocence.

"Am not," he argued. "I-," Nikolai paused, taking notice of you and Ivan walking past a couple metres away. Unfortunately, you were too engrossed in your current conversation to notice him. His eyes lingered on you. He only looked away when you disappeared back into the throng of people.

Alina let out a triumphant 'ha!'.

He directed his attention back to her and glared. "Alina, I swear-,"

"Utterly. Whipped," she mouthed.

"I will behead you," he threatened.

She laughed. "In all seriousness, I really don't think Y/n and Ivan like each other like that," Alina said.

"Well, of course not," he agreed. "Y/n very clearly has eyes for me. I can't say I blame them - who could resist all this? Everyone's all over me, as I'm sure you've noticed."

Alina stared at him pointedly.

"Ah, except for you, of course. You seem to be the only one immune to my charm and charisma. An odd one, you are."

She rolled her eyes. "Why do I even bother," she groaned. "Just swear to me that you'll tell Y/n you like them soon. Within a week. Swear on... your dignity."

"My dignity?" Nikolai drawled.

"Yes, your dignity, because if you don't fess up soon, I'll have to tell Y/n about your crush on them myself," she grinned smugly, and darted off before Nikolai could retort.

He sighed. As he saw it, he had three options:

1. Blackmail Alina (because of course she wouldn't give in to simple bribery)

2. Get on his knees and beg Alina to not tell you of his massive crush (there! he admitted it; he had a massive crush on you! One that he'd been harbouring for just over a year now, too)

3. Listen to Alina, and confess on his own terms

All three were mortifying, and things he absolutely didn't want to do. However, the last was considerably easier to do, and came with the most benefits and the least consequences. You had already seen him through his most embarrassing moments (and he through yours) so even if you rejected him, the humiliation would be minimal.

And maybe he wanted to confess. And maybe there was hope that you liked him back. Nikolai wasn't stupid - he knew when people fancied him. He suspected you liked him back, but then again, that could've been wishful thinking, or maybe he was misreading the entire thing.

He didn't even understand why he was so jealous of the way Ivan and you had interacted. Before he had fallen heads over heels in love with you, his childhood best friend, people flirting with you hadn't been a problem. He'd encouraged it, even. But now, bitterness flared up inside of him every time he saw someone getting a bit too cozy with you.

In short, his feelings for you had completely destroyed his facade of smooth, suave, sexy Prince of Ravka. And it kind of terrified him how poorly he hid it.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Nikolai had been acting strange lately, and it was bothering you. You feared the worst - had he finally caught on to your crush? You thought you'd been subtle until Ivan had approached you at the most recent party. Apparently, the scowl on your face as you watched Nikolai flirt with the guests had been fierce enough to kill.

Ivan had given you (unsolicited) advice, telling you to be straightforward and direct. That was what he'd done with Fedyor, after all, and that had worked out well.

You were pacing around your room. Ivan was perched on your bed, watching you have a borderline nervous breakdown like one would watch the view.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you, Ivan?" you demanded. "I'm about to make a life or death decision, and you're enjoying it."

He chuckled. "I wouldn't call this a life or death decision, Y/n. If Nikolai rejects you, he rejects you, and it's his loss. If he reciprocates, good, and you'll be free to frolic in the meadows with him, all fine and dandy."

You stared at him, your expression communicating, "Did you really just say that?", very clearly.

"Okay, okay, fine, I'll be serious." Ivan relented. "Just tell him, Y/n. What's the worst that could happen?"

Just as you were about to respond - "Well, I don't know, what if he rejects me, things become eternally awkward between us, and our 10 year long friendship is ruined because I couldn't keep my mouth shut?" - someone knocked at the door. You opened it to find Nikolai waiting. His hair was perfectly styled, as always. He wore a dark turquoise suit jacket, and a simple white dress shirt underneath. The ghost of a smile appeared on your face; you had chosen the colour for him.

"Hi, Nikolai," you greeted.

"Hello," he said. "Come on a walk with me. It's a lovely day outside, and both of us have been dreadfully busy lately - we may not get another chance to spend time together, I'm afraid."

"Oh! Of course, just let me grab more suitable shoes- I'll be out in a minute- Ivan, move." You rummaged around your room in search of the sandals Nikolai had gifted you for your most recent birthday. Ivan flashed you a grin.

"Tell him!" he whispered as you ducked out the door.

You hoped you didn't seem too jittery as you took Nikolai's arm, even if your insides were filled with butterflies. He seemed deep in thought for the first few minutes of your walk. It wasn't until you were both outside that he finally spoke.

"I hope you don't mind me asking, Y/n, but what was Ivan doing in your room?" he asked.

The question caught you off guard. Why was he so concerned about you and Ivan? It wasn't as if-

Oh.

"Nikolai, don't tell me- are you jealous?" you exclaimed.

"Just answer the question, Y/n," he grumbled, which was enough of an answer for you.

You laughed, only feeling a bit bad that you were so amused. Nikolai Lantsov, jealous. You found that incredibly funny. "Oh, I'm sorry for laughing," you apologised, even as another giggle escaped your mouth. "You don't have to worry, Ivan and I are strictly friends."

He didn't seem convinced. "But the two of you at the party a few days ago-,"

You cut him off. "Nikolai. I promise that there is nothing romantic going on with Ivan and I. And besides, I don't think I'm anywhere near his type."

"Ivan likes men, Nikolai," you supplied, sensing his confusion. "Honestly, you need to keep up with gossip - he and Fedyor have been going strong for nearly three months now."

"Oh," Nikolai said.

"Yeah, oh."

"And, uh, do you? Like men, I mean?"

You bit back another laugh. "Yes, I do. One man in particular, actually."

"Is that so? Care to clue me in on who this man is?"

"You."

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Nikolai's pov

"You."

As soon as that single word came out of your mouth, Nikolai's brain short-circuited, and several alarms blared in his mind. ALERT! ALERT! THE PERSON YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH LIKES YOU BACK!

He was too stunned to speak, which was definitely a first. So, naturally, he didn't speak, but instead leaned in to kiss you. His lips brushed chastely against yours. A pause.

"I- I'm really sorry, Y/n, I should have asked beforehand-,"

"Nikolai." you took his face in your hands. "Shut up."

And then you kissed him, and if his brain had been short-circuiting before, this was a full blown system failure. Sparks flew inside of him, and he was acutely aware of you and you only. It was a wonderful feeling, one that he immediately missed when you pulled away.

"Wow," you said.

He grinned. "I'm that good of a kisser, huh?"

When usually you would come up with a witty response, you just smiled. It was a smile Nikolai was pretty sure he'd die to see again.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Falling in love with Nikolai had been a long process. Your simple crush developed into something deeper like a leaky faucet dripping - slowly, but steadily. And then the realisation that you were in love with him hit you like a tidal wave. Drowning you, consuming every inch of your being, but not necessarily in a bad way.

You came to your epiphany while laying awake in bed one night after a whole day spent with the esteemed King of Ravka. It was a wonder that you'd managed to spend a whole 10 hours or so in his company without getting fed up, Tamar had teased. He did annoy you - and had today - but you bullied him back plenty enough. It was easy being with him. Easier than you were used to.

You loved the way his eyes sparkled after correcting someone on their use of the word 'impossible'. Loved how he devoted himself to his country so selflessly. Loved how he smiled at you so genuinely and lovingly, even when you didn't have the energy to show your love in return after a bad day. Saints, you loved him so, so much, and you were so in love with him, too, and-

Holy shit. You were in love with Nikolai.

You were in love. With Nikolai.

A childish giggle bubbled up inside of you, and you sighed happily. What a feeling it was to be in love with the King of Ravka, even if he didn't know it yet.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

You twirled a small flower around in your hands as you walked side by side with Nikolai, your shoulders brushing occasionally. The taller blades of grass tickled your ankles, and a gentle breeze weaved through your hair. The sun peeked out from behind a few clouds, warming your face.

Nikolai intertwined your fingers, sighing in content. He craned back his neck to meet the sunshine, eyes fluttering shut. He looked stunning, just standing there with his almost otherworldly beauty as light spilled over his fine features, highlighting every detail.

"I'm in love with you," you blurted suddenly. "I love you, and I'm also in love with you, so. Yeah. I'm in love with you, Nikolai Lantsov."

You gave yourself a mental round of applause for your eloquence and tact.

He blinked. "Oh." The ghost of a smile appeared on his face, turning into a full-fledged grin when he finally processed your words. "Oh. I'm... I'm in love with you, too, Y/n L/n."

You beamed back at him, and cupped his face in your hands. You gently ran your fingers against his cheeks, tracing a line down to the base of his chest. The fabric of his shirt was thin and soft, unlike the suffocating material his suits were made of. Lovingly, he wrapped his arms around your waist, and pulled you close. Your heart fluttered. Saints, you adored Nikolai. More than you could put into words.

"I love you," you whispered. "I love you so much, so intensely that it consumes me, and I'm drowning in it. But instead of it being hard to breathe, it makes breathing easier. It makes everything easier."

You interrupted your little speech by kissing him, just because it felt appropriate, and continued. "I was so lost without you, Nikolai. I didn't realise it, because as I've proved time and time again, I'm more than capable of holding my own-" you smirked as he rolled his eyes at the jab to his overprotectiveness "-but I was. I was a boat lost at sea, floating around in the waves, with no destination and no goal except surviving. Then you came along, and gave me solace. You were my salvation. You and your endearingly stupid jokes and your wild yet grounded behaviour. You're my anchor, Nikolai."

He laughed, but not in the mean way. In the happy way.

"I would pay you back with a monologue of my own," he said. "but all I can think of right now is how perfect you are, and how much I want to kiss you."

Your smile widened, if that were even possible. You met him midway, lips connecting almost desperately. The only coherent thought running through your brain was 'Nikolai, Nikolai, Nikolai.'

Nikolai.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

"That one looks like a dragon," you said, pointing out a lumpy cloud in the sky.

Nikolai tilted his head to the left. It was rather cute - he looked like a puppy, trying to figure out what its owner was saying. His right eyebrow curved in an upward arch (you still had no idea how he managed to raise a single eyebrow at a time), and he pouted slightly. Adorable.

"I don't see it," he deadpanned.

You sighed and shook your head, dismissing the cute puppy ideology. "Nevermind," you huffed. As hard as you tried to pretend you were upset with him, a smile teased at the corners of your mouth, anyway.

"I'm sorry, darling, but I really don't!" he exclaimed, flopping back into the picnic blanket you two had laid out. Really, it wasn't even a picnic blanket. It was just a blanket. The two of you hadn't had time to find a proper one before embarking on your impromptu picnic. Nikolai, ever the improviser, had then brandished a quilt from Saints knew where. You suspected it came from Vasily's room, because who else would be pompous enough to own a red velvet blanket the size of China?

You dramatically exhaled again. "I already said nevermind. Not all of us can be blessed with a creative vision such as mine, after all."

Nikolai laughed. And Saints, the sound was downright melodic. You didn't even want to begin thinking about all the things you'd do to hear it one more time.

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Eventually, he began stroking your palm with his callouses fingers. You bit back a smile, and linked your pinkies together. A gathering of clouds mostly covered the sun - enough to allow only a bit of warm, gold light to seep out. You wondered briefly how Nikolai looked right now, basking underneath the faint sunshine.

The answer came to you easily, even without looking at him: fucking beautiful.

However, you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of staring at him. The last time he had caught you gaping at him like a lovesick fool, he had teased you endlessly. It was ridiculous. It wasn't as if he didn't stare at you. No, actually. He stared at you all the time. In fact, he was doing it right now.

