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sweatervest-obsessed · 4 months

Note

hello !! rn i'm in the mood for some angst with a happy ending so can i request something where reader's got really bad abandonment issues? 🥹 maybe they fight over something which makes r leave ++ spence is confused bc it's so sudden n unlike them but it's all bc theyre scared he'll leave first n then it's just lots n lots of reassurance🥹🥹 thank you!!

Obsessed.

Thank you for the ask!!

So I wrote you this gorgeous 1k fic. I was so fucking proud of it. And then my computer deleted the WHOLE THING (which is why I am so behind on responding to this lmao). But. I rewrote as much of it as possible, and then changed and added a few things. So now it's better than before.

I really enjoy this version ,and I hope you do too!! so please enjoy!!!!!

WC: 1.5k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

TW: Anxiety, depression, intrusive thoughts, self-destructive tendencies, swearing, abandonment issues lmao

“What do you mean….”

You couldn’t look at him. How could you? I mean, leaving the love of your life because you know he could never love you back in the way you love him. He’d just leave anyways.

They all do.

You’re just trying to minimize the pain.

But why did it hurt so fucking much.

Which was why you kept your gaze anywhere but him.

“I-I-I—“ You kept your gaze on the ground. “I can’t do t-this anymore Spencer.”

“Can’t do what. Y/n you aren’t making any sense. What’s going on?”

You should you head. “It’s over. Spencer.”

"Y/n what are you..."

Looking at the ground, you began to fidget, something about his gaze on you was making he whole situation worse. Originally you were going to just send him a text and disappear for the rest of your life, but he came home early. He wasn't supposed to be home for another day.

"Spencer I-I." You flexed your hands, trying to find the right words. "It's done Spence. I can't.."

"You can't what?" His voice was a whisper. You could hear the heartbreak in his voice, but you wouldn't dare look at him. If you looked at him, you would cave and stay and he would take your heart in his hands and crush it to dust.

But why did this hurt so much?

"What is going on Y/n. Talk to me."

You couldn't understand why he was being so caring. Why was he so fucking perfect. It felt like a sick joke that the universe gave you this perfect man, and then put the sinking feeling in your gut when it got too good. Like something was going to go wrong.

And you wanted to be ahead of it. Start the grieving process now before you got too deep.

It's too late for that anyways.

His voice was soft. He didn't move towards you. He didn't want to 'spook' you---he knew you so well.

You know him so well.

Clearly, whatever tactic you had tried to employ when he came home, wasn't working, so you decided to shift. You shifted to the anger resting in your gut. The hot and heavy coals that burned through your skin and made you seeth with anger.

"Y/n, please, look at me."

You couldn't. And he fucking knew that too. You stormed past him and towards the bedroom.

Spencer was speechless, completely unsure as to what was going on.

When he arrived home you had been shoving things into your suitcase, but then when you saw him you froze up and started to try and break up with him.

"Talk to me. What is going on?"

You ignored him and started to pull clothes out of their respective drawers and onto the bed you two shared. It was hectic, and aggressive. You were slamming things, stomping--anything to hide the slight tremor in your hands, and make you seem bigger than you were.

"Y/n!"

His voice made you jump but it didn't stop you. You took the pang of guilt in your stomach and tried to twist it into the anger you so desperately tried to justify.

Spencer slowly moved over to you and tried to take you hand.

"NO." You threw the small pile of clothes you had just taken from the closet on to the ground and pulled away quickly. "No Spencer god. Wh-what don't you fucking get. We're done. It's over."

Spencer rarely heard you raise your voice, let alone yell, and definitely never at him. But you weren't even looking at him.

You fucking hated it when he profiled you. It made your skin crawl when you felt his eyes roaming over you. "Look at me."

His voice wasn't hateful. It wasn't angry. It was soft, understanding.

God why did he have to make this so fucking hard.

"Y/n..."

"Spencer. Stop."

You felt the moment he realized what was happening in your brain., You weren't the easiest to read, but you weren't exactly a closed book either.

"Look at me."

You looked up and made eye contact with him, hoping that the last part of your will would hold strong, and get you through this.

Spencer's eyes were filled with worry and disbelief. You saw the swarm of emotions as he locked eyes with you. But behind all of the disbelief and concern and love and pain was fear. You could see the pain he was so desperately trying to hide from you.

You know him so well.

Spencer could see the straight fire in yours. They were lit with a facade of anger and pain and hatred. But you could never hate Spencer. Never. And he saw right through it. He could see the panic in your eyes. The pure terror and pain.

You hated that he knew you so well.

"Y/n..."

He took one step forward, not trying to corner you, but trying to get closer to you. You took one step back.

"No." You shook your head.

"Please just talk to me."

Fuck him. Fuck him and his stupid wonderful voice and his kind eyes and his love and the way he knows exactly how you take your tea in the morning and all of your favorite books and why you love the 2005 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice so much and what animals you wanted to have one day and why you hated spiders and the ocean so much and which museums and monuments you had on your bucket list. Fuck this man for loving you so hard, and making you want to spend every single moment of your life with him.

"I-I--" and fuck him for making your voice crack. You took another small step backwards.

"Please." Another step forward.

This time, all you could do was shake your head and break eye contact. You were tensing up the closer he got to you.

"Y/n."

"N-No" You chooked on your own voice. A single tear broke through and slide down your cheek.

"Baby please..." Another step. "Just talk to me. What's going on?"

That was the final straw for you.

The dam broke, and tears poured down your face. You let out the most heartbreaking sob that Spencer could have never imagined.

His arms were quickly around you, catching you and bringing you both down to the floor, where he held you against his chest.

You shook your head and tried to escape from his grasp, but he just held on tighter to you, not letting you go. Spencer could never let you go, he just didn't know how to tell you that.

Through your tears, you started to hyper ventilate. Spencer wouldn't let you leave his arms. It felt like a boa constrictor. You couldn't breathe.

You started to panic, not taking in as much air as you should, causing your head to get dizzy. You tugged on Spencer's arms as he tightened his grip on you, determined to keep you safe in his arms while you got whatever it was out of your system.

You screamed at him to let you go. He didn't respond, only holding you against his chest and you angrily slammed your hands against it.

Why was he so fucking perfect. Why couldn't he just let you leave and walk away.

Fuck.

Once your breathing had started to even out a bit, Spencer adjusted the two of you, still on the ground, so that you were straddling his lap with your arms around his neck.

Surrounding you was all of your clothes thrown about, and your suit case barely filled with anything.

He didn't say anything, just continued to rub his thumb against your hip, letting you come down from whatever sort of panic you just went through.

He held you close to his body, deciding in that moment to never let you go, ever.

You felt the world slow down. Time melted beneath you as the sun rose and set, the moon waxed and waned, The leaves browned and fell of the trees, and the earth stopped spinning at the end of time and all of the stars had died out. The world had stopped but you were still in Spencer's arms.

"I don't know..." He whispered in your ear, and the world started to turn again. "What just happened in your head--"

You tried to speak up but he just shushed you gently. "But we don't have to talk about it until you're ready."

You nodded.

What did you do in this world to deserve this man?

"Why don't we make some tea?" He whispered, and you just nodded again, holding onto Spencer as if the floor was going to give out and cause you to fall through the pits of hell and judgment, away from one another.

Neither of you went to move, finding peace in one another's arms.

While Spencer truly had no idea what just occurred, or why it occurred, he was still sitting here with you. And while you owed Spencer an apology and an explanation, he was still sitting here with his arms wrapped around you, kissing your shoulders.

