#also am i the only one who wants like. dynamic lighting n shadows on the characters or smth bc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-writer-ofthe-fandoms · 11 months

Text

Your Pleasure is Mine (V for Vendetta)

Pairing: V for Vendetta x AFAB! Reader (no use of gendered pronouns/pet names, no use of Y/N)

Words: 5.2k

Warning(s): SMUT! Masturbation (Reader), Oral (reader receiving), thigh riding, fingering, vibrator, dildo/strap-on, squirting, overstimulation, V gets a pinch crazy (very very minimal), use of safeword (nothing bad, Reader just knows their limits uwu), blindfold, light choking, V keeps the mask ON (for the most part) fluffy aftercare.

A/N: I am so nervous to post this bc I havent written a reader insert in some time, havent written smut in FOREVER, and I havent watched V for Vendetta for awhile either BUT I REALLY WANTED TO GET THIS DONE. SO HERE. Also, I headcanon V to have almost his whole body burned so, the strap-on warning is not for peggin’, sorry for those who thought that haha. enjoy

Also this post is goin up on my birthday so its like a reward haha

--------------------------------------------

It was a quiet evening in the Shadow Gallery. You did some cleaning for your partner V, and now you were doing some light reading of a book he recommended a couple days ago. It was a short, but very sensual erotic story that was on the banned list of books by the Chancellor. The words and analogies were simply written yet read as beautiful. You could see why V would recommend it. The story was eerily similar to yours and his dynamic; a masked vigilante character and his lover. The vigilante comes to his lover later in the evening and from the worry, they make love.

You almost wondered if he had you reading this on purpose, but you both never made that step your relationship. You understood from all that he has told you, his body was badly burned and he never took off his clothes or disguises. You've only seen his hands and you've felt his lips against yours and your face, but he had you close your eyes for that. You respected that aspect of V, you loved him for him and not for any appearance reason (although you wouldn't deny his typical get up was a major turn on.) Did you have your urges? Sure, but you took care them yourself with tools V stole for you whenever he was out.

Time was lost on you as you kept getting absorb in the short story. You finished the novella with a satisfied huff at its ending and set it aside. You stand up from your's and his bed, stretching your limbs. You glance at the clock and furrowed your brows.

"When did it become almost 11:30pm?" You mumbled and make your way to the kitchen to get some water. It was an hour or so later than when V said he'd be home, an inkling of worry bloomed in your chest. Whenever he went out to stop fingermen or steal supplies he always returned home to you on time, sometimes earlier. What had kept him so late?

You took a sip of water, welcoming the coolness it brought to your slightly dry throat and mouth. You clicked off the light in the kitchen and walked back to the main area of the Shadow Gallery. You yelped and jumped at V suddenly appearing, still in his cape and hat. The water in the glass you held ended up all on the front of you.

"Shit V, you startled me. Usually you announce when you're back." You chuckled, using the back of your hand to wipe water off your chin.

"My apologies, my dear. There were more fingermen than expected." He quickly approached you. His gloved hand takes the glass from your hands, setting it on a nearby table. One of his hands rest at the base of your neck while the one found itself softly cupping your jaw. His thumb swiped away water droplets still on your chin before slowly dragging along your bottom lip. "How was your day, hmm?"

"Wasn't so bad. I cleaned and then read that one book you recommended." You leaned into his touch, taking in a deep breath. You felt a shiver down your spine when you felt his fingers by your neck tap against your skin. With the story fresh on your mind it seemed like your senses were heightened.

"Ah, The Night Unveiled." V tilted his head, his tone indicating he was smirking. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Mhm, but I couldn't help but wonder if you suggested it on purpose, V. A smut story of a masked vigilante and his lover?"

He chuckled. "An idea formed in my head some when I saw the book in my collection. I thought you would enjoy a truly good read and... and would like to try something with me."

"You simply could have asked, V, though I did enjoy the read. The author wrote well."

"It got you in the mood though, did it not?" He tilted his head again, moving his hands to the hem your shirt. He maneuvered them underneath your top to grip your hips. He pulled you flush against him, your hands immediately resting on his chest. "I felt how you reacted to my fingers near your neck."

"What made you want to take this step?"

"I have always wanted you in an intimate matter, but as you know, my body is..." His usually confident tone faltered, his words trailing off. "But, I thought about it and came up with a solution. Come with me, dear." He gently took hold of your hand and lead you down the familiar hallway to your bedroom. You also felt a rush of heat up the back of your neck and to your face at the thought of sex with your beloved partner, something you often fantasize about.

V opened the door and the two of you walk in. He turns to you, his hands cupping your cheeks as he leaned forward, resting the mask's forehead against yours. You heard him take a deep breath and you couldn't help but mimic him.

"If you ever feel uncomfortable, my dear, let me know. We shall learn as we go so please use the light system."

"Got it." You smiled and place a small peck to the lips of his mask. He chuckled pulling away from you.

"I'll be right back, stay here." You nod, watching as he ventured into the large closet for a few moments. He came back out holding two boxes, one you recognized. It held the few sex toys you had. You bit your bottom lip at the sight. You were definitely curious to what he has planned. You would be lying if you didn't feel the heat pooling between your legs. Subconsciously you crossed your legs while still standing, watching your partner set the boxes down at the foot of the bed before sitting down on the edge closer to the middle.

"Can you take off your shirt and shorts for me, my love?" His deep voice cut through your brief stupor. You nodded and gripped the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric up and over your head. You let your top fall to the ground and your shorts quickly followed. All you were left in were your white panties. You felt embarrassment wash over you for just a moment as you stood before him. You had been nude in front of him before. V liked to have days were he'd dedicate his time into pampering you, which meant he often helped bathe you. Yet, for some reason, in this moment you felt like shying away.

You heard V take in a sharp breath of air.

"You look divine my dear, as if Aphrodite crafted you herself. Please, come here."

"If anyone else heard you bring up a Greek God like so Creedy would have your head." You chuckle and heard him laugh as well. Slowly, you walked forward until you were between his legs. His hands, still gloved, were back on your hips.

He slowly dragged them downwards, gliding down your thighs. You felt your body shiver at the contact and he next moved them upwards. You felt his hands get closer to your chest, your breath caught in your throat in anticipation. You bit on your bottom lip as his hands cupped your breasts, squeezing them gently. You let out a content sigh before a small moan escaped; the pad of his thumbs grazed over your perked nipples. V tilted his head at your soft noises and decided to fully cup your tits, kneading and squeezing them.

"Sit." He spoke a simple command. He maneuvered his knee and thigh between your legs. You complied, taking in a sharp breath as your covered heat now against his thick thigh. "Go on, my dear, get yourself off on me."

You nod in response, not trusting your voice. You lazily started rocking your hips, riding his thigh. Your lips parted at the feeling and your hands gripping his shoulders; his own were back on your hips. Soft mewls left your mouth as you grind down, keeping a steady slow pace.

"That's it, darling." You didn't know his voice could get lower and huskier. You felt his fingers press into your skin, gripping your hips tighter but he made no effort to control your movements. "Does that feel good, hmm?"

"Yes-ah..." Your breath came out in pants. You leaned yourself into him to get more pressure and movement focused on your clit. Your roll your hips down and your body twitches. You've found just the right angle. You move faster and and faster, the pleasure making you slowly lose yourself. Your noises leaving your lips were getting louder. You sucked in your bottom lip to try and suppress them, but you felt V's hands grip your hips harder. Your rhythm came to a stop as you moved to look at his mask. There was a very brief moment of dull pain in his grip before he let up.

"Keep going. Do not silence yourself." His words were firm but you could tell by his tone he was adoring you. "I want to hear everything. I want to see everything."

"Sorry-"

"Don't apologize either." He chuckled and tapped your right ass cheek, signaling for you to continue. You nod, leaning forward again as you grind your hips down on his strong thigh, hoping to find that sweet angle. You slid your arms around his neck, your bare chest pressed against him as you tried to find that sweet spot again. You feel him wrap his arms loosely around your hips while you moved.

You shifted your left him and moaned loudly right by his ear.

"Yes, my love." You felt his chest rumble against yours. "That is it. Are you close?"

"Yes, V. Oh my god, yes." Your fingers gripped the clothes on his back as you rolled your hips, your movements getting sloppy as you chased your orgasm. You could feel it creeping up on you, getting closer and closer. V's hands soon found themselves resting on each asscheek yet he still made no effort to control any of your movements. You felt the heat rush up your legs and your body twitches and stills, before you sag against V.

"Did that feel good?" You feel one of his hands rest on the back of your neck while the other softly stroked up and down your lower spine.

"Mmhmm..." You pant, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.

"What color are you at right now? I still have many more ideas-"

"Green, Love. I am doing just fine." You chuckle and sit up right, cupping the cheeks of his mask. "Although I have a feeling you will be focusing mostly on me tonight."

"And if I am?" There was playfulness in his tone, the hand at the nape of your neck gently applied pressure.

"I would feel a bit bad."

"Your pleasure is mine, my love. As I mentioned to you previously my body is not in the best state, but I find it enjoyable watching you get lost in pleasure. So please, do not feel bad. I will be enjoying everything." He turned his head to nuzzle his mask into the palm of your hand.

"What else you got in store for me?"

"I am glad you asked." There was a slight growl to his voice. He helped you off his thigh and had you stay at the bed. You watched with curiosity as he went to the corner of the room. Your masked lover dragged over the armchair back to the bed with ease before sitting down. "I would like to see what you do to yourself when I am away."

"Ah, that's why you grabbed my box." You smirked and he nodded. You reached over to your box, still eyeing the other one. You slowly flipped the lid opened and eyed your options. You glanced to V who was still watching you and glanced back at your toys. Biting your bottom lip, you pick up the small bullet vibrator.

You move to the headboard of your bed, back propped up by the plush pillows. You kept your eyes on V as you lifted your hips up to slide off your soaked panties. You spread your legs, your wet cunt on full display for him. You saw him straighten his posture at your actions which had you close to smirking.

You started slowly massaging one of your breasts as your lowered the off vibrator to your pussy. You sucked in a sharp breath as you slowly dragged it up and down, your legs twitching at it grazing over your sensitive clit. Your felt around on the toy with your finger before finally pressing the on botton, the vibrator coming life.

You moaned loudly at the vibration again your clit. Back arching, you stopped playing with your breast and immediately pushed to fingers into your wet hole. You desperately needed to feel filled up. The sounds of the vibrator, your fingers thrusting, and your moans filled the room.

"Ah-Fuck! V..." You almost whined saying his name. You repeatedly chanted his name as your fingered yourself. Your eyes never left his rigged form as he watched you intently. Your toes curled and you could feel another orgasm approaching. "I love you, V-"

Suddenly, V stood up from the chair and walked over to the foot of the bed. He quickly opened his box and grabbed a piece of dark fabric.

"Are you comfortable with being blindfolded?"

"Y-yes." You breathed, removing your fingers but keeping the vibrator against your clit. You lost the sensation of near relief, but knew you loving partner would bring it back. V immediately crawled onto the bed and kneeled between your legs. He carefully leaned in and placed a black, thick silky fabric over your eyes, tying it behind your head. You felt your nerves start to rise and you quickly turned off the vibrator to give yourself a moment to adjust.

"Make sure to tell me when your uncomfortable." His rich voice almost startled you now that you can't see him. "I figure this is your first time being blindfolded, would you like me to walk through what I am going to do?"

"That would be great." You smile, taking in a deep breath. You heard some ruffling comig in front of you and then felt the bed shift.

"I am going to touch your thigh." You noticed two things. One, his voice didn't sound muffled and two, you could feel his hot breath on your skin. You nearly jumped when you felt his scarred fingers gently stroke your inner thigh. "I am going to kiss you. I plan to leave marks there." There was a second pause until you felt his mouth gently kiss your thigh. Next thing you felt were his teeth nipping your skin. V started trailing kisses from what you felt. His mouth started near your knee and was getting closer to your heat.

"Mmm..." You practically feel his breath against your cunt.

"What color?"

"God, green." You couldn't contain your anticipation. He chuckled and slid an arm around to rest on your lower stomach. Your back arched when you felt his warm tongue swipe up your slit before he latched on to your clit.

"F-fuck, V!" You cried out. You wanted to reach down and press his face closer to your cunt but you kept your hands gripping the pillows. You knew he had both his mask and wig off, so you settled for jutting your hips. He chuckled and held you down with his arm.

"There, there." He mumbled, his tongue doing wonders your sensitive pussy. You felt him insert two fingers, they curled and hit the right spot, causing a pleased whimper escapes your lips at the feeling. He continued lapping your juices and gently suckling on your clit in all the right ways.

You're not sure how or why, but V was amazing at eating you out.

"H-how are you so good-Hng!" You whined, tossing your head back. That familiar warmth spread through your body, heat pulling in your stomach. He detatched himself from your pussy and while you couldn't see him, you knew he was smirking.

"I think it is both muscle memory from before Larkhill and from the many movies and books from the banned list I obtained." He hummed, the vibration of his voice felt so good. The blindfold had"Come on my tongue, darling."

"V..." You whimpered when he removed his fingers but then moaned as his tongue delve into your hole. His free fingers circled and played with your clit. "Fuck-fuck!" It felt like fireworks as your second orgasm hit. You threw your head back as you sputtered out a mixture of curse words and his name.

"Divine, darling. Absolutely divine." He moved away you to let you recover from your orgasm. "I am going to kiss you now." He didn't give you time to answer. His lips met yours in a bruising kiss, you could taste yourself. Unlike your gentler, more sensual kisses with V, this one was full of passion and lust. One of his hands rested on your neck and he applied a little pressure to the sides. Your thoughts were scrambled from your post-orgasm high, the hot kiss, and now his hand on your throat.

"Just a moment, dear." He pulled his face and hand away. You hear noises again and you assume he is putting his mask and wig on. A minute passes when he speaks again. "I am taking off the blindfold." You feel his hands trail up your neck and behind your head, untying the silky fabric.

"Ah, shit." You weakly laugh and wince at the light. Your eyes adjusted in time though and now you could see your lover staring down at you.

"You look stunning like this. Dazed from an orgasm on my tongue." He cupped your cheek with his hand and you immediately nuzzled into it. "One more thing, my dear. Are you up for it?"

"I think I have one more in me." You smiley blissfully.

"Good." He leaned forward and had his mask kiss your hairline before getting up. He opened his box again and you watched with half lidded eyes as he seemingly strapped something around his waist. He grabbed something else, what you swore was a dildo but then it was obscured by his body. "This looks quite silly." V laughed.

"Let me see." You giggled. Your lover turned around with his hands on hips and you had to cover your mouth to hide the grin. He was still fully clothed in front of you in his black get up but on his crotch was a realistic looking strap-on but it also was in a clear lavender color. You removed your hand and revealed your grin. "Yeah. It looks a little silly but I am very excited for what's in store."

"Good." V gave a curt nod and walked around the bed, sitting in the other side. "Do you have the energy to ride me?"

"Oh I would love to." You smirked and sat up, feeling energized enough. You threw your leg over his lap, effectively straddling him.

"My, you are stunning, sitting here on my lap like so. Oh how I love you."

"I love you too, V."

"Every time you speak my name I am put further under your spell."

"I'll be saying it plenty more here soon." You pecked the masks lips and reached back for the dildo, grabbing it and lining it to your entrance. You figured you were plenty ready to take it. Slowly you sunk down on the thermoplastic cock and you placed your hands on his chest. V took in a sharp breath as he watched your face show the pleasure you were feeling. His hands gripped your hip.

You set a slow pace to start. You softly moaned as you moved up and down. The strap-on filled you up deliciously. You knew it wasn't the real thing but the moment still felt special. The intense love you already felt for V only deepened now.

You felt V's hands help guide your hips and you could tell he wanted you to go faster. You smile at his masked face and quickened your pace.

"Fuck-This feels... feels good." You rasped. You couldn't tell exactly were he was looking, but you figured he was watching your tits bounce. V removed one of his hands from your hip and reached over to where your vibrator laid. You didn't let him even ask, "Green, V."

"Good. Come undone for me again. I want to see your while your whole face is shown to me this time." He powered on the toy, its buzzing filled the room. You slowed down enough for him to press the vibrator to your clit. You nearly scream in pleasure, your body stilling and twitching.

"Oh fuck!" You hissed at the sudden wave of pleasure. "Move V- Ah-!"

"Of course." There was a smirk to his tone. He started bucking his hips upwards, everything felt so intense yet so good. You felt what seemed like fire pooling in your lower abdomen. Your were getting lost in this immense pleasure and you could tell your third orgasm was going to hit hard. The vibrator against your clit and your lover fucking you had you nearly lost in ecstasy.

Your head started leaning back as your third orgasm was nearly there when suddenly you felt the hand that was gripping your hip fly up to back of your head. V's hand cupped the base of your skull and forced you to keep your face looking directly at the mask.

"Keep your focus on me." V practically growled.

That intensity in his voice, the very steady and strong thrust, and the vibrator had you crying out his name. Your third orgasm hit like a firey explosion. Your walls clenched around the strap-on as your body stilled, jaw hung loose and eyes almost rolling back.

"Yes, that is it." V husked. Your body trembled, feeling overstimulated. Your partner still kept going, seemingly lost in your reaction. You cried out as he kept going, as he moved the vibrators in circles around your sensitive and engorged clit.

"V-!" You whimpered out his name. A part of you wanted to stop, the stimulation practically overwhelming, but your mind and heart kept screaming for him to keep going, to see how much longer you could hold out like this. You wanted to feel completely undone by the man you adored so dearly. Suddenly his thrust came to a full stop. He quickly pulled out of you and switched the position, everything seemed like a blur in your drunken-like state.

You now laid on your back, V having a firm grip on your legs as he maneuvered them for easy access; the vibrator, still in his grasp, buzzed against your leg. He entered you once more, giving you only a moment before his thrusts continued.

"V, fuck!" You choked out. His grip on one of legs left and you nearly saw white; the bullet vibrator was back on your clit. Tears leaked out of your eyes as you stared up at the mask watching you so intently.

"Good, my love. You are taking this so well. So-fucking-well." He grunts. You feel your heart flutter at the use of a curse word, something he hardly ever utters. There was something in the tone telling you he was fulling letting loose now. And you loved it. "Cum one more time for me, alright?"

You simply nodded, unable to coherently speak.

"I asked you a question. I need to hear your voice."

"Y-yes!" You writhe and shuttered. Then your vision nearly faded to black as your fourth orgasm hit, you couldn't make a sound other than his name. You felt sudden wetness around your pussy and V's clothes as his hips languidly rolled against you.

"My, my dear. It seems you made a mess." V chuckled, slowly pulling out but still kept some of the dildo inside of you. You barely manage to lift your head and saw liquid dripping from his pants.

I've never done that before... You hazily thought.

Your tired eyes widened when you felt him push back in and your sweat drenched body twitched with the vibrator on your clit.

"V- red. Red sweetheart." You panted. Immediately, he halted his movement and turned off the vibrator. Carefully he removed both toys from your body and placed a hand on your cheek.

"I am sorry. I lost myself there. Are you hurt? What do you need?" His voice was soft and tender.

"I'm not hurt. I just knew I couldn't handle anymore." You said, nearly breathless as you came down from everything.

"Just relax. I'll start a bath for you while I change into clean clothes. Does that sound fine?"

"Of course." You lazily smile at him as he got off the bed. You close your eyes and hum a soft song while V went into the closet the change. It only took him a few minutes but you nearly lulled yourself to sleep.

"Are you ready?" He asked. You hummed a response and sat up, you swing your legs off the edge but as soon as you attempted to stand your legs gave out. If it V hadn’t had been so close without you realizing you would have met the ground.

"Wow, you really fucked me until I couldn't walk." You couldn't help but laugh. He looped an arm under your knees and used the other to support your back as he lifted you easily into his arms.

"Once again, I sincerely apologize to you. I know this night was supposed to be for us to test-"

"Don't. Everything felt good. Great even. I knew I wanted to keep going as you did for that last one." You stretched your neck to peck the masks cheek. "I don't mind rough either next time, V."

"Well I am glad." His seemingly bashful tone of voice told you enough. You giggle with a simple smile and wrap your arms around his neck as he walked you both in the bathroom. V sat you down on the closed toilet and wrapped one of the fluffy towels around your shoulder. You watched with half lidded eyes aa he got the bath going. The water started filling the porcelain tub and you watched as your partner added soothing oils to the water.

When the water reached the right amount V turned the handle to off. He removed the towel and lifted you up and hovered you over the water. It was routine now after his days of pampering you for him to do this so you could test the temperature with your foot. He lowered you just enough to do so and you hummed in delight.

"Just right, V." You smiled and he gave a single nod, assisting you to stand in the tub before helping you lay back. You sigh contently at the warm water around you before glancing at V. Your eyes widened a bit when you daw him roll up his sleeves. His arms, much like his hands, were severely scarred. Usually he let the water soak his shirts when helping you bathe. Deciding not to comment on it, you simply smile to acknowledge this step in trust.

You didn’t care about what his appearance may have been under his clothes, what you cared about is who he is. He was an essentric person, but kind. He was understanding and driven. And he was someone you loved dearly.

V pulled out the small stool he kept in the bathroom. He lathered up a loofah with the soap you liked and gently took hold of your arm. For the next few minutes he gently washed you, speaking softly to you. When he was done with that he started massaging your limbs, earning him content noises from you. You could fall asleep at any moment now. A whine escaped your lips when his hands left you.

"Sorry, my dear, I have to clean up everything. It shouldn't take me long. Try not to fall asleep."

"No promises." You sleepily smile, watching him as he left the bathroom. You stretch your arms and legs with a small hum. You felt hazy and content in the warm bath after being pleasured and cared for. Your eyes slowly closed with a small smile and you couldn't help but doze off.

You're not sure how much time passed since you closed your eyes. V's deep chuckle stirred you awake. You blinked up at him as he set down a fluffy towel, before he reached into the water to unclog the drain.

"I told you not to fall asleep." He teased and helped you up. With his hands placed on your waist, he easily lifted you out the tub. He grabbed the towel and started drying you off. You smiled contently at how warm it was. He must of thrown it in the dryer for you. Wrapping you in the towel, he lifted you in his arms and back into the bedroom.

You noted the different bedding and felt warmth flush to your cheeks.

"Sorry you had to clean all that by yourself."

"No, I am actually quite proud of myself and you for that." His boastful tone had you feeling more flushed. He sat you down on the bed next to a small stack of clean clothes. "I hope to get you to that point again, dear."

"That was the first time I ever squirted." You smiled. V knelt down while you carefully stood up, removing the fluffy towel. You shivered at the difference in temperature. Your lover unfolded a pair of black panties for you. You placed a hand on his shoulder and step in each hole. V slowly pulled the underwear up and quickly offered you some sleeping shorts, which you repeated the process. He had you sit back down so he could put on a very large shirt over your head. You smiled at how warmed the clothes were on your body.

"Thank you for taking care of me, V." You sigh.

"It is the least I could do for you." His hand cupped your jaw and his thumb stroked your cheek.

"Still, I appreciate it and you. Can you give me a kiss?" You grin getting up to stand.

"Anything for you." You close your eyes as he lifted his mask. His lips pressed against yours softly, the kiss full of love and adoration. He pulled away and you waited until he spoke again to open your eyes, his mask back on. "I love you, forever and always."

"I love you too, V." You smiled, the attempted to stifle a yawn.

"You need rest, my dear."

"Lay and tell me a story until I sleep?"

"Of course." V lead you to your side of the bed and pulled back the covers. He helped you get into bed and tucked you in. He quickly moved around the bed and got on top of the bed. You wasted no time scooting up to him, wrapping your arm around his torso and resting your head on his strong chest.

You sigh, feeling content and happy. V started speaking, reciting a short story he has memorized and told you before. His rich voice was soft and comforting, and after a few minutes you were lulled into a deep sleep, feeling secured and protected.

#v for vendetta #v for vendetta x reader #v for vendetta x you #v for vendetta imagine #v for vendetta imagines #v x reader #v x you #v imgaine #v imagines #v reader insert #reader insert #smut #v x reader smut #v for vendetta reader insert

535 notes · View notes

givemea-dam-break · 11 months

Note

okay so, consider this: jealous George

hasn't been done much, and jealousy is one of my favourite tropes. I'm thinking friends to lovers (obv) and you're free to make it as angsty as possible, as long as we get a happy ending :))) and you know what would probably hurt him most? When he's jealous of Lockwood bc he gets along so well with reader, maybe they just have a borderline-flirty dynamic (all platonic ofc) and George just has to watch and know he's never gonna be able to be like this (angst angst angst)

AND to make it MORE angsty maybe reader is really reserved around george but only bc she is so nervous (he doesn't know that ofc!!)

AND how about George confides in Lucy at some point that he thinks lockwood and reader might be into each other and she's like "uh yeah no, lockwood and I are dating"

Just throw in whatever cliché trope you can think of in there, i love them all

a/n: I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS IDEA OMFG YES THANK YOU!!!!!! jealousy is also one of my favourite tropes it’s great but i haven't actually written it all that much so i hope you enjoy! this isn't very angsty because i actually struggled with the plot for this, but hopefully you still like it lol

warnings: mild language words: 3.9K female reader taglist: @flashbackwhenyoumetme @irisesforyoureyes @aayeroace @waitingforthesunrise @ettadear @mirrorballdickinson @ella23116 (let me know if you want added to my taglist!)

