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wmarximoff · 2 years

Note

Prompt: y/n is best friends with Pietro, he knows everything about his ex who cheated on her . (Y/n doesn't know that Wanda is Pietro s sister)

So what will happen when Pietro introduces his sister to Y/n not knowing that they are exes .

just tonight | w. maximoff

summary: it should just be a night out with friends that you weren't even interested in going to. it wasn't in your plans, of course, that your ex-girlfriend who cheated on you would be your best friend's twin sister.

warnings (18+): heavy angst, cheating, hints of internalized homophobia, brief smut, oral sex (Wanda receiving), drinking, smoking.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 7k

A/N: okay, that's sad. i'm sad i wrote this, not gonna lie (but it's not like i don't like angst content lol)

(by the way, if anyone is interested in a closed ending for this fic, I suggest you read this little thread here about the possibilities after the end of the story)

|masterlist|

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The aroma that permeated the atmosphere was a distinctive mix of freshly brewed full-bodied coffee and a compact cloud of despondency typical of towering over the heads of tired adults; those who wake up early to go to work only to return to their homes, exhausted and hungry and lacking of doses of patience, when the sun has already said goodbye to the horizon and the white of the streetlamps have already been lit – a wrapper of annoyance, a set of tired faces gathered inside the same room like an adoption fair of dejected people.

It was a rectangular room, spacious and well-ventilated, though sparsely surrounded by second-hand furniture, lit by large glass windows set behind skinny blinds of cheap plastic – a beam of golden morning luminescence penetrated the room through the cracks open there, sunrays that crossed your still warm coffee cup, projected in three specific points through the serene countenance pierced by the placid extension of your face.

You were seated at one of the many small circular tables dotted around the room (in the middle of the open door was a brass plaque that spelled out the words “staff room”). The Staff Room, that place whose lands are outside the students' domains.

From the medium cup you then sipped a long sip of warm coffee, your eyes spilling over a handful of papers chaotically deposited on the face of the table as if you'd accidentally spilled the entire contents of your bag there.

So, in sequence, you picked up the last traces of the drink by sliding the tip of your tongue along the commission of your lips, the bitterness of the coffee courting the harshness of a freshly smoked cigarette on the face of your tongue, to which you added both woody palates in a single homogeneous flavor inside your mouth. The inside of your throat was grateful for the momentary source of heat.

It was cold in Westview. Cold enough that you would have left your house on the lower north side of town, still in the preamble to that very morning, braced by your thick polyester coat and a high-necked shirt made of dark wool, your armor draped over your body for a battle waged against a merciless cold – or, perhaps, a severe hypothermia. A pair of thin-rimmed glasses peeked out from the bridge of your nose.

Wintry coldness took possession of the small town so that the leaves of the trees took on endogenous shades of orange and red, and the sky, in turn, became more gray and opaque each day, instigating mornings covered by clouds so gray and thick as the down of a wild raccoon. But despite the seasonal frosts, it still hadn't snowed.

More swigs of coffee came and went until a male figure passed through the front door (he was wearing a thick beaten leather jacket and a navy blue scarf around his neck), his short hair dyed in a platinum color that reminded you of those wedding cake frostings, drawing the ugly scowls of some of the elderly gazes (thick glasses, bald heads, pompous, incongruously old-fashioned hairstyles) from the little table that held the group of older teachers, the ones who weren't very fond of you or the young lad who was Pietro.

The elders, still drinking from that out-of-date fountain from back when teachers were real devils in the lives of a bunch of lost teenagers, muttering insults among themselves and following Pietro with a contemptuous look, just thought you were a couple of incompetents for being so much younger than them (Miss Harkness, with the profuse dark hair, who always had that brooch pinned in her lapel, was a welcome exception, but perhaps she was only friendly because something in her liked to take drags of your cigarettes in between classes).

But your friend didn't give a damn about such a bad reception, and so you chose to do the same, keeping your eyes down on the line you read in a ninth grader's essay. A student who thought the musical Hamilton was inspired by a Shakespearean play. That piece of paper deserved to be marked with a big, red, round zero.

Pietro, therefore, merely pulled out a chair opposite your own and sat down, placing his leather mailbag there on the table, next to your papers, with a yawn hollowed out in your direction like a newly awakened dog.

He was charismatic and charming, a real hit with impressionable students who always asked you if he was your boyfriend, but to you Pietro was nothing more than a friend figure, even a brother just a few months younger than you – the best of them, perhaps the only and most sincere among the others, but still, just a friend. He had a half-bitten doughnut in his right hand, and sugar porridge pasted at the corner of his lips.

“So,” he had said, who coached the school’s football team (the Avengers), known for being averse to getting out of the sheets on cold mornings, “You’re going tonight, aren’t you?”

“Good morning to you too, Piet,” you teased morosely, still not setting your gaze on the blue of his irises.

“Yes, I'm having a lot of fun checking these hundreds of essays about students' familiarity with Shakespeare's works, thanks for asking me. And how are you on this cold morning?”

Pietro, however, never touched by your condemnations of him, just brandished his bitten doughnut in your direction.

“C’mon, Y/n, I scheduled it like, two weeks ago,” and then, he finally took another bite of the fried dessert, barely bothering to chew and swallow properly before resuming his own speech.

“You need to go, it's important to me that you go. I want you to be there! My sister recently moved to town, you know, and I want you to meet her.”

The enthusiastic fervor in Pietro's voice didn't go unnoticed. Not when you remember him parroting about his twin sister left and right throughout the course of the last week – like an intersection, it was that one project of his, a well-crafted, weird project that he was working too hard on to your liking, like a kid building a volcano for a school science fair.

After all, his beautiful, cool, amazing single (single!) sister was in town after recently asserting her sexuality to the world, and it turns out you were the only queer person he knew who was single too – so it was a match, a perfect couple forming before his eyes, as a screenwriter then makes the two main characters of his play consummate a kiss with a happy ending so longed for by the audience.

For Pietro, it was like a well-accepted convenience – two worlds colliding, two of his favorite people together in one place, two single (single!) and financially stable adults of the same age, in comfortable careers and experienced enough not to be sacals, that he, as a good older brother and a then discovered true matchmaker friend, should bless and sponsor in a relationship that, in fact, was only planned within his utopian daydreams.

“I have to grade the exams from last week,” you replied in a monotone, a little dull in your words.

“Fury will be pissed if I pass the grades to the report card late again, you know how he is. Last time this happened he was talking my ear off for a week.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. But you can do that on Saturday,” reiterated the man with the neatly trimmed beard, always so adamant when he wanted to be convincing.

“C’mon, it's just a Friday night to drink with friends, have a few laughs, relax a little, take your mind off work for a change. Have fun. And you sure need some fun in your life, dude.”

“Please Pietro, don't start it,” you huffed.

“But it's true! You know it's true!” Exclaimed Pietro back, raising both of his thick, dark brows, “Your life is all work and home, Y/n! You need to relax a little! Maybe hang out more with us, or maybe even go back to the dating scene–”

“No way,” your gaze then finally unscrewed from the papers to soar up to your friend's vigorous face. Behind your glasses was only expressive displeasure, translucent in irises sprinkled with disdain.

“You know I have no interest in this at all, man. I don't really need this in my life, not again, not right now. I have better things to do than go on stupid blind dates with people I know will lead me to absolutely nowhere.”

“C’mon, Y/n, everyone likes a little fun now and then,” he whimpered, though he wasn't at all really bothered by his friend's grumpy mutterings.

“And you really need to get laid, you know? You need to relax more, man. Do more with your life besides being a boring high school teacher. Did you download Tinder like I told you to?”

“Christ, no,” the word was unrolled from between your lips, dry as a rag, “And I'm fine just the way I am,” you muttered grudgingly, then groping with your open right hand for your cup of coffee, “I don't need more than that to live well.”

“All you need to do is grade exams on your days off, watch some Netflix late at night, and then gorge yourself on coffee and cigarettes the next day to stay awake and working? Really?” he teased, as if to put it in other words that your lifestyle, in fact, was just boring.

“Yeah,” the lenses of your glasses fogged up, as they came in contact with the puffs of steam emanating from the coffee cup held up to your jaw height.

“And you only think it's different now because Monica started dating you. Until last month everything you said was about how the fun of life is being single and not having to give anyone satisfaction about all the shit you do out there.”

“Yes, that's exactly what I'm talking about! I'm a changed man, Y/n!” He smeared a donut-sugar hand on his chest like a fussy child.

“And I'm much happier now, if you ask me. And that's why I want you to get someone too, because I'm your friend and I want to see you happy.”

“I don't need someone in my life to make me happy,” the bitterness in your mouth hadn't come from the coffee, of course, but maybe it was just always there, little by little growing and branching inside you.

“This is a very problematic thought, you know that? I’m happy alone and I intend to stay that way, thank you.”

“Dude,” he sighed. Blue eyes scanned your face in an unpleasant glow of pity.

“Seriously, you need to give it a chance. Just once. I mean, I bet there are a lot of nice, pretty girls out there who would love to meet you, and why are you going to miss it? Because of an asshole who clearly didn't deserve you and who broke your heart what, ten years ago? You deserve better than that, Y/n. And I mean it.”

The grip of your right fingers screwed into the circumvallation of the styrofoam cup increased the pressure a little, your digits pressed into the fragile material, and for half a split second, shooting daggers with a glare, you just needed yell at your friend to go fuck himself. Fuck you, Pietro. Fuck you.

Your brows creased between your forehead, pressing between them a beam of wrinkled skin. You just frowned, as if Pietro had said the greatest nonsense that a human being could speak.

There was a brief grunt inside your stomach armed with a meager breakfast (half an apple with cereal and milk flanked by a wilted granola bar found in the bottom of your bag on the way to school), and getting angry sounded like a good defensive option, like the quills of a porcupine—after all, there came a quick inhalation into your lungs as your lips curled into a sour line, and into your polyester coat, your shoulders heaved for a moment, mouthful like an angry lion ready to roar.

You held back because you just didn't want to be mad at Pietro so early on such a cold morning. After all, he wasn't there. It would not be fair.

He didn't even know you in college, having graduated in California, on the other side of the country – a promise of the football sports leagues, Pietro found himself obliged to say goodbye definitively to any and all chances of joining a pro team after a calamitous hamstring injury sustained from lack of stretching, which made him come home to lick his wounds like you, in a way; his dream was nothing more than a stillbirth, like every good child's dream when in contact with the hardships of the adult world.

He hadn't been there then, and he just didn't know anything but the story told from your own mouth, like tasteless gossip told from lips soaked in hot beer – the story of how your ex-girlfriend made you an idiot in your senior year of college, when you planned to propose to her. How she slept with a smug philosophy student because she didn't want to like sleeping with you that much. And who respects an idiot? Your side teeth chose to press the flesh on the inside of your cheek together. Idiot. He was an idiot for making you feel like an idiot.

“Six years ago,” you mussed, your eyes darting into your coffee cup as if there, soaked in the dark liquid, there was some answer to your baggage of grievances, “Six years, not ten.”

“Six years, ten years, whatever, it's been a long time anyway,” he waved his right hand dismissively, as if shooing away an imaginary mosquito, “You deserve to give happiness a chance again, Y/n.”

“When did you become a therapist, hm?”

“When I realized that my best friend needs to smile more,” and, in agreement with his own speech, Pietro gave you a gracious sideways smile – the one that several teenagers sighed for when he walked through the halls.

“You really need to go tonight, Y/n. Please, it’ll be fun.”

Between you and him there was a momentary breath of silence. But soon a lame sigh was sucked out of your nostrils in a blatant sign of giving up, not having the patience to impose yourself much longer on your own emotional limitations as you were.

“Two beers and I'm gone,” was your first offer, a generous suggestion to your catatonic state of mind. Pietro's smile spread at the corner of his lips.

“Four beers and you're not leaving until nine o'clock.”

“Two beers until half past nine,” you scored, “And I'll be there at half past seven.”

He looked at you for half a second, indigo blue shimmering in his irises, but before he could work any response out of his lips, there was the continuous high-pitched chirp of the bell that signaled the start of first period in the morning. With a click, then, Pietro scrambled to his feet, and both of your eyebrows shot up at the fact that the chair he was sitting on hadn't hit the floor.

“Shit, I've got practice,” said the platinum-haired man, before practically flying to the door of the room, but not before turning his chin over his left broad-shouldered in your direction just to say an “See you at seven then, Y/n! And if you don't show up I'll pick you up at your house!”, before quickly leaving the room.

An embarrassed sigh escaped your lips.

“What the fuck...”

You rasped, acid in your words, the upper part of your back leaning against the chair and your arms crossed in front of your chest. Your head still didn't hurt, but there were signs of an upcoming migraine pressing into the back muscle of your neck. Maybe not showing up and then blocking Pietro's contact from your phone would be a good idea.

ᗢ

You lifted the glass of beer and brought it to your lips, sipping more of the thick foam than of the golden cold liquid itself (a cordial act and of a performative, mechanical nature, since you were not a true connoisseur of the alcoholic beverage from barley). You licked your lips in displeasure and never touched the glass again, despising it on the round table awash with chatter and remote happiness, but somehow bordering on comfort at its mellow core.

Seated right in front of you were Natasha Romanoff, the red-haired gym teacher, and Bruce Banner, the introverted chemistry teacher, who narrated the facts that made up the account of the day they exchanged the weirdest and frilly kisses at a party in the freshman year of college in which they studied together, for a challenge, with tongues and teeth and tons of saliva, propelling loud laughter from across the table.

There, everyone present had just congratulated each other in a euphoric toast – in all, there were seven glass cups clinking loudly to each other inside the restaurant, extended above their heads.

But there was one person in particular who was nowhere to be found – Pietro's sister hadn't arrived yet, and so you were a little disappointed, although you weren't entirely sure what to do with it. You didn’t understand why you feel that way right away about someone you'd never even seen before, whose name Pietro never even bothered to mention.

You then were casually chatting with Steve Rogers, the kind-eyed history teacher, and you knew that if you continued at this pace you would be quite snuggled between your blankets even before midnight, and nothing about that thought bothered you so much.

“But yeah, now Peter's been suspended,” Rogers informed you, as he sipped (far more willingly to do than you) from his large serving glass of beer.

You, however, frowned at him, “Wait, Peter Parker got suspended?! But he’s such a great student! He never had any problems in my classes.”

“Yes, he’s a great student. He's a great kid, too. But he saw Flash Thompson getting rough with a freshman and things just got out of hand,” Steve breathed a gust of air through his bulging nostrils, shaking his head, “You know how problematic Thompson is.”

“Of course I know,” you claimed, “I've mentioned him to Fury several times, but the boy's parents always manage to get around it. This is so fucked up, man.”

“I know it is,” agreed the blond man, “By the way, do you remember when—"

“Oh, fucking finally!” Pietro's clamor caught the attention of everyone at the table, such pleasure lavished on his astonished words, "Finally, I thought I was going to drag you here by your ankles!”

You've blended your brows into the middle of your forehead, “What's that...? Oh.”

Aiming at the fact that everyone present there seemed to focus their pupils on something behind your head, you, in procession towards the others, tried to turn your neck towards the final purpose of their gazes, and, over your left shoulder it was that you turned around, facing the sudden, fortuitous, incalculable, pleasurable red – unique and so striking, singular and unmistakable, your need taking the form of agony. The air froze inside your lungs.

The scarlet coloring seized your senses, everywhere, a throb in your throat and a gasp in your nostrils, a flare in your lungs. You came back with your face forward before there was eye contact between your irises and that deep, empty pool of ecstatic green.

What else could you do, in front of such a beautiful and magnificent deadly creature, with crimson tones and warm eyes? What else could you do in front of Wanda Maximoff? It was like wanting to throw up and cry after a long night of drinking.

“Are you okay, Y/n…?” Steve's tiny voice came from somewhere your brain couldn't capture. It was her. And she was there.

“I–I... I... I’m fine… I’m fine, Steve.”

Though the once earth-dark locks were now dyed with a copper-red dye, Wanda had matured her features as the years had passed, and, like a rose that blooms, she had aged as well as the most expensive of wines – and, like wine, you could drink it to the last drop, intoxicating in scents of cinnamon roses, your youthful college sweetheart, there, fully blooming before your eyes, even after so many years of speculation and of solitude.

The frigid winter air had driven her into a shelter that was the long coat she wore, and the heels of a pair of high-soled boots made her a little taller than you remember in your memory. But it was still her, no room for error – the scrunching of the nose and the rabbit smile were unmistakable, easily recognizable, still so vivid in your memory. The simple tip of her porcelain nose was flushed like a button in the icy weather outside those walls, and at that, your heart throbbed hard inside your chest, pumping adrenaline through your swollen veins.

Polite and refined, Wanda greeted them all with a smile on her ungodly peach-colored lips, sitting in a chair next to Pietro's (and therefore also next to yours, in which you inspired from her warm aroma, so full-bodied). You stared at her for long seconds, as if she were indeed an apparition or the most beautiful of mirages your sanity-deprived brain could rave about. Wanda. Oh, Wanda. How you hated her.

“Hey, hi,” a small smile reverberated through Pietro before the red-haired woman, who then just looked at him, her older twin brother.

“Sorry for the delay, but I ended up stuck in this meeting with my editor later than I expected, and… shit, what a day.”

“That bald old man?”

“Don't be like that,” Wanda smacked her right palm on Pietro's shoulder in playful rebuke, “But yeah, Xavier, yes. He's a great professional, but he's kinda... too harsh, I think."

You blinked, wordless, gazing at her as if she were an unchanging deity, the red-haired woman as beautiful as you remembered her to be during the college day – though at the time, still dark-haired, Wanda was a young adult rising into the bosom of youth, and now she was a true, complete woman.

You'd heard from her brother that she was now a writer, having in the past dropped the psychology degree she never got after dropping out of college in her senior year. Increasingly attractive, the inimitable Wanda Maximoff.

“It's okay, you're the one driving back home anyway,” Pietro teased, touching her shoulder with his own playfully, a complicity of twins closing them in a private bubble.

Of course, Wanda Maximoff was Pietro Maximoff's twin sister. You could have punched yourself for never putting one and one together inside your head; the sister who was taking a psychology major at NYU, who dropped out of college in her senior year after some vague love affair that he said was similar to what you had. The twin brother who was studying in California, who for inconvenience you had never crossed paths with even in three long years of dating her.

Both of Sokovian descent, children of immigrants born in Novi Grad. The way he reminded you so much of her figure in certain situations, in the same tone jokes and in the similar laugh. Coincidences, just coincidences.

A need (never felt by you before, in the deepest core of your soul) to sip your beer became latent in your throat as suddenly dry, craggy as if you had swallowed a cocktail of broken glass – for that was when that the newcomer raised her left hand towards her white apollonian cheekbones, aiming to tuck her shiny, soft hair behind her ear with her nails varnished in black enamel, that your brief glance towards the red-haired woman ended up tie a knot in the mouth of your esophagus. Through a band of Wanda's auburn hair, Pietro was looking at you with a smile.

“Hey, Y/n! That's my sister I told you about, by the way,” Pietro exclaimed, with the good nature he'd always had, pouring a smile between you and her, “I told you she's pretty, didn’t I?”

Oh, fuck.

“Y/n...?” her face turned toward you, copper-colored hair swishing to her left, and a pair of eyes studied you for half a split second until the healthy smile on Wanda's lips vanished like smoke in the middle of the room.

Her brows made a twitching movement that betrayed amazement, as if you had materialized in your seat like a ghost from her past. She seemed to feel stupid for not having noticed you there sooner. Your lungs felt heavy as two bowling balls. That voice was familiar to your ears.

So familiar to your hearing, that same velvety voice that woke you in the morning with poetic whispers in your ear, reciting a unique romanticism that would make Jane Austen sincerely envy in her grave that she wasn't the first to conjure up such simple words, so beautiful when joined in amorous prose.

That voice that intoxicated you, brought you to your knees and made you for a moment just be yourself, made you be real and see real things. The voice that managed to be clear and pure as snow and after that to be dirty and say impressive obscenities, as was the case of Wanda Maximoff. You knew her better than anyone. You knew who she truly was.

"W-Wanda..." you mussed in a low breath in front of that verdant immensity, because there was nothing else to do.

Not when she looked at you that way. Not when she looked at you like she wanted to cry over what she broke in you.

“Hi, Y/n.”

ᗢ

You notified them, at the latest, that you would go out in the company of the gloomy fog of night, like a stray cat, wandering senselessly through your paved alleys, to smoke a mere comfortable cigarette. The air was an icy, nose-bad amalgamation of beer and frying.

“You know, that shit will kill you soon,” Natasha had vetoed you before you left the table, but you, as relaxed as you could be, placid in front of your coworker, only gave her a thin, cold smile and shook your head in consent with her words. There wasn't much else you could do other than that.

Leaning against the brick wall of the alley beside the restaurant, your cigarette burning on its end like a firefly in the middle of the night, puffing puffs of smoke in the air like slovenly dancers, you stared down at your own feet – your poorly laced Doc Martens boots, as white as the white winter snow.

As absorbed in your own smoky daydreams as you were, however, you didn't even notice the crimson specter that, like a bad memory crawling inside your head, walked towards you, heavy boots crunching on the cement pavement as it walked in search of the scent of smoked cigarettes that only you could squander. A lustrous red darkness came to you to engulf your soul and forsake your senses.

“You're gonna freeze to death out here,” had said the voice that was so familiar to you, though it sounded just as remote as a utopian dream, “It's as cold as the damn Arctic in here, for Christ's sake.”

You, however, as stagnant as a marble statue, remained still, mute, blinking with your eyelids in a lethargic act – it was as if you blinked her name, Wan–da. You looked towards Wanda as if you wanted her to rip your soul out of your mouth, parked in a feeling of bitterness that only seemed to grow and swell inside your ribcage.

“I... can I get a cigarette, Y/n?”

“You don't smoke,” Wanda hadn't said a word to you in response; her actions spoke for themselves, as she raised, towards you, her pale right hand as if in a begging manner.

“Well, I do now.”

You stared at her for half a second, before your gaze strayed to a dark spot on the floor. The ambient sound of the bar was muffled by the brick walls. You finally held out the little cylindrical object, but avoided at all costs your fingers touching as you did (acting as if Wanda was a damn leper, a red plague).

With the usual dexterity and clumsiness of addicts, Wanda wedged one of the nicotine sticks between her parted rosebud lip, feeling your studious gaze burn into the rosy high of her pale cheekbones. The gloss had left traces on the yellow part of the cigarette filter, and she turned to face you with a kind of acted innocence, masking temptation, gently blinking her moss-dark eyes.

“The lighter,” both of your gazes were screwed into one line, “Light it for me, please?”

You stared at her for a few seconds, pupils dilated in a vortex of darkness, before reaching for the lighter in your jacket pocket. The thick smoke left Wanda's lips pink not long after you did, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

For a few minutes, there was the silence between the two of you like a curious third person who wanted to know more than what you had to say. Wanda took a drag on her cigarette, and after that, you mirrored the action.

“I didn't know you'd gone back to smoking,” the red-haired woman had said, dissolving the stillness like the smoke leaving her ivory lips, “You quit in our senior year.”

“And you're a redhead now,” you muttered grudgingly, an unstoppable dryness in your raw facial expressions, “People change. Shit happens. Old habits return.”

The green of her gaze pierced its way into your pupils well-placed behind the stems of your prescription glasses.

“You've stopped wearing your contacts, too” Wanda continued, however, unabated, blowing more wisps of smoke through her parted lips, “I... I've always liked you wearing glasses, Y/n.”

“Fuck, why are you doing this?”

There was silence after your speech, a silence that was cutting like the edge of a sharp blade that was embedded in the middle of your chest. Wanda pressed her lips together, trapping a cloud of cinereous smoke between them. She was speechless for a few seconds, cluttering with the crimped bone of her jaw.

Illuminated by the night-light in artificial and unnatural colors that bloomed from the long lamps of the poles nearby, her long copper hair was like a waterfall of fire that poured down to the middle of her back – it was as if they were one, the blinking ember of the cigarette and a lock of her auburn hair. Wanda discarded her cigarette butt next to a garbage can crammed near the door that led back to the back of the restaurant, shimmering faint streaks of sharp silver, sending a measured sigh out of her nostrils.

“I'm sorry, I just,” her voice trailed off, as her emerald eyes dropped to the frigid cement beneath her feet, “I just wanted to talk to you, Y/n. Really talk to you.”

Wanda pressed both of her eyelids together, lingered in the action, and then opened them, blinking once at the brick wall after doing so. At her speech, however, a tightness was attributed to your esophagus – it was as if the smoke from your smoked cigarette was concentrated hot just behind the flesh of your cheekbones.

“There's nothing left to say, Wanda,” you spat, in pure, articulate fury, a cover for the hurt exploding inside your chest, “There's nothing you can tell me that I haven't already heard or that I want to hear it now.”

The air was made damp by something not well related to the winter weather, oxygen hard to suck up into your nostrils, your lower jaw jutting out, bruised and vengeful, gritting your teeth so hard you were just sure Wanda could hear the enamel of bones rubbing against each other—for that was when strained eyes flickered toward you, amid the dim lighting whose alleyway was engulfed, as if there were an ancient lantern hanging just above you head.

“What you gonna say this time, huh?” your right knee shot up in a hard, yielding stride toward her, like a predator hunting in a dark forest.

“That you didn't want to do that? That it was a drunk mistake? That you weren't sure what you wanted but knew you still cared about me? That you didn't even know his fucking name? That one was certainly comforting to hear, you can be sure of that.”

Your tone was immersed in an acidic deluge of biting, erosive cynicism that welled up in the pit of your stomach. You were then close enough to the auburn-haired woman that the tips of your noses almost brushed against each other in midair.

“And I've heard it all before, Wanda. Again and again and again. That night in your dorm room when you told me you did that shit, in the fucking text messages you sent me three years in a row, and even in that letter you sent me on my birthday two years ago,” you gasped for air was warm against her pretty face, both the collars of your coats covered in an opulent scent of smoked cigarettes.

She could feel the muffled beer on your breath.

“So, what's new this time, huh? That he wasn't even that good? That he didn't even make you feel like I did? Because that doesn't surprise me at all. No one will ever know you like I did. No one will ever touch you like I touched you, Wanda. And you know that.”

But you were close, dangerously close like a moth to a lamp (close to imminent death), and for half a second you found yourself pondering the idea of Wanda's pretty face being frozen by the cold, because her jadish gaze oozed from inside your pupils to pour between the contour of your nose and then, as if in a prize for the race won, waited in a lingering fall down the height of the outline of your upper lip.

“Let me,” Wanda then moved her elbows close to her ribs inside her coat to smooth both of her scrawny open palms across the lapel of your polyester coat, catching a single lock of your hair between two fingers and sliding it down to the tip, “Let me have you tonight, Y/n. Just tonight.”

Her thick dark lashes were on top of that dark moss green that had crept like an infectious disease in her irises, and you leaned in for a while, wiping the pulp of your own lips with the tip of your tongue, so you could feel the ghostly taste that wasn't there yet, that took you back to the distant past.

“I hate you,” you muttered under your breath, “I hate you, Wanda. I hate you. You broke my heart. You betrayed my trust. I fucking hate you.”

“I'm sorry,” she whispered back, in a small voice, “But I really need to have you one more time, Y/n. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. But I need to remember what it's like to have you.”

The tone was needy, limpid and clear, translucent like crystal crossed by a beam of red light. It went beyond the hate, the tendrils of lust that threaded itself between the two of you like a tight noose. The world around you was nothing but a winter's ember, when did Wanda reach for your torso under the protection of her arms, pressing her warm body against you by virtue of her desire.

“I wish you knew how much I miss you.”

And she smelled like cigarettes, but also like flower perfume and fig moisturizer. She smelled like Wanda. Like the Wanda who slept and woke up next to you in your younger days, where life was troublesomely easy and she still hadn't allowed herself to be touched by anyone other than you.

“And I wish you hadn't cheated on me. I wish I had married you.”

“I'm sorry,” her voice was muffled by the fabric on the left shoulder of your coat, “I missed you so, so much...”

“I hate you,” you whispered against the crown of her orange-haired head, in a tone as if you confessed your feelings to her on a summer afternoon, “I really fucking hate you.”

Wanda cupped your face by the sides with both cold hands and merged your lips in a timed kiss in harmonic cadence, which quickly had you whimpering in dizzying helplessness prickling through your veins. Your heart pulsed explosively in the left side of your chest. The taste was still hers, warm crimson pouring into your lungs, your stomach. You could get drunk on the taste of her saliva.

“Please,” she breathed in a short pause to get some oxygen, “Please make me yours again, Y/n.”

“Shut up.”

The kiss deepened when you projected your lips to take hers in a click of tongues, your tongues entwined until you were both softly panting, your foreheads ruffled touching each other. You snorted against the commission from Wanda's swollen lips. Your coat felt too thick against your shoulders.

“Just… just tonight,” you squinted at your eyes, a strand of reddish hair breaking through your gloomy, empty vision, “Lie to me one more time just for tonight, Wanda. I’ll believe anything you say.”

ᗢ

“F-fuck-fuck- ah! ”

The lascivious voice growled, reverberating like an echoing breath through the four pale walls of her room. The red-haired woman trapped her lower lip with her own incisors, confining a moan to the very core of her being. With the void present there, a thin wind howling in hissing outside, only the wood of the floor could hear the whimpers uttered by a Wanda so unsteady, with a tight mouth and a pink face like a peach in her cheeks, feeling empty in the flesh, but so satisfied in essence.

Pale fingers were fondling between the bundles of your hair, her red head bent back, her mouth half open, her mascara smeared, making her into some sort of sound, but nothing was what left her throat.

You, crouching below her level, turned your face away from the gap between Wanda's opalescent thighs, still throbbing on your tongue, between your teeth, the vigorous taste of honey coming from the red-haired woman's fruit—the skin of your chin gleaming in a glow from the overwhelming orgasm of your ex-girlfriend contorted just above your head, chest heavy, breathing unreasonable.

You, equally deprived of any clothing to cover up your natural nudity, stretched your knees on the bed, hoisting yourself out from between Wanda's inner thighs without much to say after completing your mission.