Spencer Reid was going to stay with you for as long as you'd let him, and he would do anything to get you to see that, even if it meant sitting on the floor of your shared bedroom, holding you until the stars burned out and the world stopped spinning.

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daegall · 6 months

Text

☆ late night company.

➷ in which the Gods give you a shit day, and Aphrodite makes up for it.

pairing: son of poseidon!jeno x daughter of ares!reader

genre: hurt comfort, fluff, slight angst, bff2l!AU

warnings: anxiety, injuries, reader is implied to be female!!

word count: 4k words

a/n: sorry if any opla readers get this i just suddenly got the urge to write for mr lee jeno bc <3 jeno tee hee !! also wtf this work has been sitting in my drafts for a whole 8 days i wanted to post it SO bad but i went out of country and didnt have my laptop </33

anw!!! bros the sunflower of 3 years is now jeno biased,,,, sorry hyuck i still love you

You feel your heart continuously spiraling in your chest. It's growing wild, crashing heartbeats uneven and quick. With every breath you breathe, you feel a dark, nervous pit in your stomach grow.

Anxiety.

One place you never fail to find yourself at when you're feeling especially weak, is none other than by the river. Oftentimes you spend your time skipping rocks or staring at the water, the tranquility bringing some kind of peace to you.

However, none of those things seem to help tonight.

You sit on the dock, playing and fiddling nervously with your fingers as your mind runs too fast for your liking.

"You're on my property,"

A sudden voice to your right startles you, more than you'd like, yelping in surprise.

And at your reaction, the person next to you instantly knows something is wrong.

It's Lee Jeno, son of Poseidon, heartthrob of all of Camp Half Blood.

Someone who's stolen your heart.

Jeno stands there with a boyish smile on his face, a glint in his eyes shows no harm, though shines with charm. His hair is messy, which is normal for this late hour, but he seems as awake as ever.

He's a big reason why you're in this state, and it seems to get worse and better at the same time as you observe his expressions. His eyebrows crease, in worry, lips that were previously smiling quickly transforming into a worried frown.

"Sorry," You mumble, frantically standing up. "I didn't realize,"

How did it even slip your mind? You're by the lake, he's the son of the God of the Seas, of course you're in his area.

Before you can take a step forward, Jeno halts you, "No!" he reaches out with a hurry laced in his voice. "No, please stay,"

He could never forgive himself if he were to leave you alone in such a state. It's clear you're vulnerable. And for you to be just the slightest bit disturbed is a bad sign.

You've always been calm, composed, even in the heat of a battle, you were always so sure of yourself. Seeing you here, so oblivious about everything, your mind drifted somewhere far? Jeno can't help but worry.

"O-oh, okay," You nod, before awkwardly retracting your foot, taking it back right next to your other one.

It's silent a moment after, with neither of you knowing what to say. All that can be heard is the quiet waves rippling through the lake, and the soft bristling of the trees brushing against each other.

God, Jeno looks really cute tonight.

It's rare to find him outside of his armor, paired with his sword, gifted from his father, and shield, looking fit for the title of a demi-god, and yet tonight you see him so human. He sports a bomber jacket, a random band t-shirt underneath, and a pair of basketball shorts.

To put it simply, Lee Jeno looks very boyfriend material right now.

To him as well, you look different from what you're usually looking like on a daily basis. Just like him, you look human. But in a different way. Once again, you look vulnerable. There's an obvious nervous glint in your eyes, unfocused and darting everywhere, and your form shrinks with every moment that passes, arms hugging to yourself.

"Are you okay?"

Jeno's voice is comforting, gentle, and yet it still manages to startle you.

Why are you so uneasy tonight?

You don't respond. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. A moment passes, then another, but you can't seem to find your words.

"No," You breathe out. In an instant, you feel your body relax when the truth finally comes out, relaxing further when Jeno seems to be unbothered by the fact, reaching out to you.

You accept his offer, stepping closer to him, your fast heartbeat finally slowing when his hands gently search for comfort in yours, his thumbs rubbing gently at your skin.

"I'm not okay,"

"I know,"

And when Jeno looks into your eyes, he doesn't think anything could hurt him more than this. He's been in countless battles, earned multiple injuries and scars, but there's a different kind of hurt when he sees the tears forming at your waterline.

"Can you explain?" You find solace in his warm touch, following as he tugs at your arm. A silent invitation to his cabin. You don't pull away. Jeno glances at you for an answer, smiling softly when you nod simply.

You can't explain it, but there's a feeling you have whenever you're around Lee Jeno. It's comforting, gentle, and you feel that you can be genuinely vulnerable around him.

You think it's love.

You date it back to last summer, when you had defeated him in a small spar together. Despite you winning, he was the one smiling brighter. It confused you at first. You thought maybe he was making fun of you, maybe he let you win, but a moment later, you realized it was admiration.

The way his smile caused your own had your heart lifting, filling your head with thoughts you never thought you'd have for anyone.

When you went to Jaemin, son of Aphrodite, he thought you were dumb at first. How could you not see it? Lee Jeno had been harboring feelings for you for weeks, and finally, you felt the same.

And just 2 weeks ago—13 days and 12 hours ago, to be exact, Jeno confessed his feelings.

Feeling terrified and confused about what to do, you asked for time, time in which he gave you generously.

You don't know why he's still nice to you, when you've been taking so damn long to answer him.

You suppose he really does love you, you conclude it when he's taken you to sit with him on a couch.

The cabin is quiet, so very quiet, it's a nice change from your cabin, full of life and busy people running left and right, with crafting tables in every corner, you like how quiet it is.

Jeno sits patiently next to you, his hands still in yours. "How are you feeling now?"

You peer up at him, attempting to blink your tears away. "Better," You sigh, smiling lightly. It's natural, and unlike your usual bold smile, but Jeno feels absolutely lucky to be able to see it.

"Will you tell me what's wrong?"

He means no harm, simply wanting to help you, but it still confuses you. How could he be so caring towards you?

You answer him, despite your mixed emotions, quietly mumbling, "I've just had a really shit day." Your head turns away from him, almost embarrassingly, pursing your lips.

Jeno's hand releases from yours, and although you instantly miss its warmth, his fingers find itself caressing at your jaw lovingly, before he turns your head back to him. He looks at you with care, so lovingly that it almost overwhelms you, as he speaks, "Tell me about it,"

Something about Lee Jeno just makes you want to melt, to depend fully on him and be loved, to love him. It scares the shit out of you.

"I lost a sparring," You mumble. Jeno can't help but chuckle a little. To others, losing a practice battle is routine, everyday, but it means so much to you it makes him feel proud of how passionate you are.

However, there's something you're not telling him. He can feel it.

"And then?"

"And then my siblings were constantly at my neck because of it."

Truth be told, it's not just today's battle. You've been off for 2 whole weeks, and for good reason.

But feeling this way... it feels so foreign to you. You hate that Jeno has such a hold on you, such an effect on you, plaguing your mind and constantly being reminded of him from the smallest things, it's new.

But another part of you longs for more, for more change, to explore this new thing, to be happy with Jeno.

"I feel weak," You tell him. You feel even weaker when he hums in understanding, feeling the warmth of his fingers caress your skin. His hand is still on your jaw, now wiping away the stray tears you didn't even realize you had let slip, oh so gently and carefully.

"I'm supposed to be strong, like my siblings, like my father. But I can barely control my emotions and actions and sometimes I just feel so... useless? I'm Ares’ daughter, for fucks sake. The God of war. I-I should be able to fight with no problem, win every fight. Isn't that what I was made for?"