Touch - George Karim

George had a habit of staying up late on nights where it was unnecessary.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t sleep, but rather the fact that he didn’t want to until he was sure that everything was all right. When the agents of Lockwood and Co. returned to 35 Portland Row, safe and – mostly – unharmed, he could relax.

Well, he frankly could care less what ego-fulfilling stories Lockwood had to tell upon his returns or the colourful and new swear words Lucy had learned from Skull. It was (name) he waited up for.

Out of the three of his friends, (name) was the one who understood him most. She never pushed for him to speak when he didn’t feel comfortable. She always listened to him ramble on, whether it be for a case or purely out of interest in something, with her full attention, letting him speak for as long as he wanted, smiling and nodding as he did so. He felt most like himself with her around.

So, there he sat in the living room, glancing between the book in his lap and the front door, waiting for the familiar rattle of the doorhandle. It was cast in shadow, with only a thin streak of light cutting across it from the flickering crystal skull lamp in the hallway. Lockwood really needed to swap out the bulb.

When the tell-tale jingle of keys and the quiet clatter of the handle sounded, he sat up slightly and watched as she crept in as silently as she could. That was another thing George liked and appreciated about (name) – the fact that she was considerate for the other people in the house late at night. After a case, Lockwood would come in noisily, shutting the door behind him a little too loudly, and Lucy would be stomping around on too-creaky floorboards in her clunky boots. But (name) was always quiet.

It felt like George’s heart skipped a beat when she flashed him one of her enchanting smiles, paired with a little wave. Although the smiles were always reserved, edging on shy and nothing more than a curve of the lips and a sparkle in her eyes, it made his insides feel all warm and fluttery. The sensation had been new to him in the beginning, those first few times she’d smiled at him after she had been hired, but now it was something he yearned for. His days didn’t feel complete without it.

He opened his mouth to speak, but footsteps shook the stairs and, all of a sudden, Lockwood was there, arm draped over (name)’s shoulders.

“How was the case?” he asked, grinning.

(name) leaned against him as she tugged off her ectoplasm-spotted boots. “Couldn’t even call it that. Mrs Tilden, as sweet as she is, forgets that she can’t actually hear ghosts, and that the neighbour’s cat yowls whenever it gets too cold. I would’ve been back sooner, but all the night cabs were taken, and I didn’t feel like riding back with Kipps and his lot.”

“Well, you’re here now. Fancy some tea? Boiled the kettle not long ago.”

“That’d be great,” she said. When her eyes, sparkling in the dim light, turned on George, he found himself stuck to the spot. “Do you want some, George? I got some of that tea you really like this morning.”

And, as much as George wanted to agree, he couldn’t help but look at Lockwood and the way he so easily stood with her, holding her close and grinning. It should be George there. It should be him she leaned on after a case, him that made her tea and asked her how it went.

No, no. His feelings didn’t entitle him to her or her time. Besides, she and Lockwood had been friends since childhood, separated for a few years for educational reasons, so it was a given that they’d be close. He just wished it didn’t make his throat ache every time he saw them like they were now, standing close and laughing. Something he so longed to do, but didn’t know if he could.

So, he simply said, “No, thanks, I’m about to head up to bed.”

She smiled at him once more, the shadow of a grin hiding in the corners, and nodded before following Lockwood down to the kitchen, joking about the infamous Cat of Mead Place. Her voice seemed to reverberate through the walls and into George’s very being as he stared down at the book in his lap, the page long since lost in his distraction.

Heaving a sigh, he gently closed it and set it upon the coffee table, then trudged up the stairs to his room.

“So, you think that our ghost is the killer? That’s interesting. From the description, I would’ve figured it’d be the victim. Makes sense, though.”

George nodded, trying not to focus on the soft scent of lavender and something flowery as (name) leaned closer to him, studying his notes and findings. He really hoped she couldn’t hear the furious pounding of his heart.

“Well, it was the murderer’s house,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose a little. “It’s very likely that, even if it’s the old remains of the victim, it’s the killer’s source. Remember that bit in Hackney? Old teeth in a jar, but it was the source for that murderer.”

(name) shivered. “Don’t remind me. Still have nightmares about that guy.” She shuffled her chair slightly closer, casting George a short glance, before pulling one of the newspaper copies over. “Natalie Greymouth tried and imprisoned for the murder of her six children, later to – Wait, six children? So, in between all these other murders she committed, she was also popping out babies and killing them?”

Huffing a laugh, George said, “Suppose the kids distracted people from the fact that she was a cold-blooded killer.”

At that, (name) snickered, and a spark travelled down George’s spine as he watched her. The way she grinned as she covered her mouth with the back of her hand, how her cheeks flushed for only a moment. It wasn’t until she turned her head to look at him, much closer than she had been before, that George felt stuck for breath.

Her smile slowly softened into something shyer, more private, as she became aware of the small space between them, but as quick as thought she turned away again, focusing back on the documents in front of them.

Hope had begun to form in that short moment, and it had tasted sweet, but it became bitter as Lockwood and Lucy burst through the kitchen door with bags of goods from Satchell’s. Lucy slid behind George’s seat, dumping an additional shopping bag filled with food on the kitchen counter.

“Hard at work I see,” Lockwood said with a grin. He leaned down over (name)’s shoulder, scanning the notes sprawled everywhere. “Makes no sense to me. I trust you guys have a lead on what we’re walking into later?”

George could feel his throat burn at the sight of them, but he swallowed the feeling down and looked away. “Yeah. We’ll give you the run down on the way.”

He tried his best not to look when Lockwood squeezed (name)’s arm. He tried even harder to ignore the grin she sent his way, so unlike anything she’d ever shown George, but it was impossible. It felt like trying to pretend that Skull wasn’t on the countertop making the most horrid faces ever. The action only ever drew his eye.

Her smile lit up any room she was in, and he hated that it wasn’t directed at him but instead Lockwood. Lockwood, who everyone attached themselves to – (name), Lucy, Flo Bones, the public. Everyone. Well, except for Quill Kipps and his Fittes lot, but George didn’t want them. He only wanted her.

“We’re splitting up.”

“Worst idea ever. I don’t like the look of this place.”

Lockwood snorted. “You never like the look of any of the places we’re hired out to.”

“Lie,” (name) said. She looked up at the towering house before them. “There was that one bit in Camden, remember? With the really nice, frosted glass windows in the door.”

“Before Lucy crashed into it and smashed the glass.”

Lucy went bright pink. “I don’t think that’s our focus for today.”

George watched as Lockwood nudged (name) with his elbow, eliciting a laugh from her, and tightly said, “Lucy’s right. We need to get this case over with. And pairs sound good – too much room to cover as one group. (name), I’ll go with you.”

For a moment, the rush of blood in his ears was all he could hear. What if she said no; that she wanted to pair up with Lockwood instead? George didn’t have anything against Lucy, but it got unnerving hearing her one-sided conversations with Skull. He was never sure if she was insulting him or the glowing ghost in the jar. And they’d probably end up bickering as they often did which wouldn’t help this case run smoothly at all.

But (name) nodded and offered him that delicate smile. “Sounds good. Think I’ve got some ideas of where we might find our source.”

“Care to share?” Lockwood asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“No.”

“I’m your boss. You’ve got to tell me.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“Yes, you –“

“Let’s go,” George interrupted. His fingers were beginning to twitch. “Before it gets dark.”

And so, they did. While Lucy and Lockwood trudged inside and up the looming staircase in the centre of the house, George and (name) crept through the ground floor, taking temperatures and using their Talents. He did try, really he did, to not linger on thoughts of her and Lockwood, of their lingering laughs and smiles, but it became increasingly harder the quieter they stayed.

“So, what are your ideas for finding the source?” he asked, trying to break the silence that had grown between them.

Usually, George would’ve preferred the quiet, but this was choking. Every moment his mind strayed from the task at hand, it drifted over to the horrible ache in his chest and the twitching of his fingers caused by what could only be described as jealousy. Jealousy! God, even thinking it made him mad.

Why was he jealous? Because someone he had never explicitly admitted to liking was showing an interest in someone else? Because someone else would squeeze her arm or nudge her, when even tapping her shoulder to get her attention felt like it would make George implode?

(name)’s fingers brushed over an old vase, and she lifted it up, turning it in her hands. “Going to use my Touch on very specific things. This lady died, what, five years ago? And her nephew took this house, so he likely would’ve thrown out most, if not all, of the things belonging to her. So, we need to find the obscure things.”

“Like that restaurant with the porcelain egg cup as a source?”

“Exactly like that. The stuff no one would expect a ghost to connect to.” Her grin then was unlike the ones she shared with Lockwood, and though it was rather self-approving, George found himself drawn to it. It was something he experienced that Lockwood might not have. “Georgie, you’re going to find the strangest things in this room, and I’ll have a feel. This was one of our theories for the primary haunting, right?”

The words clogged in his throat. Georgie. It repeated over and over and over in his head as he swallowed the feelings that were building up. “Yeah.”

He glanced around the office they had ended up in and took the temperature, finding it as the lowest on the ground floor. It was a moderately sized room with a massive desk cutting through the centre with chairs either side. The desk itself was neatly organised with folders and pens all gathered in holders. An expensive-looking computer had gathered dust since the owner’s rushed departure a few days ago. Rather unassuming, on the whole, but that was exactly what she wanted.

“We’ve got an hour until sundown,” he said, peeking out of the large window. “I’ll watch your back.”

Together, they picked out a selection of seemingly strange things from around the office. An envelope rack; a rather rusty metal pen; a little glass horse ornament plucked from a display case, among many other things. But (name)’s hands lingered over a photo frame. It was a simple thing made from light-coloured wood, and the picture inside showed the owner of the house and his partner, so it was the last thing George would’ve suspected. This was what she was for, though, he remembered. Her gut instinct was much better than the rest of Lockwood and Co.’s.

“Be careful,” George murmured. “We don’t want another repeat of Lucy and Annabelle Ward.”

There was that delicate smile again, and his heart skipped a beat.

With a firm grip, (name) took the frame in her hands and shut her eyes. George could only watch in silence as she used her Talent, unused to having nothing to do in the meantime, and found himself staring. She was wearing the jumper Lockwood had gotten her for her birthday a few months ago, which had George chewing the inside of his cheek, but it was hardly his main focus. Not when the sunlight peeking through the curtains was highlighting her skin just so, emphasising little details he had only ever seen when they would research together, and he’d get distracted and stare. The implication of another smile in the corners of her lips, the curl of her lashes against slightly rosy cheeks.

After a few moments of frowning in such a way that left George with a smile tugging on his lips, her eyes fluttered open, and a proud grin split her mouth. George’s knees felt a little weak.

“Bingo. This used to have a photo of our ghost Natalie with her six kids before she killed them inside. Who’d have thought?”

It took George a minute to reply. His brain felt muddled, what with the brightness of her smile and the feeling in his chest. “I’ll go get the silver net. Our bags are still in the hall.”

“Lockwood will be well chuffed we found the source so quick.”

A moment of hesitation. One George hoped she hadn’t caught, but as he stepped towards the door, (name)’s smile melted into something more concerned.

“Are you all right?”

“Hmm? I’m fine.”

“George, what’s wrong? You were fine literally ten seconds ago and now you, well, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

George shook his head. “(name), honestly, I’m fine.”

“Did I say something? God, what have I said in the last, what, two minutes? Um…”

She muttered under her breath as she tried to think, and George really did try to push the burning feeling in his throat down. The embarrassment that, even though it was the two of them working down there on the case, she immediately thought of Lockwood. What more did he expect? He was nothing more than the second choice to most people – no, third. Fourth even. Hell, he was the last choice, and he should’ve realised that (name) would see him that way, too.

“It’s you and Lockwood,” he blurted.

And he regretted it immediately.

(name) looked over at him then, eyes slightly widened, and mouth parted. “What?”

He could only shrug as he looked away from her. “I just – I don’t know. Lockwood is the one everyone finds the most interesting, and I’d hoped that for once that someone might choose me.”

“You thought I would…”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence for him to know what she meant. George didn’t know how to explain the feeling that encompassed his very soul at that moment. It felt like drowning, in a way. Like these feelings he’d fought so hard to keep at bay were filling his lungs rapidly and stopping him from breathing. His head was submerged, and he couldn’t think clearly. He couldn’t do anything but feel these horrible emotions so acutely that it was painful.

“I’m sorry. I get that you and Lockwood are close. Well, you’re probably together and I’ve just never realised!”

He didn’t realise how much saying the words out loud could hurt. But he was right, wasn’t he? With all of their shared smiles and jokes and how they always stood close, there was no way they weren’t… a thing. George had just been too blind to see it.

“George.”

“Don’t. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“George! Shut. Up,” she hissed.

Words caught in his throat, shocked by the harsh tone and the expression on her face. Brows furrowed; eyes narrowed – she was angry at him!

“Look, I am sorry, but I don’t get why you’re mad at –“

She stormed over and slapped her hand over his mouth. The touch made him jump, and the close proximity of their faces had his treacherous heart pounding in his chest. Why? Why did it have to do that?

“Listen,” she whispered, and she gestured to the side with her head.

George slowly turned his gaze to the large table where he could now hear a faint click, click, click. When he looked, his heart lurched for a moment, and he saw one of the pens in the holder move slightly. The button at the end, the one that would bring the nib out, clicked open, then shut, then open. A few papers in one of the many folders fluttered despite the absence of a draft.

“Poltergeist,” he uttered beneath her hand. He tried not to focus on how soft it was, or how the soap she’d used smelled very different from the one Lockwood had bought for him.

She nodded soundlessly, and her hand lingered for a moment before moving back to her side. “Move quietly to the door.”

It was a good plan. If they moved silently and slowly, they’d be able to make it out to their kitbags and secure the source seeing as poltergeists were essentially blind. But George could feel its invisible presence hovering over them like a horribly cold and scratchy blanket, and the house was an old one. As soon as he took a step back, a floorboard creaked.

He and (name) froze and, for a minute nothing happened. Then the clicking stopped and the pen rattled in the holder. The temperature of the room felt like it had dropped five degrees within a mere second and, although George’s Listening was nowhere near the standard of Lucy’s, he swore he could hear a faint voice calling out some names.

Another step back, and the mistake was made. The door to the office slammed shut, rattling the bones of the house. Lockwood’s voice echoed from somewhere above, calling their names.

Shit.

He should’ve paid attention to the room growing colder or the sun setting outside instead of watching (name) when she’d used her Talent. Maybe then they wouldn’t be stuck in this position, facing off with a ghost that they couldn’t see nor could they harm without securing the source. And, well, they had no way of doing that now with their bags stashed outside.

(name) was the first to move. Light-footed on the floorboards, she tugged on the door handle, but it didn’t budge. George could feel her panic as strongly as he felt his own, and he realised with dread that they were only feeding into the ghost.

The clicking resumed, and (name) shuffled over to George again, hand on her rapier. It would prove useless in this situation.

“For your information,” she whispered. “Me and Lockwood aren’t a thing. He and Lucy are.”

George’s gaze snapped over to her, and she offered a soft albeit nervous smile. “I don’t think now is the time for that conversation.”

“Oh, come on, admit you’re relieved. Also, you didn’t happen to stash a silver net in your pocket did you?”

Yes, he was relieved. He didn’t think he’d ever been more relieved in his life than he was in that moment, knowing that she wasn’t with Lockwood. He was confused for a moment, wondering how he hadn’t ever seen the connection between Lockwood and Lucy, but it was overtaken by the sheer happiness that (name) wasn’t in a relationship with their best friend. And, no, he hadn’t thought to stuff a net in his pocket.

The jealousy that had reared its ugly head in his chest dissipated entirely when her hand slipped into his, warm in the horrid freezing temperature in the office.

“How are we getting out of here?”

George wasn’t sure. He wasn’t Lockwood. He didn’t come up with reckless plans that saved their lives while inadvertently endangering them at the same time. He didn’t destroy houses in the process.

Well…

“You any good at throwing chairs?”

Hours later, George was still shaking glass out of his hair over the kitchen bin at 35 Portland Row.

Lockwood was standing over the kettle as water boiled, waiting to make cups of tea for everyone as Lucy slapped a plaster on a cut on his forehead. Apparently, after hearing the office door slam, the two of them had rushed down the stairs, only for the carpet the ran down the centre of them – for whatever posh, middle-class Londoner reason – slipped out of place, presumably because of the Poltergeist, sending Lockwood toppling. He whacked his head off the corner of the wall, earning a pretty nasty cut and a possible concussion. Lucy had come off scott-free, but Skull’s silverglass jar had a dent in the top.

(name) and George on the other hand were covered in little shards of glass that nicked them every now and then after sending a chair through the office window and leaping out into the flower bushes right outside. Thank god they’d been on the first floor.

Ever since that moment in the office, that one where (name) had told him about Lockwood and Lucy, the one where she held his hand, it had become blatantly obvious how wrong George had been about everything. Even now, he could tell that the energy that she and Lockwood shared was nothing like the one Lockwood had with Lucy. How hadn’t he noticed sooner?

Frankly, he didn’t really care about that now. He was too caught up on the phantom touch of her hand in his and the smiles she kept sending his way.

She’d held his hand in the taxi on the way home, claiming it was just because the poltergeist had freaked her out, but he had a feeling that wasn’t the entire truth. (name) was one of the bravest people he had ever met, so a poltergeist wasn’t going to be the thing to shake her out of the norm. But George didn’t mind.

He hadn’t ever been big on being touched, disliking the way it made his skin feel, but he found himself staying close to her, aching to hold her hand again. And, judging from the twitch of her fingers, the way they inched closer to his when he sat next to her, he figured she felt much the same.

And, with a smile, he wrapped his hand around hers, enjoying the feeling of her skin against his.

#george karim x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #george karim fanfiction #george karim #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #x reader #fanfiction #givemea-dam-break

284 notes · View notes

neonacity · 2 years

Text

Blood Red [Full Cut] | Ch.1 | Haechan x Reader

Summary: You're a forensic psychiatrist assigned to one of the country's high-profile criminals. You want to unravel him, but he's set on catching you in his web instead.

Characters: Haechan, Reader, Jungwoo

Warnings: crimes, blood, weapons, toxic dynamics, psychological themes, personality disorder, mental health disorder, dissociative identity disorder, possible smut [there is no smut yet for this chapter but the theme of the story is heavy. Please, please, please, do not interact if you are a minor]. This work is not meant to romanticize any personality disorders or toxic dynamics. Also, I am not a trained psychologist or medical professional so there might be inconsistencies on some of the scientific things here. Most medical references mentioned, however, are based on a book that I’ve always loved way way back, “The Minds of Billy Milligan” which is based on a true story. This is a work of fiction and I am not implying any likeness between the characterization here of the boys to their real life counterparts. I also reserve the rights to all my work—I do not post anywhere else other than tumblr.

A/N: Hi! I was thinking of a celebratory post for hitting 1k followers recently and decided to turn the teaser I shared into a mini fic. It was originally meant to be a one shot but since I cannot keep my word when it comes to my fics as usual, here I am putting out again a perfect example of my lack of self control. Thank you to everyone who has showed interest on Blood Red and I hope you enjoy!

The creaking sound of the rusty metal door made you look up from the files you were trying to read. None of the words typed there made sense to you, but still you put up the perfect facade of focus and detachment as your eyes met the trio that loomed in the threshold of the room's entrance. Two burly guards—no less than six feet in height—crowded the door, the taser and guns on their sides bulking up their already thick frames. They looked like sentinels shipped straight from alcatraz with their intimidating figures, and yet it was not them that piqued your interest the most. Subtly, your dark eyes moved a little lower, the shadow flickering behind them only partly covered by the gleam of your glasses.

Your gaze was met by the equally intense stare of the boy in the middle of the small party, a young man in his early twenties with a shocking head of bright red hair. His locks were messy, with some falling over his eyes, but even that couldn't disguise the way he looked at you—calm, but with a chilling edge only those trained on your job can blatantly notice. You looked at him steadily, your face never changing, even as his gaze bore on you from a distance. He seemed to be deep in thought too like he was trying to read you off, but finally, the tips of his lips quirked into a knowing smile that made goosebumps rise at the back of your neck.

"You have 15 minutes. Do anything stupid and we'll fry your brain."

You watched as one of the guards roughly pushed the boy into the room before hauling back the heavy metal door closed behind them. It took you everything not to flinch as it slammed shut, the sound echoing around the quarters like a threat. You stared at it momentarily, your heartbeat hard against your throat.

"Such ugly brutes, aren't they? Their visuals fit this hellish place."

The lilting, teasing tone made you snap your attention back to the boy who was still standing in the middle of the room. The interview cell only had a grainy yellow light illuminating the place and it threw stark shadows now to the rest of his lithe frame. His features are unexpectedly soft—almost pretty—but the way he smiled and drank you in gave him a wildish edge that teased the edges of your flight and fight response. As a seasoned forensic psychologist who has built a career in profiling some of the most dangerous criminals, you know exactly of his type.

A mastermind predator. The worst of his kind.

"Please take a seat. Lee Haechan, am I right?"

Something changed in the light of his eyes as you called out his name. It was quick, but you caught it anyway before he moved towards the chair across from you. For the first time, you noticed the black choker just peeking underneath the collar of his overalls, a green light beeping faintly on a rectangular piece of metal fixed there. You took it in quietly despite the chill that it brought to your veins. Shock collars. So that's what the guards have been talking about earlier.

"I like your lipstick."

His voice sounded casual when he spoke again, but it was enough for you to straighten your back in slight tension. His hooded eyes were on your lips, and he deliberately smirked before he raised his gaze to meet yours. He subtly ran his tongue over his lower lip as he seemed to try to keep his smile from widening.

"It's the color of blood."

"Do you like blood?" You asked, grateful for the steady voice that came out of you.

"I'm not particularly against it."

"Is that why you committed three arson cases, four bombings, and ten mass cyanide crimes across the city?"

His brows raised, impressed.

"You know my dating profile. That's very sweet of you."

"Answer the question, please."

He laughed.

"Princess, none of those drew any blood, but if you're asking that question to confirm my love for violence, then yes, I did them all."

A slow but measured breath slowly left you. When his case was turned over to you for handling, you've already drawn a specific image of him in your head. Manic, crazy, and reckless—serial, high-profile offenders like him usually fall in those kinds of buckets. The boy in front of you now is the exact opposite of what you were expecting, calm, measured, and a hundred percent aware of his actions. What he has is a specific kind of madness, the worst of what you know of.

He knows what you are trying to do, and you know you need to change your tactic if you want to break through his cracks.

"You sound so confident of the crimes you've done," you said slowly as you flipped through his file. You stopped at the last page which contains the record of his last court hearing.

"Very strange, especially since you gave an insanity plea to the courts," your eyes deliberately met him now to see his reaction. Slowly, you leaned closer to the table, palms flat on the cold metal surface. "Tell me, Haechan, is that just a part of your act? Because you had a lot of people pretty much convinced, with them sending me here and all."

Silence settled in the stale air between you, thick and tense. He looked at you blankly, before his gaze momentarily slipped again to your blood red lips.

"The insanity plea was not a lie. At least that's what Haechan thinks," he said slowly, humor lacing his voice. His smile widened as his eyes trailed up your face and the way his expression changed made a chill run down your spine. If not for your sheer training, you wouldn't have had it in you to ask your next question.

"What do you mean—"

"He is right. He is insane. Crazily fucked up, if I must say. But that's just him, that poor boy whose name you've been calling me with."

Your jaw slacked as his words sank in. This couldn't be what you were thinking. When the federal office called you in, you thought you would simply meet another mentally unhinged convict. You were about to speak through the lump in your throat when he also leaned over, his face now only inches from yours.

"But I'm different. I'm the sane one. And my name…"

"Is Lee Donghyuck."

*******

"Dissociative Identity Disorder? Are you serious right now?"

Jungwoo did a full 180 in his swivel chair just so he could give you his most incredulous stare. You raised your brows at him to give him a pointed look before sighing and throwing your hands in the air. To be honest, you can't really blame your partner for acting like you've said something crazy, because it sounds unbelievable even to your own ears.

"Don't look at me like that. I know it sounds mad, but all signs lead to it. I wasn't just called by the feds to profile him, they wanted me to diagnose him."

"And your diagnosis… is dissociative identity disorder."

You threw the man a slightly irritated look as he rubbed the incredulity of your hypothesis into your face. He's a dear, dear friend of yours, but he's also a detective, and people like him look at hard facts and evidence over anything else. As a psychologist, you are also expected to do the same, but there are also matters of the human mind that can blur into gray areas when it comes to your profession. The case of Lee Haechan, is one of those.

"Yes. Based on his symptoms and actions, that is exactly what he has."

"So you're saying that the boy… has multiple personalities inside of him?"

"Two to be exact. Haechan is the host or the de facto personality that takes consciousness. Then you have Donghyuck—"

"...who is the criminal," Jungwoo finished with a questioning but pointed lilt to his voice.

You winced slightly. "I doubt any of them is entirely innocent, but yes, Donghyuck would be the more aggressive one, or at least the mastermind of the majority of the crimes 'they' have committed."

"How do you know this?"

"Because he has confessed. To every single one of them. After my first interview with him, I was told that he gave statements again about every crime he has done, except that he is claiming them as Donghyuck."

Jungwoo didn't say anything at first. He simply stared at you, still looking unsold with what you were saying. Finally, he sighed and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Look babe, I want to believe you. But what if… he's just a really good actor?"