Before you could even entertain the idea of picking up your clothes scattered on the floor like in a war scenario, however, a hand pressed the back of your neck and, in an inordinate way, ripped it off for a harsh kiss, Wanda sipped from her own cum accumulating through the gaping breach in your mouth buffed by the height of her own orgasm. You took the inside of her mouth with your tongue and, fierce, Wanda curled into the muscle of your mouth cavity, drinking in your ecstasy there.

And just as quickly as it started, you ended the act with a deferential bite to her lower lip, pushing her away across her face as if she were nothing, as if you hadn't been between her legs a few seconds ago, the leading into the ether of jouissance in a way that no one had ever done before, and in no way could do afterward. Wanda was your glory, but she was equally your downfall. You wanted her as much as you hated her.

She remained mute when you got out of bed to put the crumpled clothes lying on the floor back on your body, as if to go back in time, hours before, when you were still dressed and none of that happened between your and her. The only sound in the room was that of fabric being stretched, rubbed and smoothed.

“I wish things were different,” Wanda's voice told the night air, into the wee hours of the morning, “That I could go back and do things differently. That I could have been… been different with you, Y/n.”

“You've always hated having things out of your control, I know.”

She then hummed against the pale pillowcase of the pillow, which exuded a wilted scent of post-orgastic sweat. You had your back to her, standing next to the foot of the bed, sticking your outstretched elbow into the hole in the right arm of your coat.

“Y/n,” she then called out, casting her gaze in your direction, “Are you… are you going to come back, someday?”

You just sighed, letting out a bitter murmur in your speech, “Maybe for your bed, but for you... I really don't think I should, Wanda.”

“Never again?” she tried.

Something in you hesitated for a moment. In slow strides, you then walked over to her side, sitting on the edge of the bed as you tucked your knees into your pants. Your right hand, warm, rested on the sharp of Wanda's cheekbone, giving there a charitable squeeze, so at odds with your words.

“Never it’s a very strong word,” you whispered, “And honestly, I'm not a strong person. If I were, I wouldn't even be here. I would’ve told you to fuck off several hours ago.”

The touch known to both of you, which was accompanied by the intoxicating aroma of cigarettes that was so familiar to her – for you were there, sitting right next to her, with your compassionate eyes conveying, through your gaze, a nostalgic sense of affection swallowed by life’s bumps.

“Don't walk away,” she uttered then against the palm of your hand, in a choked tone that denounced an approaching burst of tears, “Don't walk away, Y/n. I'm sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please, forgive me."

“It's a small town,” you whistled in response, “We're going to meet each other again at some point, Wanda.”

You declared, in a breath of voice – and then, again, you placed a languid kiss on the pale shoulder bone of the naked woman lying on the bed, mouth agape.

“It will be as if nothing ever happened,” you kissed her in a crack of skin down her clenched jaw, “As if you hadn't cheated on me and if I hadn't just let you use me again ‘cause I'm a fucking weakling.”

In an instant you were in front of Wanda's face, whose lips you pressed together in a soft kiss, “We're going to get to know each other again. As if nothing had happened.”

And then, you bent over so you could place a chaste little kiss on the red-haired woman's forehead. And her tears came when you stood up.

“Maybe this time it will be different. Maybe this time you won’t break my heart.”

“Y/n...” she whimpered, her eyes sunk in emerald pools that were dimly lit by a lamp lit on the nightstand beside her bed.

“Good night Wanda,” you mumbled, pausing at the bedroom door just to look at her, “I really wish next time will be different.”

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banzaitaka · 2 years

Note

Glad it's open again! Prince rukia, can you do saiki kusuo's reaction to his son who traveled to the past by mistake? The child is 14 years old and has the same powers as his dad! Thank you, ur the best

---

Alright this is an interesting theme to go for

Not me forgetting you said "by mistake" and only realizing after writing the reason n how n all that

Towards the end are quite a lot of lil timeskips cause aaaaaaaahhh And I noticed myself drifting off to some negative feels a bit lol so uh there is a cute ending dw

Saiki K Masterlist

I hope this is what you wanted & you enjoy reading!

Kusuo Saiki x male! reader

Small accidental visit

(Y/N) opened his eyes, scanning the area around him with a blurred eye sight. His back laying on the hard, wet concrete as raindrops rained down on him.

//What is going on now?//

He quickly realized his glasses were covered in water and that's why everything was blurry before his eyes. Weirdly enough, that was the only thing he could really complain about at that moment. There was neither pain or any other feeling of discomfort present.

Besides the feeling of wet concrete against his back and limbs anyway.

A strange thing considering he certainly did not teleport to that location.

(Y/N) couldn't recall any reason why he would lay there or the fact that it started raining. But it must've been going on for a while before he landed there, or else under him would be still dry.

He gave himself a slight slap on the inside, this information was getting him nowhere.

//Okay, let's step back a second and think. What was I doing before I-//, a glance past the rim of his glasses to his digital wristwatch made him widen his eyes in shock, making him sit up and frantically dry off his glasses.

//This can't be.//, (Y/N) simply stated, staring at the date on his watch, on the year specifically.

It read May 11th 2014, 4:22 pm.

Last time he checked, he wasn't even born during that time. So obviously, this didn't make much sense.

//This watch is supposed to automatically adjust itself to the current time and date of the timezone it's in once activated. This has to be broken.//, he frowned, doing what everyone would do in that situation. Slap the life out of the wristwatch in a poor and rather aggressive attempt on making it work again.

//It probably broke during whatever happened to me that made me wake up infront of grandma and grandpa's house.//, he concluded, looking ahead at the rather familiar house infront of him. Though, it seemed kind of different, (Y/N) didn't pay it any mind.

The rain picked up, covering the boy's glasses in thick raindrops yet again. //Agh, this stupid rain.//

Without even looking around first, he stood up and rose his hand in the air. The other arm was busy drying off his glasses as he blew away the rainclouds like it was nothing.

//This is starting to get more irritating than confusing. Well, at least no one's here to bother me.//

"Look! Cyborg Sider-man No.2! Did you see that!?"

//Oh oh.//, the (Y/HC)-haired flinched, not even daring to turn around, //Dad is going to kill me.//

"He just made the rain stop with his hand!", the little boy let out a loud gasp, "Is he your apprentice!? I want to be your apprentice too!"

"I don't even know that kid.", another voice sounded out, clearly annoyed with the kid he had to accompany to buy soda.

//Okay. That sounded suspiciously like my dad, but I'm just going to leave while I can-//, (Y/N) sneaked away, still not sparring the two behind him a single glance.

Really, he was too scared to check. He took another glance at his wristwatch and it still said 2014. Even after trying to reverse it, he could only see the minutes going backwards.

And in addition to that, the name "Cyborg Sider-man No.2" sounded way too familiar. (Y/N) remembered his dad talking about the time he had to babysit a little boy from time to time.

A boy who kept calling him that.

The dots were slowly connecting, but (Y/N) clearly didn't want to believe it and ended up blaming it on paranoia. Because time travel was also a topic at the dinner table. One he didn't remember having anything positive to it.

And hearing what his father went through when he traveled back into the past really killed all motivation to do that himself.

So denial it was.

//There is no mistaking it, that boy is a psychic too. He seemed to have used the exact same method I used to make it stop raining not too long ago.//, Kusuo monologued, frowning internally, //Why do I keep attracting these kinds of people?//

Ignoring Yuta's begging and rambling, as well as the fact he noticed the 14 year old sneak away, Kusuo walked towards his house.

//I'd like to say it was none of my business and I should just ignore him, but he was already way too close for comfort. I don't need another rando to ask me to be their teacher.//

A mental image of a purple haired student by the name of Reita and a green haired magician called Kouta made itself present in the pink-haired's mind. He really just wanted to be left alone.

Once Kusuo was finally back in his room, he stopped in his tracks.

//I couldn't hear his thoughts.//

Now, even though it was rare and rather unusual for him not to hear someone's thoughts, it didn't make it less concerning. The opposite in fact, as he was so used to knowing what everyone was thinking.

The teen sat on his bed, looking down to think, //And he's most definitely a psychic. I didn't see anything about his character, not even his face. There is no way I can tell if he's evil or not.//

The annoyance built up even more inside of him and he could very well tell how the volume of his inner voice increased.

//The fact he was so close to my home may have something to do with me. Did he see me use my powers without me noticing? Now I have to look into this.//

Meanwhile, (Y/N) was looking for a good spot to teleport away. He didn't want anyone else to see him use his powers, otherwise his dad will definitely scold him.

Doesn't matter if he really time traveled or not.

Soon, he found a rather tight alleyway, so tight that he had to walk sideways, //Perfect.//, he quickly slipped in, clicking his tongue with annoyence at how the walls dirtied his clothes.

Once the (Y/HC)-haired reached about the middle of the alleyway, he looked left and right to ensure noone's watching and then finally teleported away.

To his house to be exact.

//I should tell dad about-//, mouth agape, he stared to the spot his house was supposed to be. Only to find a small field with a rather big tree a bit further ahead.

//You gotta be kidding me.//

The view before (Y/N) gave him no other chance, but to believe he traveled to the past.

But he still went up to the tree several meters away from him, inspecting it for any signs of carvings he did with his father. And as feared, there were none to be found.

//Well shit.//, (Y/N) let himself slide to the ground with his back against the tree, //How am I supposed to go back?//

Crossing his arms infront of his chest, he began to think. And after a few minutes of doing just that, the only thing he could come up with is asking Kusuke, his uncle, for help. Problem with that was, however, that there was a chance of him changing the future through doing that.

Overall, the 14 year old couldn't think as clearly as he would like to. He wasn't able to stay as composed as his dad could be, that being the fault of his personality. His grandpa's genes must be showing just a tad bit.

//Damn it. What would dad do? Go to Kusuke, I'm sure, but I just can't...//

Meanwhile, Kusuo was also in thought.

The pink-haired crossed his eyes yet again, in search of any signs of that mysterios psychic. //Still nothing, where could he be?//, he blinked once to normalize his eyes and put a hand to his chin in thought, //There is a possibility that he teleported to an area too far away for my powers to reach, if he truly has the same or similar powers as me. That would make this far more annoying than it already is.//

Sighing internally, the teen laid down on his bed, //I will just have to stay on guard.//

Night approached.

And with (Y/N) having no place to stay or way to get back to the future, all he could do was collect some firewood, rocks and a lot of dirt.

He put the rocks in a circle in a space where no grass grew and poured a bit of dirt in the middle, enough to cover the ground. He poured more dirt around the rock circle and the rest at the side where he could easily reach it.

He didn't have to fear anything catching fire, but he didn't want any possible passerby to scold him. More so for the sake of keeping his powers a secret, since his dad made it more than clear how important it is to ensure no one ever found out about them.

Besides, (Y/N) tried not to rely on his powers so often. There was no fun with being able to do almost anything imaginable with a snap of his fingers.

Finally, the (Y/HC)-haired threw some wood in the circle and lit it on fire using his pyrokinesis.

//...//, the boy leaned against the tree behind him, an all too familiar sense of loneliness washing over him, //I hate this.//

---

The next morning, the 14 year old did nothing in particular. How could he? Pacing back and forth infront of the big tree and singing songs to himself, of which he keeps forgetting bits of the lyrics of, were pretty much the only things he could do.

There was hunger slowly building up inside of his stomach, but at the same time he felt like he couldn't even eat a single bite. Anxiousness was overtaking his mind.

//...I can't keep going like this though...Dad...//

---

"Oh, Ku! There's a young man here asking for you!", the pink-haired heard his mother call out for him. //What now?// He stood up from his position on the floor infront of his TV and gaming console, making his way down the stairs.

Kurumi smiled at him as she stepped out of the way. //That's-//, he stared at the boy right outside of his door, //That's the boy from yesterday! What does he want?//

"I'll be in the kitchen making you two some snacks. Have fun you two!"

And with that she walked away from the scene, to the kitchen, leaving the two of them in a rather thick layer of tension. "Hello.", the (Y/HC)-haired greeted, still not looking up to look Kusuo in the eyes.

//He didn't move his mouth while speaking...//, Kusuo pulled him inside with his powers and shut the door. (Y/N) let out a weird noise out of surprise, a look of panicked confusion on his face as he got dragged further, up into the pink-haired's room.

The boy, now sitting on the floor with Kusuo towering behind him, only heard the door close before Kusuo spoke up, "Who are you and what do you want?"

Hesitantly, (Y/N) looked the other in the eyes, "(Y/N) Saiki."

"Saiki? Are you a lost brother or something?", looking closer at the boy's face, he could see some resemblance of his bloodline. "Not exactly- I- You- I'm from the future and don't know how to get back, please help me-", the boy splurted out out of nervousness, being fixated by the older one's cold stare.

Also, there shouldn't be any beating around the bush in this matter, otherwise (Y/N) might as well never go back.

For just a moment, silence filled the room, the only noise being the shabby backgound music of the cheap game Kusuo had been playing.

"Good grief..."

---

It didn't take long for Kusuo to believe his supposed son from the future. Looking at all those things he had to deal with on a daily basis up until this day, it really was just another inconvenience in his life.

Now sitting at the dinner table with his parents and (Y/N), he already began to make plans in his head how to approach his older brother with this situation, hoping he'd help out without making it too much of an annoying experience. Because after sending the boy back, he also had to deal with fixing the timeline. He didn't believe (Y/N) being up for that important task.

Kuniharu paused for a second to smile at the 14 year old sitting across from him, "I'm positively surprised my son tutors a kid in his free time, but isn't it getting a bit late now? I can drive you home if you want." "Ah, well...", the (Y/HC)-haired glanced to the pink-haired next to him, a silent ask for help.

"Good grief...He wanted to ask if he could stay for tonight."

---

Back up in the 17 year old's room, (Y/N) watched as Kusuo laid down a futon on the empty space of the room. Despite the want to call out for him, (Y/N) remained silent, it might be for the better that way. It was just, his dad didn't do much with him for quite a while now and the boy started to miss him and all those fun times together.

//He's technically not my dad yet though.//, he told himself.

Once Kusuo finished with his task, he himself laid on his bed, "We'll go to Kusuke first thing in the morning, so go to sleep now."

The darkness of the room and Kusuo's words set the 14 year old's mood even further. He felt lonely. Still, nodding his head, he crawled onto the futon and tugged the blanket over his body up to his head.

There was no changing anything at that moment and no other way to go. He had to push his needs to the side for now to get back into the time he belonged to.

//Why does he look so sad?//, Kusuo's eyes fixated onto the blanket burrito. Discarding the question as soon as he asked it, he turned off the little lamp on his nightstand, burrying himself under his own blanket and trying to fall asleep.

---

The closer (Y/N) got to going back to the future, the more intense got the feeling of wanting to stay. Kusuo would have no choice, but to look out for him, right? Though, he didn't want to force himself onto him like that. But- He craved for that attention.

All hopes of Kusuke needing some time to get a device ready were crushed quickly when he announced of having one right there, ready to go.

"So he can go right away?", the pink-haired asked, a bit cautiously, waiting for a possible catch. Kusuke only nodded his head with a smile, turning his gaze to (Y/N), "Just make sure you visit me, little one."

A silent nod was all (Y/N) could provide as an answer.

Satisfied, Kusuke left the room to get the device started. It left the (Y/HC)-haired's heart racing and fingers twitching.

The both of them stood there, waiting, for a while. And Kusuo couldn't take it anymore, he had to ask, finally, "Do you not want to go?"

"...", the boy didn't really know how to reply to the other one's question at first, rubbing his fingers against each other in a subtle fidgeting manner as he thinks about it.

"I- It was nice to have dinner with someone again."

Before another word could be spoken, Kusuke returned, telling them that everything was ready. (Y/N) nodded yet again, quickly following the younger version of his uncle, leaving Kusuo standing there, speculating about his words.

Everything was over faster than (Y/N) and Kusuo thought, as if there was still something missing. But it would be too late anyways, the time machine was activated and the 14 year old was gone, back to where, or when, he came from.

It all left Kusuo with a bitter aftertaste, but there was no slacking off now. He got a timeline to fix.

---

When (Y/N) opened his eyes again, he was met by the sight of grass and a small, brownish-grey house, as wood scratched against his back, making him quickly realise where he was. He snapped his head to look up the tree branch, sure enough, there were many little carvings of letters and symbols scattered across the texturey surface.

A look at his wristwatch gave him the last confirmation he needed that he was indeed in the year he was supposed to be in.

//Guess I'm back now.//, he shifted his gaze back fowards, looking at his shoes as he moved his feet back and forth, //So back to everyday life.//

The boy decided to go back inside, maybe make himself a sandwich or two. Opening the door and kicking his shoes off his feet, he didn't expect to hear the TV in the kitchen. He certainly didn't forget to turn it off since he didn't turn it on in the first place.

He poked his head into the room, eyes widening when his gaze met the back of his dad, appearantly cutting some vegetables on a wooden cutting board. "Dad?", the boy accidentally called out, it just slipped out of his mouth like that.

It made the other flinch slightly.

Kusuo turned around, "(Y/N), I told you not to scare me when I'm holding sharp objects." "Ah- Sorry, dad, I didn't mean to.", the boy stepped into the kitchen with an apologetic smile, "What are you doing here?"

The pink-haired gave his son a sideglance before getting back to cutting, "I'm making dinner." "But you're usually away at this time." "I might have been before your little trip.", Kusuo paused what he was doing again to pat his son's head, "But now it will be different."

Slowly understanding what was going on, the 14 year old smiled brightly. Even Kusuo couldn't help a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "Good grief...you seem to have a bit of energy left to help me make dinner."

"Yes, sir!"

"Oh, and look around before using your powers next time."

"Yes, sir-!"

#saiki k #saiki k x reader #saiki k x male reader #x reader #x male reader #kusuo saiki #kusuo saiki x reader #kusuo saiki x male reader

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toast-tales · 1 year

Note

What’s the cast’s official physical appearance? I want to draw fanart so bad~

**New Height Reference Chart with human measurements**

First of all, I'm absolutely flattered you want to make fanart <3

Second, if it's not stated outright in the story, most of the cast's appearance is up for personal interpretation! I don't have a reference for every character, but I'll try and do a quick sum-up of how I personally perceive the characters (but again, if you have your own headcanon? That's fine too!)

I’ve linked some Picrews, (and fanart for Danny and Nathan and Sam because it’s much better than any picrew I could ever find, lol - plus my own art for Christopher) but they are NOT official physical descriptions, more like...pointing in the direction of what the character might look like. Picrew has its limitations, so they might not have all the right details. I’d LOVE to commission art for all of my characters at some point, tbh. If it’s not described below, you can probably just take creative freedom with the appearances.

Christopher: long black hair to just past his shoulders, usually half-up in a bun. Dark eyes, sharp features, aquiline nose. Olive-toned skin. He’s pretty tall (think like 6′3" ish in human terms), but not very muscular. Kind of a beanpole tbh.

Danny: Red hair, usually worn down. Blue-green eyes, thicker eyebrows. In human terms she’d be about average height (like 5′6-8″), but if we’re talking relative to giants, her normal height is about 4″ (though under the growth serum, she’s more like 11″). She’s generally barefoot and physically, pretty lanky as well.

Nathan: Brown, messy hair, curls just a bit and is pretty short. Brown eyes, soft features, freckles, a little bit of facial hair along his chin. Kind of short (5′7ish), a bit of a heavier build, but he’s actually pretty physically fit, considering he does farm work often.

Sam: They’ve definitely got that slightly curly “more on top” haircut with the sides shaved, dark hair, pale skin. Hazel eyes. Average height, about 5′9″ or so. They’re kind of lanky like Christopher, but they actually work out, and have a good bit of lean muscle, especially in their arms. They have several piercings in each ear - specifically, they wear small black gauges, two helix piercings around the middle/upper edge of their right ear, and a flat piercing in each ear. Their tattoos are up to personal interpretation, they've changed in the fanart a lot which I find fun. But I do like the floral design on their left arm and a snake design around their right arm, along with lots of smaller, random tattoos along their arms and legs. They usually wear a flat-billed cap from their collection. They’re AFAB so they generally bind their chest and dress androgynously (they’re nonbinary but use they/he pronouns).

Sybil: Very tall, even for a giant (think closer to 6′8″ - like, she's definitely able to look down on even someone like Christopher). Strong features, a bit older than the rest of the cast (in human terms, in her 40s/50s). Dark skin, golden eyes, black hair - usually braided and tied up. She wears loose, white linen clothing most of the time. She is definitely very strong, and has a rather imposing physical presence. Sometimes wears golden, half-rim glasses for reading or looking at human-sized details, but not usually.

Cyrus: Very large, portly man, maybe about 5′11″-6′. He’s got a rough sort of face with a short, greyish beard, mostly balding. Probably in his 40s/50s, just like Sybil.

Max: Very pale, almost to an unhealthy degree - messy dirt-brown hair, gray eyes, and rough stubble. Older, in about his late 30s but he looks much older due to...a stressful work environment.

Ryan: Blond hair, in a style kind of similar to Nathan’s - a bit unkempt but otherwise short. Pale, generally has bags under his eyes and somewhat gaunt features - very skinny. Dark greenish eyes. In his early 20s.

Maria: Brown skin, long, curly dark brown hair that’s thick and generally tied back (if possible). Similar to Ryan - very skinny/frail and has a sickly pallor to her skin. Warm, brown eyes. In her late 20s.

Alice: Pale blue eyes and long, light brown hair, generally worn up in a bun and tied back with a headscarf (if possible). Kind, motherly, but slightly worn features - in her early 30s.

Stan: Tanned skin and dark gray hair with bits of white poking through. Has a thick mustache and well-trimmed beard (when possible). Stern features, has a slightly haggard face with a few scars. In his late 30s, but like Max, looks a bit older.

John: Graying hair, long enough to pull back into a short ponytail. Pale skin, kind, green eyes, wears thin-rimmed glasses. About Sybil’s age, maybe closer to his 50s. Generally dresses pretty well, wears a button up shirt, slacks, and loafers most of the time.

Nora: Blonde hair in a chin-length bob with bangs, wears several piercings in each ear. Generally dresses very nice (similar to John). Very pale skin, light blue eyes. Slightly older than Danny, in her late 20s.

That’s honestly about all I’ve got. If you have any specific questions about any characters, I’ll do my best to answer them!

#itwom #toast asks #i'll probably add this to the main post as a reference actually

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servin-up-surveys · 2 years

Text

survey #031

“roses are red, some diamonds are blue / chivalry is dead, but you’re still kinda cute”

Do you have to take daily vitamins? I have a women's daily multivitamin that I take, as well as specifically a Vitamin D one on Sundays. What's the last thing you did while outside? I sat on Ashley's porch swing watching Ryder try to do cornhole tricks while Emerson helped him get the bean sacks when he missed, haha. That girl is her big brother's shadow. Would you like to go on an African safari or have you ever? I want to DESPERATELY one day, but I kinda got a reality check regarding that recently, haha. Mom apparently looked into how expensive everything related to that was, and it would cost around her ENTIRE portion of the inheritance, so of course she knew she couldn't do that, and I over my dead and rotten fucking body would I have let her do it, anyway. I knew it would be expensive, but jc, not THAT much. Do you think dragonflies are cool? I do. Ever kissed someone’s hand? Yep. Have you purposely said something to ruin someone’s reputation? Well... I guess that is factually what I did, but it was a dangerous secret to keep from them while they still called someone like her a friend. Have you ever done something rebellious to prove you weren’t a wimp? I don't think so, no. I can't say I really care if someone thinks that of me. I'd prefer to be that over stupid. When you think of Arizona you automatically think...? Haha what a SHOCKER, my mind immediately snapped to the A. chalcodes/Arizona blonde tarantula, one that I deeply want one day. Beautiful spider. I wish we had tarantulas here. Most beautiful thing ever said to you? Describe the situation. It was literally just one word and I'm not talking about it because I'll cry, it was a literal romantic movie scene. How does your best friend look like? What would they usually order at a restaurant? He's very tall, broad-shouldered with pale skin, he has thick and short black hair with gray grizzled throughout, he wears simple black-rimmed glasses, and depending on how long ago he shaved, he might have a very little bit of facial hair mostly on his chin. His eyes are brown. I can't really guarantee what he'd order at any restaurant, he really likes a variety of food, BUT I CAN nearly promise you that bitch will get a salad with whatever he's ordering, lol. What is your ultimate sexual fantasy? is it normal to want to get railed in a church one day lmfao can I go replace my horrible childhood memories of my roman catholic church pls :^) What is your opinion on prostitution? Would you or have you ordered a hooker? Okay so for many reasons, I have mixed feelings on prostitution. I DO NOT believe in de-validating them or seeing them as "gross" or anything like that, though; hunny you do whatever the FUCK you want with your organs when you and the other party/parties agree to something like this. This is honestly a topic I should read up on at some point, I don't like being in the middle on this stuff. What shirt have you not worn in a while that you would like to? Ugh, SO MANY. I really miss my x-ray shirt with a tattoo gun in place of the heart. The weight is dropping thooouuuugh, so hopefully I can comfortably wear it soon. :') When was the last time you were hit on? Last night. What is the next concert you are going to and where are you seeing it? I have no current plans, sadly. :/ But on god whenever Rammstein is like a state away or something I AAAAAAAAAMMMMM asking my mom if we can go, idc lmfao. Is there anyone in particular that you’d like to see? Who is this person? tbfh I'm pretty much always in the mood to see my boyfriend. Have you been to the movies lately? What movie did you see anyways? Well I went to see The Black Phone, but had to frantically leave and have a breakdown when the scene of the drunk dad beating his daughter suddenly came on. It sucked cuz I really, really wanted to see the movie (we were like what, 30 minutes in?), but I could fucking not go back in there. I needed to be home. What was the last personal question you were asked? My mom asked yesterday if Girt and I had ~done anything~ yet because she knows I got thrown off on my birth control and am also late. Answer's no, my cycle is just fucking whack, esp with meds being changed around and all. What is the latest you’ve ever stay up just talking on the phone to someone? Oh god, that was when Jason and I first started dating. I can't remember exactly how long, but we were up laaaate into the night just talking about random shit over the phone. Have you ever overcome a disease that was life-threatening? Which one? No. What is a comfort show of yours? Meerkat Manor, no competition. I'm actually kinda thinking about seeing if Girt wants to watch it with me one day, like just bundle up on the couch with snacks and hear him point out every five minutes how mean meerkats are, lmfao please I need this. Are you open about your past or do you not let anyone in? It depends on a lot, man. Do you think we were put on this earth for a reason? Nope, but follow me: we weren't put here with one, but we make one. Which, to me, is a billion times better. Do you call out Karens when they’re harassing a cashier? HA, I would. I ain't watching that bullshit, literally go redo your entire shopping trip elsewhere if you're gonna be a cunt to a person just doing their goddamn job. Would you ever have a pet rat? I've had rats and positively adore them, but I don't think they're my kind of pet. I hate hate hate cleaning out rodents' cages bc they never stop pooping, stg. Favourite memory with your best friend? Oh GOD, this answer is gonna be a MUSHFEST. I have a lot, gaaaah I'll try to narrow them down so I don't spend thirty minutes on this. One of my earliest is from high school: the two of us were invited with some mutual band friends to just wander 'round the mall after... bowling, I think we did? So eventually it was just Girt and me left and I still very clearly remember his arm eventually ending up around my shoulder, and I did nothing about it because I felt safe in a shitty part of town and was happy he did it anyway. This was shortly before Jason and I got together, to make clear. There was actually a point where we ran into his friend there and he asked if I was his girlfriend, and Girt has told me to this day it's one of his biggest regrets, not saying, "She could be." Which is ADORABLE but I'm glad he didn't, given I am VERY confident the shitty beliefs I had back then would have killed our relationship. SPEAKING OF BUTCHERED RELATIONSHIPS!!!! :^) Another fave memory: Jason and Girt together. I've got to give it to Jason that he was very accepting of my friendships with other guys, and one day, planning just had them overlap. I gotta be honest, my memory of this day is not all that clear, but I know and appreciated that they got along fine, and at one point we decided to go walking down the path; I seem to remember it was actually drizzling. For some reason I can't remember, this actual manchild brought our bigass green bouncy ball with him to either keep catching it himself or throw it between us three like we'd done earlier, and just remembering it now it is INCREDIBLY fucking cute how much of a kid Girt has always been. So, still a long while back, but closer to the now. There's also a very warm memory I have of us coloring in an adult coloring book together; I can't clearly remember the build-up to it, but basically Girt knew I'd been struggling with just DOING stuff, like getting started, and somehow this book was involved. So he came over one day and we colored it in together, and the page actually hung on our fridge for a while. Now I REALLY want to find it again and probably do exactly what I said I wouldn't do and get another tribute tattoo of this little airplane from the page design, haha. Next, around the same time: playing Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs together. One thing that's VERY prevalent in that game is very, very strange writing that can sometimes be a challenge to even understand, and there was this one fucking note Girt read with such incredulity over the phrasing that I spewed drink fucking everywhere and couldn't breathe for like, 15+ minutes, like I'm not kidding, I thought I was going to puke from laughing. OKAY, LAST ONE. Jump to where we are now. The first morning after he'd spent the night and didn't have to leave super early for work is one of my most cherished memories not just with him, but ever. He was absolutely out cold when I was already up, and there was a gentle storm going on. You could occasionally hear rain at my window, and there was some quiet thunder now and again. I just kinda laid there cuddling him and felt this sort of peace I can't compare anything to but maybe the silence after a massive hurricane. I was just remembering everything I'd been through romantically and never feeling like I'd know this sort of content quietness again, and yet there it was. I think that was the best morning of my life and Girt wasn't even conscious for it, ANYWAY BYE Y'ALL I'm in the mood to Go Get Married now lmfao see ya 2morrow Does the thought of being pregnant gross you out? AKLSDJFLKA;WJK YES like I have a massive phobia of that shit, and I *think* it ties into my fear of parasites. I want NOTHING other than absolutely essential bacteria and whatnot living in me, NOOOOOOOOOOTHING else. I honest to god think if I felt a baby move in MY fucking body I would have a complete and total nervous breakdown. Your favourite band: Do you prefer their old or new stuff? For Ozzy, it's SO hard to say, partially because he's simply been around for so long. For Rammstein, probably newer. Is there anyone you don’t think you’ll ever get over? Who? Welp, apparently not. Thought so once, but not anymore. Can you drive yet? If so, how many tries did it take until you passed? No; my permit has been expired for years. I'm just TERRIFIED of being behind the wheel so I just... don't try anymore. The day I kill somebody in a wreck is the day I kill my fucking self. How would you describe your sense of humour? Either very self-depricating or meme-y, haha. Have you ever taken a career test? What did they say you should be? In high school I did, and it said I should be a lawyer and was immediately like NOOOOOOOPE bitch I would be crying two minutes into the case lmfao Is your best friend older or younger than you? Older. What was the last TV show you watched? Did you like it? Girt and I actually started Netflix's new take on Resident Evil, and we were both impressed! Granted, he doesn't play horror games so didn't go in with pre-set expectations like me, a massive fan of the franchise, but it was very cool and nearly made me cry ep. 1 lmaoooo. Also Wesker was fucking terrifying and I want to see more of this man, def a series to follow. Name a really popular television show you never got into: Game of Thrones, for one. It really bothered my teenage Christian ass that there seemed to be a completely uncalled for sex scene every five minutes, but now that I'm actually an Adult that's not going to judge every teensy-weensy thing by episode one, I'd retry it. It SEEMS like a series I'd like if I gave it a chance. Do you listen to any unsigned bands/singers? Who? Yeah, a handful of YouTubers, like Jonathan Young, Caleb Hyles, Violet Orlandi, Melodicka Bros, and Halocene. Who is your favourite video game character? Oh JEEZ, I have a few of note, Pyramid Head from the Silent Hill franchise probably being the most passionate of mentions. I just think he is MEGA cool and creative and terrifying and also to get the meme out of the room, v hot. ;__; Then there's Vol'jin from World of Warcraft, and I'm also quite fond of maaaany other characters from that massive franchise, like Alexstrasza, Jaina, and Bwonsamdi. Next up would be Spyro, being my childhood gaming obsession, and I hope they eventually make something good and new w/ him again. ;__; Do you have any exes you really regret dating? One, yes. Have you ever been catcalled? Not to my memory. What is something most people find ugly that you find cute? Tarantulas, for SURE. Like by this point in my obsession with them, they are just the absolute cutest to me, even when threat posing, like lookit this little angy guy. ;_; What’s worse: Speaking in all caps or all lowercase? All caps, for sure. Are you obsessed with a certain country's culture? (Not your own) I like Germany A LOT guys Do you bite your upper or lower lip most often? Or neither? Bottom, for sure. Does your boyfriend have a job? Yeah, he's been there for yeeeaaaarrrsss. Ever talked to someone that was drunk? Yeah. Few things you’re doing at the moment? Really just this and listening to Nelly Furtado & Timbaland's "Promiscuous" slowed w/ reverb and I think I might be sick because I've been doing this with old childhood pop songs since yesterday, HELP Have you and your current/last significant other discussed your sexual histories? Well yes, I think that's very important once you get to the point in a relationship where you're physically intimate. There are some things you should be aware of about one another, even if it's uncomfortable to talk about. It's being safe. Who do you need to forgive? Myself. There's a part of me that's so reluctant to let the bitch of a teen version of me go because I "deserve" the hate from myself and honestly others. It doesn't matter how different me and her are now, she was me once and I can't fucking convince myself that that should be forgotten. Okay answering this is honestly making me mad so NEXT QUESTION Describe a time when you were touched by someone’s kindness or compassion. So let's never forget the time I ODed and wrote that stupid fucking suicide note on Facebook and Girt showed up at the ER completely unannounced. He came in and said something along the lines of, "Well, you did something dumb," but not at all in a mean way; it was a gentle and loving joke about something serious only he can accomplish without being offensive. He wasn't there too long, Ma and I were both sure he felt uncomfortable and like he was intruding, but by god did it say enough. He lives half a fucking hour from that hospital. I remember looking at him from the bed while he wasn't looking at me and just thinking, "Why don't I love him?", while tearing up. WELL BITCH TIME SKIP now I wish he was here so I could smooch him. Is there anything you will never forgive your parents for? I... don't know. When I was a younger teen, my mother and sister got into honestly the worst argument I've seen from Mom, like she fucking roared through the goddamn house that my sister was a slut, and it's stuck with me this incredible amount of time later. Keep in mind this was the darkest time in my sister's entire life; I'm not the only sister who's been in a mental hospital. And let me tell you my sister is most definitely NOT a "slut." I wonder to this very day if Ashley has ever forgiven Mom, with how... weird their relationship is. Is there anything an ex has “ruined” for you? HAHAHAHAHA BROTHER-