You bit back a grin when you felt his eyes on you. But before you could tease him for it, he got up suddenly, offering you a hand.

"Come on," he urged. "Follow me."

"Where to?" you questioned curiously.

He smirked. Tugged on your hand. Winked. "You'll see."

"Right, that's not cryptic at all," you muttered.

Eventually, after a minute or so of walking (and plenty of you trying to weasel more information out of him) the two of you had seemed to reach your destination. A huge tree hung above you, offering its shade. You plopped down, but Nikolai remained standing.

Strangely, he was looking rather nervous. Repeatedly tugging at the collar of his beige button-up shirt, and kicking at the grass.

"Y/n, darling, don't just sit there, you're making me nervous," he whined.

You giggled, but stood up anyway. "I could say the same about you. What's on your mind, dear?"

He took a deep breath, and looked you dead in the eyes. "I love you, Y/n. I love you, and I'm in love with you. I always have, and always have been. It's just- you're wonderful. And intelligent. And charming. And I am so, so glad you are my partner - in the romantic sense, and the platonic sense. If I'm being honest, I'm quite sure I'd be tearing at the seams without you to sew me back together every time I do something particularly foolish.

And I hope you'll always be there to ground me. Because I will always be there for you. Th-there's no other way to say this, my darling, but I'd quite like to spend the rest of my life with you, so..."

He brandished a dark blue box from his back pocket (this probably wasn't the time, but you had to mention that you could never fit something that large in your pocket. Why did men's clothing always have bigger pockets?) and got down on one knee.

"Will you do me the honour of marrying me, Y/n?" he finished.

Holy fuck. Holy mother of Saints. Holy everything. Was this real? Saints. This really was real, wasn't it? Nikolai Lantsov was proposing to you.

A sob escaped from your throat, and you nodded frantically, not wanting him to think you were upset. "Yes," you said. "Saints, Nikolai, yes."

He smiled. You knew that he smiled a lot, but this smile was different. Usually, he just grinned or smirked in a devilish way - this was more of a beam. He looked so genuinely happy (genuinely happy, because of you!) that it made your heart soar, and you were pretty sure you fell in love with him all over again for the second time. You'd never get tired of it, though. Not when it came to Nikolai (Nikolai, your husband-to-be!). Never when it came to Nikolai.

You soon found yourself enveloped in a hug. He spun you around, both of you laughing (and crying). When he set you down, you could have sworn you saw his eyes welling up.

"Now, my love, those better be happy tears," he tutted.

"Of course they're happy tears, you stupid puppy dog!" you sniffed. "I love you."

He beamed into your hair. "I love you, too, Y/n."

What a feeling it was to be in love with Nikolai Lantsov, and to know that he was in love with you, too.

#uservignette #magpie's 1.2k #nikolai lantsov #grishaverse #grishaverse imagine #grishaverse fic #reader insert #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai lanstov imagines #reader #x y/n #x reader #event fic #fanfic #nikolai duology #fluff #grishaverse fanfiction #grishaverse fandom #vig's writing

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aeoncryptic · 3 years

Note

Hello, Aeon! For your fluffy IkeVamp requests... would you mind writing “I like the way your hand fits in mine” from the list, for Dazai, Arthur, or Comte? I’m sure I’ll love however you work it out! Thank you for opening these requests, and good luck with them! 🍀✨

Hello~! Thank you for requesting~! I actually ended up writing for all three, which is why it's taken me so long. ;-; Thank you for your patience~! I hope you like them! ;-;

I tried to do a seasonal thing... Arthur being Spring, Comte being Summer, and Dazai being Winter. I don't think I did it well, but I tried~!

@alby-rei who also requested this of Dazai

Word count: 1508

Characters: Dazai, Comte, Arthur, MC. With mentions of Leonardo and others.

Arthur:

The spring breeze tousled his hair a bit as he leaned against the wall of the store he was meeting his fiancee at. He’d known she would be late due to spring cleaning, but his excitement had gotten the best of him and he’d arrived before the agreed upon meeting time. The loneliness had been getting to him. He missed her laughter, her energy, everything about her. It wasn’t fair, he thought with a pout. Her time was currently shared amongst all of the residents, but he, greedy as he was, wanted her all to himself. If those thoughts ever reached her ears, she’d surely chastize him.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost missed the carriage as it pulled up before him. Moving away from the wall, his eyes searched the carriage as if willing her to appear. As her feet gingerly touched the ground, she searched for him, eyes lighting up upon spotting him, her steps quick as she ran towards him. But he swooped forward just as she tripped, his hand catching one of hers, his arm wrapped around her back, her face lifting from his chest to look up at the face of her savior.

His smile was a cheshire grin. He playfully pulled her closer, his hand not leaving hers. “What cheer~! Are you that excited to see me, luv~?” A scarlet hue colored her cheeks, she puffed up her cheeks in indignation.

“You know I am, Arthur.” Her honesty caught him off guard, causing him to blush as well. “After all, we haven’t seen much of each other lately…”

“You really know how to catch a man unawares, don’t you, bird?” Letting out a low chuckle, he reluctantly let go of her. “Shall we start our date~?”

Once she agreed, they began their walk towards the gardens. Arthur stopped in his tracks for a moment and turned to face her. “I’m quite worried you’ll trip again. Perhaps I should hold you hand, just in case?” His hopeful, yet playful expression caused her to laugh. She carefully placed her hand in his. “Ah. Much better. I- I quite like the way your hand fits in mine.”

Comte:

The music swayed through the room, a beautiful cascade on their ears. Comte de Saint Germain’s eyes focused on one woman tonight. He had no need to find his solace in other women, for she was what lulled him into security. However, she currently was in the arms of Leonardo who had whisked her away while Comte wasn’t looking. Leo was probably trying to get back at Le Comte for “convincing” him to come to this ball.

He watched for a moment more before deciding to strike. His shoes clicked across the ballroom floor as he walked up to his friend and his love. Each clack ringing loudly in their ears, Leonardo failing to hide his smug grin as Comte strode up to them. He smiled gracefully and extended his hand to her. “My apologies, ma cherie, it would seem I’ve left you alone too long. May I have this dance?” Both men exuded an overbearing confident aura that almost seemed like they were passive-aggressively fighting. The young woman shook her head, trying to hold back the laughter bubbling within her.

Concern that she wouldn’t take his hand bubbled in him, surrounded him. Afraid that she could possibly leave him for his friend. His eyes were glued to her hands as they slowly let go of Leonardo’s and were gently placed on his extended palm. A feeling of relief washed through him as he pulled her close, his other arm wrapping around her waist. He began to lead her in a graceful dance, bearing the weight for her so that she could glide across the dance floor without fear. His heart swelled at her brilliant smile. What he wouldn’t do to keep her smiling at him like that.

Shaking off his thoughts, he spun her around hoping a smile had stayed displayed on his face. Once her hand was back in his, he smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “I love the way your hand fits in mine, ma cherie.” A blush crossed her face and a soft chuckle let his throat. Out of a selfish desire to allow no one else to see her expression, he gently tugged her towards the balcony. He wanted to have her alone, if only for a moment. The warm summer air lazily whisked around them. As they reached the balcony, she gave him a quizzical look.

“I’m sorry, ma cherie, but I wanted a bit of your time to myself. Away from prying eyes.” He chuckled at the surprised look on her face. A tug of her hand in his, causing her to fall into his arms, he brushed his lips against hers. Not once did her hand leave his.

Dazai:

She didn’t know how she let Dazai convince her to go on a date in the middle of winter, but he had somehow managed to whisk her away from her duties. His sly smile and flamboyant nature could convince people of almost anything. She sighed inwardly at their current predicament. They were searching for shelter as the snow storm began. They wouldn’t be able to make it back to the mansion in time; it was already becoming hard to see. Dazai gave her a carefree smile and spoke in a sing-song tone. “The stables aren’t far from here, Toshiko-san~! We can take refuge there~!” Ah. That expression, that voice. She smiled to herself and shook her head.

“Alright, Dazai-san. Let's take shelter there until the storm ends.” She allowed him to lead her over to the stables, the snow starting to reach her ankles. The crunch crunch of snow under their feet was the only sound heard, all else was silent. Luckily they reached the stables before the snow got deep enough that opening the door would be difficult. Closing the door behind them, she began shivering. They hadn’t prepared for a snow storm.

Dazai’s eyes flicked around the room quickly, considering the options to keep her warm. He suddenly picked her up causing her to let out a squeal. Settling himself down next to Napoleon’s horse amongst the hay, he cradled her in his arms. “The best way to stay warm is to share company~! I’m sure the horse won’t mind keeping us warm, right, Toshiko-san~?” She was already beginning to feel the warmth from him and the horse and it began to ease her chill. She felt so warm and secure in his arms that her eyes began to close and she drifted off to sleep.

She felt a gentle hand brushing the hair out of her face and a sweet voice calling to her in an attempt to wake her from her slumber. “Umeko-san~? The snow has stopped for now~ If we don’t head back now, we may be stuck until morning.” Her eyes opened wide upon realizing she had fallen asleep, a deep blush settling across her face. Before she could apologize however, Dazai gently helped her up. “Off we go, Toshiko-san~!” He pulled her towards the doors again and she didn’t have the strength to argue. Once they got outside, she gasped as traveling through the snow would be difficult for them both. It had already gotten past her calves. Dazai held her hand tighter and pulled her behind him, allowing her to follow in his steps. She was surprised at the consideration he displayed to her.

The travel was slow going, but they managed to reach the mansion doors. As her boyfriend reached for the door and tried to push it open, they remembered what Theo had told them this morning in his fit of anger. Leonardo had decided to take the doors apart and reinstall them. Unfortunately, he had done so in order to mess with Le Comte. This meant the doors now opened outwards. The snow was too high and too thick for them to be able to pull the door open.

Her lover knew exactly how to deal with this situation, having a dislike for doors anyways. He led her to the window of the dining room where Sebastian just so happened to be cleaning and knocked on the window. The surprised look on Sebas’ face made (MC) giggle a little, while Dazai simply waved to him. Sebastian opened the window for them and Dazai climbed through first. Once he was inside, Dazai held his hand out to (MC) in an offer to assist her.

She clasped his hand and he gently helped her through the window. “Dazai-san, you’ve been holding my hand a lot today…” Squeezing his hand, she looked up at his face curiously. “Is there something wrong?”

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, his eyes staring into hers and a grin on his face. “I like the way your hand fits in mine~ So I’m not letting it go for the rest of the day~!” And so he tugged her away.

#ikemen vampire #Ikevamp #Ikevamp dazai #ikemen vampire dazai #Ikemen vampire comte #ikevamp comte #ikemen vampire le comte #ikevamp le comte #Ikemen vampire arthur #ikevamp arthur

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smellsfaintlyofvanilla · 3 years

Note

hiii!!! can i request a hange x reader fic where they are having a being intimate or having a moment and Levi walks in. and is like wtf. but praises hange on their choice of women? ( could you use a mix of they and she for hange please!)

Absolutely!

I just know Levi would be the type to act disgusted, but internally he's actually really happy for Hange that they finally found somebody :')

Quickly

(Zoe Hange x Reader)

AU: Canon

Warnings: None

Category: Fluff, a little smut but they get caught lmao

Summary: Hange is busy doing work when their S/O comes to visit them, so they let them stay for a bit. But, as soon as they get to fooling around, Hange realizes they forgot to lock the door.