At that, you tapped your pen against the edge of your table before reaching out for something on your desk. You passed the two black films over to Jungwoo who wordlessly took them with a slightly confused look on his face.

"These are…"

"Brain scans. If you take a look there, different regions of both images are showing various levels of frequencies. Our brains are divided into different lobes—some are for emotions and the others for memories and consciousness. Our personal experiences fire up different networks in our head, which means one brain map is highly unlikely to be the same with another. It's like fingerprints."

"Okay… and so what does this exactly—"

"The scans you are holding right now are both from the 'same' person."

You entirely caught the way Jungwoo froze in his seat as your words hit him. He looked on, petrified, at the films he was holding, and you took on his shocked silence before continuing on.

"One was taken while Haechan was the one holding consciousness and the other when Donghyuck took over. Jungwoo, I've worked with narcissists… psychopaths, serial killers. A person simply cannot just change their own brain waves regardless of how good of an actor they are."

Your partner was stumped. He finally trained his eyes on you, the confusion in his features even more evident now.

"How—so you mean to say, there really are two people in that one body? How is that even biologically possible?"

You sighed and ran a frustrated hand through your locks. As much as you hated to admit it, even someone with your profession can't really explain or defend this fully. The truth is that dissociative identity disorders are one of the most controversial topics in psychological practice, mainly because they are easy to misdiagnose. Even now, the practicing community is divided about it. Hell, you don't even know which side you stand on yourself.

"It might not be. There is a lot of controversy about these kinds of cases because it's also possible that a person might just be suffering from other personality disorders like schizophrenia. But then again, those brain scans… I wouldn't know how to explain that other than to say that yes, there might be two identities sharing one body alone."

"So that is why he made an insanity plea. Is this even a thing?" Jungwoo asked.

"It's been done before. There have been previous records of convicts using it as an excuse to go the easy way out, you know, just get holed up in psychiatric wards instead of being sentenced to prison, but there were also special cases that made the cut. One example is this guy called Billy Millgan, the first man who was found not guilty because of this disorder. He had 25 different personalities."

The man in front of you was speechless. For a couple of seconds, he simply looked at you before he finally made a subtle shake of his head. You winced. He looked like he was genuinely worried over you.

"Look, I hate to say this, but I'm so glad I don't have your job. I'd say try to get this done and over with as soon as possible. I'm no psychologist… but I have a really bad feeling about this."

You didn't say anything. You couldn't, because as much as you hate to admit it, you have the same feel churning in your gut right now. Silently, you took the scans Jungwoo handed back to you, your eyes landing on the patterns there. He's right… the sooner you get this done and over with, the better. Just do what you need to do, then walk away...

...Before you even stumble head first into a trap.

******* "Don't touch me!"

The terrified, high-pitched voice of someone made you sit up straight on your plastic stool. You were in a padded room with only the bare essentials, the space looking like a complete contrast to the icky dungeon-like quarters you were first led to. Outside, the walls looked equally sterile, as if you were in the deepest belly of a hospital instead of being in a correctional facility.

You trained your ears harder now as you tried to pick up more sounds outside. You could hear grunts and whimpering, followed by shuffling as if someone was being forcefully dragged. It was making you highly uncomfortable, so you pushed back from the table and stood up to check the situation yourself. Your hand was just inches from the door handle when it suddenly burst open and a blur of white hurtled straight into your arms.

You barely had the wits to catch the shaking form of a boy pushed towards you. Startled, your eyes snapped towards the entrance where you saw three men wearing white scrubs crowding the threshold. Compared to the prison guards you first brushed elbows with, these ones definitely look less suited for fighting. However, you still felt a heavy feeling sink into your stomach when one of them stepped a little closer past the door, a syringe in his hand. He was about to fully cross the distance towards you when you put your hand up out of instinct.

"Stop. Is that a sedative?"

The man paused at your unexpected intrusion. Against you, the boy you were still trying to hold up started shaking so hard you thought you two would actually fall down. His face was buried on the crook of your neck and you could feel his heavy breathing wash your collarbone with warmth.

"It is. He needs it for his session with you. He's having a manic episode."

Your lips pursed into a thin line. You couldn't really see the boy's face with the way he is clinging on you, but you did feel his arms go around your waist and pull you closer. The nurse saw the action and was about to make another step when you stopped him again.

"I don't think that’s it. He's just scared."

"But miss—"

"That's doctor for you. It's fine. He's under my watch right now. Besides, I don't want any of my patients drugged during my interviews."

"He can be dangerous," the man reasoned, his eyes falling momentarily on the still shaking boy. You didn't immediately reply to that, knowing perfectly well that it can be true. Instead, you held your palm up and reached it out to him instead.

"Give me the syringe then."

"What—"

"Give it to me. I'll be the one to use it on him personally once I'm sure he needs it."

The man clenched his jaw. Beside him, his colleagues also exchanged doubtful looks, though none of them really said a thing. Finally, the nurse handed over the shot and took a step back.

"Emergency button is under your the table. Press it when you need help," he said before finally turning on his heels. You silently watched them leave the room until they sealed the door shut behind them.

It took a while before you finally decided to turn your full attention to the boy still pressed up against you. He still seemed so high-strung that you had to carefully raise a hand to touch his arm, but he motion only made him tense up more.

"Hey, it's okay. They're gone. You're safe."

He seemed partly unconvinced by your words, but he managed to peel himself away from you after a moment. Red locks covered his eyes which are shining now with a mixture of both fear and panic. You realized how tall he is this close, and yet the look on his face made him seem smaller and frailer than he is. Slowly, he let go of his hold on your waist, though he didn’t really move a muscle past that.

"We should… go and sit."

You motioned towards the table set-up with your hand that was still holding the syringe. The movement made him look at it, a gesture you immediately caught so you made a pointed move to slip it into the pocket of your coat. He was watching you closely, and you knew you had to be careful with your every move if you wanted to gain his trust. When it looked like he had no plans of moving, you took the lead and settled on your seat, waiting for him to do the same.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to talk."

Your words seemed to have triggered something in him. He blinked, before finally making a measured step towards his designated spot. You didn’t miss the way he left a little bit of distance between himself and the table when he finally sat down. Everything about his body language says that he isn’t entirely comfortable yet, and that he is ready to flee at any given moment. You even tried meeting his gaze, but he made sure to keep his head down as if he was set on avoiding you as much as possible.

"Haechan… Am I right?"

Your soft voice calling out his name made him lose his front. His eyes snapped up to meet yours, big and mildly surprised. In that moment, you realized just how much one's aura can change someone's physical pull. He looks like the same boy you met almost a week ago, and yet he seems like an entirely different person altogether. While Donghyuck is cocky and calm, Haechan is scared and unsure, like a wounded animal always on the verge of curling in on himself. His face is more expressive, especially his big brown eyes that just can't seem to hide all the emotions churning inside of him. You realized it was the reason why he didn't want to look at you—because he can't hide anything at all.

"Are you going to use the injection on me?"

The sound of his voice made you pause for a bit. It was an odd experience hearing him speak now, because despite it being the same as the first boy you met, his notes are also softer and almost higher in pitch. Even the way his tongue rolled over his words are different. You held his gaze steadily before you answered.

"No. Unless you hurt me. Do you want to hurt me, Haechan?"

A look of horror and slight disgust creased his features.

"N-no! I can never hurt someone…"

"Then there is no need to be worried. I just want to talk to you… You can relax," you said with a softer tone, your lips lifting at the corners to a small smile. It was probably the last reaction that the boy was expecting, because you saw exactly how shock settled on his features before heat climbed to his cheeks. His eyes dipped quickly towards your lips, but he was soon enough turning his gaze away as he tried to get his bearings. You took that as your window to ease in.

"I never expected I could talk to you so soon. Donghyuck seems to be very protective of you."

Your first question made him lose his focus again in a snap. He glanced at you, silent disbelief and a hint of hope evident on his face.

"You… believe in Donghyuck?"

You paused before answering. While this is the first case of dissociative identity disorder that you've handled, you're also already familiar with its sensitivities. One of the 'blockages' that keep patients from being treated is when they are made to feel like their other personalities are a lie. They need someone to trust… because only then can you get inside their head.

"I believe that you are not lying. If you think Donghyuck exists, then he is as real as you are."

He was speechless. You uncrossed and crossed your legs now under the table and let your hands rest in front of you loosely. You kept eye contact with him, your gaze open but inquiring.

"Can you tell me more about him, Haechan? Anything that you feel comfortable sharing with me."

Silence. One second passed. Three. Five.

"He… protects me."

"Protects you… from what?"

His jaw tightened in answer.

"From getting hurt."

Now it was your time to stall. Most people with dissociative identity disorder suffered from severe trauma from their past—usually in childhood—when their minds are not yet fully developed to process certain experiences. These events usually causes the personality to 'splinter' and create other internal identities that are better suited to deal with difficult situations.

"How does he protect you?"

"He… takes care of people… before they can even touch me. But I don't know what exactly he does. Most of the time when he—takes over, he puts me to sleep."

The shadow of a frown danced through your face for a second. So that's the reason behind the insanity plea. Haechan probably wasn't even aware of the horrors his other self has done.

"Haechan… Do you remember the first time you let Donghyuck take over? How old were you then?"

The boy's face scrunched up as if he was deep in thought. You noticed how his fingers started to fidget more, tangling and untangling over each other.

"I was… six years old. My step dad came home drunk like usual. My mom wasn't there—he would usually beat her up so he came to my room instead," he paused as if talking had become too hard on him. You kept silent, watching him closely.

"It wasn't the first time. He had hit me before, but he had only used his hands. That day was different though. He was holding a bottle and his eyes… I remember they were so red. I was—very scared. The last thing I remember was that he was approaching my bed and then I blacked out. The next time I woke up was two days after… and my step dad was gone."

You processed that slowly… deliberately. Your palms have gone cold, but your facial expressions, thankfully, remained collected on the outside.

"When you say gone, what do you mean?"

"I don't really know what happened to him. My mom said he just left. We never heard from him again after that."

"And you believe that was the first time Donghyuck came to existence? Why?"

Haechan frowned at his hands in answer. "Because he told me. My mom—she dated a lot of guys. All of them were not nice. Donghyuck first 'talked' to me when my mom started living with a new man after my step dad. He told me to leave and run away."

"What do you mean he talked to you? How does he talk to you?"

He lifted a finger and pointed briefly at his temple.

"Here. I can hear his voice. Sometimes, I can also talk to him by withdrawing inside of my head. At those moments, I can see him."

Your head was spinning. You picked up your pen but simply squeezed it gently between your fingers.

"How does Donghyuck look?"

"He… looks just like me."

"How old are you, Haechan?"

"Twenty-two."

"And how old is Donghyuck?"

He paused. You could feel your heartbeat beating hard against your throat.

"Twenty-seven…"

You let out a slow breath. Your mind's eye flashed the brain scans again and the unnatural patterns between them. You already had a hint about the reason behind the irregularities there, but it's only now when you pieced everything together. Donghyuck's brain scan was not entirely abnormal, but it showed different areas that are more developed than Haechan's—parts that can be more prominent due to age, experience, and memory. It was why they look like they came from different people; because technically, they did.

"Does Donghyuck regularly come out?" You asked steadily even though your head was reeling. There were so many things you needed to process, but you tried to keep them at bay to hold your front.

"…No, at least before. I used to always be the one in control, but something changed when I turned eighteen. I started noticing that I would have memory gaps and would wake up days later in a different place and time. He would always tell me though that he just did something to protect me; and I would believe him, because I would be safe every time I would step again into the spotlight."

"The spotlight?"

He gave a timid nod. "It's what we call it every time we switch. When I'm the one to hold consciousness, I stand in the spotlight. It's like… a place inside our head. He steps into it when he wants to take over."

You thought over that slowly. Usually, patients with his condition have this mechanism—a process that enables the switch. What you need to figure out right now, however, is the trigger for it.

"Are you… aware of what Donghyuck has done, Haechan?"

The moment you asked that question, it's as if the air in the room physically shifted. His expression, already fragile moments ago, completely morphed into full-on fear. His pupils shook and his fumbling fingers locked together. One look at him and you got your answer:

He doesn't know. He was in the dark about everything. The crimes, the fires, the deaths. He knew nothing of it.

"N-no. I don't want to hear it!"

You were taken aback by the sudden pitch of his voice. It was obvious that he was agitated, if not on the verge of a panic attack. Unconsciously, your hand dropped to the underside of the table where the panic button is.

"It's okay. We don’t need to talk about it..." you said carefully to try and calm him down. He didn't seem to hear it though, his hand flying to grab his hair instead.

"The police, they said that I hurt so many people. They read this long list of—of bad things but I didn't know any of them. I didn't do any of them!"

"Haechan... calm down—"

Your heart almost burst through your chest when he suddenly leaned over and grabbed for your hand that was still settled on the table. His fingers circled around your wrist tightly but you were too shocked to even wince from the pain. Instead, any sound that wanted to slip out of you got stuck in your throat when his eyes clashed with yours. They were so wide with fear and confusion that it almost broke something inside of you.

"Noona, you don't believe them do you? I didn't do any of it. They said I killed—"

"You didn't. Donghyuck did. You're not him."

You didn't know where the words came from but they were already out before you could even think them through. The moment you said it, the two of you froze, eyes locked with each other. Haechan reflected surprise for what you just said… yours, disbelief for your course of action. The air was so thick, you could barely breathe.

The panic button. Press it.

No.

Press it. He's dangerous.

He's not!

"Do you… believe me?"

His voice was back to normal when he finally broke the silence with his whisper. Not trusting your voice yet, you simply gave him a shaky nod in answer. Silence stretched again between the two of you until finally, he let you go.

"T-thank you… I'm so sorry… I didn't mean to scare you."

You scrambled to collect your wits without entirely cracking on the surface. Your hand that was under the table dropped to your purse on the chair next to you and immediately circled around the closest thing it could reach inside of it. You squeezed the cold surface of something small in an effort to steady yourself, and you realized, with detached irony, that it's your lipstick bullet you had in your grasp.

"Don't worry about it," you said, when you were finally confident enough to speak again without your voice breaking. Haechan looked at you guiltily, but didn't say anything else. Every fiber of you was screaming for you to pack up and leave, but you also knew you had to get one foot in—and that this is the best time to do it.

"Listen... Haechan. If you want to prove that you're innocent, you have to work with me. That's why I'm here. So we could understand… and you could get better."

He didn't immediately give an answer. You took his silence as a chance to break through him more.

"Can you do that? Work with me?"

His eyes finally flickered towards you before looking away again.

"Yes… Donghyuck said we can trust you."

You swallowed.

"Can we, noona…?" Haechan asked, his face open and searching. "Can we trust you?"

Only seconds ticked by, but the pause that followed seemed like it lasted more. Haechan held your gaze and you kept it, the two of you both taking the chance to read off whatever it is that you can’t say at the moment. Despite yourself, you managed to let go of your grasp on your lipstick and used the hand to reach out to him instead. You were only planning to let it rest there, but the warmth of his skin made you circle your fingers around his instead. His eyes never left yours, searching your face as he waited for your next words. When his nails gently pushed back against your wrist again, you finally managed to whisper.

"Yes. You can."

*******

A/N: Blame red hair Haechan for this, I guess.

Permanent Taglist: @negincho, @jhornytrash, @aaasteroidsky, @huangberryyy, @marijmin, @ashkuuuu, @lostlovesoul11, @johnniverse, @traint0tokyo, @lilyinthewinter

Story Taglist: @tyongf-sunflower99

#yandere haechan #haechan yandere #nct yandere #yandere nct #haechan smut #haechan x reader #haechan fic #haechan x reader insert #nct imagines #nct fic #nct au #nct dream fic #lee haechan

598 notes · View notes

firein-thesky · 9 months

Text

Act II

|| kaeya alberich x afab!reader || E/18+ || hurt/comfort/fluff || wc: 37k || ao3 || masterlist || Act III -> coming soon! ||

When you, a beloved artist and performer of Mondstadt, attract the attention of the Fatui, there is only one person you seek out for help; the infamous Cavalry Captain of the Ordo Favonius, Mondstadt's beloved bastard.

minors and ageless blogs dni, 18+ only

❀ give me a world masterlist ❀

❀ for you are the world (as i am in pieces) - @lorelune ❀

a/n: hello! i am two days late, but here is the second act!! instead of splitting into multiple parts/posts, i just linked the ao3 at the bottom to continue reading! 37k is actually insane of me. i struggled a great deal with this act and it was the source of a lot of frustration but...i am ultimately happy with how it turned out <33 big shout out to my buddies @lorelune who helped me a lot and beta-ed parts, as well as @suguwu who beta-ed and gave me some great feedback on this act, and finally, @acerathia for beta-ing and giving me feedback as well! i am very appreciative of all your help! also please go check out lore's lovely diluc fic linked above as part of this collab!! without further ado, here is act ii! i would love to hear your feedback!! your thoughts!! your predictions! anything! thank you all for reading and i hope you enjoy <3

tags: afab reader (she/her pronouns but is rather gender fluid/binds her chest sometimes and presents both femme and masc), alcohol use, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of stalking/full on stalking from the fatui to the reader, smut, oral (f!receiving), use of "good girl", friends with benefits, somewhat unclear and messy dynamics, mentions of heartbreak/abandonment issues, bodyguard au technically, fake dating au technically, angst, hurt/comfort

SCENE I

Somewhere dark and stone, dripping, and cave-like. Shadows press and shudder and shift. This is an unknown place and sharply different to Mondstadt’s gold and sky. Confined and cold. Each sound should echo softly or loudly, should repeat itself over and over again.

Kaeya moves with his back to us, slipping among the darkness as if he might belong there.

Kaeya has spent nearly an entire day attempting to tail one of the Fatui members he knows is keeping tabs on you. There’s three, he believes, and they rotate in shifts, much like he, Diluc, Jean, and Venti rotate being near you.

For the first time in a long time, he hasn’t spent his entire day with you. Nor the previous. Venti stayed with you in your own home and now you’re with Jean.

He hates to admit it, but he’s become rather accustomed to watching over you.

But he needs answers for you, so he’s been running all over the city, searching for their reasoning.

This is the closest he’s gotten to a new discovery; this ruin beneath the earth, ducking and weaving through an old, stone crypt of some sort.

He realizes rather quickly it must be some secret meeting place for the Fatui in the city, especially those dealing with the Abyss Order.

The narrow hall opens up into a larger space where an old desk, piled with papers and maps sits under lantern light. Shadows grow large and spindly on the floor. On the stone walls are photos and torn notebook paper, pinned and plastered together, a collage of secrets.

Kaeya peers carefully from his hiding spot to get a better look.

He wants to look at that desk, all the information atop it. He’s certain there must be something there of use, even a greater hint. But he needs this member to leave.

Kaeya picks up a stone, smooth and cool to the touch. He has to play this carefully.

There’s an adjacent hallway across this room. It leads to further darkness. And with the Fatui member’s back turned to him, facing the desk, if he can aim well enough, he’ll be able to–

Kaeya throws the stone and watches it sail through the air, finding it’s mark as it clatters into the bend of the wall down the hallway. He flattens himself to his own wall, waiting and listening.

“Who's there?” The Fatui member calls and Kaeya holds his breath.

“Hello?” Again, before he hears their footsteps stride towards the hallway Kaeya had thrown the stone in and away from him.

He waits as they retreat, deeper and deeper, echoing softly.

He knows he won’t have much time now.

As silently and quickly as possible, he rushes to the desk. His eye flies over all of the papers and maps and scribbling notes.

Your name jumps out to him. He skims.

Vision: Pyro

Strength: Low

Intelligence: High

-Not a fighter

-Use discretion; known and beloved by Mondstadt and other nations.

Kaeya searches harder, shuffling through the papers a little.

There’s a ledger with all the places you’d gone, every single day. There are notes about where best to kidnap you and Kaeya’s stomach sours as he reads words like use force. And torture if necessary.

But what is it they think you know? What would they need to torture out of you?

He moves another piece of paper, only to catch sight of something that makes his heart stop.

Your diary.

There’s no mistaking it. He’d know it anywhere now.

How do they have this? It should’ve been in his home or safe with you.

Horror sweeps through him–they don’t–they couldn’t have taken you, could they?

You’re with Jean, he tries to rationalize. Had you hidden your diary again? Had they found it?

If you hid it, had you snuck away from Venti or Jean in the last day or so? His mind spins sharply.

Footsteps echo.

He’s out of time.

He disappears down his own hallway, heart ricketing in his chest wildly. If they had you, would you be here? Should he search? Is he being unreasonable?

He’ll go to Jean first.

Use force.

You’ll be with Jean. And if you’re not, Jean will organize a rescue party. He’s found their hideout.

Torture if necessary.

Kaeya breaks the surface of the world with a new urgency. The day is melting into evening and the light nearly blinds him a moment as he stumbles out. He doesn’t have time, he breaks into a sprint. His mind flashes hotly, imagines he wish he could never conjure. Images of you tied up, bloody, beaten–

He runs towards the city gates fast and hard.

Strength: Low

He shouldn’t have pawned you off on others–he should’ve stayed beside you. This whole time. He should’ve had Diluc look for the Fatui, he shouldn’t have bid you goodbye yesterday. He should’ve checked in with you.

His ribs ache, his legs burn. He doesn’t stop.

What was he thinking? You’re practically a sitting duck. He knows this.

Not a fighter.

You wouldn’t stand a chance against them. What if Jean is already searching for him because you’ve been taken? He imagines bursting into the city to find her or Venti or Diluc, with some pale look on their face.

The knights on watch must know something is wrong as he runs beneath the gates–they call after him, but don’t stop him.

“Where’s Jean?” He barks to the one trying to catch up to him.

“Headquarters, I think!”

Kaeya veers sharply for Headquarters.

He prays he’ll burst through the door and find you there, with Jean. You’ll be pestering her as the sun sets, chirping and flitting around her office while she tries to get paperwork done. You’ll be there, he tries to tell himself, you will be. They must’ve just nicked your diary.

He throws open the door to Headquarters, rounds the corner and bursts into Jean’s office. Jean is standing on the opposite side of her desk, back facing Kaeya and–

You’re nowhere to be found.

His stomach drops.

“Jean,” he says her name sharply, a note of desperation. “Where is she?”

Jean turns, startled by his appearance, by his urgency, but–

“I left her with Venti. They said they were going to Angel’s Share to perform some songs.” Jean steps towards him, “why? What’s wrong?”

“They have her diary.” Kaeya gets out, rushing out the door of her office.

“Kaeya!” She barks after him, but he’s already pushing his way out of Headquarters. He won’t rest, not until he sees you, until you’re right in front of him. “What are you–where was her diary?”

“I don’t know,” Kaeya snaps, taking stairs two at a time, “I thought it was at my apartment but she’s always hiding it and–” He breaks into another run, heading towards the tavern, “when did you leave her with Venti?”

“I don’t know,” Jean gets out, keeping pace with him, “a few hours ago, maybe? I had a lot to do–”

Kaeya curses under his breath.

“I still don’t know what they want with her but–their notes were about using force. Or–” he can’t get the word out. “They think she knows something.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know.” Kaeya bites out.

He rounds the corner to Angel’s Share sharply and Jean takes it with him.

“I’m sure she’ll be here with Venti.” Jean gets out, attempting to be calm with him. She’s attempting to be a leader.

Kaeya throws open the door, gaze flying across the room and–

He doesn’t see you.

His blood runs cold.

For once, he wishes it was Diluc at the bar, but it’s Charles.

“Has Venti been here?” And then he asks for you, too, says your name with a shot voice.

Charles shakes his head, “haven’t seen either of them at all today. They were supposed to play music tonight, I think–”

Kaeya doesn’t let him finish. He rushes out.

He has half a mind to start shouting like a lunatic for you, all over the city, wandering like a mad man with your name a cry on his lips.

“Maybe they went to her house before–” Jean tries to rationalize, but he can tell she is beginning to fret, too.

Kaeya is already ahead of her, rushing towards your home on the hill in the city. He can’t help his pace, the run he breaks into again. He tries to think of you throwing open the door, laughing at his worry. Where else would you be? He wants to hear you say.

But when he pounds on the door, there is no answer. Not a peep. Your little space is quiet.

“Do you have a key?” Jean asks, but Kaeya doesn’t have the time.

He takes a step back only to kick in the door easily, letting it fly open on its hinges.

(He promises he’ll get you a new door, a better one, one that isn’t so flimsy–that could be so easily broken into. He thinks of you asleep here, with a door like that, and his worry grows insurmountably.)

He shouts your name as he enters.

No answer.

He storms the place. Your bedroom, your bathroom, all familiar and all so empty.

“Venti!” Jean calls, and then your own name, too, as she searches.

Nothing.

“You know how they are,” Jean tries to rationalize, “they’re always getting up to trouble. They could be anywhere.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Kaeya growls, rushing past her and back out the door. He’s beginning to panic. He can feel the tendrils of it creep up his chest, wrapping like vines around his poor throat. His head is growing foggy, warped with his fear. All he can see is you being dragged away.

Use force.

His mind feels hot, too sharp.

Torture if necessary.

“Kaeya,” Jean barks his name, rushing to catch up to him.

Her voice is a balm, he wants–she should–

“I’ll try to get ahold of Diluc and send word out to search the city for her.” Jean says and her voice is filled with authority now, level-headed and steady, “where else would she be?”