You can sense Jeno's growing concern, you can feel it with each hush he lets out when you cry a little harder, you can feel it now that he's let both of your hands go to cup dearly at your cheeks, and you hate that you yearn for more.

Why must you appear so weak in front of Lee Jeno?

"I know it's just my emotions and whatnot, but... god, I don't want to disappoint people anymore,"

Jeno shakes his head, squeezing gently at your cheeks. "Don't say that. You don't disappoint anyone,"

"I disappoint my father—I disappoint myself." You say instantly, and it's clear it's a thought you've had for a long time. "I disappoint you..."

Jeno's eyes desperately search for yours, his face leaning in close to yours. "Hey, hey, look at me,"

His voice lulls you to a calmer state, as he shakes his head lightly, and despite all that you've said, how much of a burden you've been to him, he smiles at you. How can he smile at you? When you've been nothing but so frustrating tonight?

"You could never disappoint anyone," Jeno mumbles firmly, stroking at your cheek. "not me, at least,"

For months on end, Jeno has watched you beat yourself up for the smallest things you do wrong. A small mistake during a spar, tactics failing in a game of capture the flag, even when you get the date wrong you never cease to criticize yourself.

You've got high expectations. Expectations even you yourself can't reach.

"Don't you see? I'm disappointing you right now," You breathe out. It's full of anguish, distress, as if to prove a point. A point that Jeno can never see. "I'm being such a burden, you shouldn't even have to take care of me—"

"—I want to take care of you." Jeno interjects immediately. "I need to know you're safe. I don't care if you think you're a burden, because I know you will never be one."

Through your sniffling, and wobbly lips, a smile is somehow curling on your lips, as your hands creep up to circle around Jeno's wrists.

"There's that smile," He whispers, with the brightest grin you might ever see, a smile even Apollo, the God of sun and light could never beat.

Jeno leans in close, before he presses his lips gently to your cheek, cleaning you of your tears. Each kiss he leaves on your skin spreads warmth within you, like a fire growing bigger and bigger, until it consumes your whole soul.

This time, you welcome the fire, finally feeling secure within Jeno's arms.

What have you been so worried about? Lee Jeno may be oblivious at times, but he's not dumb. He's genuine, he's caring and loving and he's the same person who confessed his love for you 13 days ago, the same heart, the same mind, the same Jeno.

So, you fall into him. You don't care if it's terrifying, or if you have a few bumps on the way, because Jeno is your safetynet. He always has been, and will always continue to be your safetynet.

You just hope Jeno feels the same for you.

You're brought back to reality when Jeno pecks lightly at your nose, his laugh resonating through the room right after he sees your shocked face.

"You know I like you, right?"

You've known for 13 days and 12 hours. Even with all that time to process his confession, it's like he's saying it for the first time, as he holds your face dearly, as he stares into your eyes with so much emotion, it almost overwhelms you. He says it as if he means it.

And he does.

"I know," You know with all your heart. You melt when he smiles sweetly down at you, your throat burning with the urge to tell him that you like him too, hell you might even love him. Your fingers tingle, yearning for his touch, your heart burning for him. But he doesn't deserve it. Not after how long you made him wait for a response.

You don’t understand how Jeno could ever look at you the way he is right now, his eyes shining with such a dear look in them, his lips curling lightly. You know you look like a mess, with your puffy eyes and wet cheeks, how could anyone see the worst side of you and still love you?

You suppose it’s the pressure you get from all your tough siblings, standards way too high for you to reach, but you know you would feel the same if Jeno was crying in your arms as well.

“Good.” He mumbles. “It won’t change.”

A sensation hits you. Your heart jumps and you feel all of a sudden breathless. No amount of tears could take this much air from your lungs, and it’s not anxiety filling them. This time… it’s a warm feeling, it swirls and spreads all through you as Jeno continues.

“I know what you’re thinking, Y/N, that I would stop liking you just because you didn’t answer me. But that’s not true,” He shakes his head, stroking at your cheeks as he scoots closer to you. His voice grows softer, but with the distance between you two, he’s never been clearer before. “I’ll wait for you. Forever, if I have to.”

Lee Jeno has you hypnotized, and you wonder if this is what sirens are like, because he’s all that you want suddenly, you feel so dizzy and hazed with… love. You love him, goddamn it, and he loves you too.

“Just… take your time, okay? I want your answer to come from you, your heart. Not from your siblings, or father, or even me. I want your truth,”

And your truth is him. It stupid to think, but you truly do think that you were made to be with Lee Jeno.

When he pulls away, and finally gives you some (very unwanted) space, you decide to tell him.

“Jeno,” You breathe out. You’re sure the sounds of waves outside his window can easily beat your volume, but you’re more sure Jeno hears you, as his eyebrows shoot up instantly, and he hums, leaning in close. He’s always so tentative to you, you’ve always loved this trait about him.

“It’s been two weeks–”

“–I said you don’t need to–”

“–I want to,”

This time, it’s him who goes speechless, and you can almost see the pink in his cheeks growing under the dark light of his cabin. “Go on,” He finally says.

“Thank you,” You reply. “As I was saying, it’s been two weeks, and I’m ready to give you my answer.”

Jeno’s shocked when you reach over, fingers brushing over his, as you take his hands in yours. “I’ve… always been held under some sort of expectation, always being watched, waiting for some victory, and I hated it. I still do,”

Jeno’s heart softens, as does his eyes as he listens, knowing very well what you are talking about. You’ve isolated yourself countless times when you are unable to reach the expectations, afraid to show anyone emotion.

“and god, did I want to give up. I’m sick of my siblings always picking at my every flaw, judging every step I take. I felt trapped. But you… you’re the opposite. I feel so free around you, it scares the shit out of me. I think about you constantly, day and night, when I’m training or just reading a book, every tiny thing reminds me of you and it’s honestly scary. And you have no expectations for me, it was confusing at first, but I understand now. I don’t have any for you, either. I love how competitive you are, and how you’re still so humble despite being a child of one of the big three’s, and how you take care of everyone, even people you don’t know, and hell–I find your lame jokes funny. I never minded when you’d watch over me, if anything, I loved it. And I was confused what it was at first,”

You suck in a deep breath, shutting your eyes, Your heart beats loud in all your senses, you feel it rising at your throat, tingling at your fingers that Jeno caresses, but it’s okay. It’s Jeno, he could never hurt you.

“But I know now.” Your eyes flutter open, and in a second, your nerves fly away. Jeno’s looking at you with so much love, patiently waiting for you to finish, so you do.

“I like you, Jeno. I might even love you,”

You both grow silent after that.

Once again, you grow anxious.

Holy shit, did he lose feelings in the span of your 2 minutes spent ranting to him?

And when you’re about to lose all hope of an acceptance, Jeno’s fingers tighten around yours the moment they attempt to slip away.

Alarmed, your eyes slowly trail back up to his face, unable to read his expressions.

Jeno sighs. “Say it again?”

“The… the whole thing? I mean, I could,” You mumble. You’re serious. You could recite the whole thing if he wanted word-by-word, you’d do anything for Lee Jeno right now.

When he doesn’t say a word, you suspect it’s what he’s genuinely asking for, clearing your throat to start over once again. “right, okay, uh… how did I start?”

Suddenly, you realize that you are not capable of reciting the whole thing word-by-word. It had all come out with its own flow, you had absolutely no control of your mind, nor did you even think you’d have to say the whole thing again.

Despite that, you still try. “Um–I was always told I had expectations… is that what I said? I don’t know, I don’t really remember. Just something about um, feeling trapped, or something… and feeling free around you? Is that… I think that’s what I said.”