#lyrics: ''promiscuous (feat. timbaland)'' by nelly furtado #survey #surveys #random surveys #random questions

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ace-in-a-shopping-cart · 2 years

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Would you be willing to write Kaz x Reader where reader is Kaz’s bodyguard? Like they’re in charge of protecting him. Obviously he can protect himself, but I feel like having someone specifically there to help protect him is an interesting concept. I also feel like being the bodyguard of Kaz would hilarious but stressful cause of all the trouble he causes and gets into, but being the bodyguard and girlfriend of Kaz? Would be so much worse lol.

If you don’t like this idea or aren’t inspired I totally understand. You’re writing is incredible

Word Count: 2,152 CW: Food mention, poison mention, cursing,

Kaz stepped into the building, Y/N only a few steps behind him. Their eyes were in constant motion, scanning the environment as they followed their boss and charge to the table. Kaz sat first, draping his coat over the back of his chair. Y/N sat beside him within easy reach. They waited, having arrived early.

“Why did you agree to meet with him again?” Y/N’s eyes followed a member of the waitstaff as they directed their question to Kaz.

He chuckled lightly, taking his hat off and placing it on his leg. “It could be good for the gang. It’s just a simple territory negotiation, the Blades willing to give up a bit of turf for free passage through a different portion of our turf.”

Y/N sighed. “I still don’t like it. They’ve been known to double cross other gangs they’ve worked with. The Razor Gulls still refuse to acknowledge the Blades’ existence, claiming a deal too many went sour.”

Kaz nodded. “I know. Still, that part of the city would be good to have. I’m willing to put up with a shitty person to get it.”

Y/N shook their head but didn’t say anything else about it as Nail Ali sat down beside Kaz, Ali’s second sitting next to Y/N. They sized each other up for a moment but soon all turned their attentions to the reason for the meeting.

“Kaz Brekker! It’s nice to meet you in person. I’ve heard you are a very difficult man to gain a meeting with.” Nail’s accent was thick but hard to place. Based on his slicked back black hair and golden eyes behind wire rim glasses, Y/N would guess he was Shu. His second looked like he stepped right off the Kaelish moor.

Kaz straightened his tie. “Yes, I am. I’m also a very busy man. Have you come unarmed?”

Nail laughed. “Of course I have! Do you not trust me?”

“Trust is a dangerous thing in the Barrel, Ali. If you think I’d trust someone I’m just meeting, you’re not cut out for this life.”

“Of course, of course. Shall we order first or do you prefer to get straight to business?”

The meeting took place over Kaz’s lunch hour, the only block of time he’d managed to carve out for it. Kaz nodded and signaled a waiter over. He ordered a light lunch and a glass of water, not willing to drink during a meeting. The rest of the table ordered easily enough, Y/N ordering something that could be eaten quickly and would be easy on their stomach.

Kaz gave them a glance when they told the waiter their order but Y/N shook their head almost imperceptibly. Kaz might be their partner but right now their main focus was being his bodyguard, a position they took extremely seriously. His eyes narrowed slightly and they knew he’d be asking them about it later but he continued the conversation with Nail, doing the usual blustering and posturing that tends to preclude a parley negotiation.

Their meals arrived and the two negotiators quieted for a moment as they began eating. Soon enough, Kaz finally got to the reason for the meeting. “So, how much of your turf are you wanting to part with?”

Nail put down his fork and pulled a few documents from his coat. “I was thinking up until here,” he pointed at a few spots on a map, “and we get to cross here when we need it.”

Kaz nodded, leaning forward to look at the map. One hand traced the boundaries Nail was proposing and his other rested on his cane. With Kaz’s focus entirely on the map, Nail’s second’s hand shot out and dropped something in the gang leader’s drink. Y/N’s eyes narrowed at the split second motions and they reached forward to pick up the cup.

Kaz glanced up at their movements but he didn’t question it, simply watched his bodyguard. Y/N sniffed the drink and glared at the second that had yet to be introduced. They put the drink in front of themself and smoothly put their own drink in front of Kaz, returning to their meal soon after. Kaz nodded to Y/N and took a sip of his new drink, no doubt another question to be asked later already forming in his mind.

Nail didn’t seem to notice the exchange, still busy talking about the potential deal with Kaz. When the discussion wound down, Kaz spoke up again. “I’d heard you Blades were notoriously bad to work with, but I didn’t expect the rules of parlay to be broken so quickly, Ali.”

Nail looked between the three other people seated at the table, his face contorting into confusion. “What? How have they been violated?”

Kaz looked at Y/N and raised a brow. They nodded back at him and said, “Your second tried to poison my boss’s drink.”

Nail’s eyes widened. “What? Rupert, is that true?”

Rupert blinked. “Why would I even do something like that? What purpose is there for it?”

Kaz got a glint in his eye that meant trouble. “You would stand to gain a lot by poisoning me or even succeeding in killing me, not that you could. By poisoning me, the goal would have been to get me to finish the negotiations early and thus be more susceptible to agreeing to your terms.”

“Even so, why would I try to poison you knowing retaliation would either come as my death or a gang war?” His voice was growing panicked now, eyes flitting around the room as if he were searching for an exit.

Kaz stared him down. “Exactly. Why would you?” He stood and put his hat on, throwing his coat over his shoulders. The waiter came over to see what the commotion was and Kaz paid them before looking back at Nail. “Discussions are still open between you and I. If you wish to continue them, find a new second and set another meeting. I will not meet with you again so long as he is at your side. Parlay has been broken and your reputation is already low enough, I’m considering not working with you again.” Kaz turned on his heel and strode out of the restaurant, Y/N just three steps behind him.

Kaz glanced at Y/N as they fell in line behind him, slinking through the alleys and sideways of the city. “Not hungry today, are we?”

Y/N shrugged, keeping their eyes on the swarming crowds, the buildings and windows, anything but Kaz. “Bad sensory day.”

He hummed. “Anything you need?”

“No.” The pair passed a storefront and Y/N hesitated. “Well, there is one thing I need.”

Kaz turned his head, eyes instantly attentive. “Name it.”

Y/N smiled, pointing to the sewing store. “We need buttons.”

Kaz sighed but nodded and handed over a few kruge. “Alright.”

Y/N raised a brow. “I have my own money, Kaz. You pay me for a reason.”

“It’s a work expense.” His eyes said something different, some shine or emotion in them that said he wanted to take care of them but couldn’t say the words out loud and hoped they knew how he felt. Y/N smiled and closed their hand around the money.

Later that night, Kaz stood over his office desk, a map spread out and held down by various paperweights. Y/N curled up in an armchair off to the side, the only person allowed behind him. One of Kaz’s coats was draped over their lap as they fixed a new button to it. Beside them were a pile of coats still needing mending and ones that had already been mended.

Kaz looked back at them as he sat down, lifting a pen from the desk. “You know I can do my own mending, right? I’ve been doing it for years.”

Y/N nodded, glancing up at him as they snipped a thread. “I know, darling.” Only behind closed doors could they use the terms of endearment both loved so much, only when no other was around could they truly be together. “It helps me think and calms me.”

“Still, I don’t want others to think I use you for menial tasks.”

“The work is not beneath me. It’s a matter of convenience. I’m already mending my own garments, I might as well work on yours while I do so. Besides, this gives you more time to work on your plans and run the gang.”

He hummed and reached out, briefly running a gloved hand down their cheek. Y/N’s eyes slipped closed, savoring the rare and precious moments of touch he struggled for. Kaz smiled at them when their eyes opened again.

He went back to his work, chair angled just slightly toward them. Y/N casually extended a foot until it reached close to him. Almost on instinct, Kaz brought his own foot to meet theirs, resting lightly on top of it. Without their boots, both had left those by the door due to the level of mud they’d trudged through on the way back, Y/N could feel Kaz’s foot slowly warm theirs through the socks both were wearing. It was nice to have it there, a constant reminder that they were existing in the same space and loving each other silently.

Kaz spoke again a few minutes later. “Y/N, dear, I can’t seem to figure this thing out.”

Putting down their mending, Y/N came to stand by Kaz’s side, hand on the back of his chair instead of his shoulder. “What am I looking for?”

He threw his pen on the desk. “I need another exit. Possibly another Spider Way but really just another exit.” He picked up a paper and put it on the map. “This is the guards’ patrol routes and timings as far as intel got me.”

Y/N hummed and leaned over the map, looking at it with fresh eyes. Kaz’s familiar handwriting and markings were scribbled across the papers, a code they were well versed in reading. They picked up his pen, their other hand shifting to twine his hair around their fingers, and leaned down to mark an additional two exits and a third Spider Way from what he already had.

Kaz sighed when they put the pen down and pulled away. “Thank you, angel. I’m shocked I didn’t notice those myself.”

They laughed, dropping a brief kiss on his shoulder. “That’s what I’m here for. Catching what you don’t and having your back when you can’t see behind you.”

Kaz reached up to grab their idle hand. “And every day I am thankful you are there, right behind me.”

Y/N smiled. “Shall I leave you to the rest of it or do you need me for more?”

His hand tugged on theirs slightly and for a moment they thought he might draw them into his lap. “I always need you.” His cheeks and ears turned pink at the admission that spilled from his mouth but he didn’t take it back. Y/N gave his head one last scratch before stepping back and going back to their sewing, removing themself from the temptation to curl into his warmth, tapping Kaz’s foot three times as they sat down.

Kaz soon picked back up his muttering as he went about his work, shifting from heist plans to Crow Club expenses as his eyes tired of the map. Finally, Y/N put down the last coat and plucked the pen from his hand. “I’m making the executive decision that it’s bedtime.”

Kaz groaned lightly but stood, grabbing the pairs of boots by the door as Y/N scooped the coats into their arms. The couple silently approached and mounted the stairs to their attic room. Kaz held the door open with his cane as Y/N stepped through, nodding to him as they did so. The coats were draped across a nearby chair and the boots thudded to the floor.

“I’ll deal with those before you wake tomorrow,” Y/N muttered as they checked the knife beneath their pillow and the pistol in their nightstand.

“Not if I get there first,” Kaz replied, pulling off his waistcoat.

This was their nightly banter as they got ready for bed, one threatening to finish a task left from the day before and the other swearing they’d get to it first. Whatever outcome happened in the morning, it would be lorded over the other for the rest of the day only to have the same cycle repeat that night. It was a comforting routine, the promise to still care about the other in the morning and to still want to do things for them. Consistency, something so rare in the Barrel, abounded in that room and it was a comfort to have it.

Taglist (Check out my masterlist before sending an ask to be added!): @lou-hadrian-gardna26, @ilovemarvelanne1, @nyx2021,

#ace writes #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #neurodivergent!reader #established relationship #fluff #light angst

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crimsonophelia · 3 years

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hello basil!!! i’m the anon that sent the original request of reader being a big dumb dumb and accidentally mailing their love letters to childe in liyue—i personally just wanted to tell you that i absolutely LOVED what you wrote and that i’m so happy and grateful you did my request justice. keep up the good work!!!

if you wouldn’t mind, could i request for a hurt/comfort angst with kaeya and a gn reader? the reader is a fellow knight of favonius that regularly gets dunked on by their friends for their crush on the cavalry captain—but every time their friends insist they confess to him, they joke that “sure, i’ll tell him when i die.” and then they actually nearly die.

while on a mission with kaeya, something terrible happens that seemingly pushes the reader to the brink of death. they’re in his arms and convinced they’re about to die, so with their “dying” breath, they tell kaeya that they’re in love with him before the world goes black.

but then they wake up. 👁 (you know the drill—what happens next is completely up to you!!!)

featuring: kaeya x gn!reader

warnings: good ol' angst, some descriptions of blood, lots of typos lol

published: may 27, 2021

form: imagine

a/n: hi anon!! i'm glad you liked that imagine www and thank you for sending me ideas again! you know how much i love angst and kaeya lol~ also please forgive me for making it so long, i tried to challenge my writing abilities a bit more.

You came into this mission knowing that it would be quite a bit more difficult than the ones you typically took on. You were merely a B-rank knight, working on your certification to reach A-rank status, which definitely was not an easy feat. Yet the open commission to investigate a newly-uncovered set of ruins in Dadaupa Gorge was requiring one more member of the dual-member expedition team. When you saw who had occupied the first position for the mission, you threw caution to the wind and signed your name for position two, despite the mission being ranked A-level, at the very least. The occupied position? Filled by none other than Kaeya Alberich, captain of the Knights of Favonius cavalry, S-rank soldier and swordsman, and your former mentor. Who also happened to be the man you had hopelessly fallen for.

The mission was assigned by the headquarters of the Knights, specifically for fully-trained Knights only, as the nature of the mission would be too dangerous for your run-of-the-mill adventurer team, and the Knights did not want to be held accountable for any potential casualties or injuries as a result of a mission gone wrong. You and Kaeya had been assigned to go investigate a newly-uncovered set of ruins in the Whispering Woods, supposedly already showing signs of being an Abyss rendezvous point. Apparently, the team of archaeologists who uncovered the ancient rocks from behind a thicket of trees had had many difficulties even making it back to the city of Mondstadt alive. You were frightened, no doubt about it, but you also knew that this was your chance. Your chance to prove yourself and your capability as a knight. Back in your training days before you took the certification exam to become a knight, you were Kaeya’s favorite pupil, a star student. Also possessing a Cryo vision, like the captain himself, certainly did not hurt your reputation in his eyes. Now, having taken on and excelled at countless dangerous B-rank missions, you felt confident in your ability to take on a mere A-rank mission, especially with the captain of the cavalry at your side.

You had almost forgotten about the icy presence at your side, lost in your own daydreams of ambition. After following the paths leading out of Mondstadt, weapons and supplies ready at hand, you and Kaeya had finally made it to the edge of the Whispering Woods. It was starting to get dark, even though the two of you had left reasonably early in the day. The woods seemed so much more vast when their shadows grew longer, waning by the last seams of daylight. Faint howling moaned through the leaves (”Wolves? In the Whispering Woods?”, you thought to yourself), and you felt yourself tremble in the slightest. You couldn’t tell if it was due to the fear or the overwhelmingly strong Cryo aura that Kaeya emitted.

The tall man seemed unaffected by the ominous surrounding, forever carrying himself with an unwavering assuredness. He looked onwards, into the woods, eyes darting back and forth, exhibiting the remarkable surveying skills of a seasoned knight.

“Well, [y/n]”, Kaeya turned to you, with that smug yet rather comforting voice of his. “Are you ready?”

Kaeya’s unshakeable confidence was rather spiriting, you had to admit. Nothing like traipsing into a wild forest, overrun with archons-know-what, with only your own wits and a cunning, distractingly handsome knight to guide you.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose”, you replied, trying to hide the rookie anxiety from trembling your voice. Damn it, you weren’t even a rookie. You were one of the more experienced knights in the entire Knights of Favonius. You could handle this. Plus, Kaeya has your back. In all the years you had known him, Kaeya had never dropped that rogue-ish grin off of his delicate countenance--he had the face of a prince, but marred with the implications of his mysterious eyepatch (he had never told you how he had lost that eye) and the pierce of his sly smile. It made him all so painfully attractive.

You hate to recall the very first day you met him, the two of you only teenagers, barely adults grown into their own skin, yet he stood at the front of the training yard like the prolific swordsman he was, tan skin gleaming beneath the summer sun, hair tied behind his neck, sinewy muscles stretching as he maneuvered the sword in his hand like it was an extension of his own being. That day, you swore that you would become like Kaeya, that you would learn all you possibly could from him. That was also the day you had fallen hopelessly for the charismatic boy, though you were not aware of it just yet.

Trudging into the forest, you made sure to clutch the weapon at your side a little tighter, wary of any potential threats that could appear in front of you at any moment. You never know how much the Abyss mages could use their magic--they are always using the spirits of Teyvat for evil. Although you had only encountered Abyss mages a small handful of times in your past B-rank missions, you already knew how perilous an interaction with any of them could be. The last time you and a partner engaged with a Pyro mage, you left the site with severe magic burns to your side, which took at least three months to fully heal. Looking at Kaeya, he appeared to be as relaxed as ever, both hands loosely tucked into his pockets, his steps led by his elegant hips. The eerie silence of the woods didn’t seem to bother him at all, a comfortable void between the both of you.

“So, captain”, you begun, doing your best to break the proverbial ice a bit, trying not to let the emptiness of the whole forest get to your head. “How have you been? It’s been a while since we last took an assignment together, I believe. 3 months already, isn’t it?”

Kaeya chuckled. “Oh, drop the formalities, [y/n].” He looked at you with his singular, unobscured eye with a teasing glance. “You’ve always known me as just Kaeya, havent you?”

Blood rushed to your face, although not entirely unwelcome, due to the chilliness of the forest. You hoped that the twilight shadows could hide your red cheeks from the man beside you.

“To answer your question, I am doing exceptionally well, thank you”, he smirked. “Although, the last time I did see you was only about a month ago, at the Windblume Ball. Not sure if you remember it all though—you were rather... intoxicated, it seemed.”

Oh, archons. You didn’t know if your face could possivly get any redder from the embarassment. The Windblume Ball was a month prior, hosted by the Knights for all citizens of Mondstadt to attend, to end the Windblume Festival with a night of wine, music, and dancing. Your group of friends within the Knights convinced you to attend along with them, though they didnt quite succeed at convincing you to finally confess your attraction to the captain of the cavalry himself. You acquiesced only on the condition that you would not have to interact with Kaeya at all that night. The anxiety was simply too much and you did not want to deal with the potential situation of seeing Kaeya in formalwear and absolutely losing your mind, let alone Kaeya seeing you dancing and drinking.

“Oh, come on, [y/n]”, your friends had whined. “If you don’t tell him now, when will you ever? He most definitely finds you attractive, as well.” Chuckling, you took a sip of the wine lrovided by the Dawn Winery. You cringed at the sourness of cheap grapes. “I’ll tell him when I’m dead.” You took another sip of the wine, but over the rim of the glass, you saw the one person you were hell-bent on avoiding.

Kaeya Alberich stood across the room, talking to one of the other knights. He was dressed to the nines, in clothing you had never seen him don before. His hair was parted neatly, his long lovelock secured by a large sapphire band. His lean, upper body was covered by a three piece suit, fitted perfectly around his narrow waist, tailcoat resting neatly by his thick, carved thighs. His pants were pressed tightly, without a wrinkle, and he had brought along his usual white fur cape, giving him the sophisticated look of a king.

In awe, you spluttered in your drink as he caught your eye from across the room, clearly noticing you were staring at him. You turned the other way, seeing that your friends were making fun of your oblivious gawking, and they now excitedly pointed behind you, mouthing the words he’s coming! You tried your best to smooth down your hair and pat down your outfit, before turning back around to see that the captain was standing in front of you, face-to-face, with his hand outstretched.

He looked even more sparklingly glamorous up close, an image of old-world elegance that you never knew him capable of portraying. You suddenly felt more drunk than any cheap wine could possibly make you. Kaeya looked at you, a gleam in his eye, and asked

“May I have this dance, [y/n]?”

The rest of the night was a blur, what with your continued consumption of alcohol, convincing yourself you needed to periodically top up your liquid courage. Kaeya had asked you for a few more dances, as far as you remembered. But from what you could recall, he was just as elegant and charismatic as you had always remembered him to be. He never made you feel out of place.

It was awful that Kaeya only seemed to remember how disgustingly drunk you were, but you were thankful at least that he didn’t seem to recall the perpetual state of flusteredness you were in that night, by his mere presence beside you, and his hands guiding yours as you both danced to the upbeat music of the band.

“Archons, I assure you that I am not the unabashed drunkard I may have seemed to be that night”, you chuckled.

Kaeya let out a hearty laugh, his voice reminding you of the sounds of the bells ringing atop the Cathedral. “Of course not, my dear”, he drawled. “I’ve met many a drunkard in my day—you are far from one; I promise.”

You and Kaeya kept on your way in this manner, making pleasant small talk to fill the silence. You didn’t dare tell him for fear of seeming a coward, but hearing his voice and reminiscing with him diminished the fright you initially felt, entering the woods and taking on this assignment. Kaeya was a master conversationalist, and diplomat too, no doubt, always knowing what to say at what time. His warm remarks and playful banter took your mind off of the imminent danger of your situation, and you didn’t notice the path you were both on narrowing. The sun had already set, and the woods were doused in an eerie darkness, and as you and Kaeya approached the vicinity of the ruins, the thickets grew denser and the tree branches hung lower. Not a sound could be heard--

Until suddenly, Kaeya stepped in front of you, blocking your path with an arm outstretched. Shit. You smelled Abyss magic. How could you have possibly missed the putrid scent of sulfur before?

Kaeya’s grin had fallen. His attention was now beyond only you, as if trying to detect something he sensed nearby. Out of nowhere, a hum grew, louder, until an earblasting pop rang out in front of you and Kaeya, and in its place were three Pyro Abyss mages. Three. You could handle one, if you had a partner with you, but three?

Terror ran down your spine, knowing how difficult your Cryo vision could be against a Pyro mage. Your hand unsheathed the sword at your side with blinding speed, just like you were trained, but before you could even take a step forward, Kaeya was already charging at the mages, ice blasting forth from his swordtip, smashing up against the mages’ shields.

“Aren’t ya glad I caught that, [y/n]?” Kaeya teased, sword cutting through the air and the force fields surrounding the mages, as their strained groans pierced the night air. His movements were swift and effortless; at times his movements were so fast that it looked like he teleported from one spot to the next. This was the grace, the beauty of a true prodigy. “If I hadn’t stopped you, we would’ve been roast boar by now!”

You jumped into action, assisting Kaeya with his assaults against the mages, doing your best to dodge the onslaught of fireballs. You felt the heat of the fire magic graze your extremities more than once, counting your blessings that it was nothing critical. The way the two of you moved in unison, one complementing the other, like an avalanche of piercing ice, was a testament to the years of experience you gained in under Kaeya’s expert tutelage. One sword piercing the left, the other the right, until you both had broken down two of the Pyro mages’ shields. You had never gotten through their force fields in such rapid succession before, you thought, in awe. Swinging your sword calculatedly, whilst utilizing your vision and shooting out ice crystals, you defeated the mage, dealing a killing blow, piercing its side with your sword. You watched the creature groan out gutturally, and eventually dissipate into ash, drifting away.

Turning around, you noticed that Kaeya had already taken care of the other mage, already breaking down the final one’s shield. He dodged each blast of Pyro magic with grace and ease, not even showing any sign of fatigue.

“Hey, good work rookie!”, Kaeya teased, activating his ultimate Cryo weapon, sending a halo of ice crystals about his body, knocking into the mage’s shield with every swing.

You huffed. “I’m not a rookie”, you called back, joining him in his siege upon the last enemy. Exhaustion was quickly catching up to you, although you tried to hide it. You couldn’t let Kaeya down.

Over and over, the pair of you banged upon the force field with your swords, with more difficulty than any of the previous mages. This one was different, somewhat stronger. The grass surrounding the two of you was already lit up in flames, licking at your ankles. If you even so much as tripped, the heat would probably damage you more than a fireball could.

“Watch out, rookie”, Kaeya yelled in your directions, trying to be heard above the cackling of the mage and the raging flames, already beginning to catch onto the trees nearby. The night was filled with a reddish glow--hellish and suffocating. “I think it’s about to activate it’s ultimate.”

The cackling grew louder, as you worked yourself into a frenzy, shooting more and more ice crystals, trying to break it’s force field. Three, dragon-like heads began to emerge around where the mage floated. Fuck. The fire-breathers were out. You had only ever fought a Pyro mage that could use fire-breathers once before--that also happened to be the instance that caused you to be an invalid for several months, healing from a deep flesh burn. But Kaeya was here this time. Things would be okay, right?

You could tell Kaeya was growing panicked as well, his swings becoming a bit more hurried and erratic. You didn’t know, but he was deathly worried about you. He had no idea how experienced you were with dodging the fire-breathers, and he knew he had to make quick work of the blasted mage before things could escalate, Archons forbid you get hurt. Kaeya activated his ultimate once more, and, finally, the mage’s shield broke.

You heaved a sigh of relief, closing in on the Pyro mage. Kaeya’s strength and incredible reliability in battle did not fail to impress you, even beyond just the prowess he had demonstrated as a trainee and a mentor. You finally activated your own ultimate, summoning a boulder made of hard ice. Approaching the mage as you saw it struggle to get up off the ground, the ice in your boulder began to form, and you willed it to hurl towards the mage, intending to finish it off. Finally, you would show Kaeya your true strength, your capability. He could depend on you. Hell, you were his star student. Even if you were afraid to tell him about how he had stolen your heart, you could at least show him that the time and effort he had dedicated to you wasn’t for naught.

The seconds slowed down, as the blinding white ice made its way through the air, aimed straight at the pathetic mage, groveling in the dirt. But beyond the ice, was something even brighter, not making its way to the mage; no, it was headed straight at you. A fireball.

You felt an excruciating pain on your left side, right below your ribcage. A scream in the distance--the mage? No; it was Kaeya’s voice. The white-hot pain blinded you, as you felt your back make contact with the hard ground beneath you. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit. Archons, what will Kaeya think?

Vaguely willing your arm to press into your side to assess the damage, you felt warm, sticky liquid pooling on your waist. Lifting a hand, you saw it drenched in crimson blood, dark in the moonlight. You heard another scream again nearby, this time coming from the guttural squeaks you knew was the mage, the dying cries of a pitiful monster. At once, a pair of arms lifted you from the ground, supporting your head. What a damned disappointment you were.

“[y/n]! [Y/N]! DAMMIT!” You had never heard Kaeya this worked up before. The pain of hearing the panic in his voice was also tinged with a selfish gladness that he cared, that Kaeya Alberich gave a damn if you died. Because, in that moment, you were certain you would die.

Straining out a chuckle, your chest racked up a wet cough, sticky blood now staining the edges of your lips. I’ll tell him when I’m dead, you once said. Well, isn’t this all quite ironic.

“Fucking hell, [y/n], I need you to keep your eyes open”, Kaeya commanded. He was using his captain voice, the one that only comes out when a new recruit wasn’t following orders. “Rookie, don’t you dare pass out on me.” His voice wavered.