“I’m going to my apartment.” Kaeya says, mind narrowing, “in case she’s–I don’t know–”

“Go,” Jean agrees, a command, “and if she’s not there, keep searching–you know her hiding spots now.”

Kaeya nods dazedly.

Jean grabs him roughly, on the arm, jerking him to face her. One hand coming down on his shoulder.

“We’ll find her.” She promises and she dips her head a little to force him to meet her eyes. They’re all stone and determination. The eyes of a leader. “Do you hear me, Captain?”

Kaeya nods, more assuredly now, “yes,” he agrees, finding his voice, her eyes.

She shoves him a little, a push to go, “I’ll reconvene with you shortly. Stay sharp.”

Kaeya doesn’t need another moment; he picks his eyes up to catch the city skyline of Mondstadt, of his apartment in the distance. He breaks into a sprint. He tries to focus only on his breath, on the way his feet carry him swiftly, weaving in and around the city.

He tries to force away what he’d seen.

He bounds for his home, feels his heart and fear ratchet up inside of himself. He’s imagining his home empty.

He’s imagining you gone.

He’s imagining the door shut tight and locked, how he’d left it, and you’re nowhere to be found. A cold space. An empty space.

He takes the stairs two at a time, he tries the door and it–it’s locked still.

He doesn’t pray. He’s not a religious man. And that stupid Archon–

Is sitting perched on his kitchen counter, overlooking the living room.

“Ssh,” Venti hisses, finger to his lips, as he points to his couch. The one Kaeya has slept on nearly every night since this whole ordeal started. The one you are currently occupying, curled up beneath the blanket he usually uses, sleeping soundly.

Or, you were.

You blink awake, slow, confused.

Kaeya rushes to your side.

He kneels.

The door is left ajar.

“You’re here,” he gets out, winded, rough.

“Kaeya?” Your voice is so small and confused.

Without thinking, he brushes a strand of hair from your face as gently as he can, hands shaking. He’s still panting, chest still heaving. But–

“I’m here.” He says then, astonished, relieved.

He wants to pull you off the couch and into his arms. He wants to hold you. He wants to collapse on top of you.

He falls back onto his bottom, breathing hard, all his fear leaking out of him swiftly. “Oh, you’re here.” He says again, voice breaking, as if to assure himself.

You sit up, eyes pricking with concern, “what’s wrong?” you murmur, “where else would I be?”

Kaeya can’t even speak yet, but he laughs, delirious, out of breath.

“No where.” He says, “I thought–you were–”

“She was trying to nap,” Venti finally speaks up and his eyes are far too keen. “Before our performance tonight.”

Kaeya looks at him. Venti looks back.

The door is open.

He heaves out a rough breath. He hangs his head between his shoulders. He tries to calm himself.

“I need to tell Jean to call off–” he laughs, “oh, Diluc is going to lose his mind.”

“Call off what?” You ask.

“Your search party.” Kaeya finally can get out. Your face brightens to shock.

“My search party? Kaeya–”

“Venti, why don’t you find Jean and tell her where you’ve been? Before the whole city turns upside down looking for her.” Kaeya then says. He won’t look at him but he can feel Venti’s eyes on him.

But then Venti laughs, and chirps, “aye, Captain!”

And he flits out of Kaeya’s home.

Venti shuts the door behind him and seals you away with him. Kaeya exhales roughly again, elbows resting on his knees.

“Are you okay?” You ask for a second time, so sweetly. So sincerely. You lean towards him like you want to touch him.

And he wants to say, I was scared. He wants to say, I was terrified of losing you. I could’ve torn the whole city apart looking for you. He wants to say, I’m so relieved to see you. Hold me. Let me hold you.

Instead, all he says is, “they had your diary. And I thought–”

The door is shut tightly.

“Oh,” you breathe, “I left it at home, the last time we–”

“They must’ve broken in.” He agrees softly. And then he looks rather sheepish.

“What?” You ask, as if you know.

“I broke in. I owe you a new door.”

“Kaeya!” You scold, “why did you–why were you so–?!”

“Jean and I thought you were kidnapped!” Kaeya defends himself.

“Kaeya–”

“We were searching for you. Since you weren’t in any of the places you were supposed to be.” He begins to scold.

“Kaeya,”

“Didn’t I leave you with Jean? You should’ve stayed with her.”

You suddenly launch forward, arms wrapping around his neck, falling from the couch and onto his body. His breath is almost knocked out of his lungs for the millionth time today because of you and surprise colors his face. Raises his brows.

You hug him tight, face pressing to the crook of his neck, a bundle in his lap.

“I’m okay,” you murmur, “I’m right here.”

His arms, which had come up in surprise, finally settle over you. They wrap all the way around your shoulders, your middle, pull you closer, and he’s sure his heart is such a mess in his chest. He’s sure it sounds like a disaster.

But you press harder into him, fingers digging into his muscles.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you say, and then your voice tilts upwards playfully, “didn’t think you’d really send the cavalry just because–”

He pinches your side.

“I had reason to believe–!”

You start to laugh, into his throat. You shift to pull away and he wants to keep you there, he wants to hold fast to you and not let go. He wants to cling to you. But he lets you move away to look at his face once more.

You look at him in a way that just makes him feel naked. He wants to hide. He wants to say something clever.

“Thank you,” you suddenly say.

“For what?” Kaeya laughs, “causing a ruckus? Waking you from your nap?”

“For coming for me.” You cut him off. “I feel safe with you and this just proves that–”

Kaeya slackens a little, perhaps surprised or unsure or–you always leave him wobbly and uncertain. You always disarm him so swiftly, so viciously.

“Of course I’d come for you.” Kaeya says and he does mean it. He softens it’s truth with, “it’s my duty.”

But that night, you don’t ask him to sit beside you as you fall asleep–he does so anyway. You don’t say a word, except to ask him for another bedtime story playfully, except to hear him speak, as you always do when he stays with you.

You didn’t ask but he needed to.

It’s not his duty, but he wanted to.

He can’t imagine not watching you drift off to sleep tonight, of all nights, when he thought he’d lost you.

He watches you sleep soundly in his bed, back rising and falling as you curl around one of his pillows, cheek endearingly squished against it. He doesn’t sleep.

The door is locked tight.

And even though it's not his duty, he watches over you, anyway.

***

SCENE II

On the docks of Cider Lake in the early afternoon sun. Venti is perched beside you, plucking lazily at a lyre. Your feet dangle off the dock, swinging like a child. The sky is endlessly blue. Clouds are like sleeping rabbits in the sky. The wind kisses you.

“I feel their eyes most when I’m with you.” You say suddenly, glancing at your companion out of the corner of your eyes.

A note strums from Venti’s fingers. He hums lightly.

“Not sure what the Fatui would want with a measly bard.” Venti shrugs, “maybe they think I’m the weakest of your guards.”

“Maybe,” you say, but you don’t believe that. You don’t believe it because–well, because you noticed them following him first. At first, you weren’t quite sure and you had mentioned it to Venti, but he’d shrugged you off.

Breezy as ever. He’d pretend there was nothing to worry about.

You turn towards him and look at him before you murmur, low enough that any ears listening would only catch the sound of the gently lapping water, “why were the Fatui following you?”

“I believe I’m supposed to ask that of you,” Venti replies with a smile but you can tell, there’s a chipping like a porcelain teacup losing a piece of its lip.

“I wasn’t sure at first,” you tell him softly, eyes glancing out over the calm lake, “but then I caught them intercepting letters and messages of yours. I caught them in the belltower and I knew.”

The belltower in the cathedral was a place Venti had shown you early in your return to Mondstadt. He’d told you it’d been a place that he came to play music, to look out at the world below. A secret place for him, now for you; a gift, he’d said. Places are a gift to give the people you love and secrets are, too.

Then you’d caught a Fatui member snooping through the hidden items Venti had left there; music sheets, maps the two of you had crudely drawn, and old clues to scavenger hunts long past.

The two of you had always liked sending the other all over Mondstadt; it’s why you hide your diary. He hides new songs he wants you to learn. You’d leave clues, games to play, puzzles to solve for each other.

Venti plucks out a few, odd notes on his lyre. Goosebumps erupt over your skin.

“You don’t think I have dealings with them, do you?” Venti asks queerly. There’s a funny sound to his voice.

You shake your head quickly, “Archons, no.” And then you tilt your head, “but I did what I do best.”

A wrong note. It rings discordant in the air.

Venti looks at you.

“You didn’t.” He almost begs, but he knows.

“Of course I did.” You respond and Venti looks genuinely distraught. So you add, “nothing terrible–but I wrote you false letters. I led them on a goose chase a little, like I always do when the Fatui gets too close or comfortable in Mondstadt.”

Venti shakes his head, “you shouldn’t have meddled here.”

“They’re looking for something of yours, aren’t they?” You ask slowly.

Venti, for once, is quiet. The wind catches on your clothes in a burst. It’s confirmation enough.

“So I sent them all over Mondstadt with puzzles and clues and fake letters.” You said, “and really, I thought it was harmless but–”

“Did you tell this to Kaeya?” Venti asks.

“Not specifically this. I always toy with the Fatui when I can, though, he knows that.”

Venti shakes his head slightly, fingers digging into the wood of his instrument, “and with all the hiding places and riddles between us, I’m sure they–” Venti stands abruptly, “I need to speak to Kaeya.”

You stand with him suddenly, “why? What for?”

Venti frowns at you and it’s an expression you hardly ever see him wear.

So you press tenderly, “what are they looking for, Venti?”

“You’re such trouble,” Venti replies and his voice catches with emotion; he doesn’t mean it meanly, in fact it’s–well, it’s fond. Mournful, almost. The wind rushes past the two of you, stronger now. Water laps at the docks.

“Give me a clue.” You try to charm him but it sounds more like a plea. “Like always. I’ll figure it out and you won’t ever have to say it outloud, if you’re that scared.”

Your heart feels like a brewing storm in your chest. Venti has never hidden things so openly from you. It frightens you.

But Venti shakes his head for once, small and soft. “Not this time, my friend.”

“Venti–”

He suddenly looks away, down towards the other side of the dock, where the cobblestone of the street meets the wood. Kaeya is standing there, waiting to relieve Venti and walk with you to Springvale for rehearsal. The gold of his coat glints in the afternoon sun. He looks like a knight.

He waits for you.

“You have rehearsal,” Venti says, and his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “go.”

“Please, will you tell me?” You ask again. You swallow hard around sudden tears; stupid and silly but–aching. You can’t name why you feel like crying, only that you can tell something far larger is on the horizon.

It hangs like a storm.

You can feel its pressure, now more than ever.

Tell me, you want to beg him, you want to sing, you want to scream. Let me help you, let me in.

Venti looks at you with love and affection and sadness. He looks at you with a heaviness you can’t name, but can taste. It’s ancient. It’s otherworldly. You want to hold him. You want to hide him from the world.

“Not yet,” he replies.

“Why not?” Your voice breaks as easily and fragile as a bird’s wing.

Venti smiles sadly, “because if you knew, you’d put yourself in even more danger than you already have for me.”

You open your mouth, but he continues;

“And this isn’t your battle.” He turns away, eyes glassy, but waves at Kaeya, as if nothing is wrong. He smiles at you, watery and fond.

“Besides, you’ve never been much of a fighter in the first place.”

***

SCENE III

In the living room of Kaeya’s apartment. Soft, evening blue light through the windows. Hazy, dark shadows. You’re curled up on the couch, legs tucked up underneath you, with a cup of tea held in your palms. You’re ready for bed. Kaeya enters from his office with a stack of letters and papers; what the audience can see of his face is that he’s somber for once. He casts the greater shadow.

“Will you tell me again why you thought it was a good idea to toy with the Fatui?” Kaeya asks and in his hand, he has only some of the letters and maps and sheet music that you’d been leaving for Venti.

Or, the Fatui. Since you knew they were rifling through Venti’s things.

“I always toy with them.” You reply simply, taking a slow, burning sip of tea. It’s chamomile and rose. A hint of cinnamon. Kaeya prepared it for you before disappearing to do some work in his office. You swallow. “And I never said it was a good idea.”

“Then why do it?”

“Why are they following Venti? What are they looking for?”

Kaeya lets out a sharp breath, perhaps growing impatient. “I don’t know. Right now, I need to know why they think they need you to find it, though.”

“Well, I made it seem like I had whatever they’re looking for.”

You watch Kaeya freeze for a moment and if you weren’t so intuitive and just a little wittier, you’d make some sort of joke about cryo and freezing in place.

“Why?” He demands suddenly.

“I wanted to get them off Venti’s back.” You say, “this is what I do when the Fatui get too close to the people I know. This is what I do when the Fatui think they can stick their hands in Mondstadt. Someone has to teach them a lesson.” You take another little sip of your tea, and then add, “and I don’t have a sword–my weapon is my pen. My voice. My wit.”

Kaeya shakes his head, “you don’t even know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

You gesture smoothly, “then enlighten me.”

“This is bigger than you, do you understand that?” Kaeya then says and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him quite so stern.

His face is shadowed. It’s growing darker.

“Sure,” you say easily, “that’s why I had to intervene.”

��I don’t think you actually understand.” Kaeya says and his voice has grown more serious, imperative, a little lower.

“I’m not an idiot,” you snip, “clearly! Since I’ve managed to fool the Fatui and send them running all over Mondstadt.” You can feel your hackles rise a little, heat swimming in your chest, up your neck. “And most importantly, away from Venti–since he’s got some huge secret that no one will tell me!”

Kaeya moves suddenly to sit on the coffee table in front of the sofa you’re on. Your knees nearly brush. He splays out your letters and music sheets and maps. “Why didn’t you come to me before doing all of this? Before involving yourself?”

“Because I always mess with the Fatui!” Your voice raises and you finally move to set the tea cup beside him on the coffee table. “I didn’t think it was any different than any of the other times!”

“The Fatui aren’t just–” Kaeya gestures, papers crinkling beneath his grip that has grown tighter with his own frustration. “–some band of half-wit politicians or merchants for you to toy with! They’re dangerous.”

This quiets you for a moment. And then, “so? A lot of things are dangerou–”

“So?” Kaeya repeats, “so?! You’re not even–” he laughs, but the sound is scraping and hollow, off-kilter. It’s disbelief, almost a scoff, “you’re not even a fighter. You’re not a Knight or a warrior. You’re not even an adventurer of some kind.”

Silence stretches between the two of you.

“Can you ever trust my own judgment and intuition? I have made it this far–”

“But you’re reckless.” Kaeya says, “specifically, you’re reckless with yourself. You know the Fatui are dangerous–it’s why you’re worried about Venti, right? It’s why you intervened.” Kaeya says and then his voice gentles, “so why don’t you have the same concern for yourself?”

You feel your jaw lock. It ticks.

You look away from him defiantly, out towards one of the windows, blue with the evergrowing night sky.

It strikes a strange note inside of you. You have concern for yourself, you want to say, you came to him, didn’t you? Eventually.

But it doesn’t negate what you did, which was reckless. He’s right; you could’ve turned to him immediately, you could’ve gone to Diluc or Jean or him. But instead, you tried to distract the Fatui; you tried to dance and sing and entice them onto the path you’re on, instead of the one Venti is on.

You gave them a performance. And now, with all their eyes set on you, like the hungry, vying eyes of an audience, a predator, you are in danger.

“This isn’t a game anymore. This isn’t funny or—or breezy. You’ve gotten yourself into real danger, do you understand?” Kaeya then says and you can tell he’s trying to get you to look at him again.

“I have you and Jean and Diluc to—“

“But your recklessness got us all here. You rush head first into—into everything, without regard for yourself.” Kaeya continues. “You’re an open book. You wear your heart on your sleeve—it’s like you have no self preservation whatsoever.”

You sit in silence. You cross your arms over your chest and you feel a hard, little ache in the pit of your throat.

He’s chipping away at something inside of you, something already too tender to take the beating.

“It’s not a bad thing to be open.” You say and your voice is tight, thicker than it should be.

“No,” he agrees, “but you have no regard for yourself and all of it for everyone else.”

Tears prick your eyes, much to your dismay.

You know the reason. You can feel it, somewhere in the back of your mouth, down where your throat is tight.

You can’t lose Venti.

Venti could lose you, you’ve decided. The world could lose you. But you are so terrified of loss and really–you must’ve been easy to leave if–

If it could be done so effortlessly.

(You think of yourself as a child and your father setting you down for the last time. You think of yourself at an altar, forever waiting, the way you waited for your father your whole life.)

Venti can lose you.

But you can’t lose Venti.

You hope that maybe if you give enough of yourself to the world, it will need you bad enough to never lose. You think one day, it’ll fill the empty, aching wound inside of you that has been just left to dry out. Crack and splinter.

Sometimes, you think if you scare someone bad enough, they’ll look at you and say they can’t lose you. You think maybe if you scare yourself bad enough, you’ll finally look at yourself and say I can’t lose you.

“Don’t cry,” Kaeya hushes softly and you wipe quickly at the tear that has freed itself to slip down the slope of your cheek.

It makes you want to cry harder, for some reason, for him to be so tender now.

He sets the papers down beside you on the couch finally. He reaches out and touches your knee, broad palm surprisingly warm, as he rubs a gentle pass with his thumb.

“Why are you crying?” Kaeya then asks, coaxing, gentle.

You sniff hard.

You dig a little, you search for the answer. Is it because you’re careless with yourself? Is it because you’re scared now? Is it because he pointed it out at all—that he noticed enough, saw through you enough, to finally say it?

Is it because—

“I worry about you.” He says when you don’t answer him.

—you’re worth fretting over?

You shake your head a little, perhaps in an attempt to disagree with him, perhaps in an attempt to reassure him. But nothing comes out except another few tears.

You try to keep the sob back, the noise trapped with the reason in the back of your throat. You fear what will come out.

“I’m sorry,” you manage to whisper and when you finally turn to face him, he’s right there, and for a moment, you think he might move further to hold you. You think you might just slide into his arms.

You hold your breath.

You think he holds his, too.

“I don’t need an apology.” Kaeya finally murmurs and he doesn’t fold you into his arms, but he turns up his hand on your knee carefully. His palm, an offering. “I just need you to be more careful.”

Slowly, you slide your hand into his.

You’ve held his hand plenty now, know the rough scrape of his calluses against your own, but it has never quite felt like this.

Real. Weighted.

He folds his fingers between yours gently. Your hands lock together, woven, knuckle over knuckle. Palm to palm.

You’re both watching your hands, enamored, maybe terrified.

You cling to him in a way you haven’t clung to someone in a long, long time.

You think you’ve tried to hold onto everything like this; with too much force, gripped in your rebellious fist. You think everything you’ve ever held must’ve been crumpled and ruined from your grasp, you think everything must have the indents of your fingers permanently etched there.

You want to squeeze, you want to bear down on his hands like a dog who finally caught a bird.

“Can you promise me that?” Kaeya prompts gently when he doesn’t receive a response from you.

You glance up at his searching face, the way he’s watching you carefully, scouring to see any flicker of emotion.

You nod a little, jerky, unsure.

“Will you say it for me?” He murmurs and dips his head a little to keep your straying gaze.

You swallow hard around the lump in your throat, tight and hard.

You feel your eyes fill with tears again.

But still, you manage to croak, “I’ll try to be more careful.”

You can tell the response displeases him somewhat; you can tell he wants more. But anything more right now, may feel like a lie.

And you’re no good at that.

“Okay,” Kaeya agrees, “thank you.” And then he adds with a gentle lilt, “I’m sorry for making you cry.”

You laugh a little through your tears, “it’s okay–” you mumble, letting your eyes fall back to your intertwined hands. “I probably needed to hear it.”

His thumb makes a slow, comforting pass over the back of your hand.

For a moment, the space fills with silence.

You watch the careful sweep of his thumb, you watch the flex of his hand, the veins against his wrist. You can feel the room fill with something more, a growing of a feeling, stretching amongst your ribs. Perhaps amongst his. You think there is something blooming inside of him, something he’s terrified of, something you’ll always long for.

(If you could feel his pulse in his wrist, it would be jumping, picking up in a fierce little tempo.)

He’s tenser now, you realize. His breath is caught somewhere in his chest, like he might speak again.

You wait for him.

He opens his mouth.

But then after a moment, he closes it.

You pick your head up to examine his face, to try and discern what it is he wants to say now.

And mostly, it’s a mask of causality.

(His trembling heart is the only thing that gives him away now.)

Maybe, the depth of his eye, or maybe it’s only a trick of the light.

You want to say, what is it? Or prompt him for more. You want him to speak what is so clearly on the very tip of his tongue.

Tell me, you want to say, tell me what seems to scare you so badly.

“I–” he starts. He stops.

And then neither of you speak and the tension stretches and something inside you grows. You cling to him harder without realizing it, as if anticipating the way he’ll pull away. You don’t want him to go. You can feel it, your heart unfurling for him, you can feel the way he holds you, too.

In the same way that you hold him.

You hope he leaves indents in your skin. You hope he never lets go.

“Yes?” You prompt gently.

But then he clears his throat and glances away.

The spell is broken and he forces his hands to loosen from his own hold on you. He forces himself to recede and to calm his heart. You watch as he mentally pulls away from you. You force yourself not to cling harder to him, to catch his hand and hold it close to yourself, to pull him closer to you.

He says, “Mondstadt cares very deeply for you–and you for Mondstadt. I only wish–” he draws in a small breath, “that you’d afford yourself the same care.”

You wonder what he was going to say instead. You know this is not his original thought, but the secondary, more distant one. You almost want to ask him, you want to needle and beg, but you know Kaeya well now.

You know he doesn’t say anything he hasn’t carefully thought about or that he doesn’t want you to hear.

Still, it manages to make you soften, to make tears press again behind your eyes.

You turn to tuck your face into your shoulder, like it may stop him from seeing you cry. You squeeze his hand like a lifeline.

“Oh, look what I’ve done now.” He says and his voice is light–he’s teasing you gently, holding you tighter again as you laugh now and sniffle, fingers still digging deep into his hand.

“I’m sorry–” you mumble, “Am I hurting you?”

You loosen your grip on his hand.

“I’ve been through far worse,” he soothes, running his thumb back over the dips and plains of your hand.

You try to keep yourself from bursting into heavier, harder tears. You can’t even quite name why; your care for him, or his for you. The fact that he won’t name it, or because you’re scared he’ll leave if you do.

You’re nearly trembling with it; you’re afraid he’ll say one more word, one more phrase and you’ll simply fall to pieces.

You don’t know what it is about care; but when someone is gentle with you, it makes you feel as if they’ve torn you to shreds. It turns you inside out. It turns you into a child again, desperately seeking it out. It feels foolish now sometimes, over dramatic.

But Kaeya holds your hand and you take deep, shuddering breaths until you don’t feel as if you’re going to bawl your eyes out anymore.

You don’t want to stop clinging to his hand, though.

“I should get to bed,” you finally say, if only for him, if only to give him an out because it’s easier than if he finds it himself. You’re too fragile for him to pull away first tonight.

So you slip from his grasp and stand. Your legs feel a little wobbly, unsure of yourself. He looks up at you, from beneath the fan of his dark lashes. You swallow hard, around the tears, around whatever it is he makes you feel.

You can still feel the pressure in your hand, the way his fingers feel against yours.

Again, he looks as if he wants to say something.

You wait, expectant.

And again, he lets it fall.

Instead, he says, “yes–it's another early morning. I’ll let you sleep.”

He stands now, too, collecting the papers, gathering them into his hands carefully. All of your wit and love and craft. All of your recklessness in the palm of his hand.

“I’m going to stay up a little longer,” he says then, “if you need anything.”

Now it's your turn to look up at him.

And there must be something too raw, too sincere in your eyes, because he can’t look for long.

“Kaeya,” you want to draw his gaze back to yours, but he doesn't quite reach your eyes. Still, you need to say, “thank you.”

“For scolding you?” He asks, light, too light. He tries to create distance. Coldness.

“For caring about me.”

He swallows. He doesn’t confirm or deny it. But he looks guilty, a man held back, everything carefully in place. Not a word misspoken, not a look out of place. Sometimes, you have the urge to destroy that veneer. Sometimes, you want to know what he looks like without all his thoughtfully placed appearances.

You wonder if you will ever see him like that. You wonder if he will ever tell you more; if he will ever let you in.

You think maybe you will stay like this forever, close to him, but not too close.

With care, but without it spoken. Always in the blue dark and never in the dawn.

He clears his throat, “it’s my job to look out for you.”

Your heart falls a little, sharp, like a plummeting note, a tight draw of the strings of a discordant chord. You swallow around the lump in your throat.

“Yes,” you agree distantly, nodding your head, “I suppose it is.”

“I’ll be in the office.” He says because he must slip away from you now. You think when he gets too close, he grows scared of being burned.

He closes the door behind him.

You watch it for a moment, steady.

You wonder if it’ll stay like this forever; always on the other side of the door.

When you go to sleep that night, you leave the bedroom door ajar, as if to prove something.

But in the morning, you find it shut tight.

At rehearsal, you’re somewhere else, off in your mind. Though you say your lines, you feel as if you miss them, like they’re coming out automatically, half-hearted.

And the only ones that rings true, that resonates throughout the stage is one you’d previously thrown away;

“Hold on tight–don’t let go.”

This time, your voice cracks with it, breaks over the don’t.

That night, Kaeya presents you with a bouquet of flowers; a show in front of the world.