Stupidly, you keep going, knowing fully well that you can’t repeat the deep and touching moment. Jeno finds it so very endearing that you try, however, unable to find it in himself to actually stop you, when you look so cute holding onto his hands and trying to remember your words.

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter, but after that I said something about, uh, you being a child of Poseidon? God, I can barely remember. Anyway, you’re cool, Jeno, you really are–”

Suddenly, your mouth clamps shut. A warmth envelops your chin, lips, to your cheeks, before you realize Lee Jeno has his hand covering your mouth, shutting you up. You’re surprised to see a grin on his lips, even more so when he starts chuckling, taking his hand off to ruffle it gently on the top of your head. “Not that part,” He finally says.

“Then… which part?” The way you look at him, Jeno almost thinks you’re doing it all on purpose. Your eyes shining just for him, your confused scrunch on your eyebrows, how could he ever fall more in love with you?

“You love me?”

Oh. That part.

“...yeah,” You breathe out, growing shy. It takes you a moment, before you remember his words.

Say it again.

“I think I’m in love with you, Jeno,”

At your words, he seems to grow tense, but it’s different from all the sparring matches you’ve had with him. He has a huge smile on his face, his eyes creasing into little moons, moons in which you love, the smile that you long to see everyday. How did it take you so long to decide you love him?

“I think I’m in love with you too, Y/N.”

“Okay, cool,” You nod, attempting to act cool. The Gods know how you really feel, your heart beating as fast as ever, shit eating grin growing on your face as his hands slip in yours once more, as you lean into him. “that’s super cool,”

“mhm, yeah, really epic,” Jeno mirrors your attitude, you can tell he’s growing shy. You know from the way his voice dies down a little, growing small with mumbles, you know from the way he curls his body slightly, but he’s still as confident as ever, bumping his forehead with yours.

You chuckle at the action, shutting your eyes to savor the moment.

At that moment, you both silently thank Aphrodite, for guiding the both of you here, right now.

Your eyes open once again, and you find Jeno already staring at you. You offer him a smile, one that he welcomes, and returns with his own bright grin. His mouth opens slightly for a moment, but nothing comes out. Jeno blinks, thinking hard to himself.

You wonder what he could be thinking about, but before you could wonder more, or even ask what’s on his mind, he speaks.

“Can I… kiss you?”

You chuckle lightly at his words, bringing your forehead away from his as your head throws back in soft laughter. Albeit confused, Jeno still watches, his heart burning with every laugh you let out.

“You know you don’t have to ask, right?” You finally say as you stop laughing. “Go ahead,”

Jeno smiles, and his face is so close to yours that he could smile against your own. Your noses brush, eyes slowly shutting, and his warm lips envelop yours. It feels tender, soft, gentle, and loving, his hands wrapping slowly around your waist. Kissing Jeno is different from what you’ve always thought kissing him would be like. It’s comforting, not rushed. It’s welcoming, it feels like home, where you’ve always belonged.

Jeno feels the exact same thing, his lips curling and shifting between yours as your hands hold dearly at his jaw, caressing at his skin.

When you pull away, all that resonates through the Poseidon cabin is your shallow breathing, and sounds of the soft waves hitting shore, and it couldn’t be more perfect. In Jeno’s arms, worrying about nothing, thinking about nothing but him.

“Stay the night?”

“What?”

Jeno’s eyes widen as he realizes his abrupt words, his mouth gaping. “N-no! Not like that!”

You both know it’s not like that. You find it cute that he still says it, anyway.

“I-I mean, your siblings upset you, right? You don’t want to go back to your cabin–unless you want to! Of course, it’s your choice, completely,”

And they say chivalry is dead.

All you can do is continue to stare at him as he goes on and on, admiring the way his cheeks grow red, and his rushed words, you wonder if this is how Jeno felt when you ranted before.

“I, personally, don’t want you going somewhere you don’t feel safe in, you know? With people who have hurt you. We could just hang out, talk, or something. I can show you a bunch of stuff my dad left for m–”

This time, Jeno’s shocked, blinking at you as your hand envelops his lips to halt his ranting.

“I’d love to stay over,” You mumble, dropping your hand from his face. “you’re the only one I feel safe with right now,”

Jeno finally grins, feeling love resonate through his body, reaching out to place his palm on your cheek. The love spreads and multiplies as you lean into his palm, like a disease, but you know if that was the case you would have been infected for a long time already.

“...so can I check out Poseidon’s trident?”

“Oh, for sure. That thing’s huge.”

468 notes · View notes

musings-of-miss-j · 3 months

Text

no rest for the wicked (nor the foolish)

part one: in which you, a genius graduate from the akademiya, are blackmailed recruited by the fatui

a harbingers x gn reader series!! (includes dottore, childe, arlecchino and pantalone x reader. the rest of the harbingers will most likely not be romantic interests)

notes: slowburn. slowburn so slow u have to squint to even see the damn flame, long asf, snarky reader bc i said so, reader has a sprinkle of social anxiety, reader is referred to as 'miss' but no pronouns, mostly fluff and crack, slightly suggestive, blackmail, i just really wanna interact with these self-important pricks making out is honestly optional

please inform me of any pronoun slips!!

status: ongoing, updates every thursday-saturday

series masterlist

word count: 4993

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚*

Standing before the not at all imposing entrance of the Fatui Headquarters (even now you vividly remember complaining to Lisa about it as you packed; "Couldn't they have chosen a more creative name?") you began to ever so slightly doubt your choices. Fresh out of the Akademiya and ambitious as any foolish valedictorian, you'd snapped up the offer of continuing your diploma in Snezhnaya immediately. Or at least that’s what you told yourself rather than acknowledging the thinly-veiled threats in their letters. "It'll look fantastic on my resume," you'd remarked to Alhaitham, that arrogant sod of a professor, over a bottle of wine. He'd scoffed and taken it from you, downing a generous swig, before saying something along the lines of "I certainly think it'll be a relief to have you several hundred miles away from Sumeru, even if you're going to be an insufferable brat about it."

Absolute ass of a man, you thought fondly to yourself as you climbed the stone stairs up to the gates. Snow fell hard and fast and stubborn as Albedo when it came to the superiority of alchemy over all other areas of science, and by the time you'd hauled your luggage to the wrought iron gate your shoulders had a fresh dusting of white powder and the stairs had become really quite treacherous; you lost your footing twice. At the very least, the only witnesses to your humiliation were creatures of the night.

You paused on the top step to catch your breath. A scientific genius you may be, and yet your stamina left much to be desired; and damn was that a ridiculous number of stairs. Every puff of breath crystallised into a swirling cloud in front of you, and you suppressed a shiver as a cold gust of night air wormed through the openings of your coat. Craning your neck to survey the enormous building - perhaps "palace" would be a more accurate descriptor - you felt the full force of the Fatui's power. Which was definitely their goal. Hewn from black stone, most likely imported from Liyue, the tips of the towers disappearing into a clouded sky, the rare breed of albino ivy you'd researched in your second year crawling up every wall and windows with intricate stained glass patterns... Despite your resolute determination to remain unimpressed at most things in life, you had to admit the place was utterly stunning. You could practically hear Kaveh raving about it in your ear, though in your opinion the spikes atop the fences were a tad too much.