Would it be worth it to tell him now? Did you want his last memory of you to be a pathetic, wishful fantasy spilling forth from your bloodstained lips, like the nonsense uttered by a mere child? Your vision spun faster, losing sight of Kaeya, hovering over you. You couldn’t make out his features too clearly in the darkness, but something about the wet drops of water landing on your cheeks told you that it wasnt more blood. You supposed that you should do yourself justice and at least keep the one promise you made that night in Mondstadt.

Straining to open your mouth, you uttered, “Kaeya, I—”

But before you could muster the strength to speak another word, your vision went dark.

*****

The first thing you heard when you woke up was the sound of birds chirping. The second was a silent snoring sound coming from somewhere to your right.

Cracking your weary eyes open, you sensed the faint light of the early morning coming in through an nearby window. Getting your bearings, you realized you had woken up in the Knights of Favonius headquarters hospital. Your damaged adventurer’s clothes were gone, and instead you could feel bandages dressed around the wound at your side. Oh, right. You thought you had died.

Trying to sit up, you fekt an excruciating pain burn through the side of your body that had been hit, setting your nerves on fire. You hissed, and the snoring beside you abruptly stopped.

“Archons, you’re awake.”

Kaeya sat up from the chair he had apparently been sleeping in, still dressed in his captain’s armor, just as dirt-covered and singed as when you last saw him. Was that only last night? You figured Kaeya must have hurried you back to the city before your condition could get any worse.

Fuck. As all your memories of the prior night came flooding back, your eyes pooled up with salty tears. Not only had you cone closest to death than you’ve ever had, you had completely disappointed Kaeya and made a fool of yourself in front of him.

“Kaeya, I’m so sorry—”, you started.

Your words were interrupted by the man next to you leaping into your embrace, arms wrapping your shoulders where you were not injured. “Dammit, [y/n]. When won’t you just shut up.” His voice was muffled by his face buried into your neck. “You don’t have to say a word.”

It scared you, seeing him vulnerable. The ever-cocky and cunning captain of the cavalry, the man who always had a plan and was never caught off-guard. Now, a man bearing his innermost emotions to you, little old you. Had he heard what you begun to tell him last night? Or were things going to return back to the way they were, you admiring his dazzling beauty from a distance, comfortable yet agonized at the degree of separation.

You hoped to the archons for the latter. You hoped that it wouldn’t take another instance where you almost lost your life for the love you felt for him to spill forth. Archons, even if you had to die, it would still all be worth it, if it were with him at your side.

Kaeya trembled as he pressed himself deeper into you, desperately clinging on. “Don’t you dare open your mouth, rookie”, he chided. “I don’t want to hear something you’ll only tell me when you’re almost gone. Please just let me do the talking.”

Pulling back, you looked at him in confusion. His hair was disheveled, eyepatch slightly askew, yet his face was full of an almost childlike wonder, akin to the gleam he possessed when you had first met him, however many years ago.

“Do you think I did it all for nothing?” Kaeya looked at you. “Do you think all those years of training together, eating together, soarring together, was all because I thought you had potential as a soldier? The private walks through Windrise, the nights spent at the tavern, the dance, that damned dance we shared—what did you think that was?” Desperate and exhausted, Kaeya’s eye began to shimmer with tears. “Fucking hell, [y/n]. I’ve always loved you. Since the very beginning, you idiot. Why else would I dedicate all my time, all my energy to you and only you?” He grasped your shoulders tighter. “If you think that I haven’t been madly in love with you since I first laid eyes upon you that day, then you’re fucking wrong.”

You cut him off, burying your hands into his hair—pain be damned—and kissed him. It was bitter and metallic, the taste of both of your blood on your tongue. Kaeya’s neck was ice cold, but his cracked lips were thick and warm, and when you pulled away from them, you suddenly felt like you could take on the world.

“Well”, you remarked. “I’m glad that we got that out of the way.”

a/n: uhuhuhu this is pretty long but i hope you like it! i wanted to improve my writing a bit and elaborate on descriptions a bit more, so i hope i did your request justice!

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin x reader #kaeya #kaeya headcanons #kaeya imagines #kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich #genshin impact kaeya #angst #genshin angst

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spencersawkward · 3 years

Note

i’m so happy ur on tumblr now!! i love between the lines so much, could you write a blurb or one shot about mgg and a younger co-star, but like very spicy if possible 🙃, idk i just love that scenario🥵.

i was literally about to write "omg i love this concept too!" and then i was like “well no fucking shit, sophi.” lol. YES i can 10/10 write you a one-shot with a similar scenario! also thank you for your kind words that was the first fic i ever wrote so it’s very near and dear to my heart!

summary: reader goes to a holiday party with her co-stars and best friend, Matthew... but all the fun happens in the dressing room.

content warnings: this one is quite dirty but i’m also proud of it lol. unprotected penetrative sex, oral (female receiving), degradation, use of the term “little girl,” creampie, age gap. dirty talk?

pairing: Fem!Reader/Matthew

word count: 4.7k

masterlist

"no."

"what do you mean, 'no’?” Matthew laughs, looking between me and the mirror.

"I look like the Ghost of Christmas Past." I lift up the soft white tulle of the dress, watching it float back down to settle over my skin. he's got his eyebrows raised and there's a smirk on his lips like he's holding back a laugh. I resist the urge to reach around and hit him.

"would you rather wear that?" he points to the punch-stained gown that's now laying pathetically over the back of the vanity chair. I genuinely ponder the idea for a moment.

"honestly, the crime scene vibes might work well with the theme of our show."

"seriously, it's not bad, Y/N!" he insists, drawing my attention back to the mirror.

"you're just saying that because you're the one who spilled on me and you don't want people making fun of how clumsy you are." I cross my arms over my chest. he gives me a dubious expression in our reflection on the wall.

"do I seem like I care about that?" he challenges.

"I--" the truth is that no, Matthew is not the type. Matthew is the kind of person to flounder in front of anyone and proceed to crack a joke about himself. he's humble. but I kind of like when we talk like this, our back and forth.

after a year of working together on the same show, he and I have grown incredibly close. I'm friends with all my co-stars, but he and I just have the natural friendship chemistry that makes me want to spend all my time with him. when we're not on set, we're hanging out on his couch or ordering dinner or driving out of town to check out wacky sites around California. we just have fun. pure, clean, honest fun.

of course, in my dreams it isn't pure or honest. frankly, there's a lot of sordid scandal to what goes on in my head when he accidentally touches my arm or brushes his fingers over mine. the amount of times I have gone to cast parties trying to work up the nerve to kiss him are embarrassing. he's older and more experienced and, obviously, he has no interest in me.

but that doesn't matter.

the only reason I'm standing in a dressing room alone with him is because he knew someone on the crew who could hook me up with a replacement for the night. he left while I slipped out of the old one and came back in only after knocking and checking, like, twice to make sure I was decent. he's so respectful that it's almost like he's afraid of making me think the wrong thing-- which makes me feel absolutely stupid for my almost schoolgirl crush.

"come on, you look great. let's go enjoy the party."

"was this a dress one of the victims was wearing?" I ask with a laugh.

"probably. not like we carry a lot of gowns on set." he grabs my hand, makes my heart leap into my throat. he only does it to urge me along, but it still feels intimate as I follow him out of the room, tossing one more evaluative glance at myself in the mirror. I seem terrified.

we continue to do our rounds at the party, Matthew filling my glass of eggnog even though I hate it. I wince and take a sip while we talk to some of our co-stars.

"what's wrong with you?" Shemar chuckles at my expression.

"lost a bet."

"with whom?" he glances between Matthew and me, knowing damn well already from the mischievous grin on the former's face.

"I told you not to take it." Matthew says over the rim of his glass.

"if you mention it one more time, I'm gonna throw up eggnog all over your outfit." I threaten him, but we're both smiling. Shemar frowns.

"what was the bet?"

"you know David-- the guy I was telling you about?" I reply quickly, determined to give my side of the story. Shemar nods; I told him last week when David oh-so-chivalrously danced up on me at a club and asked me out. usually in those situations, guys just want a one-night stand, so I was impressed and agreed. "anyway, Matthew said if it turned out that he was a weirdo, he would get to pick my drinks for the next week whenever we go out."

"your drinks? that's specific."

"she's so picky!" Matthew teases me.

"leave me alone, you dick!" I elbow him and he dodges just in time.

"tell him why he was a weirdo." he grins. the glare I give could kill. but Shemar is waiting expectantly for me to share the information, so I sigh and set my jaw before telling the truth.

"he collects antique dental tools."

"what?" Shemar laughs disbelievingly. I throw my hands up.

"I don't fucking know. we went back to his apartment and he showed me his whole collection."

"you're attracted to weird people, Y/N." Matthew says. I raise my eyebrows and almost say something that dooms me. I hold my tongue, however, and turn back to Shemar with a reserved smile.

"anyway, how are you?"

...

the cast holiday party is actually pretty fun. I tend to leave these functions early in favor of my couch and some ice cream, but something about the bright colors and the smell of wintergreen in the air makes me want to linger in the studio.

I stuff myself with sugar cookies and Matthew mercifully lets me switch from eggnog to Sprite. normally, I'd drink at such an occasion, but I'm a messy drunk and this is one of my first real jobs as an actress. I don't want to even come close to jeopardizing that by breaking some expensive equipment or something.

my throat gets a little sore from all the talking I do-- Paget and I spend about half an hour horribly belting out Christmas carols at the baby grand piano they brought in. they originally had someone hired to play it, but the guy disappeared about an hour ago.

by the time it hits around ten pm, my limbs are tired. I thought people would be leaving (a lot of them have families), but the party is still very much raging when I start to wind down. maybe it's because I'm sober.

"hey." Matthew sidles up next to me as I sit at the piano bench with a slice of lime in my mouth. I like to suck the juice out of them; sour things are my favorite.

"hi." I pluck the fruit out and drop it back into my soda. he sits next to me, his cologne filling my senses with the kind of sensual warmth that it shouldn't be making me feel. he always smells so good.

"ladylike." he gestures to the movement.

"is that why you call me 'princess?'" I smirk, half-joking.

"once-- I called you that once!" he defends. it's not a lie. he used the nickname when he was mocking me for my somewhat selective food preferences. it was sarcastic, but I wish it wasn't. something about the way he said it in the moment made me blush.

"is there a reason you've come to grate my nerves?" I raise an eyebrow and he turns away from me as he bites back a smile. I pout. "what?"

"you're talking like a Jane Austen novel."

"what's wrong with Jane Austen?" I defend, skin heating up. his proximity is doing things to me that it shouldn't.

"nothing," he glances at me before moving his gaze to the ivory keys. "do you play?"

"elementary level, sure." I giggle. he runs his fingers over them, never pressing down hard enough to release a sound. I'm entranced by the delicate nature of his actions, the veins and the curve of his fingertips, the sheer width of his hand. I think about it too much for it to be healthy.

"show me." it's a direct order, one that doesn't feel directive but still ends with me placing both hands on the piano and wracking my brain for something to play. I decide on a piece that Paget and I were doing earlier, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

I've never been quite good at piano, and the nearness of his body is like an anvil on my fingers, but I play anyway. and it feels good. his eyes are on me, drawn to my tracings over the instrument as they press and lift and glide.

"sing." I tell him.

"no!" he protests. I don't stop playing, only now getting into the thick of the tune.

"oh, come on. just the chorus..." I plead, turning my head to beg. "please?"

I bat my lashes playfully, fully intending it as a joke, but Matthew softens a bit. for a fraction of a second, I think he looks at my mouth. he turns his head back to the piano and lets out a quiet "here we are as in olden days... happy golden days of yore..."

"there you go!" I egg him on, and he starts to get more into it. his voice is absolutely off-key; he's no singer, and somehow that makes him even more endearing to me.

Matthew has always been this flawless, intimidating figure in my mind. even when we first met, I was certain that he was hiding something because everything else about him is so... perfect. he's funny, sweet, genuinely kind, handsomer than hell. it didn't make sense. but knowing that he can't carry a tune makes me feel a bit better. it humanizes his beauty.

while he sings, I can't help looking at him. his side profile is even more enchanting; the curve of his features meeting a smooth elegance in his jaw and cheek, especially when his mouth is open. he catches me smiling at him and returns it with his own gleeful face, now totally fine with singing like a fool in front of everyone. nobody is even really looking at us-- they're several drinks in and lost in their own universe of drunken laughter.

there's something kind of magical about that, I think. we're sober. when the song draws to a close, I lift my fingers off the keys and into my lap.

"you're quite the Pavarotti." I joke.

"the who?" he furrows his brow with a smile.

"he's a famous opera singer."

"oh," he laughs, "thanks, Mozart."

I twist my face up as I hide my smile. this is also part of the reason I could never tell Matthew how I feel; we just fit together too well. he almost always gets my references and I understand his, even though there's an age gap between us. he's an old soul with a youthful heart.

"how's your night going?" I ask him softly, changing the subject. he sets his hands on his lap, absent-mindedly toying with his fingers. it's not a nervous tendency at all. he does it whenever we're on set.

"as of right now? pretty damn good." he replies with a smile. I get warm again at the implication. he doesn't mean it like that, but god, do I wish he did.

"very smooth." I compliment appreciatively.

"how about you?"

"it was kind of boring, but then this rando sat next to me and started singing Christmas songs and it got a little better." I say flatly, grabbing my glass off the top of the piano and running my fingertip over the rim. he drops his head in a giggle.

"you're something else."

"insult?" I clarify.

"definitely a compliment."

"I like compliments."

"well, I wasn't lying before. you look really beautiful in that dress."

"the murder dress?" I glance down at it to hide the absolute wideness of my eyes at his words. he's completely flustering me and I'm starting to find it hard to breathe. he said I look beautiful. not "pretty," not "great"-- beautiful.

"yes, the murder dress." he gets a little pink in his cheeks, and that makes me want to explode on the spot.

"well, say goodbye to it because I'm gonna go change back into my plebeian clothes," I stand from the piano bench. "it's past my bedtime."

Matthew looks up at me with an unreadable expression and I feel my heart flutter in my chest. I hate leaving him. "do you wanna come with me? like-- walk with me?"

"sure." he nods, stands, and follows behind. I can feel his presence like a delightful reminder of the emotions surging in my stomach. we wind through the crowd of party-goers until we end up back in the dressing room, away from the party. it's quiet.

Matthew walks in with me, carrying our drinks in his hand, and he's about to stroll back out so I can change when I touch his arm. the door shuts automatically behind him.

"wait," I swallow quickly. "can you unzip me?"

"oh." Matthew looks at me, then at the glasses in his arms, then at the vanity. he sets them down and comes back quickly, his frame behind me while his fingertips locate the little piece at the top of my gown. my breath hitches in my throat when he brushes over my spine by accident, one nail dragging accidentally against my skin as the fabric slowly gives way. I don't know if he hears it-- it's nearly imperceptible-- but he definitely hesitates once he reaches the place where my back starts to curve into my ass. he pauses, doesn't breathe until he reaches the end of the zipper.

"there you go." he mutters. his voice is a little more hoarse than usual, and he clears his throat as he steps away. I know he's going to back out. he's going to back out of the room and wait for me to slip into nothing and I know, somehow, that he's going to be thinking about how I look in here with my clothes off. he's going to wish he stayed.

and I'm going to wish he'd done more than stayed.

before I can lose my nerve and allow the moment to be swallowed up by practicality, I shrug the straps of the dress down my shoulders and let gravity take over. it drops to the floor, leaving me in only my bra and panties. I can sense him behind me; he's silent for a moment.

"Matthew." I say, the name sitting on my tongue like a sugar cube. perfectly formed, slowly dissolving.

"y-yeah?" he stutters for the first time since I've met him.

"are you looking at my ass right now?" I ask, still turned around. the way he's frozen in place tells me that I'm right.

"yeah." he admits.

"you can touch it, if you want." I murmur softly. part of me doesn't think this is real, the way each sentence leaves my throat like it's been pre-planned. truly, I don't understand how my brain is moving so quickly.

"are you... sure?" he's hesitant, but even I can taste the longing.

"yes."

his hand smooths over my butt, softly at first like he's still not believing his own eyes, before moving back to grab it. he squeezes the flesh, and a low exhale from him tells me that he's excited.

"do you want more?" my voice barely carries. my head is almost foggy from how good it is to have his grip on my body, even in such a simple way. I can feel myself getting wet.

"how much more?" his lips brush over my shoulder and I get goosebumps. my mouth opens and closes for a moment, searching for the right words.

"however much you want."

it's flint and steel, the way he sparks. the air literally leaves my lungs when Matthew grabs my hips and spins me around to face him. my lips part as I peer up at him, at the lust that now darkens those hazel eyes and the way he holds mine. his touch is certain. he pulls our bodies together, tilts my chin up to kiss me.

it's passionate, strong, the kind of kiss that causes me to lean back a bit just to receive the full force of his desire. but I return the affection easily, moaning into his mouth. I've never been held the way that Matthew holds me. like I'm made of sugar glass, like he wants desperately to feel the soft give of my skin and make a home of me.

the heat between our bodies is almost overwhelming, and I sigh when he subtly pushes our hips together. his erection is against my stomach.

"fuck." I mutter when I pull away for air. Matthew doesn't stop his perfect movements, though, tugging my earlobe between his teeth and starting to leave love bites up my skin and over my shoulder. he chuckles against my throat. I shiver.

"you alright, little girl?" he asks.

"just--" I let out a moan at the sensation of his fingers exploring my bare waist. he reaches behind me to unclasp my bra. "just surprised."

"about?" he slides the straps down my shoulders and looks me in the eye. the lack of physical contact makes me whine.

"that you want me."

"how is that surprising?" he smiles, using one index finger to guide me to look at him.

"you don't seem like it."

Matthew raises his eyebrows as if I'm a crazy person. truly dumbstruck. "what?"

"you-- well, I don't know." I frown, but Matthew takes my hand and moves it over his torso until my palm is resting over the considerable bulge in his pants.

"is this enough proof?"

I struggle for words, sputtering. "yeah-- yeah, it is."

he bucks into my hand a little and I bite my lip, eyes moving up to meet his. something passes between us that I don't fully understand, but feel in my bones. I have never, in my life, wanted someone to fuck me as much as I want Matthew to fuck me right now. my jaw clenches.

"I need you." I tell him like this is the most relevant piece of information that will ever pass between us. he smirks.

"yeah?"

"mhmm."

"then lean against the wall and let me give you what you deserve." he orders. for a second, I try to think through what he means. then I look behind me at the open space and back up, him following me closely. his hands move up to cup my breasts, kneading and tweaking my nipples as he kisses my lips. the coolness against my back causes me to gasp, and he swallows the sound with his tongue before moving down my body.

he's torturously slow, taking one of my nipples into his mouth while he shrugs off his suit jacket. he switches to my other peak, one hand splayed over my stomach, and then proceeds southward with his lips. his kisses are delicate, open-mouthed, as they find their way to the waistband of my panties.

he hooks his fingers in them and looks up at me.

"can I eat you out, baby?" he asks. I bite my lip.

"please." like a beg.

"oh, you're polite tonight." he smirks, tugging the garment down my legs and discarding it somewhere in the room. I don't respond, and he doesn't seem to need me to, because he pushes one leg up for better access to my pussy. "let's see if it lasts."

my back curves off of the wall involuntarily when he holds the flat of his tongue against my clit suddenly, trying to roll my hips against his face. my fingers tangle in his hair, one leg resting over his shoulder.

he starts to flick at my clit. I lose grasp of my own language.

"Matthew, that feels so good, I--"

he attaches himself to my bundle of nerves, seemingly turned on by the sounds I'm making for him. he groans as he laps at the wetness between my legs, dipping into my folds and sucking the soul out of me. I whine and use his curls as leverage to gain more friction. he peers up at me.

"needy little girl." he mumbles against my pussy. I shove him back into me.

"make me cum, then." I beg. I can practically feel the devilish smirk on his face as he devours me like he'll never get enough. every twist and lick of his tongue is sending me to new places. I'm panting, chest heaving, while I grab my own tits and buck into his mouth.

he moans. my orgasm hits me like a wave, causing me to nearly thrash with pleasure as I cry out.

"Matthew, keep going, fuck yes!" I feel tears prick the back of my eyes, the culmination almost too much to bear as we hold contact. he stares into my fucking soul as he eats me out, and I want to stay like this forever. it's hard to support myself with my legs going weak, but I love it. the sensations are otherworldly. it's only when I'm about to collapse that I push his face away from me.

"I love your pussy." he tells me, licking his lips as he sets my legs down. I grin and let my head fall back against the wall.

"thanks."

"come here, princess." he takes hold of my hips and guides me over to the mirror, turning me so that he's standing behind my frame. the pet name causes me to smile.

"what?" I reference our reflection. he stares at me, reaching around to squeeze my tits.

"I wanna fuck you in the mirror." such a vulgar thing, said so beautifully. he kisses my cheek. "if that's okay with you."

"I don't care what position we do as long as you're fucking me." I breathe honestly. he chuckles and draws me towards him so his clothed boner is against my ass. I reach behind and work the button on his pants. he undoes the ones on his shirt. we're silent, him watching my naked body move like he's trying to memorize every detail.

when he's finally stripped, he lets me stroke his cock for a couple moments before pushing my upper back forward so I'm holding onto the sides of the mirror. I see him biting his lip as he lines himself up at my entrance.

"you ready?" he checks. I nod and he smiles at me once. pushing in, the smile melts into a jaw-dropped haze, eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Y/N..."

"it's so big." I try to breathe. he's so deep, I grip the mirror until my knuckles turn white. he's going to snap my body in two with the angle of his cock, filling me easily.

"tight little thing." he grunts as he holds himself inside. I can only watch in shock as I try to adjust to the sheer feeling of him. Matthew runs his hands over my sides, my ass, touching whatever he can. "how's that?"

I start to wiggle my hips and he groans at the feeling of my walls desperately swallowing him up. "Matthew, I need it."

"need what?" he thrusts into me and I have to fight a scream.

"need you."

"fuck... yes." he hisses out, sliding into me. "you're so wet I don't even need to try."

I bite my lip to withhold my sounds and he stares me in the eyes in the mirror as he starts to fuck me harder, building a pace with his hips. he growls a little if he hits certain angles, getting ruthless.

"so many times when I wanted to be inside you, princess..." he trails off. I start to play with my clit with one hand, using the other to stabilize myself with the mirror. the idea turns me on.

"when?"

"whenever you have attitude," he pants. "tonight, in that innocent fucking dress. making me wanna pound you like a little slut."

I make a high-pitched sound at the shudder of pleasure that jolts through my stomach at his words, wanting more. I've never heard him talk this way before.

"Matthew, shit--" I rub myself in circles, caught between watching his face and watching the way his hips slam into mine.

"you're begging to be fucked, you know that?"

"am I?" I smile sweetly in the mirror. we're in our own world, locked in a fantasy that I never want to leave. I can feel him in every corner of my body, sinking beneath my skin. he digs his nails into my ass.

"mhmm." he hums. I can feel the familiar weight in my stomach that indicates how close I'm getting. a knot that screams to be undone by his perfect length. I would do anything for more of this. I can taste everything good in the world on my tongue.

"I'm so close." I whine.

"I can tell," he studies my face in the mirror. "so pretty when you're breaking."

"oh--" I feel my thighs tense and my body pulses, the euphoria almost overwhelming. we move steadily, rhythmically, and he pushes my climax to new levels. "faster." I cry.

Matthew is quick to respond, gripping me closer while he plows into me like he's never going to have my body again. the sound of it is filthy, perfect, a mess. he groans at the sensation of my cunt pulsating around his cock.

"cum for me, princess." he moans, losing himself in the embrace of my core. the foggy stare in his eyes is like drowning in the ocean. I sink below, not caring at all about the consequences of him inside me. fuck working together; I need him. "where should I cum?"

"in me." I groan.

"beg." he commands easily, watching my face contort in pleasure. I could pretend to fight it, to give a little attitude, but I don't want to. I love begging for him.

"fill me up, Matthew. please." each word punctuated by the breathlessness of my voice. he gets even more ferocious with me, beating up my pussy until I'm sure he's going to leave me sore.

"right there, right there," he gasps, hitting the same spot that makes me go cross-eyed. "such a good little slut."

his cum shoots into me, deep and warm and erotically twisted, and I nearly collapse. it feels weird, but so good at the same time. full. he groans out my name and withdraws, quick to grab my shoulders and hold me up as I almost fall. I hadn't realized that most of my body weight was supported purely by his thrusts.

"whoa." he lets out a tired laugh, gentle in his touch. I'm heaving air into my lungs.

"sorry." I apologize, my body unstable.

"are you okay?" he seems genuinely concerned and I nod.

"yeah, I'm fine. just a little overwhelmed."

"here," he scoops me into his arms and brings me over to the old love seat in the dressing room, laying his jacket down before putting me on top of it. "can I get you something?"

"Sprite." I gesture to the glass on the vanity, and he smiles as he goes to get it. I gulp down whatever remains of it. "thanks."

"of course." he keeps glancing at my face and the red marks on my hips where he was clutching me like a lifeline. "I'm sorry."

"what?" I set the cup down. "don't ever be sorry for fucking me like that."

"no, I meant--" he laughs, but then he sees my playful expression and realizes that I'm genuinely alright. I think my legs were asleep.

"you're a saint." I tell him. he frowns and shakes his head bashfully. I'm already getting up and collecting my clothes. "or maybe what we just did prevents you from reaching sainthood. I don't know."

he places his hand on my lower back, kisses my forehead tenderly.

"seriously. you're okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine," I assure him. "but I would be better with a milkshake."

Matthew breaks into a slow grin, staring at me like I've done something miraculous.

"how are you so perfect?"

#matthew gray gubler #mgg smut #mgg oneshot #mgg x reader

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anonniemousefics · 3 years

Text

All Kinds Of New Friends

Fandom: Six of Crows | Kaz + Inej (ft. all the other Crows)

Word Count: 4,700

Rating: Teen and Up

TW: contains mentions of sexual assault

Cross-posted to AO3

Synopsis: The gang has a run in with a couple of unscrupulous characters from Inej's past, and Kaz says a few things in the middle of a rage he wasn't supposed to say yet.

Author’s Note: This fic is dedicated to AO3 user puppy cat, who was such a supportive, lovely fan from the very first chapter of "My Dearest Inej" all the way to the end. They requested a fic based around a particular idea involving the gang at a restaurant and someone harassing Inej and Kaz losing his shit in a very specific way (being intentionally vague here to avoid too many spoilers lol). If you like this au, there's more of it in my recent fic "Samples". :)

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Nothing brought Kaz Brekker life quite like being paid to argue. And he was good at it, which was why he could charge these student athletes afraid of losing their scholarships two hundred bucks an essay without even flinching. If a more delightful way to make money existed, he had not found it yet.

He was spending his Saturday the way he usually spent Saturdays: rounding out a conclusion to a paper arguing for the death penalty, for a pre-law class he’d never take and a trust-fund upperclassman he’d hopefully never meet. In a few hours, he could drop the doc in a secure server and wait for the Venmo alert that he’d been paid. Nothing was sweeter.

Well. One thing was sweeter.

Inej was in the beat-up old recliner beside him in his and Jesper’s little living room of their third-floor off-campus apartment. This was the best way to spend a Saturday. She was sitting cross-legged and practically drowning in oversized sweats, her raven-black hair piled on top of her head while she hunched over her MacBook. And she was wearing those thick-rimmed, blue-blocker glasses Matthias Helvar had convinced her she needed (which, of course, had nothing to do with the fact that he was being paid to promote them on his stupid Instagram, that douchebag). Kaz had cringed both internally and externally when she’d told him she’d bought a pair, but now he was seeing the merit, because, dear God, was she adorable in glasses. They were awakening strange and powerful urges every time he glanced over at her. If she held them in between her teeth while undoing her hair, he was going to have to leave the room.

Because the terrible reality was that Inej had had a rough go of it her freshman year at Ketterdam University. And even though they were sort of together now (Kaz was pretty sure they were?), the last thing Inej needed right now was to be over-sexualized – for anything. Including those really fucking cute glasses.

“I’m starving,” Jesper declared from his prone position on the floor. He had been propped up on a bunch of faded pillows between them, engrossed in shooting undead things on their Xbox. His boyfriend Wylan had spent most of the afternoon napping against his shoulder, but was now blinking awake like a blue-eyed baby owl at Jesper’s sudden announcement.

“I could eat,” Wylan yawned with a lazy stretch.

“Inej? You?” Jesper reached up to tug on Inej’s sock.

“Hm?” Inej looked up from her laptop like she was emerging from a cave while she gnawed on one of the strings of her sweatshirt. It had been like this since The Incident – Jesper and Nina often took turns making sure she would eat. (Kaz had it covered, but that was all right. The back-up couldn’t hurt.)

“Food? Are you hungry?” Jesper repeated, the unspoken question floating in the air: Have you eaten today?

Inej blinked a few times as she thought, her dark eyes flitting back and forth between Jesper and her laptop screen. Kaz knew this internal war well – the age-old taking care of one’s needs versus the siren-song of wreaking endless revenge.

Inej had come to Ketterdam University on a gymnastics scholarship, but that had fallen by the wayside – ever since The Incident. The night everything changed.

Kaz didn’t know Inej Ghafa all that well before it happened – had taken a few classes with her, studied for an exam with her once. She’d been eternally sunshiney, the kind of girl he knew wouldn’t waste her time on dark things like him.

But then she’d started missing classes.

And then showing up to class visibly drowning beneath the weight of sleeplessness and oversized clothes.

And he didn’t really know her but it had bothered him all the same. It was like watching a star collapsing in on itself.

And that’s when the story of The Incident hit the news cycle. From the moment he read the first headline, Kaz couldn’t stop scrolling, growing sicker and sicker in the pit of his stomach.

She’d gone to a party at a frat house with a new friend. (Kaz had even been there before, maybe even the night it happened. Frat parties were veritable breeding grounds for potential clients – full of rich, connected kids too drunk or stoned to be bothered by classwork and crooked enough to pay someone else to do it.) It was suspected that someone had slipped something in her drink, and it was known that the friend who’d brought her there had been entirely useless. Inej had woken up the next morning, half-naked on the lawn, crude drawings in Sharpie all over her, and no knowledge of what had transpired that had left her there.

It should have ended there – that was bad enough. But then the frat boys had started posting the videos of what had happened that night. How she had been used. How she had been touched.