And when he brushes his knuckles against yours, you eagerly slip your hand into his as you walk home.

You don’t even care that it’s for the world and no longer for you.

You are, if nothing else, a good actor (or of foolish heart);

So you pretend it’s real, with the flowers he gave you nestled into the crook of your elbow, and his hand curled around yours. You pretend that you are walking home with your love, and the sun is setting, and you are filled to the brim.

You laugh as if that’s the case. You lean into him as if that’s the case.

You knock into him as you walk, desperate to be close, to feel his side against yours. You are desperate to have more of him; all his attention, all his affection.

To not feel like a world away–or like there’s a door between you, one that you don’t know if he’ll ever open or not.

***

PRELUDE TO SCENE IV

Springvale in the afternoon, the sun warm and bright; it makes everything sparkle, almost radiant. The grass seems lush and full, the lake is shimmering.

Klee eats cut fruit happily beside you at a picnic table. You steal a piece or two from time to time. Kaeya sits across from you and Klee, his back to the audience.

“Are you and Kaeya boyfriend and girlfriend?” Klee suddenly asks around a burst of valberries.

Despite everything, you feel your heart tick up in a strange, sharp tempo.

Your eyes fly to Kaeya, who's already looking at you.

You share a silent conversation with each other and a series of increasingly dramatic expressions;

What should we tell her?

The truth?

What? No!

Then you tell her–

“Yes,” Kaeya finally says, “we are boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Klee picks her head up, perhaps surprised at his answer. “You’re dating?!” She asks, louder now and you can’t help but laugh.

“Yes,” Kaeya lies, perhaps for any eavesdroppers, “we’re dating, Klee.”

She looks between the two of you.

“Miss Jean said you’re in love with each other.” Klee says casually and that makes both of you freeze momentarily.

You feel heat rush into the high points of your face. Your mind whirls, spins into overthinking. Why would Jean say this? To keep your covers? A kinder way to say it to a child?

For a moment, you fear Jean knows a part of your heart that you fully haven’t gotten to know yet yourself.

You fear there is some truth to it.

(Perhaps love is too strong of a word but—)

You adore Kaeya.

You have your whole life, you think, from when you were young and chasing after them with childlike, outstretched hands, to adulthood, where you have always held respect for him and now—

Something more, perhaps, after all your time with him.

How could you not? What chance did you have against him, anyways?

(You hope he doesn’t dare read your diary again.

You suddenly worry that Jean has instead.)

You’re almost fearful to catch Kaeya’s gaze, you swallow hard, but force yourself to. And when you do, you realize he’s–

Amused. Near laughing.

That absolute bas—

You kick him underneath the table and he yelps a little. You hide your snicker behind a hand against your mouth.

“We care about each other very much.” You tell Klee, sobering.

“Are you gonna get married?” She asks then, just as casually, around another piece of fruit.

Kaeya makes a noise of surprise, “married?” He asks Klee, “where are these questions coming from?”

“I thought if you’re boyfriend and girlfriend, then you get married.” Klee responds.

“Sometimes,” you agree, nudging the bowl of fruit closer to her little hands so that she can reach the last few pieces better. “But right now we’re just boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Klee hums around her berry.

And then she looks up at you, “do you guys kiss?”

The word kiss is punctuated with disgust, almost sick curiosity; as if she might not be able to believe it.

It makes you choke, then stutter into a laugh. Kaeya laughs as well, full and surprised.

“People who are dating do tend to kiss, Klee, so yes.” He says, amused with her. He catches your eye across the table. You swallow hard with the way he gazes at you, infinitely pleased and laid back, deeply amused. By you or Klee, you’re not sure. Still, you can’t help the smile that touches your lips, perhaps just as entertained, perhaps a little rueful.

“Gross,” she declares. And then she looks at Kaeya, “do you think she’s pretty?”

You look at Kaeya expectantly, propping your chin in your hands, and sing, “yes, Kaeya, do you think I’m pretty?”

He smirks, leaning back in his seat a little, and a fissure of heat rips through you. You bat your lashes for him.

“I think you’re beautiful, darling.” Kaeya croons, sweet as ever, and enough to make you damn near melt.

You can feel heat in your face, despite it all. You feel like a teenager. You feel like a girl with a crush, a boy with his love in front of him, and not a clue what to do. Bumbling and suddenly young, graceless.

A pang hits you squarely in the chest; you wish this was real. You wish he was being honest.

Klee squeals in embarrassment or surprise. “You’re going to get cooties!” She tells you.

You use her as a distraction, leaning down a little to conspire with her, “Kaeya does have cooties.” You agree in a faux-whisper. “But I have the antidote.”

“You do?” Klee asks, “what is it?”

“Its a secret recipe,” you begin, putting on a good show of trying to come up with the ingredients, “but it certainly starts with the essence of butterflies.” You glance over at the field behind you, which you know is teeming with butterflies.

You used to chase them here in your youth until the sun set and the fireflies sparked to life in the evening dark. And then you chased their soft, blinking lights until the other kids were called home. And it was just you and the rolling fields and endless night skies and bumbling bugs. You’d try to carry one home with you so you wouldn’t feel so lonely.

Klee follows your gaze and watches as one of the butterflies flits and flutters.

“Can I ask for your help, little Spark Knight? Will you carefully catch me a butterfly? Don’t hurt it, though, we need it alive for the antidote.”

Immediately, she is perking up, jumping up from her seat.

“You can count on me!”

She bounds off into the field of swaying wildflowers.

You turn back to Kaeya.

His eye is soft, perhaps fond.

Before you can loose your bravery, loose your courageous little heart, you stand and move to his side of the bench so that you can watch Klee.

Your shoulder brushes with his. Your thigh touches his. You’re aware of it all, sharply, keenly.

He looks at you and you gaze back up at him. For a moment, you get swept away in his star-blue eye. The bend of dark lashes. Like the butterflies in the field, your heart flutters, feeling as delicate as their wings.

“Careful,” Kaeya says softly, so smoothly that his voice could be a melody, “or people really will think we’re in love.”

Heat smarts your face again. But you tip your chin up because you’ve never shied away from a challenge before; “why do you say that?”

Kaeya suddenly reaches out and carefully, as if you might fall to pieces at his touch (and really—you think you might), takes hold of your chin. His thumb barely brushes your bottom lip. Then he says, “the way you look at me.”

“You were looking at me first,” you accuse but your voice is hushed.

“And you shouldn’t melt when I touch you.”

Your stomach swoops like a bird in the sky and then soars. Your lashes flutter. You’re close to him—almost nose to nose. And now you really do think of kissing him like he’s actually yours. As if he could be.

His eye drops to your lips, thumb inching upwards.

“Then you shouldn’t touch me so.” You murmur, earnest, and if your voice is soft with pleading—a pleading for what, you can’t tell—then whose to say? “Like—like you want to kiss me.”

Your nose brushes against his.

“Don’t—” his voice sticks, “don’t kiss me. No one’s even watching.”

“Do you not want me to?”

“Yes, I want—” he stops.

Your heart sings. I want, I want, I want—

He swallows, “we shouldn’t, though.”

“Why not?” You dare to ask, hands drifting to his chest, his collar bones.

You can almost, almost feel his smile, slow and fond, “well, firstly, you’ll get cooties…”

“Kaeya,” your own smile is a warm curve that you want to feel against his.

“Secondly,” He begins, drawing in a soft breath that you feel beneath the palm of your hand.

“I have a butterfly!” Klee shouts, head suddenly poking up from the wildflowers in a burst of petals.

You and Kaeya jolt away from each other, hands drawing back into your laps, facing away from each other as if teenagers caught by your parents. Heat zips through you in a rush.

He almost—you almost—

Something in your chest bats its wings, excited, elated. It takes to flight. A smile overtakes your face, winning, determined.

Oh, you think, glancing at him as you head to Klee, oh, you want me, too.

She opens her little hands for you and the moment she does, the butterfly escapes into the sky—taking to flight.

You laugh as she squeals.

She races after it.

And then you do, too.

In an instant, Kaeya has joined you, too.

And it dissolves, the sun slowly moving throughout the sky, into running and chasing and laughing. The joyful sound of your laugh, of Klee’s excitement, of Kaeya’s fondness.

It melts like the sky, like your heart, like the way you do when Kaeya touches you.

There’s a moment, quick, when you’re in the wildflowers with him. He’s on his back and you lean over him.

He peers up at you.

Beautiful man that he is with sparkling eyes.

You think, people really will think we’re in love, if you look at me like that.

And then you say, boldened by the day and the sun and the warmth and the tempo of his heart beneath your open palm;

“You’ll be mine yet, Captain.”

He blinks, perhaps surprised, before a full, warm laugh falls from his lips.

“Is that a challenge, princess?” He purrs, looking up at you with a halo of flowers beneath his head.

You grin, beautiful and wicked and radiant.

“It’s a promise.”

And then you stand to run after Klee, down the sloping hill, and into the arms of the sky hanging above your heads.

He watches you and you can feel his gaze on your back, your silhouette against the sky, your laugh caught on the wind, and tuck the vow into your heart.

Hope it tucks into his, too, finds it’s home there where no one has before and claim it as yours, yours, yours.

You open your palms and a butterfly, blue as the sea, as a bird’s wing, leaps from your hands and takes to flight. Takes to the sky all open just for you.

***

SCENE IV

The belltower in the Cathedral, high above Mondstadt. Storm clouds cling to the horizon. The sky is mostly dark, but the sun escapes through a sliver of clouds and still shines for now, casting the world in a strange contradiction. More ominous. More stunning. Burnished buildings set against wicked, deep blue storm clouds.

Your skirts swirl against gold and silver bells, as blue as the clouds. Kaeya turns and twists, so we only catch flashes of his face.

Kaeya takes the steps near two at a time to keep up with your pace. You lift your skirts with one hand, racing up the curving, stone steps, and your other hand holds fast to his. You drag him up and up and up.

The whole day, you’d dragged him all over Mondstadt, to all your favorite places; bakeries and music stores and the library. Eagerly, he’d followed, been at your side, at your heel like a loyal dog.

(A lovesick pup—)

Kaeya thinks he could spend countless days with you like this.

The world is always more brilliant with you—he can’t deny it.

And now, you’ve promised him another secret place of yours.

“How much further?” He breathes hard, surprised to find himself winded. His legs almost burn; there have been far more stairs than he originally thought. Or was promised. but he was also promised the best view in all of Mondstadt, with one of your sweetest smiles.

And really, how could he have denied you then? How could he deny you at all today?

“Not much!” You chirp back and then all it takes is a little more, until you come to a wooden door.

It gives easily under your weight, your excited push, throwing it wide open.

Light gleams, the world bursts before his eyes in a shimmer of gold, a rain of color and life.

You sweep into the space, the arch beneath the stones and over the other side of one of the great bells. If he peers down, he can see the wooden scaffolding where someone stands to pull on the huge rope below. No doubt, it would take up this whole space, swing wildly so that the two of you would have to nimbly dodge and move, duck just to keep your heads.

He hopes you’ve accounted for this, too.

He follows you carefully around the bell, only to come to the other side of it and have the whole world open up before you.

And it’s just you, in the breeze, and the storm clouds, above all of Mondstadt.

You hang, perhaps a little too precariously, off one of the large stone pillars.

Kaeya has half a mind to grab you, to pull you back towards him. But the wind favors you.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” You breathe and you’re so taken with it all, that he can hear your voice catch.

“It is,” he agrees, but he’s not looking at the world the way you are.

He’s looking at you.

He watches you watch the streets below and the clouds above. He watches love and adoration paint across your face; joy and a strange sort of melancholy.

Oh, you’ve always been so open.

Finally, you inhale.

Whilst still looking at the world below, the heavens above, you say, “I can’t explain what it does to me–the sky and the city and the wind when it touches me.” You look as if you could almost cry, and immediately his heart gives a lurch in his chest, “I don’t know how anyone can stand it.”

Something in him twists and constricts. He wants to wipe your tears. He wants to coo, don’t cry, don’t cry.

You laugh, “I’m sorry,” and shake your head like you’re silly, “I can’t help it–I’m just so happy. I adore the world so much.”

You turn to face him, open and raw, “I know these haven’t been ideal circumstances,” you start and you shift, and like he’s drawn to the movement, like you’ve pulled him in, he moves, too.

And then he’s standing in front of you. In front of an ancient bell from a nation that isn’t is, but could be. Above the whole world. Beneath the storm of it.

“But I’ve been–” a tear escapes and again, as if he possessed, before he can even think, his hand has darted out to catch it. You laugh again, joyful and aching, “you make me so happy. And I—“

“Doesn’t seem so,” he murmurs, “seems I’ve made you cry.”

You laugh again, sweet to his ears, like their own song. Your hands come up to his chest, palms open and flat against his racing heart. He’s sure you can feel it. Can you hear it? He hopes not.

And no one is watching. He doesn’t need to stand this close to you or wipe your tears.

You don’t need to put your hands on his chest and look up at him like that, in a way he doesn’t deserve.

(You’ll be mine yet, Captain.)

You look at him like he could’ve hung the moon. Or carved your beloved Mondstadt itself with his own hands from hill and valley.

An ache spreads its wings like a bird in his chest. It isn’t fair, he thinks, to be looked at by you, with this expression on your face, when he knows he can’t have you. He knows you can’t be his, not truly.

He wishes you wouldn’t look at him so.

“They’re happy tears,” you tell him, pawing at his chest, creeping up towards his neck. You sway towards him. You finish what he tried to stop you from admitting, “—and I adore you.”

Kaeya’s heart gives this twist, like it’s trying to rebel against him. He wants to run. He wants your arms around him. He wants—

“Careful,” Kaeya murmurs reflexively. Careful of what, though, he can’t say.

Careful with yourself around him? Careful with him?

You don’t heed his warning at all, and like you always have, you barrel towards all that you want. You press up to him.

“You do make me happy,” you say again, sweeter now like honey on your lips, tip your chin up like you might offer him a taste.

“Everything makes you happy,” Kaeya counters, shaking his head fractionally, looking down at you with lidded eyes.

“Not true,” you almost pout up at him, shaking your head, fingers tightening in the collars of his shirt like you know he’s thinking about fleeing.

He has half a mind to kiss you. You’re leaning up on your toes a little. He can smell your perfume; red berries and honeysuckle. Warm vanilla. He feels something tighten inside of him, hot and aching. He needs to put a stop to this—

He says your name, in warning. Perhaps fear.

And you look up at him through the fan of your lashes and say his name like it’s a melody, “Kaeya.”

He shakes his head now, fractionally, “don’t.” He murmurs, voice a low rumble.

“Don’t what?” You ask innocently and then you do it again, as if you know perfectly well, “Kaeya–”

His hand comes down to clutch your wrist, to keep it from moving around to the nape of his neck. He stills you.

You look up at him, questioning, almost desperate. Perhaps unsure–you go to pull away, but he seizes your wrist, holds it tight to his chest and keeps you close.

Thunder rumbles.

“Don’t say my name like that.” He croons, voice a little rough, “don’t torture me.”

He watches your face transform into understanding. Into—

Your fingers sink back into the fabric of his clothes, emboldened, “Kaeya,” you say like it bursts on your tongue, and then again, “Kaeya,” you hum, sing his name on a note that could be its own siren song. “Kaeya,” you purr as one of your arms winds around his neck.

His poor heart—

He makes a noise; a soft groan of frustration, a little growl, back in his throat.

“You’re such trouble,” but his other hand is squeezing at your hip now. “I swore to everyone I had nothing but pure intentions with you.”

Your nose brushes his, a smile licking at the corner of your mouth, “I surely hope not.”

“I’m supposed to protect you.” He gets out.

“You do—you are.” Soft, sweet little assurance.

He shakes his head again, barely, nose brushing yours. Fractionally closer. “You’re my responsibility.”

“Are my desires, too?” You murmur and when you lean towards him to close the short distance between your lips, he suddenly seizes your jaw in his hand.

You gasp.

“And what of mine?” He asks, eye glinting like the too-hot part of a flame. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

His voice is a low rasp.

You look up at him with wide eyes, soft in the center, your eyebrows drawing in a little and you look—you look like you adore him. Like you’re desperate for him.

“Sleeping in my bed every night, my clothes—“ Kaeya allows his thumb to drift over your bottom lip, slow, parting it from your top. He exhales roughly. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

“Kiss me,” you plead.

Lightning cracks across the sky in a fissure of heat.

“I shouldn’t.” He counters, even as you kiss at the pad of his thumb. Lips soft and warm, wet as your tongue darts out in a flash of heat. He inhales tightly, letting his thumb be drawn into the crux of your mouth.

You look up at him through your lashes. He has to fight back another groan. There’s a flush on the nape of his neck, heat that swims beneath his skin. He’s certain you’ll melt him with your gaze alone.

What’s he supposed to do?

How’s he supposed to survive you?

He scrambles for his wits.

And firstly, he pulls his thumb from your lips.

“Kaeya—“ you coax again, “Kaeya.”

“Stop it,” he hushes, “I can’t.”

“I want you,” you murmur, almost whine.

“You’re a brat.” Kaeya groans finally, “stop tempting me.”

“I’ll beg,” you sing sweetly. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“No,” he says quickly because the thought of that makes his mind screech to a halt. “Never. I’d never—“

Make you beg.

He swallows around the words sharply.

He lays his hands, long and broad, on your shoulders.

He forces distance between the two of you.

Thunder grumbles unhappily across the sky.

“I’m not going to kiss you.”

“But you want to?”

And the way you look at him, so earnestly and so desperately—

“That’s besides the point—“ You open your mouth to speak, only for him to continue, “my job is to protect you. This would be highly unprofessional of me.”

“Since when have you—“

“You deserve better.” He finally says, words flying from his mouth before he can stop them, “I am, frankly, a rake and a cheat and—“

“That’s not—“

“The point is,” Kaeya continues over you, lest you do something even worse and try to fight or deny him, “it would be unwise of us.”

“I, for one, have never claimed to be wise.”

Kaeya laughs now, full and warm and fond. He shakes his head. You’re near glowing with just the sound of his joy. So he continues;

“It would be foolish. Perhaps, even, one of the worst things we could do.”

His voice lilts, turns melodic.

Your hands are back on his chest somehow. Flat over his heart, nearing his collar again. He’s losing. You’re sidling close and he wants to bring you closer still. He can feel all the curves of your body to his, fitting up against him like a missing puzzle piece.

“Utterly disastrous, really.” He continues, voice growing fainter. He’s losing.

“Wildly reckless?” You murmur, tipping your chin up, offering your lips to him like a sweet lamb to sacrifice.

“Terribly…” he drifts, feeling the brush of your lips against his, “stupid, I’m afraid.”

You hum lightly, barely, in acknowledgement before he’s suddenly closing the distance and kissing you soundly.

Oh, he’s lost.

(It’s a promise.)

The wind picks up sharply for a proper storm. Lightning flashes behind his eyelids.

And that’s all it takes, Kaeya realizes, heart swinging wildly in his chest like a bell tolling. Knocking against his rib cage.

You throw your arms around his neck and deepen it.

He groans in defeat, damning it all, and grabs at the skirts of your waist, squeezing at your hips desperately.

Damn it all, he thinks again, knowing it’ll be something of a shipwreck; brutal and splendid and massive. Beautiful and heartbreaking enough that he just won’t be able to look away.

More thunder, sky swirling and teeming and ready to just burst. He can feel it under his skin.

You sink your hands into his hair. He nips sharply enough at your bottom lip that a gasp is wrenched from you. He swallows it.

He wants so much more.

The sky opens up and rain falls from the heavens in a golden and brutal downpour.

***

SCENE V

Dawn Winery in the evening, plum dark and warm from fire in the hearth. You and Diluc are at the grand piano, seated side by side, in an intimate and cozy parlor room.

Kaeya has just entered and we see the side profile of his face as he watches the two of you.

“Oh, do you remember this one?” You ask and immediately, music fills the space as your hands dance over the keys in a sweet, jaunty little tune.

“Like this?” Diluc asks, setting his hands to the lower side to immediately complete the melody you play. “It’s this one, right?”

“Yes!” You exclaim, the two of you playing with ease, a smile on your face. “We used to play this one all the time for our parents.”

It’s such an innocent remark. Kaeya is almost caught off guard by it, by the memory that floods back to him.

Crepus in the lounge chair, your parents across from him on the settee. The glow of the fire warm and gentle. Faces of people that swim in his mind, that he hasn’t seen or has avoided for a long time now, their smiles and laughs. People who left. Who died. Ghosts that once listened to your music, just as he is now, on the outskirts.

Diluc, surprisingly, is not put off by the memory. Instead, he smiles, “I used to always mess this part up.”

And then with ease, his large hands cascade over the keys. Not a note out of place.

“And look at you now!” You encourage him.

He laughs softly, low, like the fire in the hearth.

With ease, the two of you close the song together, watching each other with crinkled, happy eyes for the timing. For the last notes.

He can hardly stand how lovely you look. Or how you look at Diluc.

Have you ever looked at him like that?

He clears his throat.

When you see him, your face lights up and the way you say his name, with such warmth and adoration makes him feel worse somehow, “Kaeya!”

Immediately, Diluc’s face hardens.

“Apologies,” Kaeya says with perhaps more chill than he anticipates, “I didn’t mean to interrupt the concert.”

“Not at all,” you respond, “how did we sound?”

“Your music is lovely as usual.” Kaeya responds flippantly and you eye him for a moment, scrutinizing.

And then, slowly, you say, “then you wouldn’t mind if we play a few more? This piano does bring back fond memories for me.”

There’s a glint in your eyes; it could be the fire that favors you or a trick of the light.

And because Kaeya pretends he doesn’t care, he says, “please; don’t allow me to stop you.”

He takes a seat on the settee as far from you and Diluc as he can manage.

Diluc sets his hands back to the keys and opens with a few, small notes, “do you remember this one?” He asks you.

“How could I forget?” You laugh, “I sang this one at every party and soiree we ever had.”

And Kaeya also instantly recognizes the first chord that Diluc eases out, the tune of it like his childhood. He remembers you standing so small and young, by the piano which seemed so much larger when he was a boy. Your glowing face and sweet, little voice.

And when you open your mouth to sing this time, it’s mature and warm, lower but more distinguished.

The lyrics must come to you like from a dream, he’s sure of it.

As if it was yesterday, you sing the song of a different time, a different lifetime ago it feels like. Of late nights in this very parlor, with laughter and the clinking of glasses. A house full. A heart full.

You sing of angels and the moon in the sky, the stars, and a love from forever ago.

And really, it’s so horribly fitting for you; the song is as in love with the world as you are. How could anyone sleep, you sing, how could anyone close their eyes to the night sky? To love?

Kaeya realizes sharply that he feels as if he’s been sleeping for a very long time.

He’s turned his eyes away from the stars and love and the whole world.

And you, wonder that you are, have been desperately trying to wake him. To show him again.

The last concluding notes ring softly, hang in the air, before you are smiling and leaning onto Diluc’s shoulder, hugging his broad arm to you happily.

Kaeya looks at the two of you, the light and dark of Mondstadt. The joy and pride of the city, so beautiful in the fire.

How could he ever compare to the two of you?

“Kaeya, did you remember that one?” You ask suddenly, turning to face him.

He somehow manages to unstick his voice, and lies, “not really.”

After a moment, a heartbeat where you seem to see right through him, you ask, “shall we go home?”

Yes, he wants to say. Let me take you home. Let me take you away.

Instead, he says, “I’m hardly in a rush.”

You stand from the piano bench and saunter over to him. Diluc turns to watch as you come to stand between his legs, peering down at him.

“I missed you today.” You say honestly, “were you busy?”

Kaeya won’t return the sentiment in front of Diluc. In fact, he’s surprised that you’ve come this close in front of him at all. He thought this was supposed to be between the two of you and no one else.

Selfishly, he wants to keep it that way. He wants you all to himself.

Kaeya glances at his brother, then back to you. Diluc’s eyes narrow fractionally in suspicion as Kaeya says, “very, unfortunately.”

You tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. Your fingers drift then, hovering around his jaw like you might touch him more. You don’t. You say, “let’s go home, then.”

You offer him your hand and when he takes it to stand, you don’t drop it. You tuck up against his side. Kaeya feels something wobbly and fragile take a few, tentative steps inside of him, like a newborn fawn.

How strange, he thinks, to imagine you as openly his. How strange, to have your genuine affection, your genuine adoration.

“Thank you for playing with me, Diluc,” you say with a smile, “I hope I wasn’t too much of a bother today.”

“You’re never a bother,” Diluc promises like the gentleman he is, “and I am always charmed to play the piano beside you.”

Diluc glances down at your interlocked hands. You let him look. Kaeya fights the urge to pull away and create distance. You squeeze his hand. You say to Diluc, “perhaps we should throw a soiree, the way our parents used to. I miss being in the manor. And then we can play for everyone again.”

Everyone except the ghosts, Kaeya thinks, their faces pale in his eyes.

Diluc seems as wary as Kaeya is, for once, but it is so hard to deny you. Kaeya knows that well.

As if to sweeten it, you let your head tip onto Kaeya’s shoulder, cuddling up to him even closer, “I think it’d be great fun. A reason to come together again.”

Diluc meets Kaeya’s eyes briefly and he can already feel the scolding he will receive. He can already feel Diluc’s doubt and judgment. But instead of starting a quarrel, he says to you, “Perhaps we can arrange something.”