After another moment of sizing up the place and feeling very much like you were being watched, you pushed open the enormous gate. Frost from the metal stuck to your gloves, and it swung open with barely a whisper. You silently thanked whatever mechanic had been in charge of that as you stepped into the shadowed courtyard, which was about as welcoming as the stairs; completely deserted. Archons forbid anyone welcome a foreign student, and you trudged across the layer of snow towards the front door with your footsteps made an incredibly satisfying crunch as you walked. You marvelled at the snow for the millionth time since you'd arrived in Snezhnaya. It was hardly common in Sumeru, and while you knew you'd grow tired of it by the time your three-year study was over it was rather pleasant now, glittering and white and covering every surface; the whole country had a lovely consistency because of it. You ridiculous perfectionist, Dehya snickered from the recesses of your mind.

The front door was also enormous (surprise, surprise) and you had to tiptoe to reach the metal knocker. Fashioned to look like a roaring leopard (a snow leopard, you'd wager) it made a very authoritative and disproportionately loud sound when released. Superposition, your brain helpfully supplied as you stood on the doorstep, determined not to let the biting cold get to you. You tightened your gloves and checked the inner pocket of your coat for your identification paperwork and tidy stack of mora, debating the merits of knocking again. The middle of the night wasn't a forgiving time, and the building (headquarters, palace, whatever) was growing less and less interesting the more you had to stare at it. Just as you'd begun glaring at the door and mentally cursing the name of every Fatuus you could think of, it swung open to reveal a luxurious interior. You kicked the snow of your boots before stepping inside, immeasurably grateful for the rush of warmth the crackling fireplace provided. The main hall of the building was every bit as grand as the outside, with a thick, midnight blue rug and stone walls carved into beautiful designs and inlaid with silver. No doubt that it had warming properties.

Mildly apprehensive, you took a step further into the hall. The door, very unhelpfully, slammed shut behind you and much to your chagrin, you jumped a little at the bang. You shot the closed door a glare before setting your bags down and casting another glance throughout the room. Beautiful and empty. Damn it.

The urge to call out was certainly strong, but your voice would definitely echo and bounce off the walls and ridiculously high ceiling. Hardly a graceful way to begin your career with the Fatui. Instead, you tugged off one of your gloves with your teeth and rootled through one of your many pockets for the most recent letter you'd received from them.

Your acceptance of our offer has been duly noted. We expect to see you on the aforementioned date at the Fatui Headquarters with the required paperwork to prove your identity, education and other important information. You will be received upon your arrival by Number Eleven.

May the Tsaritsa reign eternal.

Signed,

Director of the Fatui Harbingers

Pretentious and unhelpful as the first time you'd read it. You pocketed the letter with a sigh and collapsed into one of the armchairs scattered in front of the fireplace. Might as well make yourself at home in the place you’d all but been dragged to. The flames flickered and danced, and in your tired state you were utterly mesmerised. The armchair was so very comfortable, too. You ran your fingers absent-mindedly over the arm and decided it was most likely genuine leather, and busied yourself with trying to decide whether the rug was real fur so you wouldn’t fall asleep. With your luck, ‘Number Eleven’ would never show up and you’d be found like this in the morning. The thought was mortifying enough to make you sit bolt upright and discard your glasses to vigorously rub your eyes, before staring intently at the engravings scrawled across the walls.

Bits and pieces you could recognize as Snezhnayan script, and some others seemed to be vague and artful depictions of the Tsaritsa. A corner of your brain toyed with the idea of meeting her as you continued to survey the room. It was highly unlikely, of course, considering you were offered a research position to continue your diploma and nothing more, but the thought remained intriguing nonetheless. More so still when you considered the possibility of meeting her before the famous Traveller and selling whatever information you found to her at a rather outrageous price. You refrained from snorting aloud as the logical side of your brain tore itself away from trying to decide if the silver inlay of the walls was pure or a compound and very firmly reminded you that you had no business entertaining impossibilities.

With a faint grumble, you pulled out your pocket watch and scowled at its ornate and unwelcome face. Twelve minutes past midnight and the damned ‘Number Eleven’ still hadn’t deemed it fit to appear. You glared at the watch. It was a lovely little trinket, one you had horrifyingly spent all your first-year savings on during your time at the Akademiya; Alhaitham and Tighnari had taken great pleasure in pointing out what an irresponsible decision it had been, while Lisa applauded you for, and you quote, ‘finally letting loose a little and actually doing what you want!’ You stared at your reflection in the watch’s pearly face. You couldn’t help but miss Sumeru and your friends already, even though this was hardly the first time you travelled; Liyue had been a similar experience, but it had been so long ago that the sting was barely there. The watch ticked on, and you refocused to find that another two minutes had passed. You snapped it shut with no small measure of irritation before grabbing your bags and making your way to the staircase; if these Fatui were so bloody behind schedule or unorganised enough to have forgotten that a new recruit was meant to arrive then you certainly didn’t intend to wait until they sorted themselves out.

Ugh, I miss the Akademiya. At least no one was behind schedule there.

The blissful exasperation lasted you all the way to the top of the staircase, and then abruptly fizzled out when you found myself facing two diverging corridors. The thick carpeting muffled the sounds of your footsteps, and the walls here were adorned with veins of silver too. Windows with ornate black framework lined the walls, and a faintly glowing flower that looked reminiscent of the jasmines in Sumeru bloomed from the cracks in the stone. Wind buffeted relentlessly against the windows, howling and whistling and fluttering the flowers’ white petals while you stared down the two corridors and debated which one to take. They were lit with a silvery, almost liquid looking row of lanterns that were blatantly disregarding the laws of physics by floating in mid-air. You shot them a contemptuous glance. Magic was no cheap affair, and who knew how the morally questionable inhabitants of the palace were maintaining their pretty little lights? Your eyes paused on an arched doorway to the right. Servants’ quarters, perhaps? Hauling yourbags back over your shoulder (Jean had been right yet again. You were regretting bringing so many books) you stepped towards the door and knocked as quietly as you could. The noise echoed smugly across the stone walls despite your best efforts, and you glowered resentfully at the door. A scuffling sound came from inside, and the door was thrown open with what you considered an unnecessary amount of force; it seemed like they were out to frazzle your nerves, and you jumped as the wood banged against the wall.

A lanky young man who couldn’t have been much older than you stood in the doorway, dressed in what you assumed was normally a very dapper grey suit that had been reduced to a pitiful array of wrinkles and what you hoped was red wine on the cuff rather than blood. After carefully letting your eyes sweep across the Hydro Vision without any reaction, you looked up and met a pair of unsettling blue eyes rimmed with dark circles that could even rival yours or Layla’s. A sleep deprived and possibly homicidal Vision holder. Joy. And now he’s smirking. The hell is he smirking at?

He continued to stare. Oh. They're... lovely.

“Hello,” you said, adopting what Mona called your “disinterested and politely sarcastic business voice.” He had the audacity to smirk even wider and lean against the doorway, as if you were somehow amusing. Resisting the urge to bristle and whack him in the face, you continued. “I arrived here around”- you took out your watch –“Seventeen minutes ago and I’m rather lost. Could you perhaps help me if you’re familiar with the layout of the building?”

He just stood there, arms folded and eyebrows raised slightly, looking overall much too smug for someone who was wearing a stained suit and clearly hadn’t brushed their hair in several days. Their shockingly ginger hair. He was probably called ‘carrot-top’ as a kid, and you bit back your own smirk at the thought. Your non-existent patience rapidly dwindled, and you wished for invulnerability so you could snap at this smug overgrown brat. It wouldn’t do to offend anyone now no matter how tempting the prospect seemed, that was for sure; even the offer of a position here had seemed more like a threat than anything else and you weren't keen on receiving any legitimate ones now that you’d arrived in Fatui territory.