If Inej’s parents were going to have their way, someone was going to jail. If Kaz was going to have his way, someone was going to suffer all the way there.

After he’d learned the news, he’d found her the next day before class started, where she was at the back of the room, hunched over her desk with her hood up. She’d shot daggers at him with her eyes when he approached. He’d liked that.

“I’d like to help you ruin them,” he’d told her. Inej’s glare didn’t relent as she sized up him – his black attire, the leather gloves that clenched his gleaming cane. He usually made a point of looking like the sort of person who ruined things. Nobody bullied a boy with a cane if it looked like that same boy could take your head off with said cane.

Inej seemed to agree that he looked like he could fit the bill. And they began to plot – how to expose her abusers, how to alert every girl they ever came into contact with, how to ruin every single party they would ever throw.

And somewhere along the way, it had turned into…something. Kaz wasn’t sure what to call it. But he couldn’t call it nothing – not when Inej regularly stayed the night in their apartment and did soft things like run her hand over his chest if she liked the jacket he was wearing or blush and smile if she caught him looking at her. He’d even really gone out on a limb one night and told her he liked her, and she’d said it back. He wasn’t sure where that left them at this point. Somewhere, he guessed, with something.

“I’ll eat,” Inej was agreeing, albeit with a bit of reluctance to leave her laptop. She was elbows-deep in a catfishing scheme Kaz had concocted for their latest victim.

“Nina wants us to meet up with her and Matthias at The Sweet Shop,” Wylan said, who was catching up on the texts he’d missed while napping on Jesper.

“I swear, Nina could lure a polar bear into the jungle,” Jesper sighed next to him, because it was a little miraculous to think Matthias Helvar, fitspo Instagram model and purveyor of all things organic and natural, had somehow been corralled into a bakery cafe. Kaz was surprised that Matthias even looked at carbs, let alone consumed them.

And, even though he was pressed for time on the illicit essay he was writing, Kaz needed food, too. He and Inej both could use the time away from their questionable dealings online.

The Sweet Shop was within walking distance, but it had begun to rain, cold and foggy, over Ketterdam. So, the four of them piled into Kaz’s beat up black Chevy and rolled into town behind the rhythmic beating of the windshield wipers.

“Over here!” Nina waved to them, beaded bracelets rattling in a stack on her wrist, from the far corner as the bakery’s front door swung closed behind them, tripping a jingling brass bell pinned to the doorframe.

The Sweet Shop was a popular spot for the more bookish crowds to crash on the weekends, load up on starchy foods and coffee while rattling out papers on their laptops or flirting under the guise of study groups. Kaz wouldn’t go so far as to call them his type of people, but he was certainly more at home here than the drunken soirees where he spent his evenings fleecing the debauched children of alumni. Here, there were people crowded over old tables with their books, and well-worn leather sofas and faded overstuffed chairs in the corner lined with secondhand books and used board games that were almost always missing pieces. The air smelled like espresso and cupcakes and old pages, and if Matthias Helvar was going to sulk about the lack of kale on the menu, Kaz might have to punch him in the face.

Matthias was already nursing a colorful smoothie while Nina sat next to him on the old leather sofa, her long, shapely legs draped over his and a stack of sugared waffles on the coffee table in front of her.

“Took you long enough!” Nina was scolding as the four of them weaved through tables to the corner of sofas and chairs. “Do none of you check your phones on weekends?”

“A technology fast is very cleansing for our auras,” Matthias countered, with a sage look – Matthias, the self-proclaimed Instagram influencer. Kaz rolled his eyes.

“That almost sounded like real words, Matthias – good job,” Jesper smirked, as he perched on the arm of the chair where Wylan had flopped down. Matthias opened his mouth to retort something, but --

“I was just distracted, sorry,” Inej intervened with an apology to Nina and a sheepish look. (She thankfully was no longer wearing her blue-blockers or it might have been too sweet even for a place called The Sweet Shop.)

“And I was just ignoring you,” Kaz said with a shrug. Inej gave him an exasperated whack in the arm as he sat next to her on an old loveseat, resting his cane against one side, and Nina let out a put-out huff.

“Wylan’s the only considerate one among you,” she complained.

“Yes, that is true,” Jesper agreed, and Wylan grinned widely with his chin propped up on his fist.

“We wanted you here because,” And Nina drew out the because like she had something grand to follow it, “Matthias landed a sweet sponsorship yesterday, and he wants to buy us all lunch!”

Kaz and Jesper groaned in unison, loud enough it couldn’t quite be drowned out by Inej and Wylan’s congratulations. Matthias got particularly insufferable after new sponsorships – there would be strings attached to this.

“That’s very nice of you, Matthias,” Inej said, pointedly, glaring at Kaz.

“It is very nice of you, Matthias, to offer to buy us all strawberry ice cream smoothies like yours,” Kaz said, with an evil glint in his eye as he nodded to the large pink cup in Matthias’ hand.

Matthias gave an uneasy laugh.

“There’s no ice cream in this,” he said, then paused when he noticed Nina’s tight-lipped, icy stare boring into Kaz’s skull. Then his brow cinched up and looked down at his cup. “There isn’t ice cream in this, right, babe?”

“It’s not going to kill you,” Nina replied with an eye roll.

“Babe! You know I can’t do dairy right now! Tomorrow’s Six-Pack Sunday!”

There was no point in trying to stop it: a laugh in the form of a long snort rolled out of Kaz while Jesper and Wylan dissolved into a fit of giggles. Now Kaz remembered -- this is why they kept Matthias around.

“You don’t understand,” Matthias was trying to say. “It can take a whole week to detox and lose the bloat.”

“I’ll finish it for you, you big baby,” said Nina, and snatched the smoothie away from a panicked Matthias.

“I should start running laps now,” he was fretting.

“Make some food runs for us – that’s a start,” Jesper supplied, looking helpful.

“Good call,” Matthias nodded, and hopped to his feet, nearly dumping Nina onto the floor in the process. “Orders? Orders?” He looked to each of them, ready to leap into action and start fighting off the bloat.

He’d gathered up their orders and made a beeline for the counter when Nina turned to Inej.

“You had me worried, you know.” Nina leaned out a little over her knees toward her roommate. “You were just distracted?”

Kaz glanced in Inej’s direction in time to see how she swallowed hard. She’d stuffed her hands deep in her hoodie pockets. Kaz knew the reaction all too well -- what it was like to withdraw and fight to make yourself untouchable, even to those who loved you.

“Just a lot of work lately,” Inej said. And Nina slid a suspicious glance toward Kaz, as if waiting for him to explain himself and what he was getting the two of them into now.

But it had always been Inej’s decision, how she wanted to handle her own revenge. Kaz was only providing tools. He hadn’t answered for her yet, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Nina sighed.

“I just don’t want to see anyone hurt anymore,” she said. The brass bell over the front door jingled again.

“That’s not--”

But Inej stopped short when she glanced toward the sound of the bell. She barely moved, but Kaz could sense her growing rigid next to him. And something about it made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

He followed her gaze to two boys who were now slouching toward the front counter. Kaz had seen them both before; he was pretty sure he’d written a biology research paper for the one with the pug-nose. They were both tall and conventionally good-looking – the sort you probably didn’t think twice about. Well-muscled, expensive haircuts, brand name sneakers.

Beside him, Inej had started breathing weird.

“Fuck.” Nina had noticed her staring, too, and suddenly all pairs of eyes in the corner were watching the newcomers at the front of The Sweet Shop with murder in their hearts.

Because these two bastards had been there the night of The Incident.

Kaz found himself wondering which one he could make cry first. Probably the bulkier one -- he looked soft and dumb around the edges. His mom probably still did his laundry on the weekends and called his professors when he didn’t get good grades. Kaz wanted to see him cry until snot dribbled down his sweaty face and –

“We should go,” Inej said, abruptly. She was looking pale and shaky, and her eyes darted around as if she needed to gather belongings, even though she’d brought none. Kaz had started to grip the head of his cane, tighter, tighter, tighter.

“Fuck no.” Nina was adamant and fiery, bless her. “We got here first – they can leave.” And then a little louder. “They should be in jail, frankly!”

“Nina!” Inej hissed, and her hand flew to curl against the side of her face when the boys looked their direction. Her eyes were wide and terrified when she looked over to Kaz.

“I want to go,” she told him, and that was all she needed to say. He pushed his weight onto his cane, hoisting himself to his feet.

“Don’t worry, girl – we got you,” Jesper was confirming, and, without even needing to consult each other, he and Wylan and Nina had Inej surrounded from sight on their walk to the door, Kaz at the front.

And it almost worked, too.

“Brekker!” Until one of the boys recognized him and gave him with a jovial grin. Shit. “Hey, it’s Brekker!” The stupid kid with the pug nose gave Kaz a hearty slap on his shoulder, and it took every ounce of restraint in him to not break the dude’s wrist.

“This kid got me an B+ on my bio term paper,” the kid was telling his bulky friend, and then with a shady-ass side smirk, he added: “Wasn’t totally the A I’d paid for, but that was still awesome, bro.”

“With your GPA, an A would have been too suspicious.” Why was Kaz even defending himself to this turd? He made to shove past, to head for the door.

But that kid was still gripping his shoulder. Like he wanted Kaz to remove it from its socket. Like maybe he was just asking for it. Kaz ground his teeth, trying to maintain his resolve. He wasn’t going to do this in front of Inej. He was going to be better than this for her.

“Bro,” the human pile of excrement still touching him was saying, “I’ve been meaning to text you. I have this world religions class this semester that is just killer, and I--”

“Your next words had better be how you’re doing your own damn work from now on.”

A simple “No” would have sufficed, Kaz realized, but his girl was in some kind of state because of this waste of carbon and his patience had never been plentiful to begin with.

Besides, the kid didn’t strike him as the type who understood simple “No”s. He was going to have to make it really fucking clear for this idiot.

Sure enough, the kid blinked hard, like he’d been slapped.

“I paid you, bro,” he said, dumbly.

“Oh, he did not just--” Nina started from the back of their bunch.

“Call me ‘bro’ one more time,” Kaz dared him, his eyes narrowing.

“What the hell, man?” said the thoroughly confused bulky friend.

“Kaz, just leave it,” Inej said, softly, and she slipped her fingers into the crook of Kaz’s elbow. “Let’s just go.”

A wave of recognition spread over the pug-nosed douchebag’s face at the sight of her. It was sickening, the surprised rise of his eyebrows, the smug, amused smirk on his lips. Kaz wanted to rip them right off his face.

“Oh, I see how it is,” the dick was saying. “You’re with this bitch--”

That’s when Kaz felt something snap. Oh, he was dead now.

“Kaz!” Inej shouted a warning, but it was already too late. With the cane between his two gloved hands, Kaz rammed his weight into this dead man walking. He threw the kid against the front door, the brass bell jingling as the shades on the window rattled in the scuffle.

“That’s my girlfriend, dipshit,” Kaz snarled.

Kaz was vaguely aware that there was a rising commotion around him, a crescendo of clashing panic and rage. His hand had found its way to the dude’s collar, throttling him; Nina was shouting something at Matthias somewhere behind him; chairs were scuffling about against the floor. But Kaz’s sole focus now was on making this heinous little fucker wet his pants.

“Kaz. The door.” Jesper’s clear-headed voice cut through the blinding wrath, and Kaz was somehow thinking clearly enough to gather his meaning and wrenched the kid away from the front door just long enough for Jesper to shove an arm through and open it.

And Kaz threw the pug-nose brat out into the rain ahead of them. The kid hit the pavement, hard, and scrambled back.

“Dude, you’ve got it all wrong if you think she’s the victim here,” the useless piece of flesh was sniveling. His nose was bleeding – pathetic, Kaz had barely hit him.

“I really think I don’t,” Kaz disagreed, thoughtfully.

“We could have you arrested!” the bulky child was screeching. Kaz turned just in time to see Matthias literally chuck the kid out after them, red-face and snarling. And Kaz had to hand it to him – even with his dairy intolerance, Matthias Helvar could toss frat kids with the best of them.

“Oh, please file a police report about this,” Kaz sneered at them. The wind and the rain were beating back his dark hair and flapping the collar of his black jacket, but he didn’t care. “I would absolutely love to know how you plan on explaining why you called my girlfriend a bitch.”

“Man, it is not my fault your girl can’t handle her liquor.”

CRACK. Kaz barely had time to blink, and Matthias had straight up decked the kid right in his jaw. Nina was rolling up her sleeves, ready to destroy the other one in the pelting rain.

“Hey!” The teenager in a green apron who’d been running the cash register was running out after them, holding a phone over her head. “I’m gonna call the cops if you don’t clear out!”

And when Kaz looked back at Inej, there were tears welling in her eyes even though her jaw was set firm. From the looks on the faces of the rest of his friends, they’d all noticed, too.

So, it fizzled out before it even really began.

The frat boys had slunk off in the rain, and the six of them regrouped and sauntered back to Kaz’s car in silence. Jesper, Nina, and Matthias piled into the back seat, while Inej and Wylan squeezed into the front. And then an uncomfortable stillness descended.

Inej had pulled her hood up again when Kaz turned the key in the ignition, her arms tight in her sleeves. Every once and awhile, she’d sniffle as quietly as she could as the car ride seemed to drag on – but Kaz knew. Everyone knew. That had been awful. And it still felt awful. Kaz’s head was starting to swirl, his wracked nerves still buzzing. He shouldn’t have done it. He hadn’t wanted to do it, not really. And she’d told him she wanted to leave – she’d said it clear as day. And he’d said…oh God, what had he said? What had he done?

Kaz’s stomach was starting to lurch. He’d said a lot of things. Way too many fucking things. Things they hadn’t discussed yet. Things he’d clearly just assumed. What had he done?

“We really should cleanse this negative energy.” Goddamn Matthias was the first one to break the pervasive silence, and he was choosing to break it with this nonsense. Kaz’s glare drifted to the rear view mirror. “I have some sound healing bowls back at my place that are--”

“I swear to God, Helvar,” Kaz snapped, “if you break out even one sound healing bowl, I will make you wear it like a helmet and then drop kick you into the sun.”

In the rear view mirror, Kaz could see Matthias’ nostrils flaring.

“You are such an unbalanced piece of shit sometimes, you know that--?” But Matthias stopped short because Inej had let out a surprising chuckle. Kaz slowly let himself glance her direction – so did everyone else.

She was smirking up at Kaz.

“I just think it’s thoughtful of you to make sure his head is protected before you launch him into space,” she shrugged. Wylan barked out a laugh.

“I just think they should kiss already,” Nina added, waggling an eyebrow at a brooding Matthias, and then Jesper started to laugh, too, which really was the most infectious of laughs. Even Kaz was smiling after a moment – just a little.

Though that faded entirely when they pulled up to Kaz and Jesper’s apartment and Inej asked to speak with him alone in the car first.

Shit, he thought. Shit. Here it is. He’d royally fucked it up now.

They waited in silence with the rain pouring over the car while the rest of their friends darted into the old Victorian home where Kaz and Jesper lived on the third floor. With each passing second, his stomach sunk lower into his guts. He wasn’t even sure he could form words in his brain, let alone with his mouth. He had no rational explanation for what had come over him back at The Sweet Shop, other than Here it is, Inej, I’m kind of a fucking disaster.

“So, that was…” Inej started, slowly. She was staring out the front window. Kaz felt like crumpling, and he hated it, hated how weak he felt. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I know, I know…” he muttered. He didn’t really, but he just wanted this to be over. If she never wanted to see him again, he needed her to rip the bandaid off quick.

“So, I’m your girlfriend now?”

Kaz couldn’t decipher her tone, and he couldn’t even look at her. He was just going to stare at the steering wheel until this was over.

But then Inej said: “I just would like to have known before the guys my parents are having investigated, that’s all.”

Kaz looked to her then, lifting his dark eyebrows slightly. She’d let her hair down from its knot before they’d left for the café – she’d braided it loose over her shoulder like he liked. She was twirling the ends now, a tired smile on her pink lips.

“If you want,” he said with a soft shrug. It wasn’t at all like the heroic way he thought she deserved to be swept off her feet. But she was still smiling all the same. It made him feel braver.

Funny – how throwing his weight around against perverts was as easy as breathing, but looking at her like this tore him apart.

“If you’ll have me,” he offered, even softer now.

And Inej reached across the distance between them. Laced her fingers over his, atop his knee.

“I will have you, Kaz Brekker,” she said, tenderly. It took him aback a bit. Made his breath catch. Made his throat sting.

“If I shouldn’t have--” he started to say of the row back at The Sweet Shop. But Inej cut him off instantly, shaking her head. Squeezing his fingers.

“You absolutely should have,” she said, firmly. “And you should show me how, too.”

Kaz really raised his eyebrows at that. Inej smiled a little wider. His heart was lifting, lifting up and out of the certain doom he was sure it was about to face.

“Come on.” Inej tugged at his hand. “We’d better head up before Matthias starts culture appropriating all over your apartment.”

“You have to admit – he threw one hell of a punch, though,” Kaz pointed out, as he opened his door, and then wanted to punch himself for it. What the hell – was he defending Matthias Helvar now? This whole day was upside down.

Thankfully, there was a different kind of embarrassing going down in apartment number three when they finally made their way up. Kaz could hear it before he even made it to the top of the stairs – the loud, thumping bass, the voices shouting at the tops of their lungs.

Oh, their neighbors were going to love this. They were just making all kinds of new friends today.

When Inej opened the door, all four of their friends were dancing to Cardi B’s I Like It, blasting through Jesper’s bluetooth speaker. It took everything in Kaz to not physically recoil at the assault on his senses.

“Emergency dance party!” Jesper explained, yelling from behind Wylan.

“We’re clearing out the negative energy!” Nina shouted over the noise, her hands in the air. Matthias was jumping around behind her like an absolute madman. “But like in an acceptable way!”

“I think it’s working!” Wylan shouted at her in agreement, with Jesper’s hands on his hips.

They were all smiling.

And beside him, Inej burst out laughing – a wild, fluttery sound he’d heard only a few times before. It caught him right in the heart each time he had, and he knew he’d do anything to hear it as often as he could. He looked down at her and wondered, not for the first time, how she did it. How she managed to wring joy out of even the most dismal of circumstances.

It was something he needed more of – as long as she’d allow him to have it.

“Come on!” she was shouting to him as she took him by the hand. “You heard the man! Emergency dance party!”

And Kaz followed her in, shutting the door behind him.

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

Tagging: @annejulianneh111, @loveyatopluto, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @whosanxiety, @raging-bisexual-alert,

#kanej #kanej fanfic #kanej fluff #six of crows #modern au #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #matthias helvar #nina zenik #college au #reader requested

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lilhemmo · 4 years

Note

hi its vegeta anon! Can I request a fic where vegeta realizes he likes the reader and tries to impress/ flirt and the reader is kinda caught of guard at first then realizes what he’s trying to do and finds it super cute? Lol im not good at making requests hopefully that makes sense! 😆

a/n: this’ll be another fem!reader; thank you so much, vegeta anon! i hope you enjoy it, and if you want, request more!!! i hope i do this justice x

“Vegeta, you really should get yourself a wife,” Goku mutters between courses after training one balmy afternoon.

The Saiyan Prince turns his head slightly in acknowledgment, his signature snarl curling his lips downward. He grunts, “Kakarot, I do not care for these mortal customs, including marriage. My only focus in life is training to kick your ass.”

Goku sighs, picking up a dumpling between a set of chopsticks, “But you’re so grumpy all the time. If you had a wife who could cook for you, you’d be so much happier! I know I’m always happier when I have a belly full of Chi-Chi’s perfect cooking!”

Vegeta grimaces, brows knitting together. “Bulma cooks well enough for me to maintain the amount of sustenance I need to continue my training.”

“Not as good as Chi-Chi, you can say it,” Goku whispers with a giggle.

Bulma snaps something rhetorical from the warehouse just behind the picnic area the Saiyans are currently occupying. Both men wince at the sound of her shrill voice, blushes painting their cheeks.

“I’m just sayin’, Vegeta, it’s nice to have someone who cares about you when you come back from a scary battle.” Goku pops some more food between his lips and Vegeta is thankful for the break from his annoying voice occupying what little amount of silence there is.

Unbeknownst to everyone else, the younger sister of Chi-Chi herself had brought Vegeta’s attention away from the dinner table and the training room more than a handful of times.

“Your Saiyan blood is tainted by these Earthlings, Kakarot. You’ve grown soft.”

You take a step towards the table with fresh plates of fried meat in your hands, setting one in front of each of them. You smile, “I think it’s sweet. I’m glad my sister has someone like Goku to take care of her and Gohan.”

“More like Chi-Chi takes care of me!” Goku laughs, running a hand through his hair and rests his palm on the back of his neck.

“Tch,” Vegeta stabs a slab of the meat with his chopsticks, rolling his eyes at the comment. “You’re practically a child in an overgrown body, Kakarot. Of course she’s taking care of you!”

The meal turns into training, the two Saiyans sweating not long after the fight begins. You and Bulma are busy in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes and prepping dinner. It’s easy to fall into a lull here, chopping vegetables and searing meats. The sun is warm on your face through the large picture window in front of the sink, where you’re currently stood washing some of the last remaining dishes. Your feet ache from standing up, so once the stew is brewing and the pork is roasting, both you and Bulma lounge on the deck, watching the Saiyans as they train together.

“Wow, looks like Goku has gotten a couple of good hits in,” Bulma comments, sipping on her fruity drink, complete with purple umbrella. “Might have to patch Vegeta up later.”

You sigh, twirling your thumb around the rim of your tea cup, “Don’t let him hear you. I’m pretty sure his least favorite time of day is when I have to stitch him back together. Might be even lower on the scale than when he loses a match to Goku.”

“Actually, I think Vegeta is pretty fond of spending time in the med bay. Specifically when you’re the one holding the sutures.” Bulma looks over the tip of her glass to send a wink your way.

You can’t help the blush that paints your cheeks but you shove off her compliment nonetheless. Even still, your eyes track Vegeta’s motions as he trades punches and kicks with his rival and friend.

Eventually the training is over and the guys gather around the table once again, shoveling the food you prepared into their mouths while the two of you patch them both up.

“C’mon, woman,” Vegeta snaps, jerking his head towards you to glare down his nose at you. “I know I have strength that far surpasses the standard human, but it does not mean that your poor stitching does not hurt.”

You clench your jaw and raise your brow at him, “I can let you do it yourself, then? Or you can have Bulma do it?”

Vegeta spares a look across the table at Goku, who is currently wincing between bites of pork, and the jagged stitches that currently mar his biceps and shoulders.

“Fine,” he grumbles, looking resigned as he turns back to his dinner.

What he does not tell anyone is how he appreciates the pads of your fingertips against his skin, heat simmering just beneath the surface.

Things begin to change around Capsule Corp. You start as a full-time medic and part-time assistant to Bulma. You help her cook and clean and keep the place running, patching up the training warriors as they make their way through the gravity chamber.

Of course, Vegeta is your favorite.

He is always grumbling about something or other that Goku has done to rile him up, which distracts him long enough that he does not complain about your suture work or the sting of the antiseptic. Instead, he rolls his eyes and growls at the back of his throat.

“Kakarot is the bane of my very existence,” Vegeta huffs as he crosses his arms. You’re working on sealing back together a small slice on his brow as well as a split wound on his jaw. Your fingers may or may not be traveling over his skin more than necessary, but you won’t stop until he starts to complain.

“I know,” you answer simply. It seems that sometimes he would rather hear his own voice than to actually participate in a conversation. You suppose that is the spoiled prince within him.

He turns to look at you, your hand brushing his sensitive skin but he does not wince, “Are you even listening to me?”

You sigh and lick your lips before answering, “Vegeta, it’s always the same. Goku upsets you, and suddenly you’re absolutely miserable with no resolution. I sit here, patch you up, and then you go back out and do it all over again after eating an enormous plethora of food. At this point I don’t even have to pay attention to know what’s going on.”

Vegeta is silent now, eyes traipsing over your face, taking in every feature before he responds, “I-I don’t have much else to talk about. Training to be better than Kakarot is the main focus of my life.”

“Have you ever thought about what you would do when the fight is over?” you ask, brushing your thumb against a butterfly bandage, sealing the wound on his jaw. Your touch lingers a moment, the warmth of his skin tantalizing enough to keep you close.

“The fight will never be over,” he counters. Vegeta adjusts his legs, and in doing so, his knee brushes your thigh and you can’t help when your breath hitches and creates an audible sound.

You gnaw at your lower lip, completely captivated by the intensity of his dark eyes. His hands twitch in his lap and you wonder if he’s aching to touch you the same way your fingers pulse with the thought of exploring the planes of his body. Somehow you manage to form words and in the breathiest voice you’ve ever heard from yourself, you murmur, “There has to be something more.”

The startling sound of Goku entering the med bay breaks you apart and you find yourself tending to the med supplies while Goku and Vegeta carry on a conversation about training and injuries and tactics. Your eyes manage to flick upward one last time before you exit the bay with supplies in hand, and you’re surprised to find that the dark eyes of one very handsome Saiyan Prince are trained in on your every move.

“Vegeta, let’s train again, c’mon!” Goku whines as they make their way through the kitchen. You hand Vegeta a protein shake as they sidle up to the bar, leaning against the granite countertop. If you look closely, you swear you see a gentle smirk morphing into a smile on his lips.

The prince grunts to his counterpart, “Kakarot, you imbecile. You promised your family you would host your little urchin’s party celebrating another year left alive.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” Goku laughs nervously, tousling his hair. He leans his forearms against the counter and plucks a piece of fruit out of the cornucopia laid out in front of him. “It is Gohan’s birthday today, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Chi-Chi should be here soon,” you mention, cleaning up after the morning round of food prep. “As will the rest of the party goers. You guys need a shower, you stink.”

The two take their protein shakes and head off towards their quarters to shower and clean up. In the meantime, you work with Bulma on preparing food and wrapping up the remaining decorations for the party. Vegeta emerges from the back chambers first, a freshly pressed set of clothes on his body, along with the thinnest armor he owns.

As the party begins, you notice that Vegeta hangs back, taking up the doorway that leads into the kitchen, thick arms crossed over his chest. He watches you closely, maneuvering out of your way as you rush in and out of the kitchen to grab more cheese platters and cupcakes. Goku and Chi-Chi are busy entertaining the other parents and friends, running around with Bulma close behind.

Eventually, you get to sit down, crossing your legs as you sip on a spare kid’s drink. You take in the sunset, friends and family running around and playing in the bouncing houses and trampolines provided by Capsule Corp’s entertainment division.

“You have been helpful,” the deep voice resonates from the chair opposite to yours.

You slowly open your eyes again, lazily glancing over at Vegeta. It’s strange to see him in a different outfit, the thin armor allowing his natural bulky muscle to peek through.

“Thank you?” you question, raising a brow and setting your drink down on the table.

Vegeta looks massively uncomfortable and you swear you see the hint of a blush focused on the tops of his cheeks. He grunts and looks away, “I just mean that you give much effort for those who do not belong to you. Don’t think too hard about it.”

“Thank you,” you repeat, this time in a sincere tone. You smile and reach across the space between your chairs to put your hand on his knee. “That’s sweet, Vegeta.”

He scoffs, yanking his knee away as if you’d burned him, “I said not to think too hard about it.”

“I don’t understand you Saiyans,” you muse, leaning back in your seat and choosing not to be offended by his behavior. “Is Saiayan culture that much different from that of us humans?”

Vegeta’s interest is piqued and you can tell by the subtle movement of his head so he can barely glance at you out of the corner of his eyes. He licks his lips and leans forward, lacing his gloved fingers together.

“Yes and no,” he answers as if it were the simplest thing he could have said. He clears his throat, “Saiyans do get married and have families, just the same as Earthlings. Obviously, our main goal is to better ourselves through fighting. We did not have jobs, and currency was never created given that most things were bartered for in lieu of earning money. We did not celebrate frivolous things such as birthdays. On our planet, you never knew which day would be your last, and it didn’t make sense to celebrate another year of life when you could die at any moment.”

You listen, not sure if you’ve ever heard the Saiyan Prince speak in so many sentences. The wash of warm, orange color makes his tan skin appear golden, dark hair shining as the wind rustles against his body. A grin tugs on your lips, “Are there any human norms that you enjoy?”

“Dancing,” he answers too quickly.

Vegeta swallows thickly, his throat bobbing, and he can hardly look at you. He makes a growling noise at the back of his throat and you swear that he’s going to pretend he never admitted his truth out loud.

You’ve grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him to the garden before he has the chance.

“You foul woman!” he snaps, trying to pry his hand from your grip. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but he’s surprised at the vigor with which you have his arm trapped.

You laugh and turn to look at him, taking his other hand and putting them on your waist, “Don’t be a wimp, Vegeta. Dance with me.”

“I’m not a wimp.” He scoffs, squinting his eyes as he looks away from you.

Your hands rest against his neck and you step closer, the gap between you hardly platonic. Your whole body warms at the feel of his touch - his Saiyan blood makes his skin hot. The tips of your fingers brush against the base of his neck, his hair splayed between your palms.

“I know,” you tell him.

The two of you sway to the music playing back at the party, hardly able to see any of the others. You’re sure that this is the only reason Vegeta doesn’t punt you across the field and swear never to see you again.

“I’d like to hear more about the Saiyans,” you speak, looking up at him.

His hands have gone slack against your waist, palms warm on the base of your back. He’s no longer rigid and firm, the familiarity of your body close giving him some sort of safety despite the awkward situation.

The song ends and he squeezes your waist before stepping back, “I’ll tell you about them sometime.”

You swear your eyes cross as he walks away from you, heading back towards the party, leaving your body effervescent like little champagne bubbles are popping in your belly.

“I swear, realizing that Goku hasn’t even kissed Chi-Chi is absolutely bananas!” you snort, sipping on your drink, the alcohol warm against your mouth. You look up at the night sky, the bonfire crackling in front of you. Your feet dip into the sand of the beach, waves gently crashing on the shore and tickling your toes.

“Bananas?” Vegeta questions, tilting his head like a confused animal. He licks his lips and puts the bottle on the ground. “I swear, Earth-woman, you never cease to confuse me with your words.”

You suck your lip between the bite of your teeth as you consider him in the firelight. He’s casual now, his armor tucked away in the training room to be cleaned and repaired. He’s wearing a pair of navy blue sweats and a Capsule Corp. t-shirt, muscles bulging against the fabric.