Words: 1.9K

"Knock knock."

You push the door to Hange's office open casually, not even waiting for any sort of confirmation from them that you were allowed in—after all, Hange never said 'no' to any of your visits. It was essentially your office too now, since she had given you a spare key to "come over whenever you'd like and for whatever reason you'd like". You understood the implications of what she was saying, but pushed the thought to the back of your mind, accepting the key graciously.

"Ah, hello Y/n." Their voice echoed through the room, their back turned as she fiddled with some equipment and papers on her desk, working vigorously as usual. You shut the door behind you, stretching your arms above your head as you strolled over to your lover.

Your arms wrapped around her waist from behind the second you got close enough, burying your head in their neck—a cheeky way of getting their attention that never once failed.

"Baby, I'm working." She chuckled in mock protest, but based off of how quickly they dropped their tools and looked up from their papers, you doubted she was planning on stopping you.

"I know," You breathe against her neck, slowly and meticulously luring them further and further from her work. "But I missed you~."

"What do you want?" Hange suddenly asked. It wasn't in annoyance, but a genuine question. "Do you want something in particular?"

You sat there silently against her shoulder for a moment, pondering. What did you come here for? Mostly, you were just bored and lonely—stable duty wasn't the most appealing job—but you didn't have anything planned when you came over.

"I dunno..." You mumble. "Just wanted to see you..."

Hange chuckled, freeing herself from your grasp and turning to face you. "That's fine." They say, hooking their arms around your lower back to pull you up, and you wrap your legs around her waist as she starts walking.

After a few seconds, she'd sat down, and you heard the distinct scratching of the chair against the floor as she scooted forward. You were in their lap now, body pressed up against hers so closely that you could feel the rise and fall of their chest with each steady breath. They'd already scooted the chair up as close to their work desk as they could, and even your lower back was pressed semi-uncomfortably against her wooden desk, you didn't mind at all. Your legs were to either side of her, and you faced the back wall blankly.

"We can stay like this for a while." She muttered, her left hand slowly rubbing up and down your back while her right picked up the pen and started to fill out the stack of paperwork on her desk. You chuckled—Hange's inability to pry themselves from their work was evident as always.

You settled down, your breaths leveling to slow, easy pace as you buried your head in the crook of her neck, finding deep solace and tranquility in her embrace. Your eyes shut against her, and you slowly breathed in their scent. It was very distinct—somewhat musky, yet also smelling of ink and fresh paper. The tension evaporated from your muscles as you sunk further into them, the warmth of their body and the gentle rhythm of their heartbeat lulling you to sleep in her arms.

After a certain amount of time—you weren't quite sure how long—something stirred you awake, and a groan involuntarily left your lips as your eyes peeled open.

You were still in the chair, and in Hange's embrace, but the sound of pen on paper had ceased, and you could only assume that they had finished their a while back.

Her face was now pressed into your shoulder, and both of her hands had snaked under your shirt and onto the bare skin of your back. If you didn't know better, you'd assume she was asleep, but you heard a soft chuckle pass your lover's lips, the exhalation brushing warm air against the nape of your neck.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. Are my hands too cold?" She spoke gently and quietly, a stark contrast to her usually loud tone. She didn't want to bother you with her usual loudness immediately after you had woken up.

"Now that you mention it, a little." You mumble, closing your eyes in a vain attempt at getting more rest.

"Sorry. Here, I'll move them." They make good on their words, removing their hands from yours and moving them up to your head, pulling it up from her shoulder. She cups your face in her hands, one side in each palm, and pulls you towards her face for a chaste kiss on the lips.

Finally starting to wake up, you move your lips back to hers after a moments hesitation. They return the kiss eagerly, hands moving to your shoulders, squeezing them lightly. Their lips are warm and soft against yours. Perhaps a little chapped, but you had long gotten used to the feeling.

Teasingly, Hange moves her hands down, letting them slink to your waist, purposefully dragging of the sides of your breasts on the way down. Their tongue left their mouth, dragging up your bottom lip teasingly.

You pull away in shock, wiping the small trail of saliva connecting the two. "H-Hange—!"

They lean their head back, letting out a hearty laugh. "Sorry, I just wanted to see what you would do!"

Despite playing it off as a joke, her hands never left your hips. In fact, their grip only tightened.

"Unless..." She teased, hands slowly riding up, causing your shirt to rise and expose your stomach. "You want to keep going?"

A pink tint rises to your cheeks as your shirt continued to rise up your stomach, Hange's eyes shamelessly staring down at your exposed skin, thoroughly enjoying the view.

"Hange~," You whined, squirming under their grasp and trying in vain to fight off the tingle in the pit of your stomach. "We're on duty, stop being horny!" You laughed, causing Hange to giggle as well.

"What's the harm in it? I've down my work, and so have you... You locked the door on the way in, you nobody'll catch us anyway. I'll be quick about it~..."

You sighed, debating on whether it's really worth it. After all, captain Levi would surely chew you out for it if he caught you and Hange getting frisky. But the door was locked, so you decided it would be alright. Just this once.

"Fine..." You sigh, "Just be quick about it."

Hange's eyes lit up with excitement at your permission, immediately pulling your shirt up, not taking it off completely, but pulling it up enough to expose your breasts, still hidden by your bra.

Hange's lips went to your chest almost instantly, peppering the area with brief kisses. Her hand slunk lower, cupping your crotch in her hand, causing you to hiss in a breath of air.

Her lips detach from your chest with a pop, smirking at you before moving up to gaze at your face—flushed and slight sweating from arousal.

She swooped in to kiss you, lips connecting with yours and moving against each other passionately. Slowly, but deliberately, her hand moved up and down, grinding against your clit through your clothing, making you squirm with impatience.

You whimpered quietly, the sound being muffled by Hange's mouth against yours. The two of you separated for a very brief moment, breathing heavily as saliva connected your lips, before you dove right back in, kissing more fervently than before.

Finally, you two pulled away, catching your breaths amongst the grips of passion. Panting, you put your forehead to theirs, smiling against her.

"I love you Hange." You exhaled, your warm breath teasing Hange's wet and parted lips.

"I love you too." She panted, emphasizing her point by grinding her hand against you a bit more forcefully this time, the pleasure causing you to moan quietly, spurring Hange on. "So hurry up and take your pants off."

You obey immediately, almost as if your body was moving on its own, unzipping your pants, preparing to slide out of them until a subtle noise behind you caught your attention. You turned your head in confusion, and your eyes widened at the sight of captain Levi, clearly unamused, in the doorway.

"L-Levi... Hi!" You sputter, fumbling desperately with the zipper of your pants in a desperate attempt to play off the situation. But it was too late, the damage had already been done.

Levi stared for a moment, his usual dead, unamused face ever so prominent. Finally, after a silence that felt like eternity, he sighed, stepping towards the desk.

He plopped down a stack on papers on Hange's desk, causing a few loose papers to blow from her desktop and onto the floor.

"You're on duty, Hange. You too, Y/n." He deadpans. "Now is not the time nor the place to be doing... this."

You look to the side out of embarrassment, pulling your shirt back down as you refused to meet his eye.

"Hange, Erwin needs these filled out by next week. Stop fooling around with Y/n and get it done."

"I-I apologize Levi, I'll get it done as soon as possible." Hange cleared her throat, trying her best not to sound affected, but her wavering voice betrayed her, clearly slightly embarrassed.

He scoffed as he turned his back, walking out as if this were a normal occurrence. "Yeah, yeah. I don't really care anyway, just make sure this gets done. And don't make a mess, either." He says, eyeing the clear disarray of the room.

He turns to leave, but stops in the frame of the door, turning to give Hange a side-eyed glance. "But, you know, for everyone in the Survey Corps, you chose a pretty good woman." He states, shutting the door immediately after his statement, preferring not to witness the calamity.

Hange breaks out into a fit of giggles while your entire face heats up into a red blush of embarrassment.

"Of all that," Hange sputters in between giggles. "Of all that, he chooses to focus on 'my choice of women'?!"

Meanwhile, you bury your face in your hands, wishing you could just sink into the floor and never be seen again. "I thought I locked the door..."

"I guess not, darling." They tease, planting a purposefully short kiss to the edge of your jawline. This time, you're more firm in your stance, taking a hand and putting it on her forehead, gently pushing them away from your neck.

"Nuh-uh! Not this time, Levi said you have work to do." You manage to regain your confidence enough to push Hange away.

"Ughhhh, fine." They groan dramatically, gently pushing you off their lap as they scoot their chair to their desk.

"You act as if it's your life support. You can go an hour without sex, Hange."

"Impossible." Hange retorts back immediately, a joking tone to her voice.

"Right," You sigh, stretching your arms above your head, "Anyway, I'm gonna take a nap on the couch." You plop down on the cushiony fabric, making yourself comfortable before pulling a blanket up to your shoulders.

"Okay," Hange's voice echoes from across the room. "Just don't be upset if I wake you up later."

You scoff quietly at the remark, rolling onto your side and closing your tired eyes. "You dork. I'm going to sleep. Love you."

"Love you, too." They reply immediately, ignoring the papers on her desk, staring at you instead.

You'd already fallen asleep—your exhaustion from the day catching up to you—and Hange took the moment to admire your beauty as you slept peacefully.

"I'll be waiting right here when you wake up, okay?"

This also isn't proofread, I have an appointment early tomorrow morning and I don't wanna fall asleep halfway through :'D

Hope you enjoyed anyway!

#attack on titan #aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader #snk x reader #hange zoe #zoe hange #hanji zoe #zoe hanji #zoe hange x reader #zoe hanji x reader #hange zoe x reader #hanji zoe x reader #hange x reader #hanji x reader

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stanknotstark · 3 years

Text

Pulse Pt.1 (Loki x Reader)

So I got this idea from a creative writing blog that you can find here. Basically the prompt is feeling their pulse. Enjoy!

NOW COMPLETE. Check masterlist for part 2!

Summary: Your pulse calms Loki down. Multiple scenarios where Loki finds solace in your pulse.

The first time it happens it’s completely normal. You had been fighting next to Loki when you had been shot. The shot of energy had gone straight through and left a small hole in your abdominal area. Luckily it missed all your vital organs somehow but you were still on the ground in agony. You’re curled into a fetal position and too quiet for Loki’s liking.

Loki ran up and threw up a shield, then put two fingers on your neck and you watched, uncurling, as this man counted mentally. When he is satisfied with your pulse he looks down at you, noticing your movement. “Don’t think of checking out now, the battle has just begun.” He smirks.

“I think I’ll stay right here, hurts less when I don’t move.” You groan.

Loki rolls his eyes at your dramatics, he’s definitely seen you worse off than now.

“Must I carry you? Choose wisely because depending on your answer, you may ruin my reputation.” Loki says.

You smile coyly up at the god. “Ahhhh I can’t feel my legs, I see the light!”

Loki laughs under his breath but picks you up and as he stands his shield dissipates. He starts making his way towards the medical team that thankfully set up as the Avengers started their attack on Dr. Doom’s invasion.

You’re thoroughly enjoying Loki carrying you around like you weigh nothing. He nimbly steps and jumps over fallen rubble making sure not to jostle you too much and make you hurt more.

You have half a mind to hold a finger to your ear and activate your headpiece.

“Cap, I’m down and out, You’ll need someone to cover the right side of the attack until Loki can get back into position.”

“Why is Loki out?” You hear Tony ask.