And really, Kaeya thinks it's a testament to how charming and lovely you are.

You bid Diluc goodnight, sweet as ever, and lead Kaeya out by the hand.

He can feel Diluc’s gaze burning into the center of his back.

And the moment you pull him around the corner and out of Diluc’s eyesight, you turn and suddenly pull him down into a deep, slow kiss.

Kaeya’s eyes flutter in surprise and immediately, he attempts to pull away from you. It’s one thing for Diluc to see the way you held his hand, it’s another thing entirely for him to catch the two of you like this.

You hardly let him get a word out, before you’re pulling him back down into a dirtier, heavier, more desperate sort of kiss.

He yields with a soft, surprised noise of wanting. He kisses you back, just as dirty, just as desperate—tongue licking into your mouth, heat stoking to life along the nape of his neck, the curve of his spine.

When you pull away, he manages to get out, “well. Hello to you, too.”

You smile, wide and lovely. “I did miss you.” You say again, as if you know you have to convince him, and that he never believes you the first time. And still, he thinks you must be lying. You’d never miss him.

But you lean up onto your toes to get him to kiss you again; which he does. Easily, happily. It’s gentler than the previous, a little more content, though no less heated. He draws you closer, as close as you can get. His tongue dips gently into your mouth, deep and hungry and exploring. He feels the fabric of your dress bunch up beneath greedy hands, pulling at them, pawing at you.

A cleared throat.

The two of you jump apart, whirling around to face Diluc in the entryway.

He does not look pleased.

Kaeya, for once, feels like a younger brother again, caught red handed. He opens his mouth for some strange excuse, but you beat him to it;

“We’re taking our role as a couple very seriously. Archon forbid the Fatui question our legitimacy.”

Kaeya can’t help the laugh that barks out of him, before Diluc’s glare forces him to clear his throat and compose himself.

“I can see that.” He says dryly.

“It was my fault,” you then add, “Kaeya is, for once, blameless. I’m a bad influence.”

“I highly doubt that.” Diluc drawls, “he’s never blameless.”

Kaeya opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it again.

“We will truly be taking our leave now.” You then say, tugging at Kaeya’s hand, “goodnight, Diluc!”

The door slams hard behind you.

Kaeya looks at you, your back to the door, chest heaving a little. You look back at him.

And then you burst into laughter. He shakes his head, but he can’t stop the smile that comes onto his face. The laugh of disbelief.

“Diluc is going to kill me,” he finally says, “I can’t believe you.”

“Oh,” you coo, striding past him, “should I protect you? Diluc is harmless.”

Kaeya laughs again, though this time it’s dryer, not as funny, but more ironic.

Well, he has an eyepatch to certainly prove otherwise. You must catch onto his shift in mood, because you take his hand again and assure him, “I’ll deal with Diluc, if you’d like.”

“No,” Kaeya says, “no need to fight my battles.”

“I did get you in trouble.”

“Well, that I can’t deny.” Kaeya agrees with a smile, slipping his hand around your waist and this time, he knows it is real. Realer than ever before.

The stars are bright above your heads. The moon is full and shining like a coin and casting you in its soft light. Your eyes are crinkled in delight.

“You’re also a liar,” you add and Kaeya pauses, looking at you.

It strikes a strange note in him.

You continue, “I thought you said you weren’t the jealous type?”

Kaeya’s brows prick upwards, “did you think I was jealous?”

“Kaeya,” you say his name warmly, with love, “I could feel you glaring a hole into the back of our heads while we were at the piano.”

Kaeya laughs, but it’s rather hollow, “I’m not the jealous type, my dear. I’m sorry to disappoint. Did you have fantasies of being ravished by me in a jealous rage?”

It’s a little barbed.

If you notice (which you do), you don’t take his bait.

“Well, now that you say it…” you tease, walking backwards and in front of him, a sly little smile on your lips.

Kaeya shakes his head, “there’ll be no ravishing.” He promises, “I’m being a gentleman.”

“Hm,” you hum lightly, “and how long do you plan to keep that facade up?”

“It’s not a facade–” he starts to protest, but your hand is winding in the front of his shirt to pull him back into your orbit.

You pull him into a hard kiss.

This one is more desperate. Heavier. Hotter.

He sees what game you’re playing.

The walk home, in Mondstadt’s streets, for everyone and the moon to see, is a game of cat and mouse. Kissing hard and soft, slow and fast, against brick walls and wooden fences. Leaning into shadows and sharp, little gasps. Teasing kisses along the jaw, before slipping away, and back into the night.

You manage to lead him right up to the threshold of his bedroom.

He takes a stance here, roots himself down. He swallows hard—he has to steel himself, he knows.

So he goes no further than the arch of the doorway, no matter how much you pull at him, or kiss him or tease him. And as hard as it is, he doesn’t even sway when you gaze up at him with that look in your eyes; dreamy and enamored.

You look at him like he could be a great man.

It’s absolutely horrifying. His heart jumps in his chest. He can feel as if he can hardly breathe.

“You really won’t sleep with me?” You ask, lips hovering just beneath his. His hands are latched tight to the doorframe of his bedroom as to stay them. To keep his resolve.

Kaeya shakes his head, “I’m a gentleman.”

You let go of a tired sigh, “I don’t need you to be one.”

He swallows hard.

“I’m afraid I need to be one.” He answers.

“I didn’t take you as chaste.” You murmur, kissing at the corner of his mouth, his cheek. All that warmth comes rushing back to him.

“Hardly,” he scoffs reflexively, allowing you room at his throat, down the length of his neck. “But I am trying to preserve–”

He stalls, when he feels your tongue at his pulse.

You blink up at him innocently and supply, “you’re trying to preserve–?”

He clears his throat, “some level of professionality. Dignity, maybe.”

Protection, too, though he isn’t sure anymore if it’s for you or him. Perhaps both.

The only way he sees this ending is poorly–he cannot foresee a current future where you don’t end up disappointed and hurt by him. He cannot see a future where you don’t leave for your own good.

And besides, all things must end, he knows, all people must leave or be left behind.

He was left once and he’s vowed to never be left again, standing in the rain, shivering and young.

(He tries not to think of you—left at an altar.)

You pull away to look up at him, sweet-eyed and gentle, almost amused with him. “If you say so.”

Reluctantly and with a great deal of his strength, he leans away to put distance between you. Coldness sweeps in. He tries to appreciate it. “You should sleep. You have rehearsal early tomorrow morning.”

You step away as well. You offer him a little curtsy in jest, “as you wish, my most proper and chaste lord.”

“I’m a lord?” He asks, astonished.

“A prince?” you ask, “or do you prefer a knight? We can roleplay, if you’d like–”

“Goodnight!” Kaeya announces then, reaching for the doorknob to begin swinging the door closed, to put distance between whatever it is growing between the two of you.

You laugh, though, so warm and wonderful at his antics that he just can’t help it; he kisses you once more, soundly, goodnight.

And this time, he says it gentler, lower and sweeter in a way he knows makes you shiver, “goodnight, princess.”

He watches you fluster, the way you blink up at him. And now it’s his turn to laugh, low and soft and hot, before he quickly swings the door the rest of the way shut. Locking you on the other side of it. Far from his reach.

Lest he do something horrible.

Lest he want you too greatly.

But when he lays down on the couch to sleep that night, he realizes he can hardly sleep at all–and, really, he thinks, who could sleep at all? With the night sky like diamonds, and the way you kiss him like you have everything to lose, and everything to gain.

Like he could be desired to keep.

How could he sleep at all? When there is a door between the two of you? And the world hums and glows and shifts, right from underneath his feet.

How could he sleep? He hears you sing, around and around in his mind, at the piano of his childhood, and the one tonight, a lifetime later.

***

Finish the rest on Ao3 ->

a/n: this act was too long to post on tumblr in full and i would've had to split it into three separate posts. i figured linking ao3 would be easiest to finish reading :)) thank you for reading!! let me know your thoughts!! <33

#kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya alberich x you #kaeya alberich x y/n #kaeya x reader #kaeya x y/n #kaeya x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x y/n #genshin impact x you #cielo writes!#cielo's writing!#cielo collabs!#my heart your song

64 notes · View notes

tennessoui · 1 year

Note

I had my evening unexpectedly free, so I present:

My top ten tennessoui au’s of 2022 (specifically the small ones/ones that don’t have fics)

Gone, but not forgotten 😔🙏 (/j)

(10) - Playmaker au (this is only so far up bcs it has a a lil christmas ficlet and gets updated/posted about frequently)

(9) - Freudian slip au (it has a fic BUT IT ISNT TALKED ABOUT ENOUGH!!! I LOVE IT SM!!!!)

(8) - cheating au (ONE OF MY FAVES!!!! gets posted about a lot tho so it’s high up the list)

(7) - pool boy au (i feel like everyone forgot about this one BUT I DIDN’T!!!)

(6) - remedial mechanics au (this one slips my mind every so often but then I get the joy of rediscovering it)

(5) - pirates of the caribbean au (this was literally my life line at one point I’m not even joking. it’s not my favourite anymore, but it’s close to my heart fr)

(4) bartender au/when all we have are shadows (MY LIGHT!!! MY LOVE!!! MY EVERYTHING!!!!!)

(3) - professor can fvck me au (I ALMOST FORGOT THIS ONE BUT ITS ACTUALLY THE BEST)

(2) - twilight au (IT MAKES ME SO FERAL AJSJSJ PLS ITS SO SMALL IN COMPARISON TO THE OTHERS BUT IT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME AHAHAH)

(1) - bodyguard au (*INCOHERENT SCREAMING* ITS JUST SO AND I JUST AND ITS SO AND I LOVE AND ITS JUST AND YEAH ITS SO)

honourable mentions:

- that one actors au that im pretty sure I dreamt???? they’re fake dating but actually real dating and it’s a whole thing and it made me giggle and kick my feet n shi 🤭

- haunted house fic from like 2 years ago?? was that real???? or am i crazy???

also literally all of ur au’s omg they all make me 🥹😍😞🤩😭🥵😱🤭

LOL omg thank you so much for this

(playmaker au)(freudian slip au)(cheating au)(pool boy au)(remedial mechanics au)(pirates of the caribbean au--squick tag: a/b/o)(bartender au)(professor can fuck me au)(twilight au)(bodyguard au)

(honorable mentions: costars au, haunted house au)

i literally adore asks like this because i have so many aus and stories but when people tell me a list of their favorites im like ooooh ok i think i can see the sort of dynamic you like the most (at least in my writing) based on the things most of these aus have in common for example most of these feature a gruff, rough around the edges obi-wan --probably tattooed-- coupled with an earnest, pretty boy anakin who obi-wan is a tad unreasonable about. one of them is really into their age difference and the potential power dynamics there. it's probably anakin, but obi-wan is gonna get a lot of pleasure out of it too

this is sooooo valid we love a toppy obi-wan who wants to pinch at the bridge of his nose in frustration until his partner slips onto his lap and kisses away his worry lines even though he tries to remain grouchy etc etc

#asks #aw but also no really thank you this was so fun to read :D #i especially love your reasoning #i promise cheating au is getting a fic soon #but i also did write a bodyguard au ficlet for christmas but nothing nearly long enough to go on ao3 for my standards #anyway thank you for making me smile!! :D #fully aware playmaker and remedial mechanics dont really fit the other threads i pulled out #but theyre both some of my favorites too....anon just has amazing taste #obikin

51 notes · View notes

sparrowmoth · 2 years

Text

Maybe You're the Reason • [AO3]

Teen | 2.1K | Jamil & Kalim | Childhood, Class Issues, Bullying

A/N: This oneshot is a fleshed out and slightly reimagined version of a character study on Kalim I drabbled last year. Jamil and Kalim here are both written as pre-teens and their dynamic is platonic, but may also be read as pre-relationship (sometime very far into the future).

CW: Class differences, bullying and physical violence between children, implied trauma and anxiety disorder, and self-worth issues.

Late morning sun streams in through lattice windows onto a mosaic tile floor and red-gold patterned area rug. Jamil stands there alone in the bright, spacious hall outside the elder Al-Asim’s home office. He waits, patient and attentive, with his hands behind his back and his eyes fixed on the doors. He is only a child, but already, he knows better than to turn toward the source of a pretty birdsong or to admire the sky or let his mind wander.

He is a servant of the noble house of Al-Asim, and it is an honour—his parents assure him—to have been chosen at birth to be the right hand of the heir, the gods-kissed golden child, Kalim.

Kalim, who suddenly appears from out of his father’s office, only to gesture at Jamil and disappear back inside. He is decidedly pleased about something, which has Jamil relaxing some of the tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders without realizing as he moves toward the summons. He’d been quite sure Kalim was in trouble when they were called from their studies to the office without any forewarning.

Bowing immediately upon his entrance, Jamil sees only the marble floor and ornate, piled rugs before Kalim, with a laugh, takes a hold of his wrist and urges him along, almost making him stumble—

“Najib!” cries Kalim, and Jamil looks up to see another boy their age—one he doesn’t know—with thick black hair, light green eyes, and copper skin. He’s sitting perched on the ledge of an oriel window, about as approachable as a cactus with the way he’s staring. “This is Jamil,” Kalim continues, unfazed. “He’s my best friend in the world!”

They come to a stop before the window, before the boy who sits like a king and looks Jamil up and down, assessing. “Your best friend?” he asks in a flat tone that does nothing to obscure his judgment.

Kalim opens his mouth, but Jamil speaks first: “As-salamu alaykum, master Najib.” He bows his head to the boy, who lifts his chin as if to position himself that much more above Jamil. “Please, disregard my young master’s charitable introduction. I am merely a servant here.”

“As I assumed,” Najib begins to say—

Kalim speaks loudly over him: “Jamil,” he whines, grabbing hold of his arm and shaking him lightly. “You don’t have to be so formal!” (He may not notice the way Najib’s lip curls, but it doesn’t escape Jamil’s attention.) “Baba wants us all to be friends! Right, Baba?”

Jamil turns with Kalim to see the elder Al-Asim speaking casually with a man who can only be Najib’s father. He has clearly not heard what his son was saying, but when he catches Kalim’s eye, he smiles and nods toward the door. “Go on now,” he says, not unkindly. “We men have business to attend to. I trust Najib to your hands, ya ibni.”

Soon, the grand halls are echoing with the patter of sandalled feet and Kalim’s cheerful voice, prattling on about the various places they could go in the house and what all there would be to do.

He doesn’t pause for breath or to hear Najib’s opinion.

Jamil stands back from the two, keeping a pace away in Kalim’s long shadow, where he can easily spy the looks Najib throws sideways at his host. He does not like Kalim and would have trouble hiding the fact from him except that Kalim never assumes to be disliked by anyone—or, at least, that’s what Jamil has observed about him.

They are passing one of the lounge rooms, the doors to which are open in welcome, when Najib simply splits off over the threshold and begins to look around at the painted walls and plush pillows, not seeming to care whether or not Kalim and Jamil will follow.

“Oh, I know!” Kalim is saying, still presuming to be talking to Najib. “We could swim in the pool before lunch, or go and see the otters, or how about letting the otters in the pool with us? I don’t think they’d bite, they’re—hmm?” He turns at the feeling of Jamil’s hand on his shoulder, realizing then it’s just the two of them in the hallway.

Jamil casts a pointed look back at the lounge room, then says: “I think your friend may be more interested in a game than a tour.”

Kalim’s eyes brighten and he nods vigorously. “Great idea, Jam!”

Wincing at the childish nickname, never minding that they are still children, Jamil quietly lecture Kalim on the proper way to address his servants in public as they move into the lounge room. He isn’t listening, of course, and Jamil doesn’t mean to shame Kalim before their guest, so he falls silent and internalizes any weariness he feels.

“Najib!” Kalim calls as he prances into the room, grinning wide. “Do you want to play a game?” he asks as he looks left and right until he spots his guest—

Najib, in the short time he was left unattended, has made himself at home on a luxurious pile of pillows with a wooden puzzle toy in his hand, swiped off a nearby table. “What kind of game?” he asks, not sparing a glance up from the little puzzle he looks close to solving.

“Mmm,” says Kalim, frowning briefly in thought. “There’s three of us, so…” (Najib goes very still.) “Oh! Do you know how to play—”

“Mancala,” says Najib, tone flat and resolved.

Kalim shifts awkwardly and glances at Jamil, who does not react. He doesn’t care whether or not he’s included, but Kalim always insists. He knows this time won’t be any different, so he remains silent.

“We have mancala,” Kalim begins, starting to fidget with the gold hem of his simple white tunic, “but that’s only for two players…”

“Then only two of us can play,” Najib responds matter-of-factly.

Kalim just stands there for a moment, looking conflicted what to do. He hesitates, then says, “We could teach you banakil! It’s a card—”

“I know what banakil is.”

“Oh.” Kalim looks troubled, but before he can even think to suggest another alternative, Najib sighs loudly, throwing his head back in exasperation as he asks, “Are we going to play mancala or not?”

In a short while, they are seated on pillows around a low, dark wooden table with a mancala board laid out. Kalim is unusually quiet as he watches Jamil divvying up the colourful stones—

“I’ll go first,” Najib declares, just as Jamil is withdrawing his hand.

Kalim smiles, if a bit strained, when Najib sits back and looks at him expectantly; rather than reach to move his pieces, Kalim turns bodily toward Jamil and his smile becomes more genuine. “Do you want to take turns?” he asks, eliciting a scoff from across the table—

“He can’t help you, that’s cheating.”

“You can’t cheat at mancala!” Kalim protests without thinking, only to pause and actually consider it, stroking at his chin like a bearded elder. “I guess you can…” He frowns a little, then sits up straighter, eyes bright with an idea. “I know!—you and Jamil can play the first round and I’ll play whoever wins next, so no one has to be left out!”

Najib stares blankly, then starts to sneer. “Forget it, I’m bored,” he mutters, shoving at the table as he moves to stand—hard enough that the stones on the game board rattle wildly in their pockets.

Kalim, for his part, looks startled. He glances to Jamil for help, but finds that his head is down, hands folded in his lap. It’s as good as saying that he doesn’t want to be involved and, for once, Kalim doesn’t push. He’s determined, somehow, he can resolve this.

His Baba has entrusted Najib as a guest to him, after all.

“Do you want to play a different game?” he asks hopefully, but Najib just scoffs, turning around to stare down his nose at him.

“I won’t play anything that involves your stupid servant.”

Jamil doesn’t flinch, doesn’t clench his fists—doesn’t anything.

Kalim, though, stands immediately, rearing up like a cobra. He speaks in a voice that is dangerously serious and rarely heard from his mouth: “Jamil’s not stupid.” He sounds so convicted. It’s funny, Jamil thinks—since how would he know? If Jamil is a bronze lamp, he’s been polished with mud. He is, himself, uncertain of his shine, and yet—

Kalim goes on defending him, hotly, with anger and passion: “He’s amazing at a lot of things, like dancing! He’s really good at cooking and he tells the best stories and he’s not forgetful like me, and—and I like when he ties my headscarf better than anyone, because it’s not too tight, but it doesn’t fall off, and—and—and… he always knows what to say when I need advice, and he’s my BEST friend, and you shouldn’t be mean to him just because you’re scared of losing!”

Najib’s eyes are bulging and he’s breathing hard. “You really think I’m scared… of losing?” he hisses, taking a menacing step forward.

“If you’re not scared of losing,” starts Kalim, too riled up now to heed the soft, warning utterance of his name as Jamil slowly rises, “then… I don’t understand. Why won’t you just play with us?”

“I already told you,” Najib replies through grit teeth, “but maybe you’re the stupid one, since you don’t understand.” He throws a dark look at Jamil before his eyes flash to Kalim again. “I would sooner play fetch with a mutt than play against your servant.”

“TAKE THAT BACK.”

Kalim launches over the table before Jamil can stop him. The game board and all its pieces, having met with a kick, goes flying to the floor in a clatter. That noise, though, is nothing to the shriek Najib lets out as Kalim knocks him down with a crack of his fist to cheek.

“Kalim, stop!” Jamil urges, scrambling around the table to try and grab Kalim and wrest him away from the fight. Najib, with a snarl, kicks out through Kalim’s legs to nail Jamil in the knee and send him toppling down to join the tangle of their bodies—

Kalim slaps and punches all the more at Najib, warning him not to hurt Jamil. Najib spits in his face and spitefully grabs for a fistful of Jamil’s clothes as he’s trying to get his bearings—and so, the fight goes on.

Jamil, unable to retaliate, but bound to protect Kalim at the cost of his own life, makes every effort to absorb the worst of Najib’s wrath.

It is a difficult thing with Kalim working hard against him.

Stop it, just stop, Jamil wants to scream at him. You’re making it worse! You’re going to get me in more trouble! They’re going to say it’s my fault, they’re going to say… they’re gonna… say…

His heart is thumping, rabbit-quick.

Black spots dance around the corners of his vision.

It is a blur after that, from the moment other servants burst into the room and pull them all apart like balls of yarn, but thornier—

Jamil’s senses do not clear until the door to Kalim’s room slams shut at his back and he hears the lock click. He looks up at Kalim, who entered just before him. They are banished, the both of them.

Together.

It’s not the punishment Jamil was expecting.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself, since they’ve both been bandaged up and made to change out of their clothes—even had their hair brushed, though neither’s ornaments were returned.

He’s debating whether to disappear into the bathroom when Kalim speaks quietly from where he stands by the window: “Sorry, Jam.”

Jamil says nothing, but stays where he is, staring openly.

“Are you mad?” asks Kalim, sheepishly glancing over his shoulder. He has a black eye and three deep scratches on his cheek, beneath a bandage. His arms are blooming bruises like watercolour tattoos in blue and purple and green and yellow, and—

Jamil is sure to be a mirror of his injuries.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says, practically whispering, because his parents’ voices are ever at his ear, telling him his place, reminding not to say this or that or anything more than necessary.

But this is necessary, he thinks—some stubborn part of himself.

Kalim, strange enough, just smiles at first, though it isn’t happy. “He shouldn’t have said that,” he replies, and Jamil’s heart… clenches.

He doesn’t know what he’s feeling.

At least part of it is bold though, recklessly bold, because before he can think that he shouldn’t, he’s muttering, “You really are stupid.”

Kalim’s eyes widen, but then he laughs. He laughs like he’s happy, thrilled to hear something real. He laughs until he winces, clutching at his bruised ribs, but all the while, still smiling—smiling at Jamil.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs are always appreciated. If you’d like to leave a kudos or comment on AO3, I’d really love that, as well! ♥

#twisted wonderland #twst #jamikali #kalim al asim #jamil viper #twst fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #I've been wanting to turn that post into a fic since I wrote it #quite pleased with myself to have finally gotten it done #these two break my heart into tiny little pieces #but I come back for more because I'm obsessed with their dynamic #anyway please enjoy <3

37 notes · View notes

yelenasdog · 4 years

Text

the pillowtalk of a pessimist (spencer reid x fem reader)

genre: fluff with a millisecond of angst

summary: pillowtalk takes an interesting turn for spencer at the mention of the harsh realities of his work.

words: 1.3k, she’s a shorty.

warnings: nsfw themes (nothing smutty, it’s just implied and also directly stated that they slept together), typical criminal minds violence + death, and maybe cursing? idk.

a/n: btw this isn’t the fic i was ranting on about that i’m writing, she’s still in the works. also! this could be an x oc or anybody bc i didn’t use y/n if you would prefer to read it as such.

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

A pale stream of moonlight shone through the open window of apartment 23, the home of Doctor Spencer Reid. It illuminated a small section of his bedroom, specifically on one of his many floor to ceiling bookshelves, a beacon of knowledge that was there 24/7 for the taking.

The gold engravings on the spines of his many reads shimmered, a beautiful contrast to the dark mahogany the shelf was made out of.

The room smelled like a mixture of his cologne, her perfume (Chanel no. 5, specifically), and the results of their previous affairs that lingered in the crisp air of the night.

She took a deep breath, settling down further into the white duvet, pulling it over her bosom in response to the chilly temperature. The dark green walls of the room welcomed and calmed her, overwhelming the girl with a wave of serenity that could only be brought to her by him.

He quickly took note of her unsteady breathing and shift in position, immediately jumping to action. He pulled her closer by her shoulders with his strong arms, eliciting a squeal from her and a chuckle from him, more so at her reaction than the move itself.

Her head laid on his bare chest, her hair splayed out with half of it residing on his pillow, the other half on his bicep. She could have appeared to be an angel, although in his eyes, she truly was.

She rested her hand on the left side of his chest over his heart, her fingernail ghosting shapes on his tanned skin. Circles, squiggly lines, even abstract faces.

“How do you do it?”

Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. If his hearing wasn’t so acute, he was sure he would have missed it. This would have saddened the genius greatly, as he valued everything she had to say with a burning ferocity, and even one word lost would be a shame.

“What?”

He was confused by the nature of the question, attempting to search every corner of his brilliant brain for what she might have been referencing. Was it an equation? No, she hated math. Perhaps the way he so effortlessly could play any instrument because yet again, math. He decided that couldn’t be the subject at question either, she played better than he did, glorious melodies flowed from her fingertips. So the doctor was truly stumped.

The answer was simpler than he had imagined.

“Your job.”

With those doe eyes he was so fond of, she looked up, meeting his own glance.

If the term “heart eyes” was able to be personified, Spencer would be the guy to personify it whenever his eyes landed on the one in front of him.