“It’s just insane to me that despite being raised on Earth, he still doesn’t understand the customs. I mean, you can at least use the excuse that you’re a Saiyan and you weren’t here for the majority of your life. It makes sense for you to cling tightly to the customs of your people,” you twirl your glass, the clear liquid begging you to loosen your lips. “I would cling to them to if I were the last of my kind.”

Vegeta grows quiet, eyes boring into the flames in front of him. He swallows thickly and you watch as his throat bobs noticeably. A gentle turn of his head and he’s looking you in the eyes now, “I do miss my tail, some days. It was such a sacred thing as a Saiyan.”

“Crossing tails with one another was how you showed affection on your world, wasn’t it?” you ask quietly, fingers wrapped around the glass in your palms. You take a deep breath, “That’s kind of the same thing as holding hands here on Earth.”

His eyes grow dark, darker than you thought possible. Now you’re wondering if crossing tails meant much more than affection. You suck in a breath through your mouth, lips parted, “I-well, we strange mortals show affection in weird ways, I know. Touching, kissing, hugging.”

“Saiyans hold one another just the same as humans do,” he snaps, a dark color on his cheeks. Vegeta seems to be holding his breath before he speaks next, “It’s the kissing that I have not understood in my time here. Your mouths are what you use to eat, why would touching them together give you pleasure?”

You can’t help the tipsy giggle that splits your lips, “You’ve obviously never kissed anyone before.”

“W-Well of-of course not!” he stutters, eyes wide as he backpedals. “I don’t make it a habit to go around smacking mouths with humans!”

You lean across the arm of your chair, tucking your feet underneath your thighs, “Would you like to?”

The alcohol is making your mind wander to just how good his mouth would feel all over you, his strong arms holding you in place while he kisses you. You feel the warmth of a blush creep up your neck onto your cheeks and you wonder if one of his Saiyan gifts is to read minds.

His lack of response makes you nervous and so you can’t stop what comes out of your mouth next even though it’s a total bluff, “I don’t mean because I want to, I just mean to give you some practice. You don’t want to kiss your first girl for real without a little context. I’m just trying to help out a friend.”

“Tch!” he spats, “We are not friends.”

You try not to let that hurt your feelings too much. Instead, you play it cool and shrug it off, reclining back in your chair and crossing your legs at the ankles. You smirk over the rim of your glass, raising a brow, “So you’re nervous about kissing, then?”

You think you can play to his Saiyan side, the side that is prideful and arrogant, and challenge it.

“I-why I never!” Vegeta clenches his fists, sitting up straight so he’s closer to you, his knees almost brushing against the edge of your chair. “How dare you call me nervous? You think I am a coward?!”

You chuckle and suck down the rest of your drink, the alcohol flowing straight to your head. What you say next you’d never say sober to a warrior prince like Vegeta: “Well, are you?”

A spark lights in his eyes and you’re not sure if he’s impressed or pissed. Your answer comes when he wraps a bare palm around your neck and pulls you forward to press his mouth to yours. A gentle whimper passes through your teeth and you feel him smirking into your lips.

The tips of your fingers dance across his thigh and chest, one palm on either part of his body. You are firm with your mouth, kissing him openly as he pushes back against you with his body, his pectorals brushing over your chest.

You manage to untuck yourself from him before you allow your inhibitions to allow you down a path you’re not sure Vegeta will follow. You lick your lips as you sit back from him, hands in your lap. You consider him for a moment under your hooded eyes, the alcohol doing a number on your imagination.

“So you’re not a coward,” you shrug nonchalantly, managing a smirk despite the toiling emotions rolling around in your belly. You stand in spite of wanting to crawl atop his lap and stay there all night, your hands shaking with desire. With one final glance over your shoulder, you speak, “How good to know.”

The look on the Saiyan’s face is like nothing you’ve ever seen.

But you really want to see it again.

Ever since that drunken night on Bulma’s beach, Vegeta has been different.

The Saiyan was never one for gentleness or humility, but you’re starting to see cracks in his emotional armor with every day that passes.

It starts with silently bringing you a cup of coffee in the mornings. And then it grows into stopping by your office when he’s done training in the gravity room or with Goku. Sometimes you’re there and sometimes you’re not, but he always has a good excuse to stop in your door even if just for a moment or two. He doesn’t stay long, but enough that you begin to catch on.

And then when you’re out one afternoon collecting ingredients for Chi-Chi, a more obvious display of his intentions occurs and everything clicks for you.

You get cat-called. It’s not abnormal for you. You just flip a quick finger to the guy and keep walking. However, he doesn’t refrain from making a comment about one of your body parts that makes Vegeta go bright red.

“Hey, you piece of garbage!” Vegeta balls his fists and stalks towards the man, eyes threatening to glow a bright shade of blue with every step. “What did you say to her?”

You call his name and step forward, your hand touching his shoulder. He shakes you off and says something intense under his breath, something you believe in the Saiyan native language.

The man begins stuttering, tears gathering in his eyes as he cowers away from the Prince. Vegeta smirks and raises his hand, “And who says I should spare your weak, pathetic excuse of a life? This is what you spend your time doing? Speaking foully of people, trying to get a rise from them with your disgusting words?!”

“I-I, uh, I-I’m sorry miss,” he starts stuttering, backing away as Vegeta stalks closer.

As much as you want to see Vegeta’s fist go clear through this guy’s eye socket, you reach up and touch him on the shoulder once again, your other palm pressed to his hip, “Hey, ‘Geta, let’s go, okay?”

“Wh-What?” he stutters, turning to look at you over his shoulder.

You nod, “C’mon, the cold stuff will get hot out here in the sun. Let’s go home.”

And somehow his defense of your honor, per say, turns into him practically claiming you in any and all situations. When you’re out at a local bar, he throws an arm around your shoulders or your waist, particularly when he notices another person’s eyes groping over your body.

Bulma sidles up next to you at the bar when you leave the pack to order drinks, “Looks like Prince Vegeta has a crush.”

She winks at you and you turn bright red. You shake your head and ask for another beer just in case, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh shut up,” she laughs. Bulma sips on her fruity drink complete with a little pink umbrella, winking at you over the rim of the glass. “You and I both know that Vegeta is just jealous that anyone else gets to look at you. You should do something about that.”

“He’s a big boy,” you tell her with a shrug, taking a gentle drag of your drink. You turn back to see Vegeta’s eyes searching for something in the crowd and your heart jumps when you think he might be looking for you. You turn back to Bulma before you can catch his eye, “If he wants me, he can tell me.”

It takes another few weeks before you finally draw up the courage to call the Saiyan out. He’s got his arm around your shoulders and you find yourself leaning into him like you’ve been doing this for your whole lives and you can’t help it when the word why slips past your lips.

He turns to look down at you, eyes wide in shock at the simple question. His arm goes stiff but you grasp him by the wrist, anchoring him to you even though you know he could push you to the side if he wished.

“Why do you do this to me?” you ask him, running the pad of your thumb over one of his scarred knuckles. You focus there, unable to look him in the eyes, “Why do you hold me close like this and then when it’s no longer for show, you pretend I don’t exist?”

“I do not-” Vegeta chokes on his words, shifting his body so he can face you. He swallows thickly and you feel his free arm touch you gently on the hip bone. “I do not mean for it to feel that way.”

You raise a brow and find it in yourself to look up at him. You try to keep yourself from looking sad, knowing that the prideful man in front of you would never let his guard down like this.

“I can’t keep playing these games,” you speak slowly, hoping that he understands the nuance in your words. You roll your lips against one another and sigh, “I feel like one moment you care and the next you don’t. So am I imagining things?”

He is not quick to respond, but he doesn’t recoil from you. Instead, his hands find purchase against your body. You’re at a simple cook out at Bulma’s, and no one is approaching either of you, so you can have this small moment to yourselves. You’re still surprised that despite calling him out for his actions, he is still clinging onto you.

“No,” he murmurs, voice rough. Vegeta licks his lips and takes a deep breath as if he were preparing to go to war. “I do not understand your Earth-customs for mating. They make little sense to me, and even less when I ask Bulma for assistance in understanding.”

You tilt your head and look up at him, your fingers wanting so desperately to roam over his armor. You can’t help the grin on your face when you realize that he’s asked Bulma for dating advice.

“I know I don’t have a tail,” you say with a gentle giggle, “but maybe we can do something similar?”

Vegeta seems to understand, you’re recalling the conversation you had on the beach. He reaches out with one hand to grasp your own, lacing your fingers together. You swear you see the smallest of smiles take root at the edges of his mouth, threatening to lighten his intensity in even the slightest.

You lean into him and for a moment he allows you to, and you bask in the few seconds of pure bliss.

He leans away, extracting himself from you as if he were burnt with embarrassment, “Remind me to show you the way Saiyans express attraction later.”

“Why later?” you ask, leaning your hip into his to keep close.

Vegeta smirks, running his thumb over your lower lip, “Because I don’t foresee it being appropriate in front of all of these people.”

a/n: i hope you stuck with me that whole time!! i will start writing on your next request right now!!! please request more if you’d like!! thank you so much!! xx

#vegeta #vegeta x reader #vegeta imagine #vegeta one shot #vegeta dbs #vegeta dbz #vegeta dragon ball z #my writing

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tr4shmouth-tozi3r · 5 years

Text

‘listen, I know I’m a drunk, jealous asshole, but I love you.’ - richie tozier x reader

requested: yes & i luuuuv these jealous richie requests, so with that being said after this if anyone wants to send in a jealous richie request get specific for me cause this is my second one already, so the more specific they get the easier it will be for me to keep writing this kind of request. also decided that combining it with the second request would be super easy and i like the concepts together lol. you guys are 16 here.

also, @lavender-zone thank you so much queen🥺 I really appreciate knowing you enjoy my writing so much!

pairing: richie tozier x reader

warnings: swearing, angst, drug use, alcohol consumption, sexual innuendos, fluff.

October 4th, 1992—

“Hey, uh look, I don’t know how much longer you’re gonna be a sour puss and ignore my calls, but call me back, doll.”

“Listen, you’re driving me fuckin’ crazy. We’re best friends, y/n and we barely go two hours without talking. It’s been like almost three whole days, please just call me, sweets.”

“Hey, I know you’re giving me the silent treatment, but mom’s booze cabinet was unlocked and I’ve got a whole fuckin’ bottle of tequila with our names on it. Cut the shit and call me.”

“I’ve been sittin’ on this bottle for about three hours now and you still haven’t called me! If you don’t call me soon I might have to drink it by myself and I don’t think anybody fuckin’ wants that. Call me, this shit is getting old, y/n/n.”

“Alright, well I’ve already had about six shots and I’m buzzed as all hell. You can ignore my calls and voicemails all you want, toots. Won’t be able to ignore me—hiccup—when I show up outside your window.”

“Fucking great.” You sighed heavily as you forcefully shoved the antenna of your cellphone down and threw the big hunk of buttons toward the end of your bed. Your eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying and you were certain you’d cried every tear you had.

Your window was open and almost as if it was on cue, you heard a burp and an ‘oh shit’ from outside. It was moments like this one, when you were pissed at Richie, that you hated how close his house was to yours.

You rolled your eyes and rose from your bed, reluctantly dragging your feet to your window.

“What do you want?” Your ass landed ontop of the raidiator below your windowsill. One leg rested above the other leg as you peered down at him.

“Look,” he ran one hand through his dark curls and licked his lips, tequila in the other, “I’m sorry, c’mon doll. Let me in? Let’s talk and hangout? I have gifts!” He wiggled his eyebrows with a goofy (and slightly buzzed) look in his eyes and grinned as he reached into his jacket pocket. His hands raised and he waved the bottle in one and a joint in the other.

Your eyes scanned over him momentarily, the street lamp above him shining down on his face and the black eye he’d gotten a few days prior was hard to make out behind the crack in the lense of his glasses. You thought hard before speaking, “Fine. You’ve got five minutes, but...,” you spoke sharply and crossed your arms, “that’s it.”

October 1st, 1992—

“No way, bro. There’s no fuckin’ way Darren’s doing that to y/n.” Richie Tozier’s head shot up from his lunch tray at the familiar name. His eyes squinted from behind his thick-rimmed spectacles and landed on two boys in his grade. They wore red letterman jackets and sported big numbers on their backs along with their last names. It was a couple of Darren’s football buddies.

Darren was some guy from school that y/n had recently started seeing and Richie hated his guts. He was a complete douchebag and was nowhere close to the type of guy he ever would have expected to see y/n with. If he was being honest, he saw himself with her more than anyone, but that was definitely never going to happen. He’d been best friends with the girl since they were in 3rd grade, along with the rest of their group, not including Ben, Bev, and Mike (they came around a lot later on).

“Yeah he is, I swear dude. He made a bet with Bowers that he could get into her pants by homecoming.” Richie felt his ears heat up instantly and he clenched his fists and his jaw simultaneously. If it was possible to blow steam out of your head when angry, Richie would have been smoking up the entire cafeteria in seconds.

Richie may have never liked any of the guys that stole y/n’s heart, but he knew there was something way off about this one and he was right. He stood up quickly, his chair flying back and he threw on his leather jacket before grabbing his bag and storming out of the cafeteria. He knew exactly where he was headed.

“Hey, Darren!” Richie’s voice rang out across the football field as he hastily made his way across, cracking his knuckles and his black painted nails glistened against the sun. He ignored the way y/n’s eyes landed on him from the bleachers and realization dawned on her face that he was, in fact, about to do something very stupid. She could see it written across his face; the redness in his cheeks prominent and the way he clenched his jaw made her stand up suddenly.

“Tozier, we’re in the middle of a practice, get the fuck off the field!” Richie tuned out the coach’s voice.

“Tozier? Uh... what are you doing?” Darren set his water bottle down and raised an eyebrow at Richie, who dropped his bag as he got even closer. Suddenly, he was walking right up to Darren and his fist was flying right into his nose.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing, dumbass!?” The football coach was running toward the boys, his clipboard waving in the air.

“You sick fuck, making bets on how long it’s gonna take you to bang my best friend!?” Richie’s words came out in a hiss as he shook his hand from the sudden impact, wincing. Darren stumbled backwards and tripped, falling to the ground. Richie got on top of him and punched him again, this time breaking his nose and blood gushed from the boy’s face.

“You little shit, you broke my nose! What the fuck!?” Darren reached for his nose with one hand while his other hand clung to Richie’s shirt collar as he tried to keep as much distance between them as possible, “And you have no fucking idea what you’re talking about!”

Richie swung down at him again and his fist connected with Darren’s bottom lip and blood trickled down his chin, “Oh yeah right, fuckface! Maybe tell your little butt slappin’ buddies to stop whispering about your douchebag escapades at lunch!” Darren quickly mustered the strength to pull Richie down and roll his way over and on top of him. He threw a punch at Richie’s face, the boy’s glasses cracking against the sensitive flesh around his eye and suddenly, his coach was behind him and trying to pry him up and off of Richie.

“Stop!” Darren’s arm was cocked back as he struggled against the strong hold his coach had on him, ready to punch Richie again, but the sound of your voice stopped him. Richie’s head snapped in your direction, his glasses crooked and broken on his face and a black eye forming already. His knuckles that were squeezed tightly against the fabric of Darren’s tee were covered in Darren’s blood and bruised. Darren looked at you, blood running from his broken nose and over his mouth, dripping from his chin.

You hurried toward them, screaming at them the whole way, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Rich!? And Darren, get off of him!” They separated, Darren being picked up by his coach and Richie scrambled to his feet, taking his glasses off and stuffing them angrily into his backpack on the ground.

“What’s wrong with me? More like what’s wrong with him!” Richie pointed his finger at Darren in blame, “He’s using you, y/n, for a quick fuck and some dickwad bragging rights,” Richie spit at the ground in front of Darren, who was consistently denying the curly haired boy’s claim, before he continued, “because he made a bet with Bowers, that he could fuck you by hom-”

Richie found himself being cut off as you shouted, “Enough! God, Rich... you’re my best friend, but every single guy I try to be with, you always have to wedge your way between us! Now, this!? This is way too far.” You shook your head in disgust and walked toward Darren, slipping your arms around his waist and asking him if he was alright.

Richie went to speak, “But-”

“No, Richie, no buts. I’m not buying this shit for a second, now please... just go.” You scowled at him and he pursed his lips and smiled rather sourly as he threw his hands up in surrender.

He let out a bitter laugh before he spoke, “Fine, but when he hurts you like I said, which he will, don’t come crying to me, doll. I’ll be the one to tell you I told you so and you wouldn’t like that.” He glared at Darren and then looked at you, trying to see passed the anger written across your face, but he couldn’t.

“Fuck you, Tozier.” Darren flipped him off, blood spewing outward as he spat the hateful words in Richie’s direction.

“Hey, that’s enough!” Coach yelled, pointing his finger in the direction of each them.

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.” You spoke quietly to your boyfriend, your eyes never leaving Richie as you did. His face fell at your expression, because he knew that one all too well. Growing up together, he managed to elicit that look from you quite a few times. It was a look of hurt. He fucked up and you didn’t believe him.

“Tozier, get your ass to the principle’s office, now!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah...” Richie grumbled and waved off the coach as he rushed off the field and right into the parking lot ahead. No way in hell was he going to the principle’s office. He got in his car, slammed the old creaky door shut and sped off in the direction of the quarry, his engine roaring and his speed increasing the whole way.

“FUCK!” His hands slammed against the steering wheel and he tore a pack of Marlboro's out of his leather jacket pocket, “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” He scolded himself and lit a cigarette as he pulled up to the quarry parking lot.

He sat in silence at this point, thinking about how no matter what he would do, he’d never have you.

Present day—

You sat and watched your best friend ramble on and on with his apology, which sounded 100% rehearsed and you expected nothing less from Richie Tozier. You wanted to be so mad at him and to take it to your grave and never look at him again, but that was only so you didn’t have to remind yourself of how much you loved the insufferable little shithead.

“I swear to god, I wasn’t lying. I heard his twatty football buddies talking about it at lunch and I-,” he took a deep breath, before puffing on his cigarette he had lit moments before this, “I just got so mad. I know I could have handled it better, but you need to believe me, y/n, I’m not lying.” His words came out quickly and nervously and he was puffing away at his cigarette as if his life depended on it. He was definitely a bit tipsy, having already made a small dent in the bottle of tequila.

“I know...”

“Listen, I know it seemed like a-”

“Rich, I said I know.” He looked at you as you spoke quietly, confusion written across his face and he put the cigarette out, “I know you were telling the truth. I heard Greta while I was in the girls bathroom yesterday talking to her friends about it, saying how funny it was and how he was boning her behind my back and the only reason he made the bet was so Bowers would be on his good side and he could use him as like a body guard... or some shit...?” You and Richie both found yourselves with confused looks on your faces by the end of your statement.

Then there was silence, but the laughs that followed made Richie feel warm inside and he thanked god that you were laughing with him and smiling at him and talking to him and you were just here with him.

“Anyway, after that I confronted him about what I heard Greta saying and he cracked. He admitted it to me and then,” your eyes filled with tears you didn’t think you even had after all the crying you’d done before Richie arrived, “he had the nerve, to ask if I would lie and tell everyone we fucked so he could get whatever it was that he wanted from Bowers.”

“That nasty fuckin’ pig, I should go punch his teeth out this time, for treating my best friend like that.” You smiled sadly at Richie’s words and the way he leaned forward to wipe away your tears. You didn’t say anything else as you grabbed the bottle of tequila from his hand.

“I just... fuck, I was so mad that you were right, okay? That’s why I haven’t talked to you first.” You sniffled and brought the bottle to your lips.

“God, you’re so stubborn. So petty. You drive me nuts, doll..” He teased you and you scoffed at him before taking a swig from the bottle.

“Oh, light that joint, will ya?” You asked him bitterly, the harsh liquid coating your throat and burning your chest as you spoke.

“So.. does this mean I have my best friend back or what?” He raised an eyebrow as he put the joint over the flame of his lighter.

“Fuck, Richie, you know...” you sighed and took another shot, “I wouldn’t want anybody else to be my number one best friend, but could you stop getting into my love life and let me figure this shit out myself, then?” His eyes lingered over the joint and he didn’t speak for a moment.

“Yeah.. yeah, no problem, sweets.” His words were soft and you were a bit confused by his reaction and the way he had hesitated before answering you.

Richie was a stubborn bastard and he knew he had missed the perfect moment to just tell you how he felt, but he didn’t like to be vulnerable and everyone knew that. He was afraid of rejection, and also, of breaking the strong bond between the two of you. And it was funny, because the same thoughts ran through your head about him. So, in conclusion, you were both absolute oblivious knuckleheads.

Bev had always tried to explain to you how Richie was jealous whenever you would end up with a new guy. He was always cold toward them and very protective of you. Anyone with eyes could tell, but you refused to believe it. Richie was your best friend, there was no way he felt that way about you and if he did, he would have said something by now, right? You also wondered if it would ever even work between the two of you. The thought that it might not, always lingered in your head and you couldn’t stand the idea of losing him.

To you, having him as a best friend was more than good enough, if it meant keeping him forever.

“Let’s smoke this on the roof.” You grinned at Richie’s statement and took the joint from him as you both stood up.

You picked up your conversation from where it had left off and you looked at him, curiosity gleaming in your eyes, “Why are you always so over the top whenever I get a boyfriend?”

You passed the joint back to him, intently waiting for an answer. He looked nervous, like he didn’t know what to say, “I.. I mean, you’re my best friend, we grew up together. I don’t want anyone to hurt you.” His eyes darted over yours and your face softened.

“Rich, you’ve gotta give them a chance first! Every guy, you instantly hate. I don’t get it. Like that boy when I was thirteen, Jared, he held my hand in front of you and you shoved him into a bush. How was he hurting me?” You raised an eyebrow and then giggled at the memory replaying in your head.

“Hey, I’ll have you know Jerkoff Jared was a pervy little shit, practically eye-fucking you all the time, I mean we were thirteen for crying out loud. Oh, and let’s not forget Tony Tiny Balls, was he before or after Garrett the Gagger?” The seriousness etched across his face was priceless and you looked at him with wide eyes, your hair swaying in the wind and the stars shining off your face and damn, he couldn’t stop looking at you as he slowly hit the joint.

“See what I mean? You gave them all inappropriate nicknames, too!?” You both busted out laughing, the alcohol and weed starting to really affect the both of you and it was affecting Richie in the weirdest way. For some reason, words were just coming out of his mouth and he couldn’t stop them.

“I was jealous.” He slurred and you froze up. What was he doing?

“What, uh, wh-what do you mean?” You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, your eyes falling on the suddenly pretty pattern of your roofing. You wanted to believe the alcohol had you hearing things, but you knew that wasn’t true.

He sighed and looked down at you before putting the joint out, your face looking the other way, “I mean, exactly what I said.. I was jealous. I was always jealous.” His eyes were back on you again.

You turned your head at the feeling of his eyes burning holes into the side of your skull, “Why?” You swallowed the lump in your throat that you didn’t even know was there and felt your heart beating like crazy in your chest.

“Oh, for fuck sake, don’t beat around the bush, y/n.” He hiccupped before he continued, “You know why.” His voice went low and his stare intensified. He leaned forward slightly as he took his broken glasses off, his tequila breath hitting your face and you swore you almost blacked out and that he was about to kiss you, but he didn’t.

The same thought ran through your head as you stared back at him, your eyes searching his. You’re my best friend and I can’t lose you, what if I take this chance and it blows up in my face?

“Richie, I-”

“Listen, I know I’m a drunk, jealous asshole, but...” He whispered so lowly, you didn’t think you heard it right, but oh yes you did, “I love you...”

You stared at him, unsure of what to say or do, because yes, you’ve said I love you to each other, but this one was different. He said it in a way that made your heart flutter and your stomach twist and turn. You had wanted this for as long as you could remember, yet you were always so afraid of it. The thought of losing Richie because of a stupid relationship that didn’t workout scared you, but knowing he felt this way made you wonder if you would regret not taking the chance.

You were torn...

“Hey, no rush here or anything, but uh,” he coughed awkwardly and scratched the back of his head, “are you gonna respond?” He smiled sheepishly at you and your mouth opened then closed and his face fell.

“God... fucking damnit, Rich!” You dropped your head into your hands.

“Shit, all you have to say is you don’t feel the same way.” He was smiling awkwardly at you before another hiccup escaped his lips and you looked up and shook your head.

“No, Rich..,” you sighed, “that’s the problem, I love you so much it drives me fuckin’ crazy, but I just don’t think we should do that to ourselves. Everything would change, and don’t get me wrong, being with you sounds amazing...” you gazed into his eyes, “I would just rather have you forever and if the only way that works is if we stay best friends, then that’s how it has to be.”

He involuntarily laughed and let out a small snort with an expression on his face that said ‘you’re joking, right?’.

“Doll, you’ll never know unless you try.” He spoke softly as he reached for a fallen strand of hair in your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“Rich, I just can’t... I’m sorry.” Your eyes glossed over and you tried not to cry as you looked away from him. He sighed and wrapped his arm around you and kissed the top of your head.

“It’s okay, but I love you and you love me, so we’ll be together eventually, babycakes. I don’t care how long it takes, whether it’s now or in ten years, I’ll wait. Don’t think I’m not gonna constantly ask you out, though, cause I am. I mean shit, we can set a schedule, like every first of the month I’ll ask you out in the most mushy gushy romantic way I can possibly come the fuck up with and whenever you’re finally ready, just say yes.” He stated simply and grinned down at you as you rolled your eyes, but there was a smile on your face, too.

“God, Tozier, when did you turn into such a sap?” You feigned genuine curiosity, but also let the amusement drip from your words, “But seriously, I just think it’s better this way.”

“Whatever you say, pretty girl. I’m serious, too, I’m not giving up. I’ve loved you since we were little kids. I’m not gonna give in that easy.”

So, Richie wasn’t playing around when he said he wasn’t going to give in that easy and he also decided to change it from once a month to once every two weeks. You expected something like this from Richie, so it didn't surprise you even a little bit, but at this rate you weren’t sure how long you’d last.

Richie being romantic was rare; sure, he could flirt. Flirting was something different, but being romantic? Richie Tozier?

You were practically swooning as you thought about it. Fuck, keep it together, girl...

Pep talks usually worked for you, even coming from your own head, but in a situation like this your brain was absolute mush. It had been a month and a half since Richie had confessed his feelings for you and made his promise to win you over and help you shine through your insecurities. So that meant, you’d been asked out three times already and he wasn’t kidding when he said ‘the most mushy gushy romantic way I can possibly come the fuck up with’.

October 18th, 1992—

The first time he asked you, he forced you to go on a picnic with him at the quarry. He had the small spot set up with lights and a fire and a spot for you to sit together cozily.

You sat wrapped up in a blanket together, poking sticks with marshmallows on them against the fire. That’s when he asked you, “So was this picnic good enough to make you mine yet?” He looked down at you with his big round brown eyes, maginified by his thick glasses (he finally got a new pair a few days prior, so for the passed couple weeks basically, he was blind in one eye).

You swallowed the lump in your throat and you smirked suddenly, “Hey, y’know isn’t this more like a campfire than a picnic?” You raised an eyebrow and pursed your lips at him, trying not to smile.

He groaned and threw his head back, “Fuck, you’re impossible, sweets.” He looked back down at you shaking his head in amusement and you brought your half burnt marshmallow to your lips with a sly smile on your face as if to rub it in.

“Gotcha.”

November 1st, 1992—

The second time he asked you, he told you he had a surprise planned for you and that it was so urgent you had to skip school for it, which you honestly didn’t mind too much. So, you didn’t protest, instead giving in right away this time.

Fuck, he had you closer to where he wanted you without even really trying. You were so screwed.

You remember leaving your house that morning and getting in the passenger seat of his bright red, beat up 1983 maserati. The car was only nine years old, but with an owner like Richie, the car was practically a pile of junk already. You loved it.

It was freezing that morning and he told you, “It’s about to get a bit colder, toots. Don’t worry I brought you an extra scarf.” He smiled from ear to ear as he glanced over at you for just a second.

God, he made it so fucking hard for you...

And before you knew it, you were at an ice skating rink a town or two over (you weren’t too sure, you were too busy throwing glances at Richie the whole ride there).

“Rich, I don’t even know how to ice skate!” You squeaked and your face turned pink. The tip of your nose went bright red from the instant cold that hit when you stepped out of the car, gaze locked on Richie.

“It’s okay, me neither.” He shrugged at you with a goofy smile and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he held his other hand out to you.

“You’re fucking crazy, you know that? How is this romantic if neither of us know how to ice skate?” You asked him expectantly.

“We’re gonna learn together, teach other. Balance one another out.” Your breath hitched at the way he spoke, no trace of slyness behind his words. He spoke rather sweetly and your heart dropped into your belly. Fuck, fuck, fuck...

You put your shaky hand in his and followed him as he carried a bag over his opposite shoulder, “So, I got us ice skates since I know your shoe size, because you can’t rent any here. You have to bring your own here. They had these really pretty pink ones so I grabbed those for you. I asked Bev to look at them, too. I wanted to make sure you’d like them.”

What the fuck. Stop it, y/n. Relax, it’s sweet, yeah, but do not give in. DO NOT GIVE IN.

“Th-thanks, Rich.” You coughed awkwardly and he smirked down at you as he handed you the skates.

You noticed there was practically no one there and you looked at him questioningly, “There’s no one here, are you sure they’re open?”

“Yeah, I made sure. That’s why I picked this place, they don’t get much business, so more alone time with my pretty lady.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you and you could feel yourself absolutely screaming on the inside.

Damn, this one was good. So good you wanted to give in, juuust a little bit. You were strong, though and you held out. Even when he was slipping and sliding on the ice with you in his arms, your hands locked firmly on his biceps to keep as much of your own balance as you could. You both laughed and foreheads knocked together and noses brushed and you might have felt his breath in your mouth for a split second, his lips just grazing yours accidently.

Your chest exploded and you wondered if it felt even better to actually press your lips to his and if he tasted good; he sure looked like he did...

“So, babe whaddaya say? Be with me, c’mon this sappy shit is starting to make me feel all ooey gooey inside, bleh.” He scrunched his nose up and peered down at you in amusement over his glasses.

“You have no idea how much willpower I’m using to say this right now, but no can do, trashmouth.” You laughed at his expression. His glasses slid down his nose and his cheeks were flaming and his mouth was slightly open. He was absolutely shocked it hadn’t worked.