“Because he’s carrying me.” You fail to realize how bad this’ll sound considering you’ve walked off a field with a broken tibia and a gunshot wound to the chest.

“What hit you that hard?” Steve yells, small explosions in the background of his audio but the concern still very evident in his voice.

“Uh....” You look up at Loki who glances at you and smirks. He can’t activate his headpiece and he probably likes watching you explain that you demanded to be carried for no good reason.

So you do what any brat would do and blame Loki. “Loki was very concerned about me not hurting myself further. I told him I could walk but he insisted. I’m fine, just a hole in my stomach!”

When you look up at the god again he is clenching his jaw instead of smirking, his eyes stay forwards but you know, oh you know, you’re going to be punished for this.

~~~

The next time Loki does it you’re in the middle of this limbo state of liking and not liking each other romantically. Liking each other comes naturally but when one or both of you realize this is a concoction for a bad idea (it’s really not you’re probably both just in denial) you both avoid each other for a few days before coming around again when you miss each other too much.

With this new limbo thing going on you both get random cuddles. Meaning it’s completely normal that you’re laying on the couch with Loki behind you. The god breathes into your neck softly, seeing as he has fallen asleep. You frown when you realize Loki has a hand wrapped under your waist that comes to your front and across your chest to rest on your pulse point on your neck. He has his hand there and from the outside it might look possessive. However, you know better and realize the god is soothed by being able to feel your pulse point.

You tab this in your head and relax again. You play on your phone for awhile. Natasha makes her way through the living room to the kitchen without a word. When she passes again, this time with a bowl of cereal, she stops to look at you two from the other side of the couch.

You look at Natasha without bumping Loki and raise a brow at the assassin. She chews on some cereal then purses her lips after swallowing. “You guys ever going to, uh, work this thing out? I’ve got a bet going on and I’d like to win it.”

You can’t help the snort that comes out of you causing Loki to huff in his sleep then curl into you more and his hold on your neck becomes a little tighter. You look from Loki to Natasha with wide eyes.

“It’s a work in progress.” Is all you give her and she nods and stalks off.

~~~

The next time Loki does it it’s by your hand. Loki is fighting someone from Asgard, you don’t know his name, but he knows exactly what to say to rile up Loki. Loki starts attacking him with pure rage and unrepentant emotion. When Loki gets the chance he knocks the guy down and straddles his hips, beating the life out of him with his fists even though he’s already knocked out.

You rush to Loki and grab one of his hands. Before he does something he regrets you open his hand and place it on your pulse. It takes you a few tries to find it through his hands but when you do find it Loki stops beating the guy with his other hand and just sits there breathing haggardly with his eyes clenched tight.

You say nothing and let Loki feel your pulse as long as he needs. It’s not long though, Loki’s breath is normal and he opens his eyes and looks at you. Standing from the Asgardian’s bloody body and pulling you into him into a hug. You wrap your arms around Loki and he holds your head to his neck, breathing in your scent through your hair.

“Quick thinking.” Loki chokes out.

“Mmhmm.” You hum into his neck.

When the Avengers show up to apprehend the Asgardian you go to pull from Loki’s embrace, knowing he’s a bit iffy showing PDA in front of the team. What shocks you is that Loki grabs your wrist and stops you from getting too far. You share a look through your eyes and Loki’s hand drifts from your wrist to your hand instead.

You let the look of shock pass over your face and then smile at Loki and hold his hand back. When you turn around Steve in looking at your hands but quickly looks up to both of you and nods at the Asgardian on the ground.

“Was that really necessary?” Steve asks as you hear Tony in the background trying to rouse the beaten man.

“Hey, stupid, wake up!” You hear causing you to snort and bring a hand up to cover your mouth.

Steve rolls his eyes and looks at Loki for an answer.

“A lapse in judgement. I merely thought he was more of a hazard than he actually was.” Loki lets the excuse slip from his mouth like he truly means it. You definitely understand why he is called silver tongued.

Steve nods with a disapproving look on his face, because he lives with Loki and knows him well enough, but leaves the situation at that and goes over to Tony.

“Stop slapping him! You’re supposed to wake them up gently!” Steve yells at Tony.

Tony scoffs, “Dude deserves it, he really thought he could beat Loki in hand to hand? Why are all Asgardian's so arrogant?”

“Tony!” Steve yells after another loud slapping noise rings in the air.

You and Loki begin to walk towards the extraction point. Loki has brought you into his side, his right arm around your shoulders, hugging you into him. His left hand holds onto your wrist, across his body, settled over your pulse point.

“When did you figure it out?” Loki asks you as you both walk.

You glance up at the god but decide to keep your eyes on the ground so you don’t slip on anything. That would be embarrassing.

“You weren’t awake when I figured it out. We were cuddling in the living room and you had fallen asleep with your hand over my neck. Kinda pieced it together then.” You shrugged.