Several uncomfortable moments passed, with the man looking at you like you were an interesting exhibition in a museum and you looking back with what you hoped was a well-restrained expression completely devoid of Archons I’d love to punch you right now.

“Well then. Thank you for your time, sir,” you said, breaking the silence with a dose of sarcasm that definitely left behind the entire concept of politeness and veered dangerously into ‘you seem to be quite the idiot and you refuse to spend a moment longer in your company’ zones. “I recommend a mint extract to sleep off the hangover,” you added drily with a meaningful glance at the crimson stain on his cuff.

His eyebrows (even they were ginger) rose a fraction of an inch higher, and he laughed. Once again, you resisted the urge to scowl, picking up your bags and preparing to leave this foolish drunkard loitering in the corridor.

“Ah, no, don’t leave,” he said between chuckles, pushing himself off the doorway and stepping closer. He even had the gall to take one of your bags, but at least his voice wasn’t slurring.

“I’m ever so glad you’ve finally deemed this situation worthy of verbal exchange,” you said, still firmly in the Fuck you, asshole tone of voice. It seemed to just further his amusement, and he grinned at you as he hoisted your bag over his shoulder.

“Comrade, don’t be upset,” he replied, still grinning as he closed the little door behind him and gestured at you to follow him down the left corridor. A quick run through of the facts confirmed that following this ginger idiot was likely your best option, and you strode after him. “I was just having a little fun, that’s all.”

“Right, at my expense,” you muttered under your breath, lengthening your stride to keep up with him. The flurries of snow outside the windows became white blurs in the corner of your vision. “May you ask who you are, good sir?”

“No need for the fancy titles,” he said in that same infuriatingly easy-going tone. You’d gotten the impression that he took nothing seriously, and it only solidified the longer you walked with him down this corridor.

“Just call me Childe.” He shot you another one of those cheerful grins over his shoulder as he led you through the palace, which still seemed utterly deserted besides the two of you. Realisation hit as you processed his words.

“Oh, I see. You’re the ‘Number Eleven’ I’d been waiting for downstairs.”

“Perceptive of you, comrade.” You noted that he hadn’t bothered to ask for your name. Quite likely he already knew who you were, if the Fatui network was as well-informed as you’d heard. “You must forgive my oversight,” he added with a wink, of all things. “I found myself rather… shall we say entangled in some night time affairs.”

The implication wasn’t lost on you, and you carefully kept your face impassive as he watched intently for a reaction. Ah. A court jester is what this fool is.

“I’m certain you won’t repeat it. You seem like a professional,” you replied drily, following him down a narrow flight of stairs.

“I can’t say I can make any promises,” he shot back, smug and cheerful as a bloody- as a bloody Harbinger. At least the sarcasm wasn’t completely lost on him.

You settled for mentally calling him a spineless sod rather than retorting.

“I trust you’re well aware of the reason for my presence here?” you prodded, slipping on an uneven step and hoping he’d trip over his own feet.

“You wound me with your assumptions,” he replied in a mock hurt tone. “It's almost as if you’ve already decided I’m totally useless.”

You refused to dignify that with a response, instead staring at him pointedly until he relented. “Oh, alright, alright.” He sighed, making a wide, dismissive gesture in the air with his gloved hand. “You’re the new lab rat, right?”

“I am stunned by your eloquence,” you muttered. He chuckled, dashing any hopes you’d had that he wouldn’t hear. “But despite your crude description, I suppose it’s apt enough. I am here to continue my studies, yes.” At this point you couldn’t see the merit in continuing to be polite, not after his blatant admission of sleeping around on the job. You resolved not to take him seriously unless you absolutely had to.

“Archons, do all you scholars talk like that?” He remarked absent-mindedly to himself, pausing in front of what looked to be a long stretch of… wall. “Dottore does it too. It's strange.”

You knew ‘Dottore’ as Number Two of the Harbingers, but more primarily as the infamous Akademiya outcast who’d been exiled for the atrocious malpractice in his experiments. Irony of ironies, that you’d spent four years being warned against going down his path and now you were kicking off your career by working with him.

Childe, amidst your pondering, had begun to methodically trace an assortment of Snezhnayan letters within the silver engraving with his finger. They glowed blue, and a cursory glance at his Vision proved that he was using elemental power. Probably to break a seal of some sort. You watched him intently, discreetly noting the order of the letters down in a notebook. It didn’t pay to be uninformed, after all.

As he lifted his finger off the last letter, the wall slid and neatly tucked itself away to reveal what seemed to be a meeting room. A long table ran along the centre, with towering windows displaying the distant mountain. You spared the view a wistful glance; what with the thick clouds and relentless snow, the stars were blocked out entirely, and though the rolling expanse of glittering white was beautiful you knew you’d miss seeing the constellations through the gaps of the rainforest’s leaves.

The room was empty except for a single one of the velvet-cushioned chairs, where a striking woman clad in a jewelled white gown that looked impossible to pull off in this freezing weather lounged. She barely spared Childe a disinterested look before turning her eyes on you, and you were immediately nervous under the crushing weight of her gaze. One half of her face was obscured by an elaborate black mask, and you couldn’t help but feel thankful for it. Even with only one of her eyes trained on you, it still took an effort not to fidget and pick at your clothes or hair, and maintaining eye contact proved harder still.

What is it with the Fatui and uncomfortable silences? you thought desperately as you fought not to look away, the rushing wind, crackling fire and distant howls of wolves pressing against your ears as the silence and the woman’s gaze persisted with unwavering intensity. Childe watched with unbridled delight, clearly amused by the whole affair. Asshat.

Though the quiet smothered the room, you refused to break it. This was clearly an intimidation tactic, and though you had to admit it was rather effective you were even more reluctant to let it show; being the first to speak would be handing this fascinating, fearsome woman a measure of power you wouldn’t be able to take back. And so you met her stare with as much dignity as you could muster, trying not to appear defiant or rude. Which you discovered was a delicate balance that was ridiculously difficult to maintain.

When she spoke, her voice crawled through the gaps in the blanket of silence and lingered in your ears like clinging smoke.

“So. You’re the new recruit, are you?” She was impressed by your composure, not that she was willing to show it.

She crossed one leg over the other, regarding you with curiosity rather than outright hostility. You bit back a sigh of relief and bowed your head ever so slightly. Respectful, but not timid, you told yourself.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s right. I thank you once again for this opportunity.”

She pursed her lips, withholding an endeared smile. What a stunning shade of red.

“Hm. You see you’ve met Childe, our Number Eleven,” she remarked, adjusting the red and black cloak on her shoulders. “He’s quite the idiot, don’t you think?”

You swallowed. An elegant trick question; if you agreed you’d be disrespecting one of the Harbingers, but if you denied her claim you’d be throwing in your lot with Childe, a course of action you were determined not to take. This woman was clearly more influential than him either way. He watched you with a grin that was growing annoyingly familiar, as though he was privy to some joke happening at your expense, as though everything existed solely for his entertainment. You’d yet to decide whether he was a sadist or just incredibly immature.

“I’d prefer not to impart judgement so hastily, ma’am,” you replied with the barest touch of humour. Make it seem like you’re part of the collective joke. “I had the honour of meeting him barely”- you pulled out yourwatch –“Twenty four minutes ago.”

She rewarded you with a dazzling and thoroughly terrifying smile for your careful answer. As clever as their reputation paints them, she thought.

“I see Pierro’s judgement is still sound even though he’s an old bat by now.” This she directed mostly at Childe, and they shared a private chuckle over the matter.

Pierro… their superior, no doubt.