“You’re one tough fuckin’ cookie, y/n y/l/n.” He laughed before placing a kiss on your head trying not to fall backwards onto the ice as he pulled away.

November 15th, 1992—

Alright, so the third time he asked you he might have been very, very tipsy. And when Richie gets tipsy enough, he turns into a complete hornball.

We’ll keep this short and sweet, but he ended up slurring along to the words of Good Enough by Bobby Brown, singing into one of your hair brushes in your room.

Even weirder; some of your friends were over and having some drinks with you, as well. Their reactions were priceless, but you on the other hand, weren’t sure whether you should laugh or blush.

“So? Be my—hiccup—girlfriend, sexy?” He swayed from side to side, his hands spread out above his head and his mouth curled into a big dopey smile.

“Oh god, Rich... this one was terrible, but also memorable. I swear to god I’m never gonna forget this.”

“Well, fuck—hiccup—me.”

“Oh, you wish, loverboy.”

November 29th, 1992—

You had to admit, you were in love with Richie for years and you never thought you could fall even more in love with him, but you were wrong. The passed two months were honestly the happiest you’d been in a long time and he wasn’t even your boyfriend. Your insecurities began to fade away and all you could think about was being Richie’s and him being yours.

Homecoming was around the corner and today was your two week mark, so you knew what that meant. Lucky number four.

Weirdly enough, you anticipated it all day long and to no avail. He hadn’t even asked you anything at all, nor to Homecoming and you felt somewhat disappointed.

At the end of the day, he told you he had some things to take care of and he’d see you at your place later. This didn’t help your mood, but you let it go. Maybe, he forgot today was another two weeks. Maybe, he thought it was tomorrow...

You trailed up your driveway and through your front door, confusion spread across your face at the pair of pastel pink heels sat neatly on your doormat just inside. You looked up and Eddie was sitting in your living room.

“Holy shit, Eds, how the fuck did you get in here!?” You stumbled back and he laughed at you and shrugged.

“I can’t tell you that, but here, this is for you. You might wanna grab those heels too, and head into the kitchen.”

This had Richie written all over it and you cursed yourself for thinking he had forgotten his own plan. Of course he didn’t...

You peered down at the pink rose hair clip, it was beautiful. You let Eddie place it in your hand and you grabbed the heels, turning the corner to kitchen.

Bev and Bill sat at your kitchen table and in front of them was a shoe box that looked brand new, “Oh hey, sweetie,” Bev smirked up at you, “we’ve got something for you.” She handed you the shoebox and inside was a pair of dark men’s dress shoes.

Of course Richie would make you carry his shit, the little bastard.

Bill looked at you and nodded towards your staircase. You slowly walked to and up the stairs and Stan, Mike, and Ben all stood at the top of the stairs. Stan held onto a nice looking suit, that happened to match your shoes perfectly. Mike held onto a bouquet of pink roses and Ben held out a beautiful pastel pink dress in his hands.

You reached the top of the stairs and they piled everything onto you, “There’s one more thing in your room, go see what it is.” Mike smiled mischievously and you shook your head at the cheesiness of it all.

Richie really had outdone himself here. You had no idea he was capable of such sappy shit, but boy did it make your heart melt.

You walked into your room and Richie stood in front of you with a cute little sign that read, ‘be a smartie and let this dum dum take you to homecoming?’

You dropped everything on your bed and hunched over laughing and trying to catch your breath, “I’m so–I’m so sorry, it’s just–” you looked down at the poster and giggled.

He blushed and said, “Hey, this part was all Bev, I was gonna wing it. You were gonna come in and I was gonna say ‘hey, dollface, I already got both the tickets and our outfits, now you gotta go or you’re paying me back cause this shit took every dime I saved since I was twelve, see ya at 8 on Saturday’. I told her what I was gonna say and she laughed in my face and forced me to draw this, which I suck at by the way, but she picked this clever one herself. Would have been helpful if she drew it, too. Oh well.”

He shrugged and you had stopped laughing and now you were just staring at him as you inched closer to him, “Fuck, I love you, you cornball.” You threw your hands around his neck and whispered to him, “Of course I’ll go to homecoming with you, dum dum.” You giggled into the nape of his neck as he muttered a small ‘hey!’ and you continued, “What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t?”

You pulled away so your face was in front of his now and his eyes locked with yours, his face reddening by the second, “Really?” He barely spoke above a whisper and you nodded at him with a grin, “God, finally. I don’t know what else I could have done to top this shit! Plus, I’m broke now.” He shrugged with a joking smile. Or maybe he wasn’t joking, you weren’t actually sure...

Suddenly, his lips were on yours and it felt like everything was falling ontop of you. Your ears rang and your arms tingled, your legs going weak. His tongue slid against your bottom lip and you hummed into the kiss, revelling in the taste of strawberry candies and Marlboro’s enveloping your mouth and for some reason nothing could have tasted sweeter to you. Your tongues clashed and your heart fluttered and you saw stars behind your closed eyes.

“I love you, sweets. I told you I’d make you mine, didn’t I?” He pressed his forehead against yours, his breathing heavy as he tried to catch his breath and his glasses fogged up for a moment.

“I love you too, but I think I’ve been yours for a while now.” You murmured against his lips as you reached up and took his glasses off for him.

“Just wait till I get my hands on you after homecoming, I can’t wait to take that dress off of you.” Smirk.

“Richie!” Blush.

would u like some 🧀 with that 🌽 ?

lol srsly tho i love this hope u guys liked it(:

@ineffable-husbxnds @eddiegotdatassma @prof-scribbles @thebriskneees @homosexualkaspbrak

So I started a tag list, lmk if you wanna be added to the list so whenever I post a fic I’ll tag u😇

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scarlettlawyer · 5 years

Text

Part 11 of my reaction/commentary to the Phantoms & Mirages Saga, the fanfic series by @renegadewangs

(Chasing Phantoms): Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

(Haunted Specters): Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

(Vanquishing Mirages): Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Vanquishing Mirages / Lifting Spirits: Part 10

Lifting Spirits, Chapter 1

At the very least, he could rest easy knowing that his first motorcycle lesson hadn’t been a complete disaster. The future looked promising.

ANY future looks promising when it has Motorcycle Simon in it

“Here, I brought you a sandwich.” “Is it chicken?”

Blackquill: [known bird lover, intense lover of birds pouring over bird documentaries in his spare time and cherishing Taka with all his heart]

The boy who would become the phantom, the moment he is presented with a sandwich: iS IT CHICKEN?

“But… People die when they are killed.”

ASDJHSDBKJS

A+ DIALOGUE THANK YOU I LOVE IT. GOOOSH I’M. SOMEBODY needs to compile a list of things this same person has said in this series. The above line. The courtroom jokes, the irony line… the “I’m aroace” line… The other things he said to intentionally turn Bobby against him post-phantomquill kissbait, throw in a bunch of other Lex lines too. The RANGE. THE SHEER RANGE. You could just do a list like that, show it to someone and be like “Yeeeaahh so ALL of these are essentially said by the same character in different stages of his life.”

Lifting Spirits, Chapter 2

Finally, there was a knock on the door and Lang led the way into the room. He looked irritable. He’d been giving off that air since before the surgery. Lex had a suspicion on what might be causing such irritation, but kept it to himself. Lang wouldn’t take his advice on matters like that anyway.

“Matters like that” I’M FGLKFGLKNGF

OKAY ALSO

I SOMEHOW MISREMEMBERED THIS AS BEING SOMETHING HE THINKS BACK BEFORE THE SURGERY BUT EITHER WAY IT’S JUST. GOLD.

The phantom – or the former phantom – Lex just sitting there doing his best to refrain from giving out romantic advice.

Someone younger than he’d expected. This man couldn’t be older than thirty- probably hadn’t even reached that age yet. […] this guy looked rather meek. He was lean; the sort of physique that made it seem like a strong gust of wind could blow him off his feet. His black hair was smoothed back with copious amounts of gel and his face bore overly kind features. A few sheets of paper and a notebook were clutched firmly under his right arm. Coupled with his neat black suit, dark blue tie and thick-rimmed glasses, he looked more like a door-to-door salesman than a therapist.

GEEEEE MEOWZY, GEEEE, SUCH DESCRIPTION, I WONDER IF HE’S AN IMPORTANT CHARACTER OR ANYTHING sdjnksdfknl.

Okay but back when I read this 1st time I was like. Well I seriously didn’t know WHY the hell this guy needed such a strong narrative focus on what he looked like. Like. “He’s the therapist. That’s all we need to know. He’s not important! Why do we care what he looks like! Why does it matter!” askjbsdkjnedskj just felt SO excessive just annoying that the narrative felt like it Cared so much about a random therapist character DFKDFKJ GOD I WAS A FOOL

AND ALSO UHHH

Like yes this fic post-bait was still promising and as superb as ever and had thrilled me with things like the music-listening thing BUT. I need you to understand that I was still very hurt over Fake Phantomquill and therefore, REALLY not in the mood for getting to know Sudden New Characters. The intense goodwill I’d built up for this series over three fics had been largely derailed at this point. I just… didn’t really care all that much about giving new characters a chance thanks to that new apathy. That, and the fact that this series genuinely felt like it was reaching the end at this point, with all of the Major Players already introduced. So how could any important character POSSIBLY show up now? Coupled with how Done I was after the phantomquill bait. SO YKNOW. Idiot that I am, I kind of breezed over the above paragraph a little impatiently without really taking anything in, like I read it but didn’t really ABSORB it or incorporate the physical description into how I pictured the character. I was just like “yeah ok he’s the therapist moving on? What’s next?” (BENNY I’M SO SORRY I WAS VERY MEAN). So yeah, my foolish logic: “series is almost over, all the important characters are introduced, therefore no character introduced at this point could possibly be important, therefore I don’t need to care about or pay attention to anyone new.”

…Like okay, I knew the story wanted me to see this new character as someone important and therefore pay attention to them, but I couldn’t understand why and therefore intentionally failed to pay much close attention almost out of spite.

But like. God. If I had actually bothered to take in anything about that physical description I would have actually NOTICED how handsome he is right from the start. Joke’s on me!

“[…] a person who’s supposed to have no emotions is incredibly interesting.”

[…]

Such an odd point of view was another thing that took Lex by surprise. All his life, people had called him a monster. A freak. A heartless robot or a demon. A Phantom. No one had ever considered his emotional state to be interesting. No one had ever considered it an honor to be sitting across from him. Who in their right mind would?

WHY WOULD YOU CALL ME OUT LIKE THIS

HELLO. SDKJNSFKJNSDKJ. ALSO THANK YOU SOMEONE ACTUALLY AGREES HOW INTERESTING THE LACK OF EMOTIONS THING IS.

But this is so funny it’s like the fic is takign aim at the fangirls. Me, a phantom fan: Hah… Yes… Who in their right mind would consider it an honour to be sitting across from him.. sdkjsdkjdsf

(Okay, that angle didn’t occur to me on 1st readthrough but now I’m just jokingly like “I feel so attacked” HAHAAH)

Most of the focus had been on Lex’s physical health and the way he was being treated, both on a medical level and on a personal level. Emotions could affect the body and Lex had to admit that recovery from his surgery was still going at a slow pace.

OH MY GOOOOOD FUUUUUDGE TH. BENNY IS SIZING HIM UP HE’S ASKING THOSE KINDS OF QUESTIONS FOR A REASON. GOD DAAAMN IT BENNY… Knowing the way he is being treated medically, things like that, can make it just that little bit easier! To! Make an attempt on his life! I’M

TFW u do ur job as a therapist but also as an assassin simultaneously.

No one else stopped by his room for hours on end. Not until it was time for the guard shift to rotate and Bobby Fulbright came strolling inside. Over the past week, it’d become painfully obvious that the Phantom’s attempt to crush the man’s cheerful attitude towards him had failed. That Bobby was still as overbearing as ever, acting as if that little incident involving Simon Blackquill hadn’t happened.

Idiot spy underestimated the power and strength of just HOW MUCH Bobby cares about him.

“Hahaha, that’s just like him.” Bobby nudged the wrapper towards the bin with his foot. “And just so you know, he’s single.”

BOBBY NO. THAT IS HIS THERAPIST. THAT IS YOUR THERAPIST,

Lex made sure to shoot Bobby the most emotionless expression he could still bring his face to ease into. It was funny how the surgery had messed with even that much. “It isn’t too late for me to end your life, you know.”

SDJKSDFNKJSDFKLNSDLNKSDLKN this & him saying this is so funny SEND HELP

The mark of Shelly de Killer.

OH. OKAAAY. I’D FORGOTTEN THAT THE FIRST ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT TAKES PLACE ON THE SAME DAY. BENNY WASTES NO TIME AT ALL… And it makes sense I mean. He got the info he needed to go ahead, so why wait? Oh my god..

Lifting Spirits, Chapter 3

…It’s terrible how much I kind of enjoyed Lex’s sudden downturn; what essentially was the prelude to and then became a vomit scene just because This man used to be the Unshakeable Phantom! LOOK AT HIM NOW. >:D

Plus he starts off soooo arrogant and overconfident at the beginning of the chapter as well before Lang is just like. “Lol. Looks like you didn’t actually kill Shelly and he’s after you.” Making the rapid nosedive that follows even more… It feels kinda weird to say “amusing”, but… IDK MAN THERE’S JUST INHERENT NARRATIVE APPEAL IN THIS LEVEL OF WEAKNESS AND VULNERABILITY AND WHAT HAVE YOU ON DISPLAY after a bout of confidence no less, from this character with this history specifically. Any other character and I’d be appropriately squicked out/feeling bad. I CAN BE VERY MEAN TO MY FAVE.

Also, “prayers to the porcelain god” is actually SUCH a good euphemism. Somehow… If I ever get the chance… I want to see if I can work it into saying it in real-life at least once. I don’t see any such opportunity arising anytime soon, however. :P

“Just send him in, it’s not like the day can get any worse,” Lex grumbled, clambering back onto his bed.

>:D

Benny shows up and it’s just pure dramatic irony. Re-reading is suuuuch a bonus.

What if they were endangering Benny by having him here?

OH MY G

“You’re a Snapple guy?”

I’M, I LOST IT AT THIS

Maybe he just wanted to be the one raising the questions- to be in control of the conversation. …Yeah, that was probably it. That was how the human psyche worked.

I’M?

“Of course. I don’t know how other people manage with their android phones. Snapple’s always got the upper hand,” Benny remarked, not even bothering to take his eyes off the screen.

Lex: Right. Have fun with your planned obsolescence, sucker.

IF A REAL LIFE MAN ACTUALLY SAID THIS TO MY FACE.. I GOTTA TELL YA… The sheer level of aggravating this is. XD. I DON’T KNOW IF I’D BE ABLE TO HOLD MYSELF BACK FROM SAYING SOMETHING.

Me internally if an IRL man said this to me: Oh so you’re insufferable and I probably won’t like you very much at all.

SDKJSDNKJSDNKJ

Lifting Spirits, Chapter 4

Bro. Bro I was suspicious of that coffee, man. And then when Lex drains it all, I was like “MMMM somehow… that feels like a mistake he’s going to regret.”

“Could there be any kind of poison in it that interpol could fail to detect?”

But, I didn’t suspect Benny of wrongdoing. I was suspicious of the coffee, but not Benny. I figured that if the coffee had been tampered with, Benny was completely unaware of it. But then, I forgot about it and put it out of mind after that when nothing too dramatic happened immediately after he takes the coffee.

Lifting Spirits, Chapter 5

“It’s fine.” Lex was embarrassed to hear that he’d taken on a rather squeaky tone.

Embarrassed… Embarrassed… Embarrassed…!

Yeeeees. It’s like I’ve waited 3 full fics and then some to see this man FINALLY be embarrassed. Feels good.

…Well this chapter certainly gets intense after that. :[

Now this second vomit scene is actually quite appropriately upsetting to read. OOF.

Lifting Spirits, Chapter 6

Bro just imagining that slowed-down music really IS super eerie, damn.

Lifting Spirits, Chapter 7

“Bobby Fulbright. I was under the impression that you were no longer allowed to be here.”

Gooood he STILL goes for the full titles all the time when “orienting” to the conversation, like he didn’t need to use any name at all here. I’m telling you, 1. This is his character trait, Lex and Phantom alike, and 2. It’s so Franziskan sdkjsdnkjsd.

Bobby sighed. It was like everyone around him realized his care for the Phantom was unwarranted. He himself realized it too, but that didn’t change anything. “I know. I’m just an idiot like that.” “Acknowledgment is the first step to recovery. Now take the next step and get out.” With that, Lex made to slide the headphones back over his ears.

UM rUDE xDDD

While the concept of him being aromantic had been cast into doubt ever since the surgery, he didn’t mean to dig much further into it. Unless he was somehow miraculously saved from execution, his sexuality didn’t matter. He would die just as he’d always lived; alone. The concept didn’t quite stop him from appreciating Benny’s handsome features, though. Or the way Benny kept smiling as if he wasn’t looking at a murderer.

Ohooooh my. Here we are! Precisely what connects back strongly to a lot of the stuff I discussed in my previous post but I couldn’t quite fit it in.

So like. I could very much see what was going on here. Mhm. Yes I did. We are getting implied Lex/Benny. And, confession time, but I MIGHT have stumbled across a post that heavily implied Lex/Benny back before I had ANY inkling of who Benny was… Back before Lex was Lex. So it meant absolutely nothing to me at the time, it simply DEEPLY confused me in the sense of “You’d think I’ve read far enough into the series and yet WHY can’t I make heads or tails of this post?” But, I quickly put it out of mind and temporarily forgot about it and was able to continue reading the text “blind”, but when Benny actually showed up… and Lex is Lex now… And Bobby’s all “He’s SINGLE 😉” I narrowed my eyes all like. Oh. Oh… There’s a certain way this could go. But I still thought “Hey. Maybe nothing will happen and neither of them will develop feelings, maybe it’s just like, a fun side-idea the author personally likes but didn’t put directly into the story- ohhhh and here it is hints on Lex’s side building up in the story. WELL THEN.”

It just felt like…

The author: [shipteases phantomquill, phantom/Athena (YES I KNOW THAT WAS A JOKE AND I AM INCLUDING IT ONLY AS A JOKE THAT WILL LENGTHEN THIS LIST), spyshipping, and even Freudian Phantombright (I AM ALSO INCLUDING THIS LAST ONE ONLY AS A JOKE)]

The author, after doing all of this: [whips out/ushers in their OC at the last minute to pair up with him]

Me:

DFJKSDLKSDKL

The above is a retooled version of a message I sent to my friend at the time – I hope the summary comes across as more of a comically condensed expression of frustration-at-the-time and not mean-spirited (mean-spirited is not what I want to be, I just exaggerate for comical effect is all, and I didn’t expect I’d be telling my feelings to the author directly ahhah..) But as already established? I was quite bitter over the now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t phantomquill, and so I was not particularly impressed at the time as a result… xDDD

I also just love how he, of all characters, seems to be the “launcher of a thousand ships” here… LOL

But of course, Benny is not technically an OC, is he? :P You can argue he’s merely an interpretation of a canon character from Dual Destinies – the courtroom sniper. Dskjdsjknsd

At the time it might have felt “ushered in”, but in reality, Benny has that connection to a “canon” character – the courtroom sniper – the further connection to ace attorney canon through being Shelly’s son, AAAND has already been very much intertwined in this series through “off-screen” references. He really is quite heavily grounded in the fic’s lore. And in Ace Attorney lore. Very, very clever and well-done. …Of course, I didn’t know any of this until the Reveal, so I remained unimpressed until then. Now post-reveal is a different story, and I came to intensely appreciate not only Benny as a character but also just how awesome the dynamic between Benny and Lex really is.

Shipping aside, you have the aroace business… I have actually previously come across a post on your blog where you stated you kinda felt bad for not keeping Lex aroace. I feel like this can easily get pretty thorny, and I want to kind of, as I stated in a previous post, analyse the text as an independent entity here – how I would judge/react to the text without any knowledge of or contact with the author or the context it was crafted in. Indeed, at the time of reading Lifting Spirits I didn’t have a clue what you may personally be or whether you were personally aro/ace or not and couldn’t make any assumptions either way.

There’s, I guess, two main ways to look at this… the phantom was effectively aroace and there was never any evidence suggesting otherwise. But with blocked emotions removed, it turns out the man is not aroace. You can treat “the phantom” and “Lex” as two separate entities in this regard.

But the phantom didn’t completely lack emotions. If Lex is not aroace… It stands to reason that EVEN IF there never was any evidence to suggest the phantom was anything but aroace, there was still the potential for small, limited amounts of evidence that he wasn’t to occur, even if such a thing did not happen to occur when he was the phantom. Which would make the phantom technically not aroace(?) but he simply never realised that. Hmm.

If there were a blanket consistency – if the phantom had experienced an extremely limited and probably outright warped sense of attraction or something like that – or if Lex was also aroace – then there wouldn’t be any “issue”. But as it is, it’s very easy to derive Unfortunate Implications from how it is set up, wherein the Emotionless Killer is aroace, but then he gets to experience proper emotions and becomes a “real person” who basically gets redeemed as that new person and all of a sudden… Only after becoming a “real” and “proper” human being he experiences attraction. It’s all too easy to feel like perhaps the message is that attraction is an integral part of the human experience – EVERYONE’S human experience.

And the flip that happens between the phantom and Lex in this realm further drove home what I perceived to be the massive distinction being made between the two and helped fuel much of my feelings surrounding what I discussed in the previous post. About how perhaps “the phantom” was being thrown under the bus to set up Lex as the good and better alternative. By treating them as two separate people, the connection is not TOO far away to feel as if the aroace aspect is attached to the phantom as part of what gets “thrown under the bus”, inherently attached to a villain seeing as it does not get carried over, inherently attached to emotionlessness – something necessary to be “cast aside” in order to fully complete a transition into a redeemable and “complete” human being.

I do know that none of this was your intent, and I sensed at the time of reading that it was not the author’s active intent as well, but not having enough background context at the time, I couldn’t entirely dismiss the possibility that perhaps it was a possible unintended predisposition bleeding through – nothing malicious in the least, mind you. But perhaps a subconscious assumption that every human being feels attraction and… idk. I wanted to believe the best of the work and the author but it was just, at the very least, an unintended implication that I could not entirely ignore. Being ace myself, it kinda stung, although I did keep that to a minimum until I could actually have more context.

I’m glad for being able to have access to additional context so that I can enjoy the work as it is to the best extent – if, for example, I did not have access to any information or additional context whatsoever about the author and the background under which the work was crafted in, I wouldn’t have been able to entirely shake the discomfort and it’s something small that would have continued to bug me long after I’d finished reading, if only for the fact that I would never have been able to know for sure if the writer was actually dismissing something like asexuality or not.

And Conflicted Thoughts/Feelings once again because, if we step back for a moment and look at this particular narrative thread as it exists in Lifting Spirits and its conclusion as a whole, I AM happy for Lex, it’s great that he gets to have a love interest, it’s a great ship, and the concept of the former phantom becoming attracted to someone and getting a crush is so so great…

What it ultimately comes down to, is that even if you can read Unfortunate Implications into the text regarding the aroace business, any such implications were not your intent. I much prefer reading a text in the most charitable way possible to enjoy it to the fullest possible extent, so that’s what I’ve ultimately done, given additional background info.

Lifting Spirits, Chapter 8

The complete role reversal of this chapter is so good… For months and months prior to ever beginning to read this series, I’d actually been working on a fanfic of my own, albeit for a different fandom. It also centres around inverted character dynamics and such as the central running theme to the extent that it’s even alluded to in the title… But this… The role reversal or transformation that Lifting Spirits centres around is so… It does it so damn well. Kind of makes me want to hold myself and my own fanfiction to a higher standard.

I had perhaps been a little bit suspicious of Benny prior to this chapter, but not much… And the end of the previous chapter had me VERY much like “OK… SOMETHING’S WRONG HERE… SOMETHING’S WRONG! WHAT IS THIS GUY’S DEAL?!” BUT omg this reveal

Lifting Spirits, Chapter 9

He’s the fourth heir to the lineage of De Killer, which means spilling blood is in his blood. It’s a shame, really, that he can’t stand the sight of it.

This chapter description is just so poetic. It’s like, the chapter description is not really separate from the fic itself – it’s just as artistically intertwined with the text. Absolutely GORGEOUS chapter description.

Oughhhhh Benny’s backstory and just. His whole character and the internal conflicts that he has and EVERYTHING is just so damn compelling WOW!

The glimpses into Benny’s past and home life are such a fascinating look into how vastly different his frame of references are… How very unique his perspective and positioning in the world is.

The Phantom… Benjamin had heard of this man, of course. An international spy. One who was so wanted that his father had been hired by at least five clients.

F-FIVE CLIENTS?! AT LEAST? LEGEND.

Okay this is quite interesting to think about too because I always figured that Shelly would only ever take on one client and have one target at a time, so that he could devote his full attention to the task at hand and uphold his end of the contract – his client has faith in him to do a job and to do a job well, so I figured a single-handed focus would be part of that. Under normal circumstances, this would present no issue. Why would it? Shelly’s very good at his job and tracking down an assigned individual target wouldn’t be too difficult. My impression is that a job would generally take maybe 2-3 weeks from the time of meeting with the client and the deed getting done, unless it’s exceptionally easy and the person in question gets taken out within the week.

But obviously the phantom presents a clear problem to that operational method. Shelly’s left with a target he has little to no leads on, no physical description, no name beyond the title, who could be anywhere and anyone. Job like that’s gonna take a little bit longer than three weeks. But Shelly is nothing if not a professional, and he’s more than happy to honour his client’s wishes if they want this guy dead, and he’s certainly not gonna give up or back down from the request…! I wonder if Shelly was in the habit of taking on multiple clients at the time or if he was forced to break from his standard method of operation, cause if he has no leads he has to wait until one turns up/keep searching indefinitely. And it kinda puts a huge damper on business to not accept any new clients for years on end. Maaaaan not being able to take the phantom out quickly & efficiently must’ve bugged the HELL out of him too. He’s made a commitment to his client, his (first) client is trusting him to take this guy out, and YEARS pass and STILL it hasn’t been done. Wonder what kind of dynamic that would have caused between Shelly and the first client.

I have no real doubt that Shelly actually had enough money to put business on hold for a few years if that’s what it meant to track down the phantom, if he wanted to. But it’s just not practical if he genuinely has 0 leads to go on for months on end, it makes more sense to be doing stuff in the meantime. PLUS, part of it would also be to ensure that the de Killer name does not fall into disuse and remains prominent in the minds of the public. To disappear for years only for calling cards to start showing up again… It just wouldn’t look particularly good for The Brand I suppose? The general public wouldn’t know the reason for the silence.

There’s not only that, but he accepts requests from multiple clients for the same target, hugely increasing his payout for a single job. I would have thought it’s possible that were someone to make a request that’s already been made, Shelly might be like “Ah, actually, you can’t select this particular individual”. And if years have passed with no success it begins to raise questions about the “ethics” of accepting further requests for the same person if part of the payment is being made in advance, which I’m sure it is. But then again – I’m sure there was no doubt in Shelly’s mind that he’d actually get him in the end. The length of time that passed didn’t matter. The job would be done, and he was never going to give up. He had multiple clients depending on him, after all.

I guess every time he got another Phantom request he’d sigh and internally be like “ADD THIS CLIENT TO THE LIST I SUPPOSE…”

Client: I want you to take out the phantom

Shelly, internally: Get in line

Dsjsdjh

Really though I’m very sure that the phantom’s difficulty to track down would have irked Shelly to no end. Not that he would necessarily let such sentiments show externally.

And while I’m speaking about this, I guess I will also address Benny being his son here as well. My reaction REALLY was “HIS FATHER??? HIS FATHER????”

I’ve never played DGS and I know there’s de Killer stuff going on in those game(s) and I don’t know if any light is shed in that series on how the lineage works – hm! It’s interesting to think about. One of the theories I’ve seen proposed is that the new de Killer establishes themselves as such by successfully taking out the previous de Killer – no familial relation. That has logistical issues of its own however but it was kind of the default idea that I’d gone with as I hadn’t really seen any others discussed.

Shelly’s unique job and his intense dedication to said job makes it very VERY hard for me to picture him not only establishing a relationship with someone but also fathering a child with someone… It’s quite hard for me to picture how it would work. How it would look in practice. And of course, in the Benny flashbacks, there is no mention of a mother. So I was a little bit like ????? on that front. And then you get the reveal practically at the VERY end of the fic that Benny is adopted, which makes plenty of sense. It is hard for me to picture Shelly as a father but I CAN see him adopting, caring for and raising an adopted child. A child that is to continue the proud de Killer heritage.

THE FACT THAT SOMEONE GOT MISTAKENLY SHOT BECAUSE THEY WERE ASSUMED TO BE THE PHANTOM BUT WEREN’T… OOF. Hope Shelly didn’t prematurely celebrate on that one. He might’ve already enlisted three clients wanting the phantom gone by that point and thought that he could FINALLY collect the rest of whatever money they owed him from them – that he could FINALLY reassure them that the guy was finally flippin’ DEAD. Perhaps only for the phantom to show up AGAIN some time later. (Shelly doing refunds? Dsjksdkj). Ok but on a serious note – I know he would’ve probably known it was not the phantom either immediately after/soon after the guy was shot. There’s things like No Mask and whatnot and probably the aftermath would have made it obvious it was the wrong person without the phantom needing to show up on Shelly’s radar once again. But OOF.

In March, a man had come to see Ben ‘Benny’ Volent, seeking counseling. A man who bore the name of Bobby Fulbright.

WHEN THIS REALISATION HIT ME… OH MY GOD? OH MY GOD? BOBBY FULBRIGHT HAD BEEN UNLOADING THE TRAUMA OF WHAT HE SAW… ONTO THE SON OF THE VICTIM! I CANNOT. THAT IS… NOT GOOD. Being so close to the murder victim can compromise the therapist’s ability to assist the patient at hand, so… conflict of interest! Benny had to sit there and listen to recounts that would have deepened his OWN pain. Bro I am SO sorry. WHAT a punch this was.

Agent Lang had mentioned a move to the federal prison right in front of Benny.

NO JOKE but back when that scene originally occurred I was just like “UMM should they REALLY be discussing this while the therapist is there?” Because I had found Benny to be a LITTLE bit potentially suspicious and. Hmm!