Loki gives a small ‘Ah’ but doesn’t implore.

~~~

#loki x reader #loki #unfinished #wip #reader insert #prompt #pulse #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #my writing

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ayaaato · 2 years

Text

AN IDYLLIC MACROCOSM OF LOVE

PAIRING. FWB(ISH)! KAEYA X F!READER

THEMES. friends with benefits!au, officer!reader

WARNINGS. mentions of death, but no one actually dies, rated 15+ because it's just 1.8k words of glorified making out but nothing very explicit, he calls reader a cuisine bc I'm very cocky

Kaeya had always imagined how he'd die. War, explosions, Jean's wrath, chronic disease? Check. Crushed under the weight of all the hearts he'd broken, wine overdose? Of course! Heck, he had even considered being poisoned by Diluc once.

But what he hadn't actually taken into account at all, was being dispersed into finest specks of dust by the humble librarian of the knights of Favonius-of all people.

Maybe he should have, considering the fact that it would be inevitable after whatever the fuck was going on inside her treasured library right now.

A small gasp escapes the Cavalry captain's lips as his back hits one of the bookshelves with a small thud, chest against yours. You, unaware of the fate that might await him if Lisa caught the smallest whiff of this rather unholy deed, pressed closer in haste. And something in the back of Kaeya's consciousness dissipates.

"Well aren't we a little too eager today?" He hums (he honestly didn't know where he suddenly got all this confidence from, but oh well).

Fuck Lisa, Kaeya thinks. If this is going to be the last day of his life, he'd rather spend it frenching his favourite officer.

He stares back down at you, your eyes travelling around the space; probably too embarrassed to meet his. And he notices a few things. Just a few unnecessary things; like how you smell like vanilla and bergamot mixed with sweat, how the silver pendant around your neck was worn a little higher today and just how pleasant the rustling of your chiffon shirt sounded against his own.

His eyes had found residence on your breathtaking features again.

And oh shit. He'd also have to remind you to button up the few upper slots that came undone while trying to corner the Cavalry captain to a safer corner.

"Shut up, Alberich," you scoff, hands fisting the collars of his uniform- smirking. Kaeya's breath hitches at that, heart almost too eager to jump out of his ribcage. "And quit staring."

He wasn't the biggest fan of silence, like the one right now. It was painful, even more so with your hot breath brushing his face, hands resting on his chest. The captain doesn't dare to blink, tracing your features that were now being bathed by the setting sun.

"What are you even looking at?" Kaeya laughs at that, his thoughts yet again dragged away by you. His arms find solace around your waist, squeezing your form a tad bit closer.

"Ah," he says, eyes twinkling as they land on your lips. "Just admiring the cuisine in front of me, truly."

And you can't help but feel a bubble up in your throat. And when you let it out, a puff of delighted, airy laughter- warm and enticing- more than just enough to devour his sense of rationality.

"Want a taste?" You'd wished to retort, he supposes- but he was never one to wait for an offer. And thus, the taunt dies an untimely death in your throat as his lips moulded into yours. Moving painstakingly slowly against yours- blurring the line between pleasure and torture. His hand rests against your waist while the other gently grabs hold your wrist- just to pin you against the shelf.

Kaeya takes his time to let go of your wrist and web his hand through yours. Your fingers curl around his, giving it a gentle squeeze. And at that- he, eyes fluttering open wide, stares at it for a while, hoping it's just as warm as he imagines.

He closes his eyes. The captain nibbles on your lips, smiling when he feels your nails dig into his shoulders. He bites your lower lip, smirking when a whimper escapes your mouth and seizes the opportunity to slide his tongue inside. Another whimper and he feels the need to pick up his pace. And he does.

You pull him closer almost greedily. Closing your eyes, you let him reforget and explore every cavern of your mouth.

Heat rose from the pit of Kaeya's stomach to his chest. And then it spread everywhere else like a wildfire- too fast to tame. And so thinks it's a good idea to press closer again, and again- until his heat consumes the both of you as whole.

The hand intertwining yours lets go, travels down to play with the perfectly tucked in end of your shirt. A heartbeat, and the cavalry captain feels your back arch at what was his rather rough, gloved hand grazing against your skin that hid underneath. You shakily groan into the kiss as he draws comforting circles on your exposed skin-shivering every now and then at the sensation.

It was as if time had stopped for Kaeya Alberich, as you both stood there enjoying each other's warmth, glued together. The otherwise silent library was in chaos with your heavy breaths resonating around. It was as if no one else existed, nor was there any risk of Kaeya's soul was to be eviscerated from his body by Lisa the moment she barges in.

For now, all Kaeya could think of was you, your forehead, beaded with sweat resting against his. His mind was fixated on your dewy scent and the softness of your hand on his jaw- pushing him apart for a much needed breather and then, smiling.

He smiles too, just to realise how much his facial muscles hurt. Kaeya doesn't know if it's from all the kissing or how wide his grin was stretching. He doesn't feel the need to, somehow.

"How was the taste, Captain?" You tease. It came out as a low, airy whisper (thanks to all that kissing, he supposes). Something very out of character for you. And it drives Kaeya crazy, leaving him wanting for more.

He hums, tilting his head. "It was good, I suppose-" and realises how low and equally kiss bitten his voice was, "-but I would like to reassess."

"Oh really?" You muse, one hand still lost in his blue locks while the other rested on his jaw in peace. "I see we have to run the quest again," pause. "-Can't disobey the captain, can we?"

And the next thing he knows is your lips hovering over his, hot and ragged breaths ghosting over his face. The keen sense of rationality Kaeya Alberich took such a great pride in, dissolves again as he pushes himself closer to your warmth. You take a deep breath before letting your lips meet his, and when you do, Kaeya feels a smile pressed against his. He smiles back, inhaling your soul as the hand on his jaw brings him closer- deepening the kiss.

And at this very moment, he worries about neither Lisa nor his impending death. All that mattered, as of now, was the maddening symphonies of your hearts rapidly racing, a foreign sound rushing in his ears and an unfamiliar yet soothing wave of comfort washing over the shore of his chest- something Kaeya wouldn't trade with anything else in the world.

And it is when he realises.

Kaeya Alberich was falling in love with you.

Shit.

#⋆ noa's scribbles #kaeya alberich #genshin kaeya #x reader #kaeya fluff #kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya x you #kaeya alberich x you #kaeya fanfic #genshin impact kaeya #genshin impact imagines #kaeya imagines #kaeya drabbles #kaeya headcannons

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ollieofthebeholder · 8 months

Text

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev. || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 45: February 2017

Martin opened the door to Jon’s office cautiously and found him pushing the tape recorder to one side, staring at something on his desk. He looked…worried wasn’t exactly the word. Martin couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

“Hey,” he said carefully.

“Oh—Martin.” Jon looked up, startled. “Is, ah, is everything all right?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s just ten minutes past closing time is all.”

“Oh. I…I hadn’t realized it was so late.” Jon glanced at his laptop and rubbed his face. “You go ahead. I’ll meet you at the bookshop.”

Martin felt a little prick of worry nag at him. It was Tuesday—they didn’t normally meet on Tuesdays—although he guessed Jon probably realized Martin and Gerry would be worried about Melanie and might need the distraction. More than that, Jon seemed off. Something was upsetting him. “Jon, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just a bit tired is all.” Jon gestured to the mess spread across his desk, which was becoming more and more typical for him these days as he stopped caring if the team saw him as “professional” and eased towards comfortable; he always put things away neatly when he was finished, but he saw no point in wasting time on organizing things he was just going to pull apart and shuffle through anyway. Martin couldn’t imagine how he was able to work like that, but then, the Mark Jon had from the Spiral was vastly different from Martin’s in every conceivable way. “I’ve only got one or two little things to finish up.”

“Do you want me to wait for you, then?”

“No—no, I’ll be all right. This won’t take long, and then I’ll be there. Safer this way.” Jon managed a smile that almost reached his eyes and made something in Martin’s chest dance a little. “I’ll call you when I leave.”

“All right,” Martin said guardedly. Jon was hiding something. He’d probably been digging into one of the tapes on his own and was trying, in his own way, to keep it from Martin, which almost certainly meant it was something to do with the Buried; of all the Marks Martin had, that one was the deepest besides the Eye, and Jon was even more militant than Melanie and Gerry about protecting Martin from it. It was oddly sweet. “Just…be careful, all right? We’ll see you soon.”

“I will. No more than an hour,” Jon promised. “And I will call if it’s going to be longer. Not text.”

At that, Martin couldn’t help but laugh. “Fine. See you later then.”

He withdrew from the office and returned to the cluster of desks where the assistants sat. “Dinner? I’ve just got to stop and pick up a book I have on reserve first. Neens said it came in this morning.”

“As long as it’s not takeaway. I am not setting foot in a restaurant today,” Sasha said with a mock-frown. In response to Martin’s raised eyebrow, she added, “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Ugh.” Martin wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Lost track of the date.”

Tim looked back and forth between the two of them, something slightly guilty in his eyes. “You’re not fans of the holiday?”

“An entire day where every store, restaurant, and advertisement for weeks on end proclaims that you’re only worthwhile if you’re in a romantic relationship and there’s clearly something wrong with you if you’re not whilst also creating obligations on the people who are to make big, elaborate, public showings that they’re better at it than everyone else, at the same time setting up the potential for situations where at least one party ends up embarrassed at best and actively endangered at worst? Of course I’m a fan, what’s not to like?” Sasha deadpanned. She stuffed her laptop into its case. “Amatonormativity is a hell of a drug. Do you have plans for the evening, or are you coming with us?”

Martin couldn’t resist adding, “Or do your plans for the evening involve a certain bookseller?”

It probably should not have been as satisfying as it was that Martin was able to make Tim blush quite that hard, but he chalked up the win in his mental tally book anyway. “I—we didn’t—no. I don’t have…plans.”

“Intentions maybe?” Sasha teased. “Does Martin need to give you the Shovel Talk?”

“I am not the person you need to be afraid of if you hurt him.” Martin considered. “Or at least not the main one. Anyway, are you coming over, or do I have to critique his soppy lovesick poetry that owes more to Tennyson than Ginsberg, however much he wants to insist otherwise?”

Tim’s face was burning so much it was a wonder he didn’t set off the fire suppressant system. “Tell you what. I drove in today, so why don’t we all go together so I’m not tempted to drive to Malaysia?”

“Can you even drive to Malaysia?” Sasha wondered. “Like, are there enough connecting roads between here and there that you could make the journey by car?”

The debate that followed was pointless and silly and reminiscent of the ones Martin frequently had with his brother and sister, which somehow made Martin both miss Melanie a little less and miss her a little more. There was an unusual amount of traffic on the road for a Tuesday, or so it seemed, so it took them a little longer than normal to make the drive to Cinnamon Rose Books, but they finally made it. Martin largely tuned out the debate on whether they’d have got there faster if they’d taken the Underground and started for the door. Before he even reached it, Gerry opened it with a smile and his arms out for a hug.

“Had a feeling you’d be coming by today,” he said. “Neenie told you she was going out of town, right?”

“Yeah, but not where exactly. Just that she had some research to chase down.” Martin chewed his lip briefly as he eased out of the hug. “I probably should have gone with her, but…”

“Without knowing where, that’d be difficult,” Gerry completed. “And probably pricey. She’ll be okay, Mart, if it was dangerous she’d have brought someone along, even if it was Jon.” He paused briefly as he glanced at Tim and Sasha. “Come to think of it, did he go with her? I notice he didn’t come with you. Hey,” he added, taking Tim’s hand and bowing low over it to bestow a kiss on the back of it.

“Hey,” Tim said, sounding flustered but pleased. “Uh, you didn’t—is Jon going out of town?”

“No, he’ll be along, he just had some things to finish up,” Martin said. “He was the one who suggested we come over in the first place.”

“Probably wants to tell us what Melanie’s up to,” Sasha said, edging into the shop. “She was in his office talking to him before she left. Bet she made a statement about whatever it was.”

Martin recontextualized Jon’s behavior in light of that information and suppressed a sigh. Melanie was definitely doing something she shouldn’t be doing on her own.

Sasha offered to cook, and Martin volunteered to help her, knowing that if he sat still he’d fret himself to the moon. Following her directions helped soothe some, not all, of his anxiety. He couldn’t even really explain why he was anxious, except that he was on tenterhooks waiting for Jon to get there so he could find out what Melanie was up to.

“It’ll have to cook for half an hour, so that’ll give Jon time to get here,” Sasha said at last, taking the dish from him and sliding it into the ocean.

Martin glanced at his phone and did a double-take. All his worries came back in a rush. “We’ve been here almost an hour already.”

“Yeah?” Sasha frowned at him.

“Shit…Jon said he’d call when he was on his way, or if he was going to get held up.” Martin chewed his lip for a moment in indecision, then pulled up his contacts and dialed Jon. The call went straight to voice mail.

“His phone probably died,” Tim said, evidently reading Martin’s worry on his face. “You know how he gets, he forgets to plug it in half the time and he’s always surprised by how little battery he has left. He’ll be here soon, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” Martin said softly. He glanced at Gerry. “I just…hope you’re wrong.”