“What do you mean? I get up in the morning, drink some coffee, and get to it.”

She giggled, but the sound he loved so much ceased with her pout.

“That’s not what I mean, Spence. How do you go on everyday, seeing body after body,” she trailed off, obviously distraught. Spencer wrapped his large hand tighter around her, placing his chin on her hairline.

“How do you consistently manage to look at these victims, these people, with lives that they never got to finish living-“ A tear slipped down her cheek, she bit her bottom lip, tasting her own salty droplets on her tongue. She sniffled, burying her head further in his neck with what he presumed was shame.

“And not break down when you do.” Her voice was muffled, but the emotions she felt were evident nonetheless.

He took a moment to carefully articulate an appropriate response. The gears in his mind turned ever so diligently, finding a solution to dry her tears.

“It’s not much different than what I initially said. I get up in the morning, drink some coffee.”

He pushed a hair away from her face, admiring her distinct features as he often did. She looked up, moving her left hand to trace his sharp jaw as he sat in thought.

“And I realize that these people that are now dead, are a part of the hundreds, of throusands, of millions of people that die every year. It’s a part of life, what gives it meaning.”

She gave a dry, humourless laugh.

“What, you don’t have a specific statistic for that?”

“Oh, I do, but I don’t think you want to hear it.” He tilted his head, weighing the option of disclosing the information but deciding against it.

“But the bottom line is, they have families. Families that are grieving, and hurting, and needing answers and justice. I cannot do my job and give them the closure they deserve if I’m staying focused on my own emotions and delving deep into who the victims were, rather than how to catch those responsible for hurting them.”

She moved on to her back, stilling managing to keep her eye contact with Spencer.

“But you’re a profiler! That’s what you do! You’re supposed to, what did you call it, ‘delve deep’ into who they are.”

“Pretty girl, are you trying to tell the one with 3 doctorates how to do his job?”

She rolled her eyes, lazily throwing a hand on his neck, right behind his ear. She ran it back and forth, savoring the intimate moment.

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up, Agent.” She taunted, poorly trying (and failing) to agitate Spencer. She had a hunch (that was more true than either of them would let on) that it wasn’t possible for her to do so, and he found himself proving it to be correct.

“I just had to learn to let the family do what they had to do so that I could do the same.”

The girl’s tone softened as she spoke, staring at the popcorn ceiling.

“I guess so. I’m just too empathetic, my heart is too pure.” She joked, a feathery laugh falling past both of their lips.

“Of course. I would expect nothing less.” He teased back, enjoying the dynamic they both held in the tender moment.

“You amaze me.” She muttered, leaning in, analyzing him and his ruffled post-sex hair, his gorgeously long lashes, and his light 5 o’clock shadow that donned his chin.

He huffed quietly, doing the exact same thing, minus the scruff of course.

“I could say the same to you, pretty girl.”

Their lips connected once again, in a different manner than the feverish and needy kiss from before.

This time, it was a union of two individuals, allowing themselves to mould together in a way only the two of them could. It was slower and sweeter, with more feeling poured into their lips while they moved in sync.

“M’ tired.”

“Yeah? You wanna go to sleep, bubs?”

She grinned as she snuggled into his arms, her exhausted eyes fluttering to a close.

“Bubs, huh? That’s new.”

A worried frown made its way onto his face as he rushed to cover up his previous words.

“D-do you not like it? I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable-“

“Spence.”

He stopped, looking over her for any microexpressions, only seeing positive signs. That wasn’t technically profiling, right? He hoped he would be in the clear if she ever was to find out.

“I love it, baby. Say it again.”

“Bubs?”

“Mhm. Say it again.” She sounded with content. He smirked, a proud feeling infiltrating his body, causing him to puff up his chest in the slightest way.

“Goodnight, bubs.”

He reached up, his paranoia forcing him to close the window above him, despite being a more than qualified FBI agent with a revolver safely tucked away in the top drawer of his night stand that never quite was shut all the way.

It was just the pessimist in him.

She wrapped around his figure, intertwining his form with her own.

“Sleep well, Spence.”

He felt happy with her, happier than he had been in a long time. He relished in that, allowing it to lull him to a well needed rest.

But what could he say, she just brought out the optimist in him.

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

hj posting at a time that isn’t 3 am?????? unheard of. also i may or may not have pulled an all nighter to write whatever tf this is bc my ex posted something with his new gf and i felt pathetic LMAO. anyway, i hope your day is fabulous, go drink some water and remember things are what you make of them and it’s all about intent! love you, xx hj.

907 notes · View notes

insomniac-dot-ink · 4 years

Text

Books I’ve Read in 2020

AHello! I’m trying to read as many books as I can during the quarantine, here’s what I’ve finished so far:

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong (literary fiction): a son writes a letter about his life to his illiterate mother. Breathtakingly beautiful with it’s way with words this book is lovely and real in the hardest and sweetest ways. The author’s combination of prose and poetry is dazzling and intricate, this book has stuck with me for days afterward. 4.5 out of 5 stars.

Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik (fantasy): a money-lender gets in trouble after bragging she can turn silver into gold and is kidnapped and ordered to do so by a fey creature. It may be that I am the perfect audience for this type of book, but it’s my favorite thing I’ve read all year. It’s a book that equally takes on the fantastical and real-world with compelling female characters at the center of the whole thing. A wonderful fantasy journey inspired by eastern-European Jewish folklore. 5 out of 5 stars.

Through the Woods by Emily Carroll (horror graphic novel): a series of short horror comics. Absolutely bone-chilling! This was a really fun type of scary story, especially the last one which made my skin absolutely crawl. Deliciously eerie, this was treat to read if not a little too short. 4 out of 5 stars.

The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake by Aimee Bender (magical realism): a young girl can taste other people’s emotions in their cooking and begins to understand her family in new ways. This was a weird book, but it has everything you’ve got to love about that combination of the surreal and mundane. It’s sense of character was electrifying and I had fun engaging with this type of off-kilter real world. I was a little frustrated in parts bc of some characters choices, but that too was true to life. 4 out of 5 stars.

Crier’s War by Nina Varela (steampunk fantasy wlw): about a Made automaton heir to a throne and her human hand-maiden that is trying to kill her. This was an easy read with a lot of tension between the two main characters that I liked, but the writing itself was very weak. There was waaay too much exposition in parts and the dialogue had some really hockey lines. I enjoyed the twists and turns in the middle of the book, but the beginning and end didn’t have much movement. 2.5 stars out of 5.

The Huntress by Kate Quinn (historical fiction): honestly, I’m a little disappointed. This book just did not hit my sweet spots, it wasn’t fast-paced enough for me to get immersed in the plot, and the characters weren’t real enough to be wholly invested in them. That said I adored Nina Markova and the Night Witches, so that did help. 3 starts out of 5.

The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein by Kiersten White (horror sci-fi retelling): HAND IN UNLOVABLE HAND. A retelling of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein from the perspective of Victor Frankenstein’s wife and my God! The characters! The plot was well-enough, but the characters took the whole show for being complex and compelling. The main character was breathtakingly layered and I was wholly invested in Elizabeth and her story and the triumph at the end of this story was tangible. 4 out of 5 stars!

Uprooted by Naomi Novik (fantasy): A story of a young woman who lives in a valley where a girl must go live with a wizard for 10 years. She is certain she won’t be chosen, but ends up having to be “uprooted” herself. I enjoyed most of this book! However, I think I liked “Spinning Silver” a lot more just because the ending of this one somehow lost me. The characters were good and plot compelling, but (SPOILERS) the big battle at the end seemed to drag and didn’t interest me somehow. 3.8 out of 5 stars.

Gods of Jade and Shadow by Silvia Moreno-Garcia (fantasy): excellent read! A story of a young woman in Jazz Age Mexico who goes on an adventure with a Mayan death God who is trying to regain his throne. A romp across the country absolutely brimming with likable characters and fairy tale twists. My only complaint would be that most of it felt a little predictable due to the fact we knew where we were going throughout the whole story, However, it was still greatly enjoyable for the heroine herself, Casiopea. 4 out of 5 stars!

Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng (literary): a story of two families in a progressive “planned” community, how their lives intertwine, their secrets, and a central question surrounding motherhood. Deeply empathetic to its characters and introspective, this is an every-day story of people in suburbia that reads like a thriller. I could barely put it down and felt deeply for its characters and situations, 5 out of 5 stars!

Wilder Girls by Rory Power (YA sci-fi suspense): a story of a group of girls at a boarding school on an island affected by the “tox” which alters their bodies in strange ways like giving them scales or an extra spine. This was an eerie, interesting read with a wlw romance! Watch out for the body horror in this one, but it was very gripping and held my interest. Some of the pacing was off in places (like the romance), but had a very creepy atmosphere that did it for me. 3.8 out of 5 stars!

If We Were Villains by M.L. Rio (thriller-mystery): A thriller about a group of Shakespeare actors in their last year of college and one of their classmates who turns up dead. I enjoyed the murder mystery part of this novel more than I expected despite the fact I had guessed who had “done it” pretty early on. I really enjoyed the James-Oliver dynamic with its growing homoeroticism, but I didn’t like how the character of Meredith was handled at all. She felt like a one-note aside. I might have given this book four stars, but the ending was EXTREMELY frustrating for me and I did not like the “open-ended” conclusion. 3 out of 5 stars.

A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman (literary humor): a weird character-driven comedy about an old grumpy man and a new family that moves in next to him. Warning for themes of suicide. Anyway, I don’t normally indulge in cliches like “I laughed, I cried, I loved one Cat Annoyance.” However, that’s exactly what I did. I laughed out loud, I cried my eyes out (THE CAT’S HEAD WAS IN HIS PALM), I loved this book. It was sweet and compelling and thoroughly immersive. 5 out of 5 stars!

The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix E. Harrow (historical fantasy): set in the early 1900s comes a story of a young girl and her experience with “Doors” that lead to different worlds. This book had a lot of great character development and really interesting descriptions, however, I didn’t like it as much as I wanted to. I found it hard to get myself to sit down a read it. There was just something missing with the push to “page-turn,” but it was still a really good book. 3.7 out of 5 stars!

Gideon the 9th by Tamsyn Muir (high fantasy, kinda gay): I AM FILLED WITH EMOTIONS. This was book was definitely a page-turner. I was very confused with it at the beginning, but the characters and their interactions were, forgive the expression, the life blood of the story and kept me wholly invested. The ending has CRUSHED my heart, but damn did I have a good time reading it. 4.5 out of 5 stars!

Harrow the 9th by Tamsyn Muir (sequel to Gideon the 9th): I really enjoyed this book. It was just as strange and twisting as the first book, though I think I enjoyed the first one a bit more since I love Gideon. It was fun ride overall, though the ending was kind of really confusing. So 4 out of 5 stars.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo (historical fiction): Overall, I really enjoyed this book! The writing style was personable and grounded in reality. I found myself really liking the main characters and the exploration of the life of a bi main character was really well done I thought. A solid book with drama and glamor to boot. 4.6 out of 5 stars!

The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah (historical fiction): A story of two sisters during WWII and their resistance to Nazi occupation. To be honest, this book wasn’t my cup of tea. It was compelling, but also wholly depressing and I felt like gloried in the pain of the two main characters too much. The history was wonderful and realistic, but it didn’t make me feel anything good afterward. It was just dark. 3 out of 5 stars.

Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston (mlm romance): I finally finished this after the heaviness of The Nightingale. This is a story of the First Son of the USA falling for the prince of England. And it turned out to be a very fun and light hearted read! Some of it was kinda generic and too political, and it coulda been shorter, but I thought the romance itself made up for it. It just made me feel so sweet and lovely inside. 4 out of 5 stars!

Anxious People by Fredrik Backman (literary humor): I’m searching out heartfelt books and this one ticked off all the marks on my “sweet” list. A lovely book that made me cry more times than I would like to admit. Compassionate beyond belief, funny and heartfelt. I think I enjoyed A Man Called Ove slightly more, but this book was also dear to me and something I hope to reread in the future. 4.2 out of 5 stars!

Station Eleven by Emily St John Mandel (sci-fi): A post-apocalyptical story about a group of traveling Shakespeare actors and a symphony. Overall, an excellent read that somehow pictures a more realistic or even softer version of the apocalypse. At first, I wasn't happy with the jumping around of the story, but as I progressed I grew fonder and fonder of the interwoven characters and their journey. A very fascinating read about a world that hits a little too close to home. The appreciation of the arts and preserving humanity was somehow very hopeful and I was fully engaged with this story. 5 out of 5 Stars!

Up next: The Hidden Life of Trees by by Peter Wohlleben (nonfiction science), The City We Became by N. K. Jemisin (urban fantasy), The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern (fantasy)

#I'll keep this list updated!#am reading #bookblr #IA talks #I've mostly read books I've really liked this year!#then again I rarely finish books I don't like

2K notes · View notes

rose-sereniteeth · 3 years

Text

[2] Night water conspiracies and a warm milk with honey

(HOLY SHIT I’M WHIPPED)

[Sereniverse]: [2]

Pairing: Mingyu x reader

Word count: 1.7k

Genre/warnings: idol!au, technically poly!seventeen, crack, smut, language, oral (f receiving), fingering, being a bit too whipped for people.. a bit of fluff in the end

Summary: the one where you wake up in the middle of the night, meet a sleepy Mingyu in the kitchen and try to figure out why the water tastes so good

A/N: I love Mingyu. ....

...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH :3

...

You had been living with them for almost two months now. About five weeks after you had moved in, some events had occurred that led to three hours of you getting used by Hoshi, Joshua and Jeonghan in the sweetest ways you could imagine and the boys hadn't stopped teasing you about that night ever since.

They had heard all the sweet noises the three men had pulled from your lips and had gotten really riled up by it. Most of them could control themselves though, even though they had all dreamed about touching and tasting you one way or another. Not that you would have minded.

But not Mingyu.

He had voiced his yearning for you that night and despite the fact that you had almost been passed out in Joshua's arms, you had still heard and understood his complaints about missing out on you.

Needless to say that you were extremely flustered around the boys all the time, especially Mingyu, after that.

They looked at you differently now. Could also be that you only noticed it now though.

Mingyu could control himself for exactly two days before he approached you. You were standing in the kitchen, getting a 3 am glass of water because you had woken up for some reason. You thought that nightly water always tasted better than water during the day and you wondered what they did to the pipes at night to make it this great as you took a sip from your glass.

You were so immersed in your night-water-conspiracies that you didn't hear him enter the room so you jumped when Mingyu pulled you into a tight back hug, his hands snaking around your waist to your belly, resting his chin on your head.

"G'night, stinky." He greeted you. You rolled your eyes, answering "Hey, dipshit." Calling each other names came to be your dynamic over the past weeks and you found it really fun.

His body was warm against your back, his breath slow and his heartbeat calm. You could tell from his low rumbly voice that he was pretty tired and could only have woken up minutes ago. "You tired, big bear? Can't sleep?" you asked. He made some grumbly sound before answering "Mmh no, I mean.. ugh-". You giggled "So you are tired. Too tired to talk, it seems." "Mhm, seems like it." He mumbled. "Should I get you back to bed? Do you want a cup of warm milk with honey, to help you get to sleep?" You questioned.

"I'd rather have you, honey. Get you to my bed..." He grumbled lowly, lips right next to your ear now. You choked on your water. Mingyu loosened his grip around you to let you cough and you turned around in his arms hesitantly once you were done dying.

He just grinned down at you lazily before carefully taking your face into his left hand, his right staying at your hip. You could feel your face flush, it must have been red like a tomato. He let out a small chuckle as he bent down slightly and caught your lips with his gently.

You were pretty sure that you stopped breathing for a bit, but soon enough you found yourself kissing him back. The kiss was genuine, filled with way more than just sexual desire and you were melting into him like warm wax. Your arms were wrapped around his broad neck when he started deepening the kiss, exploring your mouth with his tongue.

He had wanted to do this for so long and it was even more heavenly than he had anticipated.

The rapper moved his hands to tap at the backs of your thighs. You took this as a hint to jump and straddle his hips to hold yourself up. It wasn't an invitation but rather a command in the way that he was holding you. Maybe it was the night water but you couldn't find the strength to not follow his order to have a little fun, as you usually would have done. His lips had something addicting about them and after he had hinted at his intentions, you could feel neediness pool between your legs. You definitely wanted more.

His large hands at your thighs, he carried you to his room easily, his lips never leaving yours. He dropped you onto his bed, hovering over you. When you pulled apart to breathe you remembered something "What about your honey milk?" He scoffed "Who cares about that? The only thing I want on my lips right now is you." He added, his face so close to yours that you could feel his heavy breath on your lips.

With that he connected his lips with yours again, pushing slightly so you would lean back and lay down. When you were laying flat on your back, him towering over you, he started trailing his lips to your jaw and neck, pulling the sweetest breathy moans and gasps from you.

Your legs wrapped around Mingyu's waist and your hands went under his shirt, traveling across his carved torso. His skin was so soft under your fingertips and you couldn't wait to see him. He chuckled when you started tugging at his shirt. "So eager, little bunny. No patience." You could feel his grin on your lips when you opened your eyes to make puppy-eyes at him. "Please?"

His grin widened into a shining smile as he slightly pulled away from you. Just enough to take off his shirt. When Mingyu caught you staring at his toned chest he slowly straightened his back, looking down at you a little bit too confident. "Like what you see, Bunny?"

You just continued looking, mumbling something absentmindedly as you stared at his toned torso. You were certain that he was shining. His skin so smooth and soft, his light muscles casting beautiful shadows over it in the dim light of his bedside lamp. He chuckled yet again before he bent down to you, letting his shirt fall wherever.

Your lips were on his in an instant as it was his turn now to rid you off your shirt. When it was done his lips attacked your neck again, his teeth nipping the skin as he started sucking on it slightly. You let out a grasp that earned you a small sound from deep within his chest.

Your legs were between his now while he was holding himself up on his hands and knees and you thought you would try to tease him a bit. You angled your leg slightly, pressing your thigh to his crotch, where you could feel his hard member straining against the confines of his slacks. He let out a low moan, having to pause marking your skin. It took him a second to catch himself again but when he did, he looked at you with hooded eyes. The sound of him and his look shot arousal straight to your core and if you weren't wet already, you would definitely have been now..

You breathed his name automatically. It was a plea for him to start touching you and he immediately listened. He pulled your sleep shorts and underwear away in one swift motion and didn't lose time kneeling before the bed and diving between your thighs. His strong hands grabbed your hips and pulled you towards him. You felt his hot tongue lick a long stripe over Your heat and moaned his name before you had had enough time to process what he was doing.

Your hands went straight for his hair, tangling your fingers in the strands and pulling slightly from time to time. Mingyu made out with your flower furiously. He was so immersed in your scent and taste and the way you felt that he didn't know anything but you in the moment.

After a short while he added a finger, playing at your entrance first before he slowly pushed it in. Though the stretch was not a lot, it made your eyes roll back and a series of moans and pleas leave your lips.

You pulled at Mingyu's hair roughly when he added a second finger and started scissoring his digits inside you, stretching you out more. The sudden harsh tug made him growl at your core, sending vibrations through your whole body that made you clench around his fingers and he chuckled at your body's reaction to him.

“P-please.. Mingyu…” It came out more like a breath than real words, but he heard it, detaching himself from you and pulling his fingers out immediately as he looked at you with blown out pupils. “What is it?” he asked curiously but out of breath. You didn’t hesitate, answering him “Please, need you inside me, Mingyu.” You knew what would come next, judging from the smirk that played across his rosy lips. “And don’t you dare tell me that you already were!” “Or what?” You shook your head. “Just fucking kiss me already.” You said, leaning forward and reaching out for him to pull him towards you.

He smiled into the kiss as he rose from his knees, taking off his sweats and underwear in the process. He swiftly grabbed a condom from his bedside drawer and you watched him as he opened it with his teeth, looking up at him with hooded eyes.

///

You slept like a baby in his warm embrace after you two were done and only awoke in the later morning hours to two voices in the room.

" -lucky beanpole-ass lookin'.." You couldn't identify the voice in your half-sleepy state. "Shut up Jihoon, she's still sleeping, idiot." Mingyu whisper-shouted, holding you tighter to his chest. "And at least I'm not some tiny-ass smurf-gnome kinda abomination, asshole! Now fuck off and close the door. I'll make you even shorter, if you wake her up." He added, fake aggression evident in his tone. Jihoon went to close the door, not without mumbling a "Geez Rambo, chill your enormous breadstick ass down man.." more to himself than to Mingyu.

You fell back asleep for a few more hours shortly after that, snuggling into the big boy a bit more.

149 notes · View notes

jadelynlace · 3 years

Text

a dead woman tells no tales / vikings fiction

series based on Lady Lazarus, a poem by Sylvia Plath.

chapter four / catch up here

synopsis: He left you for dead and now you’re back.

author’s note: the one small detail the reader has, is that she is a red head.

specific chapter content warning(s): mentions of blood, torture (aftermath), suicide and sexual content below the cut (female receiving oral, during her cycle). also note that I included a favorite quote of mine per their characterization and dynamic.

pairing: Ivar x Reader

✄

Noticing the blue sky, it stung in your mind the same shade Ivar’s eyes had been the last night you saw him. Preoccupation with the thoughts of torture—wine red blood slipping between your fingers as shone to Ivar while his absurd laughter overtakes the vicinity—you keep a fair distance from him as he spun the tales back from his own memory. You had no prior knowledge of the day you two were in the field, overcome with sudden whispers in your ears that the visions you saw so clearly dancing on your closed eyelids were no longer there. That they were not real. Stumbled together in a stew of colliding past details, but you two always went to that forest, you two always snuck away, you two always took swords and daggers to each other for practice, you always kissed his cheek when you were to head back and he would always grab you face to plant your lips on his instead. Your mind knew up to that, then your head spoke of the rocks, how your spine felt along their backing, leaves at your feet with Ivar looking over you—but he was standing as he gazed—he could not stand long enough, even then, to examine your injuries to gather if he should carry you back or bring back the aid.

What Ivar told you was a far fetched tale of haggard details, how he told you then of his plans to follow where he was destined, how he would not let you raid, battle alongside him. How you were to wait, or pass time with others who were better than the crippled boy you so loved. How you stopped meeting him in the forest to practice and how when he went days without word from you, sight of you, he went to that spot in the forest once more. Your legs swinging from the ledge as he could see the sunshine in your hair lighting it like a fire, a brief turn back to him with the softest smile he remembers, and then you fell forwards. Dropping his swords and crawling across the ground to see you on the rocks below, eyes dead yet still stuck on him. By the time he made haste back, few in his wake there was a shadow of crimson on the slate but you were gone. Ivar went on with his troops so plainly disturbed by what he watched he had spent every night since locked in a dream of its repetition.

For days now, you wanted no sight of him, no word, no touch. You begged the Gods for silence, to answer you and gift upon you the details you did not remember. You wanted the great wings of the overhead birds to carry you back in time to re-watch the story, to see where Ivar had pushed you, but the longer you harped on such instances, the clearer his story unraveled in your mind.

The stars were powerful above you as your feet carried you to the overgrown area you had spent too long trying to stray from. How the sky gathered out before you as you looked up through cracklings of branches while simply laying among the brush. How the darkness spoke to you of your sadness, your directory of losing Ivar to consume you into a guilt that you were not good enough for him. Enough to fight with him. For him and his crippled legs, that you were not enough. The moon was vacant from the sky, the slithers of a blanket of blackness coated the woods and you alike as you could suddenly hear the whimpers of a woman. Sitting up slowly, your dagger in your grip your mind told you that you were seeing the young girl you remembered to be, stuck on the cold stone crying to the immortals above to set Ivar’s mind in the right path, to make you stronger, or to just keep him safe on the voyage. You hear bitter sarcasm spoken back, an evil spirit answering your voice in deep pity, and then as you try to look away from your own body sitting perched, everything lightens. Your head is on a swivel as the unclear figure looms in the distance and you know that crooked stance to belong to Ivar. You watch how he approaches you. You watch yourself smile back so gently. You watch him with his eyes on you. You watch yourself fall forwards. You watch Ivar drop, hastily maneuvering himself to the ledge and you watch him scream. Your body shoots up in the forest as if it was pulled back like an arrow, your chest heaving as the night terror passes back through your vision and you know now Ivar was telling the truth.

You had met cunning women before, serpents of lies who leech, return to the grounds like the nine lives of a feline, but Freydis holds a spot in your mind that fits not of that. There is a vileness about her, the way her blonde hair curls across her breasts, how her hips have widened from bringing forth a child Ivar was so hopeful to teach as his own. As she sees you in Ivar quarters, a brief wave of confusion passes down the bridge of her nose before she raises it up towards the structure’s ceiling.

“Has he wed you?” She asks but you scoff in reply. “Has he promised you the ends of our world? His devotion? Has he promised to change from the monster that he is?” Your head tips slightly in interest, longing to see how far this woman may crawl to spite the name of the man she hurt. “Has he promised to stop the terrible things he does?” But her mouth closes too soon for your liking.

“I am not here to wed Ivar the Boneless,” You answer.

“Then why are you here before me?” Freydis asks as you finally smile.