OKAY THE FUNNIEST PART – OR RATHER – THE MOST WACK PART OF THIS ENTIRE SITUATION IS JUST HOW MANY LEVELS OF “CROSSES THE LINE TWICE” IT IS.

Like. The realisations started pouring in for me, one after the other. First it was like “um, Benny counselling Bobby considering the circumstances is a conflict of interest that can potentially compromise his ability to remain objective and properly assist Bobby’s recovery”. THEN, hilariously enough, I was like “UM, IT IS HIGHLY UNPROFESSIONAL FOR BENNY TO ACT AS LEX’S THERAPIST – EXTREME CONFLICT OF INTEREST SEEING AS THE PHANTOM KILLED BENNY’S FATHER AND YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED PERSONAL BIASES TO GET IN THE WAY WITH HOW YOU SEE THE PATIENT”. This was coupled with how… awkward I found it earlier on for Bobby to even suggest, however jokingly, to Lex that Benny was single – how iffy it was for Lex to have developed feelings for Benny (cause if you got feelings for ur therapist that’s bad news for the therapy and Lex even seems to know this) or the possibility that perhaps it was on some level reciprocated, which would be highly unprofessional and further detrimental to the therapist-patient relationship.

BUT THEN I REALISED THIS WAS ALL MOOT AND COMPLETELY BLOWN OUT OF THE WATER ALL BY:

BENNY WAS TRYING TO KILL LEX THE WHOLE TIME ANYWAY.

So LITERALLY WHO CARES about conflict of interest or “professional conduct” here, I’M PRETTY SURE IT IS NOT IN THE LINE OF A THERAPIST’S WORK TO BE ACTIVELY TRYING TO KILL YOUR PATIENT.

And all I could do was laugh. This is the kind of crosses-the-line-twice funny, there’s just SUCH a cluster of professional breaches going on that it is OFF THE CHARTS and loops back around to being hilarious. You can’t even criticise ANYTHING specific about Benny’s conduct, there’s no point, because it is so BLATANTLY and obviously out of line, professionally and legally speaking, in its ENTIRETY. And then you realise his credentials were faked to begin with too, even though he’s genuinely studied the profession and is good at what he does. He’s walking around with faked qualifications ANYWAY.

Lex and Benny’s patient-therapist dynamic was stuffed to HIGH hell, inherently, far before it ever began. It was already compromised beyond belief. THE GUY’S QUALIFICATIONS AREN’T EVEN 100% LEGIT… >failed step one. It is SO wild and subsequently funny as a result. Benny got built up as such a good therapist too, and don’t get me wrong, he does seem to actually be good at what he does as I said. But then you go ahead and reveal all of this about him and it’s sooo… omg

Lifting Spirits, Chapter 10

Simon was about to turn away when he thought he saw it. Just for a fraction of a second. Were Alexander’s lips about to quirk into a victorious smirk? …No, that was ridiculous.

OOOHH MY GOOOOOD I HAD TOTALLY FORGOTTEN ABOUT THIS I SWEAR TO GOD………… I swear to god. Acting skills WAY too strong. He’s still got it. This man is way too powerful/skilled for his own good I swear to god.

Yes, he successfully got Benny to leave and he got out of the ordeal of being held at gunpoint unscathed. But he still had been terrified when going through that. Regardless of how things turned out it makes sense for Lex to be in shock and still be working out some of that fear. Because he HAD been genuinely terrified. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he is genuinely a little in shock during this scene but oh my god.. Because it makes sense for him to still be jittery and then I just. LEX. KINDA HATE THAT I MAYBE GOT A LITTLE WORRIED BECAUSE STILL BEING SHAKEN MAKES SENSE BUT ALSO CONFUSED AT THE EXTENT. On first and second readthrough.

Can’t really say too much else about this chapter right now it’s just sooo intense and riveting gosh.

For a split second, it seemed like Fulbright was so overcome with emotion he might try to pull Alexander into a hug as well. Luckily, Lang cleared his throat in such a loud manner that it was obvious he did so on purpose.

LANG HOW COULD YOU. “LUCKILY” MY FOOT.

Lifting Spirits, Chapter 11

His license was most likely a fake. Would any report compiled by him be worth a damn? And to think, Bobby Fulbright had spoken so highly of him.

WAIT I WAS ONLY JUST SAYING THIS EARLIER SDKSDKNS

Hey. I obviously knew this Mirage scene was coming this time around and yet it managed to somehow sneak up on me anyway. When I got up to it and read through it I just outright started crying. I did not cry on the first readthrough, I was completely dry-eyed. I GOT SUPER ATTACHED TO AND MORE EMOTIONAL OVER MIRAGE ON MY SECOND READTHROUGH OF THIS SERIES FOR A REASON.

Oh, something else that struck me on first readthrough about this scene was… The phantom always EASILY felt to me the far more “bad” person compared to Mirage. When compared to the phantom, Mirage always felt… well, it was easy for me to forget that she’s also done terrible things, that she’s also a criminal. She naturally just seemed like the waay better person – with SOME amount of a moral compass. So it was odd to suddenly have her being in the same room as Lex, no longer being contrasted against the phantom, but contrasted against Lex instead… Lex seems to actually have a much more proper moral compass compared to her now. He’s actually filled with remorse and regrets.

Mirage… still chose to kill people. She’s still herself, and that self is someone who didn’t have a bone sliver preventing her from understanding how much of a powerful impact death can have. It was odd… Lex knows internally how bad killing people is now. Mirage most likely still doesn’t really know… not only that, but… he would know that she doesn’t? I don’t know how to explain what I’m getting at here, but yeah.

Also:

“Why did you ask to see me?” he found himself asking. “…Why do you care?” She giggled, the sound of it rather strained. “Because we’re friends, you idiot.” “We’re not…-”

Me:

“You’d better pray the Phantom’s retrial leads to the death penalty. I’m being released next year, but I wouldn’t mind being tossed right back in here if it means I got to strangle Metis’s killer with these two hands.”

…N-NEXT YEAR?! BUT THAT’S… SO SOON… SOONER THAN I… THOUGHT… I FIGURED SHE HAD LIKE… MAYBE ANOTHER TWO YEARS LEFT… I DIDN’T REMEMBER HER SAYING IT’S NEXT YEAR.

[Thinks about this line and then Tracking Ghosts]

Oh my god… Can it PLEASE at least be the second half of the year I’m dying here… Like I KNEW she had to be released from prison eventually and. Yeah. I JUST THOUGHT WE HAD MORE TIME.

You know what’s funny? This line 100% didn’t faze me on first readthrough. Ahahaha. Why should it have? “You’d better pray the Phantom’s retrial leads to the death penalty” was, after all, my own train of thought at the time… HDHDFH. I was just kinda [nods] “at least someone around here’s got the right idea.” …AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

You completely missed me on the first go, but second time’s a charm. Ya got me. Ya got me with this line this time around. I am worried. :’)

#long post

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arteacactus · 6 years

Text

Colorful Words pt. 1

Warnings: Cursing, nsfw mentions, lack of knowledge of blindness i apologize Pairings: Logicality (and side Prinxiety) Word count: 2395 Notes: Sooo.. this is gonna gonna be a two parter. Oops. I intended for it to be just one part, but this ones gonna be Logan and Patton meeting- part 2 is gonna have the good stuff lol Taglist (Fanders taglist in reblog): @misplaced-my-notes, @myfourstrangesons,

@an-anxious-acquaintance, @hanramz-the-fander, @bishipsaremyships, @thatonelampwrap, @toujours-fidele

Buy me a coffee :)

In this world, everyone was born colorblind- in which everything was in black and white. Until you meet your soulmate.

When you and your soulmate lock eyes, the world bursts into color. You get to experience what your parents would always talk about, get to see why your friends and their lovers always gushed over “reds” and “blues” and various other colors, when they all looked like shades of gray to you.

Logan Sanders was, quite frankly, perfectly happy seeing things in black and white.

He didn’t care for the so-called ‘gorgeously vibrant’ world around him. Why would he? Blacks, whites, grays, they were nice enough colors, why ruin a perfectly nice world with headache-inducing, unneeded vibrancy? He didn’t understand how kids would gush over how they wish they’d meet their soulmate soon so they can color pictures with specific colors they’d been told about. He didn’t understand how his friends acted like meeting their soulmates had been the highlights of their lives.

Perhaps he was just bitter, because he was nearing thirty years old and has yet to meet his own soulmate.

He convinced himself at twenty-five, when all his friends had already found their soulmates, that he didn’t have one. They either didn’t exist, or they had died before he could meet them. Or he was just one of the extremely unlucky ones, to have a soulmate across the world.

Though he preferred the idea he simply lacked a soulmate.

He’d come to accept this fact, that he just didn’t have one, and yes, he was entirely fine with this.

So when he unintentionally caught the eyes of a stranger in public and suddenly dots of color, something other than black and white, started to fill his vision, he stopped in his tracks and damn near fell over.

Logan whipped around, almost slamming into the chest of his friend, who’d been walking behind him, and shoved past him, frantically scanning his gaze through the crowd, mentally hitting himself. Why didn’t he look at the stranger better? He caught a glimpse of fluffy curly hair and a pair of glasses, but that was it.

Because why would you just stare at strangers? His logical thoughts hit him, It’s not like you’d know this stranger you glimpsed at was your soulmate.

“Logan!” Came the slightly offended exclamation from his friend, “How dare you hit me and then shove past me! Did you see a book in distress and desperate for your help or something?”

“Shut up, Roman,” Logan scowled, swinging his gaze around to Roman.

Red.

He could recognize that color right away. Roman always rambled about how much he loved red and made sure Logan knew he wore it daily, so when Logan caught sight of a bright, piercing, hot color decorating Roman’s clothes, he knew immediately what it was- and now he knew why Roman loved it so much.

“Don’t just stare at me like that! What’s that expression for?” Roman scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Logan took a shaky breath, and his eyes narrowed, determination seeping into his gaze.

“I need you to help me look for someone in this crowd.”

“What-”

“He has fluffy hair and large black-rimmed glasses,” Logan continued, “I just briefly glanced at him, and I saw his eyes- and now you’re red, Roman.”

Roman opened his mouth to respond, when Logan’s words sunk in, and he stared open-mouthed in shock at his friend, who had apparently just caught sight of his soulmate in the streets.

“Wh- But- We- I-” Roman stammered, before shaking his head and gripping Logan’s wrist. “We have to find him. Right now.” He demanded, changing direction from the store they were walking into to the direction that Logan’s soulmate had wandered off to, excitement welling in his chest at the thought that Logan finally might get laid and won’t be so uptight all the time anymore.

Logan huffed, sitting in a coffee shop with his two friends; Roman, and Virgil, Roman’s soulmate.

Roman couldn’t not tell Virgil about Logan catching a glimpse of his soulmate, and ever since, the two were frantically trying to find him, more excited about the situation than Logan himself. When asked, they’d only tell him they want Logan to get laid, which was both endlessly infuriating and embarrassing at the same time.

At the moment, they were trying to get Logan to stare at everyone he saw with glasses in hopes they’d be his soulmate- which was also incredibly annoying. He wasn’t allowed to just drink his coffee in peace, no, every outing they went on was just a hunt for his soulmate. Frankly, Logan was getting sick of it.

“Does he look like he could be him, Logan?” Roman asked, nudging Logan to look at a man with spiked blonde hair and thick-framed glasses who was standing in line for coffee.

“No, Roman, I told you, his hair was long and curley.” Logan sighed, resting his cheek on his palm as he rolled his gaze around the shop lazily. “I don’t see why either of you care. It’s just a soulmate.”

Roman made an offended noise, putting a hand to his chest. “I’ll have you know that-”

“Finding a soulmate is the best thing that’s ever happened to you, yeah, I know, I’ve heard this rant many times before.” Logan replied boredly, “No offense, Virgil.”

“None taken. He’s very annoying.” Virgil replied, kicking Roman in the shin. “But seriously, Logan, it’s a good thing. At least you know they’re in this city, and aren’t in Ireland or something.”

“Or they could be and are just visiting for a day or something before vanishing again.”

“Hey. Now you’re starting to sound like me. Stop that.”

Logan rolled his eyes and swept his gaze across the cafe once more, before pushing himself up to stand.

“Logan? Did-”

“No, Roman, I didn’t find him. I have to use the bathroom. Is that alright with you, your highness?” He snapped, his anger boiling over a bit, before forcing himself to take a deep breath and calm himself. “Give me a minute.”

Roman and Virgil nodded wordlessly, and Logan left- walking out of the cafe and across the street to the bookstore to use the restroom.

Or, he told them he was doing that.

He just wanted an excuse to get away from them for a while, and well, that was the best excuse he could come up with. Not his greatest material, but it worked.

Logan pushed open the doors to the bookstore, listening to the familiar jingle that announced his entrance, nodding to the cashier at the register as he immediately made his way to the back of the shop, where he couldn’t be seen in the windows, not letting Virgil and Roman watch him.

Logan hid himself in the science section, pulling out a book on astronomy to look busy, and walked towards the few chairs that sat in the corner of the shop, a coffee table in between them, allowing Logan to sit and read in peace.

He found someone sitting there already, a blind person much to his surprise, reading a braille book with their service dog sitting obediently beside them, busying itself staring out the windows at the birds so its owner could read.

His presence must have alerted the dog, as it’s gaze swung around to look at him, and the jerking movement tugged on the leash attached to it’s harness, alerting it’s owner of someone else’s presence.

Logan averted his gaze before he could look the stranger in the eye. “Apologies if I’m bothering you. May I sit and read here?”

“Go ahead!” The stranger replied with a smile, an oddly chipper tone to his voice. “I don’t mind! But my dog’s really friendly, so please excuse her if she begs to be pet.”

“That’s quite alright.” Logan chuckled, taking a seat across from the other and flipping open his book.

The stranger wasn’t lying, he found, as only moments later, his dog made her move and padded up to him, nosing his hand and quietly whining to be pet.

Upon hearing her whines, her owner gently tugged on her leash. “Lady. Don’t bother people.” He lightly scolded.

“I don’t mind.” Logan reassured, allowing the dog to sniff his hand before patting her head. “I’m rather fond of dogs, anyway.”

“Still, I’m sorry about her.” He apologized, “I’m Patton, by the way.”

“Logan.” Logan introduced, scratching the dog behind her ears. “May I ask what breed she is?”

“Golden retriever.” Patton replied, a big grin on his face. “Isn’t she adorable? I mean, I know I can’t see her, but I know she’s adorable.”

“She is,” Logan agreed with a small laugh as his hand was licked affectionately by the dog, “Lady, was it?”

“Mhm!” Patton hummed in confirmation, patting the dog on the back. “I love her a whole lot. She’s very intelligent.”

“Golden retrievers are highly intelligent breeds,” Logan replied in agreement, “Which is why they, and labradors, are such common breeds for service dogs. They’re easily trained and some have even been proven to be able to read.”

Patton blinked. “Wow, I didn’t know that. Cool! Are you a teacher or something? You give me that sort of vibe.”

“I am not,” Logan answered, flipping a page of his book and ignoring his phone lighting up on the table as Roman realized Logan had tricked them and was trying to escape them. “But I had wanted to be one when I was younger.”

“You’re really smart! I think you’d be a really good teacher, Logan.”

Logan’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he finally rose his gaze to look at Patton in the eye, and gasped aloud as their eyes locked and suddenly the black and white universe around him became lit with colors, the world no longer black, white, and gray, with a few dots of red and green- he saw all the colors he’d been told about throughout his life, blues and oranges and purples and yellows- mixes of colors that he never knew existed and didn’t have names for.

And now that he actually looked at Patton’s face, he took in the details he’d missed when he briefly glanced at him in the streets- he had freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose, like stars in the sky, and his hair was just as fluffy and curly as it had looked at first, but it seemed to be multi-colored, like Virgil’s, and-

“Did she bite you?” Patton asked in concern, only hearing Logan’s gasp and assuming Lady had done something either incredibly cute or she’d bitten him (unlikely, but still possible).

“N-No- I-” Logan stammered, sucking in a deep breath, “You’re my soulmate.”

“What?” Patton squeaked, his cheeks flushing red, and hell, they just brought out his freckles even more.

“I-I- there’s color, everywhere, when I looked into your eyes just now-” Logan cut himself off, shaking his head, “Sorry, that was sudden, wasn’t it? I apologize for my outburst, I was just taken by surprise-”

“Oh, no, no! It’s okay!” Patton was quick to reassure, flashing him a smile, “I just.. Kinda wish I could see the colors with you, y’know?” He shifted, then put his book down on the coffee table.

“W-Well.. If you’re my soulmate, I guess I shouldn’t be reading and I should be trying to learn more about you, huh?” He shifted nervously, “Sorry, I mean, I don’t know what to do, I’ve never meet my soulmate before- well, obviously, I just mean-”

Logan felt laughter bubble up in his chest, resting his hand atop Patton’s to halt his rambles. “It’s fine, really.” He blushed, “Uhm.. We can talk some, if you’d like?”

“Yeah.” Patton nodded, twisting his hand so he could hold Logan’s. “Yeah, I’d like that!”

“He’s not even reading any of my messages!” Roman whined, stomping his foot. “Are you sure we can’t just go over there and get him?”

“Roman, please. He clearly got away for a reason. He probably needed some air, or some space to think. We were being pretty pushy and terrible to him.” Virgil tried to soothe, flashing an embarrassed grin at the people who were turning to look at the fussy couple in the cafe.

“It’s been an hour! I’ve gone through two pieces of cheesecake, Virgil, two. Logan should be back by now. I can handle it if he needed some space, but not for so long!”

Virgil rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his tea as he turned to look out the window, then immediately choking on said tea and covering his mouth with his hand as he coughed into it.

Roman immediately hit Virgil across the back to try and help him get the tea from his lungs, frowning. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Window,” Virgil croaked, before coughing into his sleeve some more.

Roman, thoroughly confused, turned his gaze towards the window, not realizing what he was supposed to be looking for- until he found it.

Logan stood outside the bookstore, lip-locked with some stranger Roman had never once seen before in his life, holding the leash of a service dog as said dog sat patiently by the stranger’s feet, tail thumping happily against the ground.

“Virgil. Virgil holy shit- Virgil are you seeing what I’m seeing? Oh my God. Logan’s gonna finally get laid. Virgil, why aren’t you freaking out about this do you realize how important this is-”

“Roman, shut up, my lungs are full of scalding hot tea, give me a fucking minute.”

Roman took a deep breath, before jumping up from his seat. “I’m going to introduce myself to my new best friend and their dog and try to get Logan to go home with him because it looks like they’re parting ways and there’s no way in hell I’m letting that happen.”

“Roman, no-”

And there he goes.

Virgil groaned, dropping his head to the table, glancing out the window from the corner of his eye and watching Roman rush across the street to fling himself and Logan, rambling about something, probably along the lines of ‘congrats on finding your soulmate, when are you getting laid?’ if Logan’s flush and the stranger’s laughter was anything to go by.

Virgil shook his head.

Soulmates were fucking stupid, his own in particular.

#logicality #logan sanders #patton sanders #soulmate au #prinxiety #virgil sanders #roman sanders #my fic #fanfic

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nervous-pacing · 6 years

Text

waiting for the end

pairing: reader x taehyung, reader x namjoon (kind of?? its not a love story idk afkjbakd)

genre: angst (i guess), au

word count: 2.3k

Summary: Tomorrow, you and everyone you know will die.

warnings: recreational drug (marijuana) use, mentions of death, alluding to death, generally not a nice topic lol

a/n: i just remembered this account still exists. the first part and first few paragraphs of the second part have been in my drafts for over a year. the rest i wrote in the last hour. posted as is (unedited). will probably maybe edit/rewrite and post on my fan account one day. bAsically this is a draft lol

You stumble into class late after sleeping through your alarm and you’re a bit surprised to see that no one so much as glances in your direction as the door slams shut behind you. Your professor doesn’t make one of her usual snide remarks about your tardiness - in fact, she barely notices when you say good morning and quietly apologize for being late again.

“Who died?” you mumble as you slide into your seat near the window, gazing outside at the melting snow. Momentarily, your eyes linger on a mother trailing behind a child on a leash and you roll your eyes at the sight. Children are not dogs, you think to yourself before turning your attention to your silent lab partners and the untouched materials on the table.

“Seriously guys, why’s everyone so quiet?” you ask, voice faltering near the end because suddenly you’re not sure you want to hear the answer.

Namjoon, the boy sitting across from you, finally breaks the silence in the room. “No one yet,” he says, looking not at you but through you.

Your movements falter but you’re able to collect yourself to avoid accidentally dropping your goggles onto the table. “What?” you say, focused on getting them to fit over your thick rimmed glasses.

“You asked who died,” Namjoon says, and the graveness in his voice, matched by the detached look on his face, makes you pay a little more attention to him. “And I said no one yet.”

You wait for him to elaborate, and you want to ask him to explain but for some reason, your throat has gone dry. No one else makes any attempt to say anything. They all stare blankly at their hands or out the window or at nothing in particular.

When the news hits you, you are taken aback. You sit in silence, hand covering your open mouth as you listen to a man in a suit talk about where to go and what to do next. How to make the physical impact hurt less.

No one talks about emotions.

“100 percent chance of impact...”

You cringe at the words he speaks, imagining how you might feel when you wake up tomorrow morning. If you wake up tomorrow morning. You know the chance of living through what is to come is slim, and you hope for your own sake that you die quickly.

Your thoughts drift to your sisters and what they might be doing back at home. If they’re at school watching the news or if your parents have brought them home so they can all spend their last few hours together.

A pang of guilt spreads throughout your chest as you think of how awful you’ve been to your parents, and how a last minute apology is all you can offer them to make up for it. If you drive fast enough you might be able to get home and see them for a while.

You are thankful to have Lisa sitting beside you because without her physical support you’d probably be in a heap on the ground. You can only imagine how she must feel, being thousands of miles away from her family.

“You okay?” you ask, turning around briefly to see her face. It is only then that you realize she is trembling. Her lunch sits in front of her, untouched, as her hands her shake against the tabletop. Temptation gnaws at you; to reach out or not reach out. What can you offer her, in this moment, that will do her any good? You dare not say more out of fear of being too lighthearted. You’ve always been the person who laughs at the most inappropriate moments and you’re too close to the end to bother trying to change yourself. What good would it do?

Thankfully there’s a commotion coming from across the cafeteria, and you turn around to see Taehyung standing on a table with his shirt hanging from his fingertip. “If anyone wants to admit their undying love for me, now’s the time!” He is met with humorless laughter and expressionless faces, but the smile never leaves his face. “I guess no one heard me. I said-,” and he cups his hands around his mouth for dramatic effect, “-if anyone wants to admit their undying love for me, now is the time to do so!” He is ushered off the table and chased out of sight by an overweight campus security guard. You’ve never seen one of them do their job before. Of course now they decide to do what they’re supposed to, when none of it matters anymore.

“Are you going to eat that?” you ask, returning your attention to a hyperventilating Lisa. It doesn’t matter. Tomorrow, she will be dead. You don’t wait for her to respond, not because you know she’s not going to answer but because you don’t care. It doesn’t matter if she answers or not. Who is going to stop you from taking the perfectly ripe mango out of her lunch bag? She’s staring into space, probably imagining how the end of the world will look from her 8th story window. You take her mango and wordlessly leave the table.

“You know I was gonna write my thesis paper about the apocalypse?” Namjoon’s voice is a whisper in the wind beside you. It’s windy as fuck. A side effect of the imminent end of the world, you think to yourself. Perhaps it’s just the regular mid autumn chill.

“What’s your major?” Taehyung asks, flippantly. He probably doesn’t care. Namjoon was not and will never be his friend. From what you know, the two had never spoken to each other until you brought them together this afternoon for a last minute quad smoke sesh.

“Environmental studies.”

Silence ensues. You’re not surprised at his answer, though you always assumed he was more of a liberal arts nerd rather than a science nerd. When you look up, they’re both staring at you.

“Um, I’m a social work student,” you say quietly, assuming they’re waiting for an answer.

Taehyung scoffs, rolls his eyes. “Aw, bet you wanted to save the world, huh?” He reaches over and plucks the unlit blunt from your fingers. Color rises to your cheeks now that you understand why they’d been staring. No one cares about your major; they’re just trying to get high. If this had happened yesterday, you would’ve been offended by his words. Now, all you can do is laugh and nod. You did want to save the world. Still do.

“I’m a psych major, for what it’s worth.” Taehyung lights up. You imagine him standing in front of a class giving a presentation about the role of biology in psychology.

“No one asked,” Namjoon says with the same amount of enthusiasm he’s had all afternoon.

“I put in my withdrawal papers yesterday,” Taehyung adds. Now he really has your attention. “College was never my thing.” He’s hogging the blunt but it doesn’t matter because you have half a goddamn mason jar’s worth of it tucked away in your bag, specifically brought out for this occasion. No use in hoarding or hiding it anymore, not when today is the last day you’ll be able to smoke it.

“I called my parents this morning to tell them,” Taehyung continues, “right before the news came on. They were so disappointed they hung up on me. I turned my phone off and I’m not turning it back on.” He looks sober and old, the way you’d expect a college aged kid who’s high off his ass to look.

“Payback?” you ask, thinking about all your missed calls, the growing number of texts and voice messages you refuse to open or listen to. What’s the point?

“I don’t do all that lovey dovey shit.” He passes what’s left of the blunt to Namjoon, who gives him a dirty look before throwing it over his shoulder. You finally reveal what’s in your bag and they look at you with a desire that makes you feel powerful. You consider confessing your undying love to Taehyung, knowing he wouldn’t call your bluff if it meant a chance at possibly getting laid one last time. You hardly know him, but he’s cute and he has nice hands and you won’t have enough time to feel embarrassed or accidentally fall in love because so little time is left. Daylight is fleeting.

So you quickly make up your mind, straightening your spine with purpose as you boldly ask Taehyung if he wants to have sex with you. His jaw hardens and he looks at you through narrowed eyes and says “yes” instead of the “sure” you’d expected. Namjoon is happy enough to be left alone with an ounce of weed that he doesn’t care if you chose Taehyung, who is essentially a stranger to you, over him, someone you’ve known long enough to be considered at least an associate. Not like you’d pretend to care about his feelings. Not like you’d owe him anything if you really did care about his feelings.

Sex with Taehyung is satisfactory. There is no pressure to perform so neither of you put on a show. There is no love involved so it’s not special. It’s just physical but that’s what you wanted anyway. And his breath doesn’t stink so that’s a plus.

Afterwards, you stumble back to the soccer field where Namjoon is cozied up against a tree. He had every incentive to run away and smoke the rest of your weed alone, or set it on fire on the turf as a form of protest against the environment, but he didn’t. You didn’t think he would.

You spend the rest of the evening getting higher and higher with them, these two random guys who probably would’ve been good friends had you all got together under different circumstances. You’ve stopped worrying about Lisa and your family and even tomorrow’s impending doom.

“What if it doesn’t happen?” Namjoon asks suddenly, sitting up with a sense of urgency that catches you off guard. The thought had crossed your mind as well, but it was nothing you could dwell on when you knew it was just wishful thinking. Not when 100 percent chance of impact kept replaying over and over again in your head.

“No really. What if you guys fucked and we smoked all your weed for nothing?”

You shrug. “Then we fucked and smoked all my weed for nothing.”

“You guys wanna sleep on the grass tonight?” Taehyung changes the conversation, sprawling out across the turf and kicking off his shoes.

“I’d like my last night to be spent in the comfort of my own bed, thank you.”

“You think the campus beds are comfortable?” Namjoon asks.

“More comfortable than sleeping on the fucking ground.”

“I just don’t wanna be alone,” Taehyung says quietly. Like he doesn’t want you or Namjoon or himself to hear it.

“Relatable.”

Silently, the three of you make your way through the half empty student residence parking lots. Everyone who could leave, did leave. You assumed all who’s left are the international students and other kids who couldn’t catch a flight back home. You choose not to think about their grief. Doing so could trigger your own and you don’t want your last night alive to be filled with sadness.

“This is my humble abode,” you say as you invite them into your dorm. It’s messy, as your roommate somehow managed to knock over almost everything and anything on her way out.

“It smells like sweat in here,” Taehyung comments, holding his nose.

“Yeah, well.”

The banter makes it easy to act like nothing is wrong, like your life isn’t changing, isn’t ending. You don’t feel like this is the last of anything, even though deep down you know it to be true. There are so many things to want to do. Pull out your guitar and play it one last time, tell Namjoon and Taehyung your deepest darkest secret just to get it off your chest, check your messages and maybe even respond to some because anybody who takes the time to text you their last words probably deserves a text back. It wouldn’t hurt.

You do none of these things. This is the highest you’ve ever been and you know the second you pull out your phone you’ll start crying. Instead, you turn on the TV and settle down on the couch, draping your old Peter Pan blanket over yourself and curling into a ball.

“Are you scared?” Namjoon asks as he makes room for himself next to you.

“A little bit,” you answer honestly. It’s the most truth you’ve told in a long time.

“Me too.”

On TV, a news anchor slams his hands on the counter as he spits facts at you through the screen: here’s how it’s going down, here’s how to prepare in the little time you have, here’s what you should do even though it’s not going to save you anyway. You wish he was home with his family, or maybe you’re projecting your feelings onto him. With all that’s going on, it’s safe to say you’re overwhelmed.

You want to thank them for being there with you, but that would mean admitting that something is wrong. Those are words you don’t want to say. It’s not like their presence is for your comfort. They, like you, don’t want to be alone.

Light snoring brings you out of your own thoughts and back to real time. You’re thankful that they’re sleeping because now there is no temptation to speak, but you really wanted to speak. Talking has always tired you out, and now that you’re the only one awake, reality is beginning to set in. You don’t want to think about tomorrow, so you try to think about other things. The science homework you didn’t do, midterms you no longer have to worry about, all the money in your bank account, Lisa’s uneaten mango, Taehyung’s forgotten sneakers, Namjoon’s hand on your back.

The last thing you see is your mother’s grumpy face and arms outstretched towards you, although there is no way of telling whether the image came to you in a dream or not, because there is no morning to wake up to.

i write the way i speak don’t judge me

also i suck at writing endings and this whole thing in general made me very emotional and it’s almost 1 am good f*cking nnight

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