“If he told you he was coming, he’s coming,” Gerry assured him with a squeeze of his shoulder. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, brother mine. He wouldn’t go out of town without telling you he was going.”

Martin felt a blush rising in his cheeks. Sasha bumped him with her hip and a teasing grin. “He’s right. If there’s one of us Jon would never lie to, it would be you. And not just because you can read his mind.”

“I can’t—Christ, Sasha!” Martin buried his face in his hands, or started to. As he did, he caught sight of an unexpected object on the kitchen counter—a tape recorder. Distracted momentarily, he reached for it. “Ger, is this yours?”

“Is what mine?” Gerry frowned at the recorder. “No, I’ve got a boom box for my tapes. I don’t record. Did one of you bring that?”

“I thought we only had the two,” Tim said. “The official one Jon uses for statements and the one you’ve been using.”

“Yeah, and this isn’t one of them. Huh, weird. Maybe Umberto found it somewhere.” Martin looked inside. There was a tape, set all the way back at the beginning, which probably meant it was blank. Just to be certain, he pressed PLAY.

To his surprise, Jon’s voice came out of the device, sounding incredibly shaken. “I…er…we…we didn’t—“ He broke off for a moment, then came back slightly stronger. “Statement of Lawrence Moore. Regarding something that was not his cousin. Original statement given twelfth June, 2001.”

Ice water flooded Martin’s veins. It wasn’t just the weirdness of the tape being there, since none of them had brought it. It was also the statement itself. It was clearly a Stranger statement, and dimly, he was aware of Gerry stepping silently over to wrap his arms around Tim from behind, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the recorder. The thing described in the statement was so clearly the same thing described in Amy Patel’s statement, the thing that was not her friend Graham…something proved at the end when the old man showed up with a table exactly matching the description of the one in Artifact Storage, and coalesced into horrid certainty when two men who were almost certainly Breekon and Hope carted it away.

“Statement ends,” Jon’s voice said, and it was only when he heard the way it shook that it occurred to Martin he had read the entire statement calmly and without undue emotion. “I found this in the folder marked 9910602, where Gertrude’s tape had indicated I would find the statement of Dekker himself. There is nothing else in there, but I think it tells me what I need to know. This thing, it’s tied to the table, it—“ There was what sounded like a sniff. “I found a tape. It, I was actually looking for a blank one to record this, and…and I…”

He broke off, and there was the sound of another tape recorder starting up before a wholly unfamiliar voice spoke. “—don’t see how you can stand it down there.”

The voice that responded made Martin gasp—it was his own. “Oh, come on, it’s not so bad.”

“Maybe under the old Archivist, but that…stuck-up prig…”

“C’mon, Rosie, be fair.”

Rosie? Martin’s eyes widened. He remembered that conversation now—in his own memory, they’d both been laughing, it had been a joke, but that woman sounded so…so vicious…

“What,” Sasha said slowly, “the fuck is this?”

“That can’t be Rosie,” Tim said, shaking his head. “That didn’t sound anything like Rosie…”

Gerry suddenly inhaled sharply. Martin met his eyes—and suddenly understood. “The table. The fucking table. She went and looked at it, o-or something, and that, that thing, it got her…”

“It was after you,” Gerry said, looking at Sasha, who went ashen. “The night of the attack—you said the table was in Artifact Storage? That’s what it was, it had to have been. If you’d gone in that room, it would have been you it killed and took the place of, but—”

“Wait,” Tim interrupted, suddenly pulling away from Gerry’s arms. “What was that statement number he found this one in?”

“9910602,” Martin said, and then felt the blood drain from his face. “That’s the one he went looking for today. He just recorded this tape today?”

“How is it on your kitchen counter?” Sasha asked Gerry.

Gerry shrugged helplessly. “Beats the hell out of me. More to the point, why is it on my kitchen counter?”

“So we’d listen to it?” Tim suggested.

Martin gripped the back of the chair in front of him. “Oh, God. Oh, God, that’s what Jon was staying for. He’s going to—we have to stop him.”

“Come on, I’ll drive.” Tim grabbed his keys, but Martin was already halfway out the door. He could hear Sasha and Tim arguing behind him.

“As long as it took us to get here—”

“It’s past rush hour, we’ll be fine.”

“We don’t have time, we have to get there as fast as possible.”

“But to take the Tube, we’d have to change trains…”

“If you two don’t hurry up, Martin is going to run the whole way there and beat you both,” Gerry said, a bit dryly.

Martin was barely listening. God only knew what Jon was planning, if Jon had an actual plan, but they couldn’t leave him to do it alone. He’d get hurt, or worse…

He was just turning for the nearby Tube stop, Tim and Sasha be damned, when Jon suddenly burst through the entrance at a run. He didn’t slow down, just flew straight down the sidewalk and into Martin’s arms.

Martin gave a startled oomph and pulled Jon close on instinct. He smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and he was shaking and gasping for air. There was a prickle of static behind Martin’s eyes, and when he realized what it was, he squeezed his eyes shut and hoped. If Jon had confronted the…what had he called it? The Not-Rosie…if he’d confronted it, what if it had killed him and taken his place?

No, he told himself. He’d recognized Jon’s voice on the recording—he wouldn’t have recognized it if Jon had been…had been changed. It would have been an unfamiliar voice like the one that purported to be Rosie’s…

“Jon, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he said instead.

“It’s not,” Jon choked out, and Martin could breathe easier. It was Jon, the voices still matched. Whatever had happened, Jon was still himself…terrified out of his mind, but himself.

“What’s going on? What happened?” Tim demanded. He sounded angry, but Martin knew him well enough by now to know that he was scared, and when he got scared he got angry. “And how did that fucking tape get to the bookstore?”

The words fell from Jon’s lips in a panicked, incoherent rush. Martin caught “Michael” and “tunnels” and “blood” and “sorry”—rather a lot of “sorry”, actually—but they didn’t add up to a coherent picture. Understanding was not improved by the fact that Jon was still trying to catch his breath, or the fact that his face was half-buried in Martin’s chest.

“J-Jon. Jon.” Martin finally broke into the rambling. He took Jon’s face in his hands as gently as he could, cradling his chin and guiding him to look up at him. “We’re here, we’ve got you. Take a breath and tell me what happened.”

Jon placed his hands over Martin’s, but he didn’t pull them away—just held them, tentatively, like he was afraid of being pushed away or worse. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and when he spoke, he still sounded scared and upset, but at least he was articulate. “It was something Melanie said—before she left, she asked me who the woman at the front desk was that had called to say she was coming that first time, and she seemed so sure of what she remembered, but it was Rosie who called. One of the tapes Basira brought said changeling on the front, so I listened, and…and I followed leads, and I eventually realized that, that the thing, the Not-Them, had taken Rosie’s place, and that it was…I thought it was tied to the table. I took an axe up to Artifact Storage and I destroyed it—I was so sure it would at least hurt it—but Michael, the Distortion, i-it showed up and told me…” He flinched and broke off, closing his eyes. “It got me away, i-it threw me a door, but I was in the tunnels, I was trying to get away, and the Not-Rosie was after me…God, the things it was saying, I don’t—”

“You don’t have to tell us,” Martin said quickly. It was only partly because of how visibly distressed Jon was; it was also because he could feel the prickle of desire under his skin and he refused, refused, to feed the Eye with Jon’s trauma, not when he was still raw and vulnerable. “We can…you can tell us later, if you want. But you got away? Is it still down there?”

“M-maybe. I don’t know. It’s trapped. There was—the voice we heard, i-it was…an old man, he said we needed to talk. He was…going to explain a few things. He’d started, and I just—I needed a moment, I needed a break, i-it was too much.” Tears welled up in Jon’s eyes again, and Martin couldn’t stop himself from swiping one away with his thumb. “I went out for a cigarette, and when I came back…he was dead. There was, there was so much blood—a-and a pipe, someone…someone came in while I was out and beat him to death.”

Martin’s blood ran cold again. Unable to stop himself, he wrapped Jon in a tight hug; Jon clung to him like a drowning man. Tim and Sasha joined the hug, hesitantly; Gerry managed to put a hand on Jon’s shoulder, making him flinch, but his head flicked back and forth along the street. “You think whoever did it is following you?”

“No—oh, God, I never thought of that.” Jon tensed. “I should—whoever it was had gone by the time I got back, but—”

“If they were going to kill you too, they’d have waited,” Tim muttered. “Great. Another dead body in the tunnels.”

“I-it wasn’t—we’d come up into the Archives,” Jon said. “It was…my office, I…”

“Your office?” Sasha repeated. “Wasn’t Gertrude’s blood all over the desk in her office too? God, we’ve got to get back there and clean this up before someone else finds it or the police are going to get involved and you’re going to be on the hook for it.”

“Sasha!” Tim and Martin exclaimed in unison.

Jon inhaled sharply and pushed away from Martin. As much as Martin didn’t want to, he eased back, and the others did the same. “No, she’s right, I—I can’t, what am I going to tell them? They’re going to know I was in the building after hours, and what if there’s CCTV footage in Artifact Storage? I’m, they’re going to—”

“There’s got to be footage of whoever did it going down there,” Tim said, sounding uncertain. “Unless they came in through the outer door.”

“Either way, seems you’ve got two choices,” Gerry said. “Either make it really obvious where you are, wait for the police to catch up to you, and hope they buy the truth despite the fact that you’ve got the old man’s blood on your shoes”—Jon flinched as he looked down at his feet—“or lay low for a few days until they figure out who actually did it. You’re going to be a suspect either way, and I’ve got a feeling the cops aren’t going to be particularly interested in the truth. They want the fastest solution they can make stick.”

“There shouldn’t be anyone else at the Institute this late,” Tim said. “If the three of us can’t get in early enough tomorrow to take care of things before anyone notices…maybe we can at least spin a good enough story that the cops don’t look at you. Or think it was self-defense or something. I mean, we had an intruder in the Archives once before, right?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Martin promised. “It’s going to be okay, Jon.”

“You can stay at the shop for a few days,” Gerry offered. “I’ve got it warded, and I’ll be there, so—”

“No,” Martin, Tim, and Sasha said in unison. It was hard to say who looked more startled, Gerry or Jon.

Martin tried to keep his voice calm as he elaborated. “It’s too dangerous. Remember, that was where Basira and Detective Tonner came to interview us after…they knew we were staying there.”

Tim nodded. “That’s like the third place they’d go to look for you. You could, I don’t know, hide in my closet or something, but…”

“No,” Sasha said. “You can’t hide with any of us. It’s…honestly, it’s best none of us know where you’re holing up. We can figure out a way to get in touch with you when it’s safe, but in the meantime, what we don’t know, we can’t accidentally reveal or have dragged out of us or whatever.”

Martin did not want to agree with her. He did not want to let Jon go on the run on his own. He’d like to think he was strong enough to resist anything. But at the same time…he knew he wasn’t. Mundane interrogations, certainly. But if someone with the power of one of the Fourteen tried?

“She’s right,” he said reluctantly. “It’s…it’s safer.”

“I know,” Jon practically whispered. “I don’t…I won’t put any of you in danger. I—I need to find somewhere else. I’ll be in touch if I can, but…” He choked slightly and looked away.

Gerry nodded slowly. He looped an arm through Tim’s and nudged Sasha’s shoulder, pointing her back in the direction of the bookshop. To Martin, he said quietly, “Ten minutes.”

Before Martin could come up with an appropriate response to that—or even manage a what?—Gerry, Tim, and Sasha were gone, leaving him and Jon alone on the sidewalk, staring at one another.

Ten minutes wasn’t a lot of time, but Martin understood why Gerry had set that as the limit. Much more and they would be running the risk of being caught. It was enough of a risk that everyone knew Jon and Martin were getting close—even if Tim and Sasha kept silent about that, someone upstairs would mention it sooner or later and he’d be in for a heavy round of interrogation, or worse. If they stood here too long, he’d have the police on him before Jon even had a chance to get somewhere safe. It wasn’t forever—it couldn’t be forever—but they still weren’t going to see each other for who knew how long, and they only had ten minutes to say whatever they were going to say at this point. It would have to be enough.

Jon spoke first, his voice low and shaking. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Jon.” Martin held out his hands, not knowing what else to do and hoping Jon would take them. “We were on our way back to the Institute to find you. The tape you recorded…ended up here somehow. I don’t understand, but…i-if you hadn’t come, we’d have come to you. Or found the mess and no you, and I’d have torn London apart trying to find you. You came because you needed to.”

Jon reached out hesitantly, then bypassed Martin’s hands and hugged him tightly. Martin could feel him shaking and wrapped him up in as tight a hug as he could without hurting him.

“I wish you could come,” Jon whispered, the words once again muffled by Martin’s jumper. “It’s so much easier to feel brave when you’re there.”

Martin closed his eyes for a moment. He wished he could go, too. He didn’t want to let Jon out of his sight, not when he was so vulnerable, not when he was in all kinds of danger. The temptation to say screw it and run off to Ireland or Scotland or France was almost overwhelming. The only thing that held him back was the knowledge that he was just as tempting a target for agents of the Fourteen as Jon was, if not more; the two of them together would lead anyone coming after Jon straight to them. But goddamn, he just wanted Jon to be okay.

The feeling that had been building up slowly, like a rolling wave on a stormy ocean, since the moment over a year ago when Jon had brought him a mug of tea and quietly said I’m sorry about your brother, reached a crest and crashed down on Martin with a force that nearly drove him to his knees. He’d known his friendship with Jon didn’t feel quite the same as the one he had with Tim and Sasha, or the one he had with Gerry and Melanie, but he hadn’t been able to put his finger on exactly why.