“Welcome, dear,” she said to you, getting up from the chair. Even that action she carried out with flawless elegance, moving towards you as though the air itself could never have the audacity to pose any resistance to her. She stopped barely half a foot away from you, close enough for you to discern the remarkable craftsmanship of her mask, black glass and lace swirling in elaborate patterns and settling over her face like a second skin. She grabbed your chin in her hands, and you felt yourself flush at the scrutiny as she tilted your face towards the faint light of one of the floating lanterns. No doubt she saw your wavering composure, if the smile on her face was any indication.

“I am La Signora, Eighth of the Harbingers.”

Ah, no wonder she’s so self-assured and elegant.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”

Her smile widened slightly.

“You’re very meek, dear. It doesn’t pay to be so docile in this line of work, you know.”

You flushed a deeper shade of red. Both Childe and Signora latched onto the change in your demeanour, discreetly revelling in your adorable flustered expression. It was a calculated statement, crafted to make you question yourself and second-guess your attitude. The Eighth Harbinger was clearly a puppeteer, pulling strings and jerking limbs with her seemingly harmless words, and it irked you to think that this striking, frightening woman would try to make you dance for her. You could feel Childe’s gaze boring into the side of your face as well as La Signora’s, and the retort on the tip of your tongue escaped before you could stop yourself.

“Does that mean we’re on a first name basis?”

Childe laughed, and you glimpsed him folding his long limbs into one of the chairs by the fire to watch the situation unfold. La Signora herself raised a perfect eyebrow and let her hand drop from your chin, surveying you thoughtfully. You were seized by the bizarre urge to cover up even though you were fully clothed.

“Ah,” she said softly. “You have quite the tongue on you after all, little one. Perhaps you shouldn’t bite it so often, hm? I’d hate to see your teeth be stained with blood.” Your poise certainly impressed them both, but your cutting wit was simply delightful.

Oh, she’s good, you thought.

You offered her a smile tinged with irony. “Of course, ma’am.”

Seeming to grow bored of swatting at your nerves with her perfectly manicured claws, she turned to Childe.

“Show the young recruit to their quarters, Eleventh. Without dallying,” she added with a meaningful glance between you. You would’ve been indignant at her insinuation if you weren't in a daze from her piercing questions and barbed remarks. She swept past you, trailing her cloak behind her, perfume lingering even as she disappeared from the room. Dark and smoky.

You breathed a sigh of relief as her footsteps faded, and Childe turned his attention back to you from where he was sprawled in the chair. It must be a bother, having such long limbs that need to be arranged like that just to fit in a normal chair.

“You’re part of the family proper, now,” he told you cheerfully, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Mama Signora put you through the wringer and you survived. Really, congratulations are in order, Trixy.”

Your eyebrows furrowed.

“That isn’t my name,” you pointed out, taking off your glasses to rub your eyes. Exhaustion from the journey and the Harbingers was starting to rapidly set in, and you longed for a bed. And for Lisa and Dehya and Sucrose and Mona with a bottle of wine so you could complain about the situation to them.

“Well, you’re one of us now,” he replied, rising from the chair in a single, fluid motion that was oddly alien. “You need a code name!”

Archons alive, is he trying to get me to argue with him? Probably.

“Before we address your entitlement for thinking you can choose a name for me, code or otherwise, let’s discuss the fact that I’m not a Harbinger, shall we?” You leaned your back against the wall, replacing your glasses so you could shoot him a pointed look. He just grinned smugly in return, his eyes crinkling with the secret little joke he had with himself. You really were so sharp, he thought. Like the edge of a blade he longed to wield.

“Says who?” He countered, winking. You raised your eyebrows, unimpressed at his attempt to throw you off.

“Show me to the quarters, would you?”

“Look at you, bossing me around even though you’re ‘not a Harbinger’! Don’t forget, Trixy, even if you do become one you’ll still outrank you by a mile.”

“I'm quite certain you could usurp you with relative ease,” you countered, enjoying the back and forth despite yourself. “You’re only Number Eleven, after all. And don’t call me that. It sounds like a juvenile nickname.”

He chuckled, making his way back to the door. Or the sliding wall, you suppose.

“I thought it was pretty fitting. You definitely have more tricks up your sleeve than you let on, charming Signora like that.”

You frowned, contemplating the exchange you’d had with her as you followed him out, dragging your bag while he carried the other.

“I hardly think that qualified as charming even by the most dubious of standards.”

He turned back to face and grabbed your bag, hoisting it over his shoulder with an ease that left you apprehensive. Clearly he had the raw physical strength to boast of. He continued up the stairs, seemingly unencumbered by your atrocious luggage and you took two steps at a time to keep up with him and his unfairly long legs.

“Ah, you just don’t know her well enough to judge. Trust me, she was pretty impressed.”

“I’m afraid you lost my attention the moment you told me to trust you.”

“Come on, Trixy!” He shot the grin you were coming to think of as his trademark, wide and boisterous and faintly insincere, but good-natured nonetheless. “You can’t hate me forever, you know. You’re gonna be here for a while, and you’ll find yourself liking me eventually.”

“Ah, yes. Stockholm Syndrome,” you deadpanned, hurrying up the last flight of stairs and onto an unfamiliar landing, nearly bumping into his back. He just laughed and walked onwards down the long corridor.He’d win you over, eventually. He led you past rows and rows of identical doors, each one numbered in silver and outlined with what you presumed to be protective spells and then stopped in front of number twenty five.

A good, solid number, you thought to yourself with an air of satisfaction, stepping into the room after him. He dumped your bags unceremoniously onto the rug in front of the fireplace (you prayed the protection charm Xiao had given you would prevent your glassware from shattering) and with one final smirk and a sing-song “Nighty night, Trixy” Childe tossed you the key to the room and disappeared.

The room – your room – radiated comfort. From the blankets piled onto the bed to the glowing jasmines flowering along the cracks of the window to the buttery leather armchair by the fireplace, the whole place was lovely. Too lovely, in fact, for a mere recruit, and suspicion reared its head. The room had been Childe’s, unbeknownst to you. and he sneakily made you its new tenant. You checked beneath the rug and the wonderful, sturdy desk by the window, and poked along the top edges of the bookcase and shook out the blankets, but nothing seemed out of order. Which only served to further your suspicion, though you didn’t have any clue what could be hidden. A bomb? Ridiculous, the Fatui wouldn’t risk damaging their headquarters to eliminate someone with no power. A kamera? impossible to hide unless it’s on the walls or ceiling. You decided you didn’t care very much. The likelihood of assassination was incredibly low, you reasoned as you stripped off your coat and settled into the bed, wrapping the blankets tightly around yourself to stave off the cold.

You estimate that you fell asleep less than two minutes later.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚** ੈ✩‧₊˚*

135 notes · View notes

collegetennisoriginstory · 2 months

Note

So, I was romancing Sam on every playthrough but decided to branch out finally, and now I have a tier list; ‼️Potential spoilers‼️

Tobin: By far my favorite RO. I typically don't like the archetype of "brooding ro and their charming ro counterpart" It just doesn't interest me as someone who has seen a lot of het romances employ this trope. But giving Tobin the chance they deserve and finding that I like how they respond to my MC's own flirtatious nature and then discovering how they feel about my MC being the same gender, just adds an extra layer of interest for me that I appreciated. They're kind, considerate, and very thoughtful of their friends. Very quickly blew the rest of the competition out of the water for me. I think their mindset when it comes to tennis explains why they're not the no.1 Seed despite being the captain of the team, and it honestly surprised me. I think the full weight of their route is explored best when MC is similarly looking to go pro as it parallels Rayyan nicely. Their kidness is the space they give you is born from experience and the fear of doing to MC what was done to them and I just eat that stuff up. Also it is very rare to have a black RO who is treated with any level of depth, and I just 🥹love that we Tobin.