“To watch you bleed,”

You peeled Freydis’ skin like a cloth. The pits where her eyes once lived housed the curve of your dagger, you carved holes where out leapt her organs and pooled red paste along the floor. The height of her lungs through her chest, how the hair on her head could make wigs to barter, the bones could be gathered for handles on your wardrobe. While Freydis had been untangled like a scrunched ball of yarn, you remain of skin and bones, unchanged. It was art, how Freydis’ perished. It was art how you held the red soaked blade to Ivar’s tongue as he lapped the blood away from the forged metal. It was art how the soak of the wet fabrics took the day of torture from your hands as Ivar washed you in the river.

“You have gifted me love, despite the horror,” Ivar says out of nowhere during the silence of the water across your bodies. “I thought I would not want your love unless you really knew how repulsive I am. But you still love me even as you know of it,”

“I jumped, Ivar,” You then whisper. “I remember now,”

“I know,”

“I jumped because I was confused; how you spoke of my skills but would not let me raid alongside you. How you wanted me to find happiness with another man who was not you; but if it was not you, then who else was going to love me?” You’re unsure of the wetness across your face to be from the droplets of wet hair, or the tears from your lashes, Ivar’s arms heavily around you.

“Tell me every terrible thing you have done since that jump, Y/N. And I let me love you still,”

Sunlight dries both of you, heated skin tickled across the grass as you two are there to lay far longer than deemed appropriate. Wisps of flowers along your thighs as the wind become the only noise in your ears before the beat from within Ivar’s chest comes next. You covet the time alone with Ivar, how you two would spend the afternoons in search of creatures in the clouds, how he has changed to become a man of tough steel. Your monthly blood came not soon after Freydis was drained of hers, still streaking your inner thighs despite how long you spend changing your linens. Another wave of pressure nudges just top of your womanhood and you hiss slightly, maneuvering off of the fur to stand level and hope it will drain more. Your nudity along the bed catches Ivar first when he enters, across a plain of fabric still cleaning the crimson from your skin.

“I assumed I got it all in the water,” Ivar states when he is on the furs.

“It is my blood, Ivar,” You whisper back, his head turning to catch your gaze. “My monthly blood, I am not hurt,” You assure him. He pulls a fur to cover your shoulders, taking his time to unlatch the beginning parts of the casts, watchful to see if your eyes linger on how he works. “I will take them off if you would like,” You say softly but he snaps his disapproval of your quick idea. You compensate the moment of silence by tending back to yourself, ready to toss the rag for another one and pray the bleeding does not last longer than it should. There’s a new cloth next to your knee before you’re able to rise for another one. As you lay back, Ivar still sits, swinging the tied limbs over the bed as you cast eyes up to the ceiling. The first stroke of the wet cloth on your skin at the end of Ivar’s hand jolts you, curling your knees together and away from him.

“I can not work if you do not stay open,” Ivar says to you, a raise of his brow in challenge.

“You do not clean me,” You say back, climbing forwards to grab the cloth but Ivar holds it too high for your reach at your angle. “Ivar do not be childish,”

“I will clean you,” He states. “How is cleaning you now different than in the river?”

“Because that was blood of another—blood from a battle, this blood is mine, and mine only. I will clean it,” You say back but he still keeps his arm stuck though the air.

“I will clean my queen,” Ivar then says. “Let me,”

“I am not your queen,” You huff back, you arms dropping to bring you back to your position of laying. It would be tale of lies if his words did not catch you with your guard down. You did not plan, not now, to wed Ivar. But the first few breaths after his statement makes those thoughts fade like the sunset. “As you wish,” You finally say, rolling your eyes to take in the vicinity and turning your head away from him. He provides no movements, transfixed on the slight color change that takes over the lips of your cunt with the leeched moon cycle. How it had caressed your legs’ inner flesh, over the scar he had asked of and how it sticks against you. He remembers how Freydis’ blood tasted on your blade, and Ivar wonders how much sweeter yours must be flavored. The next brush against your skin is warm, and you remember the cloth to have gone frigid. Your head cranes quickly to see Ivar between your legs, looking back to you as his tongue drags closer to your middle. His chest heaves as his arms curl around your bent legs, rolling himself to lay between them as his tongue moves the same. A quick rush of air enters your mouth before his lips are against your cunt, slowly tasting the crimson that has stained you. His moan comes low from in his chest, eyes since closed as his hands pull at you further to spread, tingling a peeking pleasure against you as he laps. You don’t notice right away how your nails dig against the furs, how they move to dance over your own chest or how the old pulse in your abdomen has been overruled by bliss. His tongue is warm still as his mouth studies you, drinking you, and as you moan back Ivar replies with his own. His name is hot against your mouth when your spine arches, but he shows no hints of stopping, trying to grip roughly against your thighs as they shake, twist and turn with your hips as a creep of your release moves closer. He does not pull back until you have screamed his name as a chant as you come, raking your nails against your breasts in attempts to quiet yourself but it pitiful how unsuccessful you are. He only looks up at you as your breathing slows, his mouth stained with your blood and release as he cleans it with the back of his own hand. His eyes now almost as dark as the night sky as he crawls back over you and he is all you feel.

Tagged:

@smileysam13579 @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk @angelofthenightposts @ill-skillsgard @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @skrsgardspam @lihikainanea @queen-sarang @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @youbloodymadgenius @walkxthexmoon @flowers-in-your-hayr @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @grimeundglow @another-bryk-in-the-wall @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @revolution-starter

*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/fandom/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

#Vikings #vikings fiction #vikings au #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok fanfiction #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson #ivar ragnarsson fanfiction #ivar ragnarsson smut #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar au #ivar x reader #ivar x y/n #ivar x you #— i am i am i am. ( my writings & creations )

47 notes · View notes

duskholland · 4 years

Text

I'll Take Care of You | Peter Parker

summary ↠ you’re a med student who falls into the habit of patching up Spider-Man

wc ↠ 4k

warnings ↠ some descriptions of injury (but nothing very graphic because I am a wimp), light swearing, fluff

a/n ↠ based off a request I had for a doctor/patient fic with Peter. I didn’t want to do that exact dynamic, so I put a spin on it and had some fun with it! I hope you enjoy, anon! any feedback would be gratefully received :’))

It’s 11pm on a chilly October night, and you’re hunched over one of the high wooden benches in your university’s lab. The only light in the room comes from the lamp you’re settled beside, and you’re completely lost in thought as you practice your running stitches on a rather beaten and bruised banana. You can’t quite seem to get it right, and with each failed attempt at securing an even stitch, you find yourself growing more and more frustrated. You’re about to pack it in and call it a night when there’s a loud crash behind you, and you spin around to see the shady figure of someone attempting to break into the lab.

“Fucking hell,” you mutter. Your heart rate spikes and your mouth runs dry, fear replacing your irritation as you watch a dark stranger jimmy open the window at the other side of the lab. You freeze, eyes wide in fear, and cower back as the person topples through the window, cursing lowly. They scramble to their feet, brushing themselves down, and when they take a step towards the centre of the room, your eyes light up with terrified recognition. “Spider-Man?!” You exclaim.

It might be dark in the lab, but that doesn’t prevent you from making out the red and blue lines of the familiar spidersuit. You didn’t think it was possible to be even more shocked than you were, but then the figure stumbles towards you and crashes to the ground, and you realise the darker spots on the suit are patches of blood.

“Help me…” Comes a high, quivering voice.

Shaking like a leaf, you tentatively approach the figure. He’s curled up in a ball on the floor, and you grab a handy first-aid kit as you crouch beside him. The darkest patches seem to be around his torso, but you’re not sure how to access that without harming the suit. As if sensing your predicament, the man reaches up and presses a button on his neck. You gasp lightly as the entire torso section of his suit separates itself and dissolves into nothing, leaving you facing the exposed, clammy skin of New York’s favourite hero. Your eyes quickly identify his source of pain, and you find yourself wincing as you see the issue: there are several shards of glass impaled in his side, and they’re preventing his body from regenerating and healing. You know you’ll need to remove them.

“Okay, okay,” you mutter, steeling yourself. You quickly unzip the kit and pull out a pair of tweezers, some disinfectant, and a roll of bandages. You try to keep your voice as level as possible as you speak to the man. “You’ve got some glass stuck in your side,” you say calmly. “I’m going to pull them out and disinfect the wound. It, uh, it’s probably going to hurt, and I’m really sorry, but it could get infected if I leave them in.”

Spider-Man manages a breathless, “okay,” which you take to mean you can start working.

Trying to still your shaking hands, you press one palm to his chest as the fingers of your other hand wrap around the tweezers. You manage to get a grip on the larger shard of glass and slowly pull it from the wound. The hero tenses and curses, but he stays still, allowing you to quickly and safely remove the piece. Once the first one is out, you grow more confident and manage to clear the others within the minute. After inspecting the wound and deciding there’s nothing left in there, you drag a ball of cotton wool soaked in disinfectant over the gash.

“That’s you,” you remark. Your forehead has a line of cool perspiration over it, and you feel a wave of intense relief pass through you as you finish bandaging his side. You sit back and lean against a wooden bench, a deep sigh passing through your lips.

Spider-Man looks down at his side, the erratic movements of his chest slowly calming. It’s for the first time that you’re able to properly look at him, and you find your heart beating a little faster in your chest as your eyes make out the shadowed lines of his abs.

“Thank you, uh…”

“Y/N,” you supply.

You can sense the smile beneath the mask. “Thanks, Y/N,” Spider-Man finishes. He scoots himself back so he’s also leaning against a wooden bench, his body facing you. “I usually have to do that myself.”

A warmth tickles at your cheeks as you push your hair back and away from your face. “You don’t have, like, a team of people to do that for you?”

Spider-Man laughs, his voice light and airy. “Not exactly,” he replies. “I mean, I probably could if I wanted to, but I work better alone.”

Your lips curl into a frown. “Alone?” You echo. “Isn’t that kinda dangerous?”

Spider-Man shrugs. “I guess,” he says, voice drawling. “I’ve made it this far, though, so I must be doing something right.”

You laugh gently. “Yeah, right,” you tease. “If it wasn’t for me, you would’ve passed out and woken up with a nasty infection.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” he says, raising his hands innocently. He tilts his head to the side. “What are you doing here, anyway? No classes run this late.”

It’s your turn to feel a little embarrassed. “Oh, uh, I’m a first-year med student. Sometimes I stay back late to practice some of my sutures.” You point up to the desk and where a pile of your abused, half-stitched bananas sit. “It’s the only time I can get some peace and quiet.”

He surprises you by nimbly climbing to his feet and walking over to your workstation. As he moves, he presses a button on his neck again, and his suit closes over his chest. You find yourself frowning as the suit hides the rippling muscles of his back, and you quickly clear your throat to suppress that particular thought. You get up and join him, lingering a little behind.

“Not bad,” he compliments. He turns to look at you, and you know from the way the suit’s mask twitches that he’s smiling. “Med student, you say?”

You nod. “Yeah. So far I only know the basics, but it feels good to be able to give back to people.”

Spider-Man nods. “I know what you mean.”

A silence falls between you both, and you lean down to grab a scrap piece of paper. You quickly scribble down your number before passing it to him, the hero accepting it cautiously.

“Take it,” you plead. “Just in case you ever need anything. I live just off campus, and I’m usually awake at night. If you ever decide you need a medical squad, I’m your guy, alright?” Your lips pull into a smile as he pockets the paper.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he says, voice softer. He takes a few tentative steps back, looking at the window he entered through. “I should go. City to save, and all that. But… I really do appreciate what you’ve done for me tonight. Thank you.”

You manage a brave smile as you urge him towards the window, pretending it doesn’t shatter your dreams to bid farewell to the hero you know you’ll likely never see again. “See you around, Spider-Man. Stay safe!”

And he raises a hand in a quick wave goodbye before hopping from the window and disappearing into the night sky, leaving you, a messy lab, and a thousand thoughts behind.

You don’t hear from him for three months.

Over those long, twelve weeks, you start your first placement at the local hospital and soon become too busy to feel sad at his lack of contact. But still, occasionally, you’ll catch yourself with a dullness rounding out your heart as you think of the way he’d taken your number and since ignored you. A part of you is grateful he hasn’t needed you, but another is sad you only spent one night with him. Spider-Man has always been a bit of an idol to you, and the realisation that you’ll never see him again is a tough one to come to terms with.

It’s mid-January and 1.32am when your phone vibrates on your nightstand. You groan as you turn over, your body shifting beneath your rustling sheets as you blindly bat at the table before your fingers close around the device. You pull it in close, silently begging you’re not being called in to work a spontaneous night shift, and lazily force your eyes open as you read the texts.

[Unknown] hey where do you live ???

[Unknown] it’s spider-man

[Unknown] I need you

[Unknown] help

Suddenly you’re wide awake, and with trembling fingers, you quickly attach your location and send it off. You jump from your bed and turn on your bedroom light as you pull a hoodie around your torso. Luckily you live alone and have your own comprehensive first aid kit, otherwise, you know you’d be fucked.

You wait for about three minutes before there’s a sudden, loud knock on your bedroom window. Your heart catches in the back of your throat as you squeak loudly, spinning around to see a blurry figure behind the pane. You hurry over and quickly unlock the window, and jump out of the way just in time to avoid the very heavy, and very wet figure of Spider-Man as he rolls into your room, collapsing in a heap in the middle of your carpet. He’s groaning - loudly - and this time, he appears to have dislocated his shoulder.

“Pop it back in,” he whines, voice pulled tight with stress. He manages to sit up, hunched over as his good hand clutches at his shoulder. “Oh my god, I’m gonna pass out.”

“Calm down,” you manage, gulping. Luckily for him, you’ve just finished a rotation in orthopaedics, so you aren’t completely in the dark about how to help him. “Take a deep breath, Spidey.” You push his hand away from his shoulder and replace it with your own. “I’ll count you down. 3, 2, 1-”

He curses, expletives rolling down his tongue as you carefully, but decisively, pop his shoulder back into the socket. A sickening crunch fills the air, but a moment later, his entire body seems to relax. He sighs and slumps back.

“Thank you so much,” he manages, voice sounding a little weak. “I tried to do it myself but apparently that just made it worse.”

Your eyes widen. “Uh, yeah, that’s a terrible idea.” You pull yourself to your feet and quickly help him up, depositing the hero on your bed. “I’ll go get you some water, or something. You look terrible.” You don’t have to see his face to know that beneath the suit, the man is bruised and exhausted. His posture alone speaks volumes as he sits curled over on the edge of your bed, his head falling forward to rest in his hands.

When you return with a glass of water and a bar of chocolate, he lets you sit beside him as he gratefully devours them. To your surprise, the suit parts at his mouth and exposes the thin lines of his pink lips, letting you see his cheesy grin as he smiles at you.

“Always coming to my rescue, Y/N,” he says, voice a little stronger just after a square of chocolate. “Thanks.”

“It’s alright,” you reply. Suddenly you become very aware of the large, sagging bags beneath your eyes and the way you’re sure your hair is sticking up all over the place. “Anything for New York’s best.”

He chuckles slightly. Once he’s done with the water and the chocolate, he places both the glass and the wrapper on your bedside table and collapses back on your bed with a soft thump. He stares up at the ceiling, his breathing gradually growing slower. “How’s college?”

You shrug. “Busy,” you explain. “I’m in the hospital most days, learning how to do stuff. Never thought it would be so demanding, but it feels good to be able to make someone feel better.”

“You should get extra credit for helping Spider-Man,” he ponders, voice quiet but sweet.

You laugh. “It’s not exactly been difficult to help you, so far. I can handle a dislocated shoulder and a few bits of glass.”

“Oh, so you want me to be more injured next time I visit you?” You can practically feel the smirk in his voice as your face heats up.

“No! Absolutely not. I don’t mean that at all.”

Spider-Man’s laugh warms your heart. “I know what you meant.” He sits up with a sigh. “Your bed is so comfy, Y/N.”

“Help yourself,” you tease.

He laughs again as he carefully rises to his feet, rolling around his shoulder as if testing its capabilities. “Feels as good as new,” he says. “Thanks, Doc.”

“Any time,” you reply. You stifle a yawn, and Spider-Man crosses his arms over his chest.

“Get some sleep,” he orders sternly. He hops over to your window and wrenches it open easily. “Thanks for the water, and the chocolate, and the life-saving,” he adds, already with a leg swung out of your window.

“Bye, Spiderman,” you say. The smile fades from your lips as he disappears once more, closing the window behind him with a quiet thud. But the grin quickly springs back as you realise he might contact you again, now he knows where you live, and you can’t help but find a little comfort in that thought.

Over the next few months, Spider-Man visits you semi-regularly. He has you text him your rotation schedule so to ensure he never bothers you when you’re busy at the hospital, and that alone causes your heart to warm to him even more. It’s always small things he visits for: bullet wounds, dislocated joints, grotty injuries. Things that would seriously harm any normal human, but since it’s Spider-Man, they only graze him. You fix him up and then send him on his way, and that’s it, simply. A fleeting encounter and then he’s off.

And it goes on like this for a while, until a warm evening in May. You’re sat cross-legged on your bed as darkness falls across the city, curled up with a nice book as you enjoy your day off from college. You feel calm and collected, and you’re about to light a candle and crawl into bed when there’s a loud banging on your window and you startle.

You stare outside, but there’s no one there. It’s dark, so you put your book down and tentatively creep over to the window, confused as to the source of the noise. Curiously, you pull up the window, and that’s when you hear Spider-Man’s familiar groans, and you look down to find him crumpled in a heap on your fire escape. Instantly you’re filled with dread.

It’s very difficult to actually get the hero into your apartment, but you manage to haul through your window eventually. You set him on the floor where he lies motionless, his breaths shallow and pained, and your blood runs cold as you take in the state of him. You crouch down beside him, first aid kit in hand, and find yourself at a loss of where to start. His suit is covered in lacerations and dark, bloody marks, but you don’t have access to him at all.

Just as you’re beginning to despair, you remember the buttons on his neck and carefully reach up. You don’t know which ones to press, and you certainly don’t want to betray him by accidentally removing his face mask, but when he releases another pained groan, you just push at a few random buttons. The suit deflates and retracts from his chest and lower half, leaving him in his gloves, face mask and underwear, but luckily exposing all the areas you need access to.

You survey the damage and feel despondent. He’s been very badly injured, and you’re terrified you won’t be able to help him. But that fear is quickly replaced by a determination as your brain shifts into doctor mode, and your hands start working before your mind can even process what you’re doing. You start by applying pressure to some of the larger gashes on his chest, stemming the steady flow of deep crimson blood until it’s a weaker trickle, and you feel confident bandaging them in a tight white wrap. Then you clean out some of the smaller wounds and stick a few smaller plasters there. Once you’ve cleaned him up a bit, the damage doesn’t look so bad, and though his pale skin has the beginnings of some deep, yellowy-blue bruises forming, you don’t think he’s got any internal injuries.

“How are you doing, Spidey?” You manage, voice croaking hoarsely.

Spider-Man groans softly. “I don’t feel like I’m dying anymore,” he quips, “But I still feel horrendous.” He pauses for a moment before grabbing at your hand. He’s still got gloves on, but you feel the tenderness in his touch as he squeezes your fingers gently. “Call me Peter,” he requests.

You nod as surprise settles across you. “You’ve lost a lot of blood but I think you’ll be okay, Peter. I don’t really understand how your body heals so quickly, but you’re looking stronger already. I think you just need to rest.” You glance out at the dark night sky. “You should stay here overnight.”

To your surprise, he doesn’t disagree. “Okay,” he says instead. His grip on your hand tightens as he slowly tries to get up. You help him out as much as you can and quickly settle him on your bed.

“I’ve got some clothes you can wear, wait.” You turn around and go to rummage through your dresser, pulling out a spare t-shirt. You toss it to the bed, and when you’re back by his side, he’s slid it over his chest. He looks very odd, sitting on your bed, your t-shirt on his upper half, his boxers on his lower, and a mask on his face, but at this point, you just accept it. “I’ll go crash on the couch. Yell if you need-”

“No, no. That’s not right,” Peter interrupts. You can tell he’s frowning. “You can, um, stay here, if you want. With me. In here.”

Your face shifts into a surprised o. “Oh, no, really, I… You should have space to spread out,” you say. You can’t ignore the way your heart beats deeply against your ribcage at the idea of cosying up against the hero.

“Please?” He asks, voice sweet. “What if I suddenly crash in the night? Or start bleeding out? How will I live if my doctor isn’t here to help me?”

You roll your eyes. “Dramatic, aren’t you?” But you walk over to him anyway and help him settle into your bed. You flick off your light and shut your window, and then you tentatively climb into the other side of your bed, slipping down until you’re beneath the covers, the warm figure of Spider-Man beside you. You’re tense, and for a moment you just lay there, breathing unevenly, staring at the ceiling and wondering how the fuck you ended up in this position.

“I’m, um… I’m gonna take off my mask,” comes Peter voice, quiet, but still loud enough for you to hear.

“What?!” You exclaim. You turn over on your side so you face him, your eyebrows pulling towards your forehead. “Why would you want to do that?”

He shrugs, his slim fingers knocking up against his neck. “It’s dark,” he reasons. “I trust you. And honestly, I’m feeling kinda delirious and this thing can be a bit hard to breathe through.”

You swallow deeply and watch carefully as Peter slowly pulls the mask up, up, up. It rolls up over his chin, his mouth, his nose, and his eyes, and with each feature it reveals, you find yourself holding your breath even more. Because it’s dark, in your room, but it’s not dark enough to hide his face, and you realise in a terrifying moment that he trusts you - Spider-Man trusts you - with his most hidden secret: his identity. And that makes you feel incredibly special.

“Peter…” You whisper, voice escaping into the air. Your eyes trace all over his face as he flings the mask aside. He’s got lovely dark, wispy hair, that stands up madly in all directions, and deep, caring brown eyes that watch your face intently. Your gaze shifts to his nose, and you smile as you notice it sits a little wonkily to the side, and then you find the air being pulled from your lungs as your eyes settle on his perfect, parted lips.

He’s beautiful. Utterly, completely, beautiful, and you really wish he’d kept the mask on, because he’s made it very hard for you to lie there as your lips quirk into a smile and your heart races in your chest, and just do nothing.

But then he does something.

With a shaky hand, Peter reaches up to cup your cheek. He shuffles closer, his musky cedar-wood scent filling your nostrils as he places his head on your pillow. His long, roughened fingertips move over your cheekbones, scattering trails of warmth over your skin as he gently caresses your face, his eyes gentle and loving. “Thank you for always looking after me, Y/N.” His breath fans out across your features, drawing a warmth to your face.

You swallow deeply, subconsciously nuzzling your cheek into his hand. You stretch out your legs and they tangle with his, and excitement rushes through your veins as his other hand finds your waist and he pulls you closer. Your foreheads are practically pressed together now, the warmth of his body heat surging through you as you gaze into his eyes. “I’ll always look after you, Peter,” you promise, voice soft and sweet. “I care about you.”

The tip of his nose brushes against yours softly. “I care about you too, Y/N. So much.” His eyes flicker shut, his long, feathery eyelashes falling to a soft rest at the top of his cheeks. You follow suit, and with your eyes closed, it’s as if everything else is amplified: his tender touch on your cheek, his warm hand wrapped around your waist, his legs tangled with yours. You find yourself straining closer, desperate for more.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, finally.

“Of course.”

And then his lips are on yours, moving softly against your mouth. It’s tender at first, barely even a touch, but as you push back against him, it grows stronger, like a small fire gradually building heat. You reach for his figure and gently wrap your hands around his waist as you kiss him deeply, clinging to him, longing for him, enjoying the feeling of coming home as your lips move together. It’s soft, and warm, and perfect, and it seems to span an infinity as you kiss him in the dark, bundled up beneath the blankets together.

He pulls back after a few perfect minutes, his forehead pressed flush against yours as he pants for breath. “I love kissing you,” he murmurs. “I love being with you, Y/N.”

You drag a hand up through his soft brown curls, a permanent smile hanging from your lips. “Feel free to kiss me as much as you’d like,” you mumble.

He presses another sweet kiss to your lips and holds you close. “Oh, I fully intend to,” he promises. Then he drags his mouth to your forehead and leaves a scattering of light kisses to your hairline, and you relax back into his arms, a sense of fulfilment blossoming through your chest. He’s warm, and soft, and you know there’s nowhere you’d rather be than right here, bundled up in Spider-Man’s arms, drifting off into a gentle slumber. And as he presses a final kiss to the back of your head, you know he feels the same way, too.

any feedback? I would love to hear any thoughts you have on this!

masterlist

taglist ↠ see this post to be added :D

@behind-my-hazeleyes27 @stiles-o-dylan24 @stilinskiswritings @stealth-spiderr @youngblood199456 @flyingburrito123 @kiwijulia @theraggedwerewolf @stixnstripesworld @mischiefandi @penguinchick100 @hcomet28 @aftrrglo @scottish-sim @cosmicholland @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles @sweet-baby-cakes @apatheticanvas67482 @oh-whatabeautiful-parker @panadolle @rhapsodyparker @xxxxdelenaxxxx @blairscott @quaksonhehe

#Peter parker #Peter Parker oneshot #Peter Parker imagine #Peter Parker x reader #Peter Parker fluff #woohoo #I wrote this all this evening so if it's bad I apologise but ? I think it turned out kinda sweet n fluffy #any thoughts would be appreciated!#am still getting into the swing of writing #so any feedback welcomed #thanks for reading <3 #my writing #self-insert #y/n #y/n use #wahey #college!peter

778 notes · View notes