Now he knew. It wasn’t only a friendship. Yes, he considered Jon a friend—one of his best friends—but he was also in love with him.

He would have to take the time to sort that out later. He certainly couldn’t tell Jon now—this wasn’t the time to shoot his shot. Anyway, he really needed to understand what he meant by that, what it meant for them if he did say something. Maybe he would talk it over with Gerry later, get some outside perspective.

For now…

“Be careful, Jon,” he said quietly. “Please. I need you to be okay.”

“And you.” Jon’s voice was choked. “I-it’s not just—don’t ever forget how many people care about you. How many people need you.”

He clung to Martin a moment longer, then eased back—reluctantly, it seemed to Martin. Martin was equally reluctant, if not more so, to let go of Jon, but he knew he had no choice. “Stay safe.”

“You, too.” Jon looked up at Martin for a long second, then turned and fled back into the station.

Martin stood where he was for several minutes, staring at the spot where Jon had vanished and reminding himself of all the reasons, very good reasons, not to chase Jon down and go with him to wherever he was going, or just…know where he was.

Then, slowly, feeling about a million years old, he turned and made his way back to the bookshop.

#ollie writes fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)#tma fanfic #tma #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #tim stoker #sasha james #gerard keay #unreality #blood mention #death mention #slight (unintentional) misuse of beholding powers #gratuitous flirting

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talatomaz · 3 years

Text

crossing paths pt.i | diana prince x lance!reader

a/n: reader has the powers of telekinesis. since this was going to be really long, i decided to split it into two parts. also this may be slightly canon divergent since i’ve not watched flash in a long time.

warnings: mentions of fighting, death

word count: 1.9k

masterlist | request list | request rules

pt.i | pt.ii

reader is sara & laurel’s younger sister who works with team flash. after her and cisco’s experiment goes sideways, she finds herself trapped on an unknown earth not unlike her own

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“You’re absolutely sure this will work, Cisco?”

You asked, tying your hair up into a ponytail whilst the mechanical genius typed on his computer; the keys clacking under his fingertips.

“Yes. 100%. Well, more like 99%. Okay, if we’re being truly honest, then 93%.”

Cisco paused after each figure before turning his head to face you.

“Cisco-“

You started before the former interrupted, “Trust me, y/n. You’ll be fine. You just need to travel there, have a look around and then come straight back. We’ve done it so many times before.”

You and Cisco had been working on modifying the extrapolator your team often used to travel between different Earths. Or rather, you used to use them before the rebirth of the universe following Oliver’s sacrifice.

You cleared your throat at the thought of the vigilante. Having grown up with him and he having dated both of your older sisters meant that he was practically like your brother. And you were broken when you’d lost him so you’d left Team Arrow and came to work with Barry and his team instead.

Working with Team Flash was...different, to say the least. But having known them for several years, you got on well with them all, especially Cisco and Iris.

However, this project you were working on was only known to you and Cisco; the others blissfully unaware, mainly because the two of you knew that if you told them, they’d guilt you into stopping your experiment.

You were the one who had gone to Cisco with the idea in the first place.

After the Crisis, many of you had assumed that everyone solely remained on one Earth however you believed that the multiverse still existed, but that it’d be much harder to access. Cisco had agreed to help you but had explained that he wouldn’t come with you due to his relinquished powers.

So here you were, getting ready to try out the extrapolator in order to confirm or disprove your theory that the multiverse still existed.

“Technically, we haven’t, Cisco. New Earth remember?”

“That’s just semantics.”

“Cisco, if this doesn’t work, you better be ready to explain to my ex-assassin of a sister what happened to me.”

You laughed as his face dropped at the thought of that conversation.

He cleared his throat, “I’ve done all the necessary calculations and made a few needed modifications, including a GPS chip. It’ll work, y/n. Here, take your mask. Just in case.”

He added as an afterthought, handing you the sleek black mask he had designed to disguise your identity.

You put the mask in your jacket and took a deep breath, readying yourself. Holding the extrapolator, you pressed the small button and a familiar portal opened in front of you; variations of colours swirling around the breach.

You looked back at Cisco and feigned seriousness, “If I die, I’m going to kill you.”

His eyes widened making you smile, “Be safe, Cisco. I’ll see you soon.”

With that, you then stepped into the inter-dimensional breach.

***

“Okay, hopefully this worked.”

The breach closed behind you as you stepped into an alley; the several dumpsters providing some form of protection from anyone who may have seen you.

Wherever you were, it was bright and sunny.

Pocketing the extrapolator, you stepped out of the alley and walked down the paved sidewalk, listening for any indications of where you were from passersby.

You continued walking until you came across a newsstand that looked fairly out of place in this seemingly technological environment.

You stopped, peering at the front cover of one of the magazines.

The words “DAILY PLANET” were printed on the top of the paper. You reached down and picked it up, flicking through the pages, pausing when you saw a familiar name on the byline.

Folding the paper back into its original state, you placed it back on the stand, flashing a kind but brief smile to the newsagent who looked at you with intrigue.

Although you didn’t know what Earth you were on, at least you knew you were in Metropolis.

A place you had visited several times since the rebirth of the universe.

A place that, despite whatever Earth, was always home to one Clark Kent, better known as Superman.

You pondered in your thoughts for a little while longer before deciding to venture out and explore the city, eager to find any similarities or differences between your Earth and this one.

You ended up in a museum.

You weren’t sure exactly how you’d gotten there, having followed wherever your feet had taken you but, nevertheless, you were here.

Whilst you were never a huge fan of museums, you’d often found yourself being dragged to them by Laurel when you were younger.

There was something about them that she’d loved.

She tried explaining it to you once.

How the beauty of art told a story or something.

You didn’t really pay much attention and who could have blamed you? You were only 10 years old. You’d rather be out playing or hanging out with your friends than spending your Saturday afternoon in a stuffy old museum.

But this place was anything but.

In truth, you knew that you sought solace in places like these during times of distress or uncertainty.

It gave you a chance to feel closer to your sister after the world had cruelly taken her away from you. Even on another Earth, you still found peace and felt her presence next to you.

You sighed, your shoulders sagging before tensing once more, feeling someone behind you.

You never used to be so on edge.

When you were younger, you lived such a care free life, never feeling any need to be concerned or cautious.

But that had changed quickly.

Soon you had been thrust into the vigilante life, more determined than ever to become like your sisters and help them fight crime.

In fact, you had learned to fight from a reluctant Sara.

After several arguments about the danger of her world, she’d come to accept that there was no changing your mind and had decided that if you were going to purposely put yourself in harm’s way, you needed to be prepared. She had put you through vigorous training which Oliver soon picked up with you after Sara had been recruited to form the Legends.

So, suffice it to say, you were well-versed in the forms of self-defence and were constantly on the lookout for any form of danger.

And being on a different Earth certainly warranted your caution.

“How are you liking our exhibit?”

A feminine voice said, her voice thick with an accent you couldn’t distinguish.

Turning with a smile, you spoke, “It’s beautiful. I never used to appreciate art but now I find myself lost in the works of Rembrandt or Claude Monet.”

“Ah yes. They were most excellent artists.”

You blinked, not at her words but at her face.

The woman who stood before you was, quite simply put, the most beautiful person you’d ever seen in your life.

Realising you were staring, you cleared your throat, “Yes, I agree.”

You opened your mouth to say something else - what, you weren’t sure of - when you closed it again having spotted a man who’d just entered the room which held the small exhibit.

The figure wore a black cap, obstructing his face, his eyes darting around before landing on another male situated in one of the corners of the room. The latter gave him a brief nod which the other returned. Discreetly glancing at them, you noticed familiar bulges beneath their shirt, surely holding a gun.

“Okay, don’t be alarmed but I think this place is about to get robbed.” You said in a hushed whisper, faking interest in another piece of art beside you.

You noted the small but discernible flicker in the woman’s eyes, her name still unknown to you.

“How-“

“Let’s just say I’m perceptive. Do me a favour and take out your phone.”

You waited until the brunette had followed your instructions.

“Pretend to be talking to someone and walk out the room. They’re not going to do anything until you’re gone because they don’t want to run the risk of you warning someone.”

She nodded at your words and proceeded to carry out your plan.

You fought the look of surprise and confusion that surely would’ve shown on your face at the lack of fear on hers. Instead, her eyes seemed to hold a look of determination.

Determined to do what, you weren’t sure of.

Once she had left, your suspicions were confirmed when the two men simultaneously took out their guns and shouted.

“Everybody down on the ground. Now!”

Screams and shouts were let out by the small group of citizens in the room, replacing the quiet bustle of hushed whispers that had previously filled the air.

As everyone immediately fell to the ground, you slid down the wall until you were in an upright position.

You watched as they removed several of the smaller pieces of art, carefully placing them in a duffel bag. You waited until they grew closer to you before standing up causing both of their guns to be aimed at you.

“Sit back down or you’ll get a bullet in your pretty little head.”

They both moved to stand in front of you, blocking you from the view of the security cameras and the people behind them. Using your powers, you pulled the guns toward you and flung them to the far side of the room.

You took advantage of their momentary confusion and kicked both of them. One of them grabbed you from behind, his tight grip trapping your arms. You raised your legs and caged the other’s neck between them.

Twisting your legs, you threw him to the ground and then drew yourself closer into your captor’s arms, lifting off the ground for a brief second before throwing him over your shoulders and onto the ground beside the other intruder.

“Run!”

You yelled to the handful of citizens who watched you with a mixture of awe and fear.

Then you felt yourself being pushed against the marble ground as one of the men jumped on top of you, his weight crushing your small figure.

“You’re going to regret that, bitch.” He snarled against your ear.

You threw your head back, smirking when you heard the grunt of pain and several curses falling from the man’s lips.

You raised your hands and with it, the other man floated in the air. With a wave of your wrist, he went crashing into his friend and they slumped into a corner.

You quickly picked yourself up and ran out of the museum’s back exit, knowing you had to avoid the police at all costs.

Reaching an abandoned alley, similar to the one you first arrived in, you took out the inter-dimensional extrapolator, deciding it was way too dangerous for you to remain here any longer.

Pressing the device, you expected to see a breach form but to your shock, there was none. Inspecting the device, you saw that it had been broken, more than likely from when you’d been thrown against the ground by the robbers.

You muttered a foul curse before calming yourself.

Think, y/n. Think.

Your ears perked up at the familiar whistle and rattle of train tracks.

Okay, you knew what to do next.

You needed to go home.

Part 2 ->

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junicai · 3 years

Text

NCT being whipped for miyazu aria for seven minutes ;

325,078 views • 07 Feb 2021 • uploaded by [haechanieski]

[ NCT 127 Takes a Friendship Test ; Glamour 2020 ]

offscreen: “So, what was your first impression of Aria?”

Aria pressed herself into Doyoung’s side briefly, muttering a translation of the question into his ear. They had been briefed on the questions beforehand anyway, but she wanted to make sure he understood before he began answering - just in case he had forgotten.

Doyoung tilted his head down to Aria, a mischievous grin making its way onto his face; and it was only then, that Aria remembered exactly how the two had met in the first place.

Aria started to flush, shaking her head rapidly and burying her face into her hands. “Oh god no,” she whined.

Doyoung laughed at her, pulling her into his side with an arm over her shoulder and holding her there while he began speaking.

“Ah, Aria? We met for the first time when Aria was still tiny - well, tinier,”

“Hey!”

“And,” Doyoung continued on, laughing, “I had left my jacket in one of the practice rooms. It was a gift from my hyung, so I had gone back to get it even though it was really late. But when I went in to get it, I found Aria, sitting on the floor in the dark with it over her lap instead.”

At this point, Aria had fully buried her face into Doyoung’s chest, in a futile attempt to hide her reddened cheeks. “I thought it belonged to one of my friends,” she weakly protested, embarrassed by the laughs of the staff members behind the camera. “You scared me when you came in!”

“You stole my jacket!”

Aria sent a withering look to the camera.

“Czennie. Doyoung-oppa doesn’t care if I freeze, I want you to remember this.”

Doyoung gaped at her, yanking her back into his arms with an offended gasp, “Yah, you brat that’s a lie.”

Aria began sliding to the floor, letting her arms go boneless and limp. “You don’t love me!”

Doyoung started to stop with her, trying to hold her up in his arms. “Aria, Aria don’t sit on the floor it’s dirty, get up-”

The music of the other idol groups played quietly through the green room’s speakers, a small television setup in the upper right hand corner allowing the idols inside to monitor the performances outside.

Renjun tossed a half full water bottle over to Jisung, who was sitting on the floor beside the sofa where Jaemin, Jeno and Aria were; all three of them looking elated yet exhausted.

Ridin’ was a choreography heavy dance, and although Aria hadn’t many lines in this particular song, she was still struggling to push through the residual pain in her lower back. She had strained it earlier on in the month, pushing herself too far with too little preparation during rehearsals and was paying the price for it.

Most of Aria’s time in the greenroom before their performance was spent ensuring the other boys that yes, she was ok to perform and no, she wasn’t going to sit this one out.

The boys begrudgingly accepted her protests; but that hadnt stopped Jeno ever-so-carefully tugging her onto the sofa once they returned to the greenroom post-performance, gently pushing her to lie her head down on Jaemin’s lap and bringing her legs up into Jeno’s.

Jisung had wandered over later, eyes stuck to his phone screen but he willingly sacrificed his left hand to hold onto Aria’s when she hissed at the knot Jeno was trying to knead out of her lower back.

Jaemin shushed her softly, running a hand through her hair and untangling strands with his fingers. When Aria’s eyes had clenched shut and a whimper broke out from between her lips, Jeno’s hands froze in their movements, instantly bending closer to whisper apologizes.

“No, no it’s okay,” Aria said, attempting to prop herself up.

Jaemin pressed her back down, her head staying in his lap. “Stop it, let Nono help.”

She knew that there was something more to say, but having awknowledged that their current circumstances were not the best to have such a discussion, he settled for carding a hand through her hair again.

Aria let her eyes drift closed, hand still curled in Jisung’s, and legs pillowed in Jeno’s lap.

Who’s name do you think matches their appearance?

Kun pressed his lips together, thinking.

“Hm, all of the members put a lot of thought into their stage names, so they all fit very well,” he hummed, eyes flickering between the paper and the camera.

He took in a breath, clearly torn.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, looking up to the camera. “Aria, her name fits her really well; Akari is such a beautiful name and it compliments her personality perfectly. She’s really like a fruit sometimes - she’s always cheerful and energetic, like she’s on a constant sugar rush. Very sweet.” the smile that overtook Kun’s features was nothing sort of soft.

He quickly scribbled down Aria’s name in Hangul, before rolling the pen into the middle of his palm and straightening up again.

“Yiyang, is her Chinese name - she asked me to give her one last year. And you shouldn’t listen to Winwin, her full name is Qian Qiuyue, ok?”

Kun was laughing at himself now, picking back up the pen and moving to read the next question.

a/n: i know mr qian kun did NOT just say aria was fruity.

aria nct lgbt sub-unit confirmed

Renjun was sat beside Aria on a single piano stool, shoulders pressed together as she leaned forwards to try and make sense of the notes written on the pages in front of her.

“You know the basics, right?” Renjun questioned, hand coming out to flip forward in the music book a few pages. The single crotchet notes quickly turned into more complex rhythms, and from the side of his vision he could see Aria paling slightly.

He turned his head to look at her, “Riri, c’mon I know you know more than Mary had a Little Lamb, you can’t stay at beginner level forever.”

“Yes I can.” Aria sulked.

Renjun sighed. “You were the one who asked me to teach you.”

“Yes! When I thought it would be easier than this, my fingers just don’t do what they’re meant to do!”

“That’s why I’m here!” Renjun cut off her tirade. “I’m not going to laugh at you if you make mistakes - you’re learning, and everyone makes mistakes when they’re learning.”

“Promise?”

He ruffled her hair slightly, “Promise. Now here, look, this one isn’t difficult you’ll manage this one fine.”

“Injunnie.”

“Mm?”

“-nevermind, okay just. How do I?”

Renjun lifted his hands onto the keys of the piano, showing her the placement of her fingers and getting her to copy him. Aria did so, and then he was running her slowly, step-by-step through the first few bars of the piece, catching her when she played dud notes and clapping softly when she played through without stuttering.

Soon enough, Aria was playing a simplistic but solid melody line with her right hand, basic accompanying chords with her left, and Renjun was staring at the side of her face; head tilted slightly to the left and a small, barely-there proud glint in his eye.

[BUBBLE UPDATE 210205 ]

ARIA~~

czennie

i heard about the tiny horse

do u think they’d let me get one

if i asked nicely??

“Jae, Jae! Jaehyun!” Aria coughed out the older boy’s name, throwing a glare over her shoulder. “If you insist on leaning your entire bodyweight on me, please don’t throttle me in the process.”

The man only sent a weak apologetic grin her way before his feet slid out from underneath him and he was left grappling at the small girl yet again.

“You know when you said you wanted me to teach you ice-skating I didn’t know this was how you were planning on murdering me. If I have to die, I’d rather go out with a bang - ya’know? Not death by groupmate, that’s borinG-” Aria’s voice wobbled as she was pulled yet again.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jaehyun apologized, going so far as to take his hands off her shoulders. “I think I’ve got it now.”

He made it another few steps forward before he was tossed off balance by an eight year old boy rushing past, startling him to the point of jumping backwards.

When Jaehyun’s legs went from underneath him, he flailed his arms in a futile attempt to regain his balance - one of the windmilling arms catching Aria’s extended hands in the process.

Aria let out a shriek as her skates went as well, tumbling backwards. Her head would have made a harsh impact onto the ice - no arms ready to catch her fall - if it wasn’t for Jaehyun’s hand catching the back of her neck and taking the brunt of the impact.

Lying on the ground, Jaehyun coughed out a laugh, Aria staring him down.

All too soon though, Aria joined him in the laughter, head still pillowed on Jaehyun’s arm and the pair of them still lying on their backs on the ice.

“Hello everyone, today I’m with my favourite baby, say hi baby!”

Ten’s grin was audible in his words as he spoke to Aria, who waved before opening her mouth. “Your favourite baby?”

Ten cooed, “Yes, my favourite baby,” while crossing the floor of the practice room to throw his arms around Aria.

He rocked her side to side, pressing kisses to the top of her head.

“And what makes me your favourite? You know Yangie won’t be pleased if he hears he’s been replaced,” Aria lifted her head to look up at Ten.

“You accept the title of my baby, and are therefore my favourite. You don’t fight my love.” Ten shakes her dramatically side to side, mourning the one-sided relationship.

Aria only patted his head in solace. “It’s ok. If it’s any consolation the only reason I don’t fight your hugs is because you’re faster than I am.”

Ten let out a pained gasp. “Betrayed by both my babies. How ever will I survive!”

Aria tried to pry his arms away from her shoulders that were shaking with barely-suppressed laughter, worming her way out from his embrace. Ten only tightened his hold, going limp and dragging her onto the floor.

“No...” Ten cried, “I’m dying...”

Aria’s laughter turned to shrieks when he began to tickle her stomach on the skin that was showing from where her t-shirt had lifted up from the movement.

“No no no no stop Ten, TEN stop I’m sorry I take it back I take it baaack-”

“Say it!” Ten demanded, unrelenting.

“I’m your baby! I’m your baby I’m sorry I’m sorry!” Aria was rolling away from his hands, trying to escape but Ten only turned to lie flat on top of her.

“Exactly.”

a/n: nct world 2.0 gave us so much content of the boys loving aria im :’( smth in the water made aria super cuddly this time around i think she’s after all of their hearts

- aria collecting nct members like pokemon cards

Immediately after Jungwoo’s defeat, Aria sidestepped to behind Lucas where she fisted her hands in his shirt.

“Aria! You’re next!” The presenter called out, and soon all the members in OFN has turned to face her.

She poked her head around to see Yuta standing at the arm wrestling table already, tongue between teeth and grinning at her partially hidden form.

Aria squeaked and ducked back behind Lucas. “Noo,” she moaned, already knowing what was going to happen.

To their credit, Johnny and Jungwoo tried their best to bolster her spirits before she emerged, but Aria still shuffled up to the table with her head tucked down, paying no attention to the calls of support from the boys behind her.

Yuta rolled his sweater sleeve up again, and Aria looked up to meet his eyes.

“Onii-chan~” she tried, biting her lip to stop the laughter from bursting out.

Yuta brought a hand up to his mouth before turning away, eyes wide. Aria could hear the cheers of cute! from her teammates behind her; Yuta’s teammates doing their level best to convince him not to cave under Aria’s widened eyes.

“Onii-chan, you know I’m not very strong,” Aria made sure to heighten her voice’s register a bit, and stuck out her bottom lip, “Can you go easy on me?”

Aria could hear Mark calling out to Yuta to not fall for it.

“Yah!” Aria dropped her voice back to her normal register, yelling out to Mark. “Stop it this is all I have!”

The laughter was heard from across the field from the members in the tents, and Aria was left to sadly shuffle her way closer to the table and interlink her hand with Yuta’s.

He sent her a consoling smile, the referee blew the whistle and then Aria was pushing with all her might against Yuta. Her legs came up like Renjun’s did, face scrunched up with the effort before the back of her hand met the plastic-covered table and Yuta was announced the victor.

He quickly made his way around the table, wrapping Aria in a hug and picking her up to spin her around. Aria only giggled at him, sticking her tongue out at Ten who called Yuta out for fraternizing with the enemy.

Aria knew that a springboard worked off of your downward momentum, so it seemed perfectly logical to assume that if she barreled her bodyweight into the jump, then she would make it high enough to get over the 200cm vault.

She’d made it over the previous heights with varying degrees of success, but the new towering height was throwing her off a bit. Cheers came from both her teammates sitting down beside the mat as well as the other members sitting in the shade.

“Aria! Challenge accepted!” she called out, pumping her fist into the air.

From the corner of her eye, Aria could see Johnny leaning forward with his hands on his knees, watching carefully as she ran up to the springboard. Lucas was in a similar position, was it not for the wide grin he sported.

Beginning her run she tried to use up as much speed as possible, sprinting to the vault before jumping with her feet together onto the springboard and allowing it to propel her up and over the vault.

However what she had failed to account for; was the length of her arms.

Aria made it over the 190cm vault, but her fingertips barely scraped the top and it left her with a choice of either trying to become Superman and face-planting into the mat on the other side, or bringing her legs together prematurely and hope she didn’t lose a leg.

She couldn’t hear the gasps that left everyone’s mouth once her hands missed the top of the vault, missing the way Lucas moved closer to the mat with a jerk forward.

Bringing her legs closed, Aria swung her bodyweight forward and grappled behind her for the vault in a panic. A yelp left her mouth as her hand caught on the rung and she tucked it back into her body when her feet met the edge of the mat.

Unstable, Aria toppled backwards with her hands stretching out behind her again to prevent herself from falling. Her back landed against the vault, and she knocked it over, falling on top of the now-split pieces.

Despite it all, Aria was laughing hysterically, hands coming up to cover her face as she tried to hide her flaming red cheeks. An arm extended to her and she hoisted herself out of the middle of the vault, soon coming to rub at her back.

“Does that count?” Aria could hear the presenters asking should she be disqualified for knocking over the vault even after landing, but she was more concentrated on the hand on her back that was guiding her to her other teammates, all clapping wilding and cheering.

“You okay?” Lucas’ voice came in her ear, laughter but also concern audible in his tone. His hand was still rubbing slowly along her back, soothing the reddened skin underneath the t-shirt she was wearing.

“Yeah I’m fine,” Aria let her head fall forwards as she laughed at the thought of the picture she must have looked, flailing as she barely made it over the vault. “I don’t know if I’ll make it over the next one though.”

“Ah it’s okay. I’ll knock it over too and then I can join you.”

The gate at the back end of the tunnel swung closed with a clang, everyone inside letting out a shout.

Aria, having been standing in front of Johnny, tucked inside his coat while he back hugged her (she wasn’t built for the cold weather, and the denim jacket she wore was doing nothing to save her from hypothermia) let out a yelp and turned her face into Johnny’s chest.

Johnny pushed her behind him slightly as he turned around to look what had happened, and Aria clung to his waist while the others around them furrowed their eyebrows in confusion.

Trapped?

a/n: and a bonus clip bc shes was so CUTE during mtopia i couldnt not

In the emptied dining room, the SuperM members scattered around the different table set ups, searching for the coloured pieces of paper. Taeyong had wandered over to the food counter, while Ten had migrated towards the opposite end of the hall.

Baekhyun could see the other members in various locations; all apart from one.

“Oh? Aria, where did you go?”

The youngest member was no where to be found, and Baekhyun’s question gathered the attention of Taemin and Mark who were standing nearby. Mark tilted his head in a question, eyebrows lifted and then furrowed when he too looked around for the girl and couldn’t find her.

“I’m here!”

Baekhyun let out a small scream, jumping back from the table he was standing beside.

Beneath the tablecloth poked out Aria’s head, a sheepish smile on her face when she realized she’d scared her leader.

“I thought there might be some clues underneath, so I wanted to check.” she explained, slowly shuffling out from underneath the table.

“Baekhyun hyung did she scare you?” Jongin teased, as Taemin cooed over the adorable picture Aria made as she straightened up and brushed off the dust from her skirt.

Baekhyun floundered, spluttering “What? No! I don’t get scared.”

He puffed out his chest theatrically.

“Sorry oppa, I didn’t mean to scare you~” Aria said through suppressed laughter, coming over to hug him around the waist.

Baekhyun deflated slighty, “Ah, it’s okay,” he grumbled, petting her hair.

thank you for watching ! - haechanieski

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