Rayyan: In a surprise twist, Rayyan gets the second spot for similar reasons as Tobin. I think the enemies to friends to lovers(partners) arc that is presented in their story is intriguing. Like Sam, they have a level of history with the MC that makes them familiar when heading into the new space, so I made it a habit to stay near them when at all possible. Rayyan isn't particularly cold, or as cold as ppl might assume, I think they have a very good balance of being a sort of quiet and reserved person that still manages to be personable. I feel that playing like I do, my MC might've come off as flippant to them, which only adds to the anxiety that they feel going into this season. Their struggle of being visually Arab in a world and country that sees non whiteness as punishable is very felt. It's really special to me that the two most prominent ROs are dark skinned people of color. Sorry for being biased, but even when I wasn’t actively romancing them, they got major points for that.

Sam: My baby gets the third spot and I think that's fair. What i adored about Sam is the pining of a friends to lovers story. I never make the first move with Sam, despite playing very flirty, bc I see my MC with not having to put up a front with Sam. So the things they do or say that signify to others that my MC is looking for something physical aren't used with Sam; they believe MCs closeness with them is strictly platonic while my MC believes that Sam has been lightly rejecting this whole time. Just something about those missed connections get to me. (Also, the varcity jackets!? So cute) Now, Sam loses points due to being away at another university for a majority of the story thys far. Which made me wonder if placing them in a new environment with MC might change things for them. Everything IS different now; so, who is to say that their relationship hasn't run its course? Juicy, but due to lack of presence, I'll keep them at 3rd.

G: They're French. Automatically, a point is taken off. They're also very sexy as a woman (my MC is a they/them lesbian) so I felt that, to remain true to character, I would have to ignore that and see what G has going on. Ngl, they do sort of play out like a romance novel character in the most obvious way so far 😭 no hate though. I just couldn't not think about "Oh, you sexy French student." Whenever they said anything. Smoldering looks from across the room at a crowded college party, like okay 400 days of summer <3. I think they're rather perfect for players who are looking for some steam outside of the locker room. They have the same issue as Sam, as in, they're not present in the locker room. They're not our teammate, so we don't really get the same level of relationship building with them as u would a Rayyan or Tobin. And I don't think that's a bad thing necessarily. I feel that speaks to the amount of work put in to make the team feel real and not just thrown together characters. Once I started to romance my teammates, I found it hard to flirt with anyone else, as I felt that they just didn't understand my MC on the same level.

Felix: ngl, they'd have to get security to get me off them, I have this burning rage in my heart whenever they show up. "🤼‍♂️ This is for Tobin, Cakepop‼️" I am sure there is indeed depth to them as a character, I am sure it hurts to hear someone say "I can not love you the way you want me to." And we are only human, we don't always behave the way we want to. But Felix makes my nipple itch they just remind me of men who just hold this anger for their exes unreasonably. I think there is an interesting parallel to be found in a Tobin route MC and Felix. I just don't have the language to put it together bc I will never romance them and I don't think I ever will, personally just can't bring myself to do so. They are what I felt Rayyan would be, and I'm fine with meeting them with hostility.

All in all, I'm glad I branched out to see what the other ROs were like it's definitely a testament to ur hard work and is greatly appreciated. I will continue to be messy and kiss Tobin, Rayyan, and Sam because I am toxic aim to be a learning experience, not a lover 🫶🏽

Oh my god~ It was so interesting to see your gradual evolution / journey through pursuing the different ROs.

I think it's really interesting in particular to see how Tobin's character is sort of 'hidden' beneath multiple layers, and you have to really work at unpeeling those layers, and it's really rewarding as a writer to see that route 'give' readers so much unexpected joy.

And, of course — I have a soft spot for stoic / unexpressive, overly-competitive, serious characters who are secretly just a giant sap. For Rayyan in particular, I think their drive to excel at tennis is counter-balanced against their loyalty, their ride-or-die-ness with the people they love. I love the extra bit of psychoanalysis that you did regarding Rayyan's anxiety about MC not taking tennis seriously, which is fine on its own, but really becomes an issue if they're partnered.

Sam having less 'screen-time' than the others is totally fair, and I think (or hope) will be made up for by the sheer amount of history they share.

As for the whole "French sexy" stereotype, I actually do think this is a crucial part of G's arc. The idea that perhaps they both see each other as 'archetypes' at the start (the jock-fling during one's exchange year, the sexy french exchange student), and then as they start understanding each other as real people, and then as they start (possibly) falling in love with each other (with all the eccentricities, all the imperfections), the relationship takes on more depth and dimension.

Finally, thank you so much for taking the time to explore all these different routes, and I'm so glad that doing so was rewarding for you :) I absolutely loved reading this message, so thank you also for sharing! It's always so fun listening to how different MCs, or different MC choices, and just different readers in general — have different takes on the ROs!

#college tennis: origin story #if #ct:os #interactive fiction #asks #rayyan #sam #tobin #g

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amywritesthings · 4 months

Text

gingerbread sweet. / a reiner holiday ficlet

pairing: reiner braun x f!reader ( attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin ) word count: 1.1k summary: It's the Titan frat's annual gingerbread house competition. Your boyfriend, Reiner Braun, is determined to win. You, however, are determined to distract.

tags: modern au - university, holiday fluff, gingerbread houses, all the marleyans are in a frat bc i said so, devoted boyfriend!reiner, light sexual tension credit: dividers by @saradika

welcome to the eleventh day of the twelve days of amymas !!

“Does the door look crooked to you?”

"The what?"

"The door. Look at it."

There’s nothing more amusing than watching your hulk of a boyfriend crouch over a tiny gingerbread house.

Reiner Braun squints as he presses a gumdrop to the front — circular windows make it modern, or so he claims — then pauses.

Distracted by a very minor detail, you can already feel his anxiety running his brain a mile a minute: a lopsided door may deduct a few points from Marcel's arbitrary points system from this very arbitrary holiday competition.

Because he's absolutely fucking determined to win.

Granted, the bragging rights are his, but the grand prize will not be — Reiner, of course, rarely rides this hard for something he wants.

No, he’s too willing to put everyone else's wants and needs above his own.

So the grand prize of the Titan fraternity annual gingerbread house competition is going to go to you, hell or high water.

He’s going to win you that goddamn spa day gift card that Marcel has been dangling as a sweet little incentive no matter how long it takes him to mold this gingerbread house into his image.

"I think it looks straight."

The tip of his pink tongue pokes out a little from his pressed lips as he leans in closer. "...I trust your eye more than mine."

The blonde sits up to fish for the green icing piping bag. He's gentle with the way he eases the icing along the edges of the tiny confectionary door.

(An icing wreath, like this couldn't be anymore adorable.)

“Reiner?” you coo.

“Yeah, babe.”

Flat. He’s in the zone.

“You know you don’t have to slave over this thing, right?”

You scoot your chair closer to his, dropping your temple to his large tricep.

“I can buy my own spa day card.”

“False,” he corrects. “I’ll buy you the spa day card myself, but if I gotta cheat Porco out of winning for the third year in a row. Pieck’s gone at least five times on our dime.”

"When were the other two times?" you ask, not correlating the math.

"Well, our freshman year," Reiner begins, using the green icing to make little bushes at the foundation of the house, "we did a Valentine's day relay race that ended up with Bert in urgent care with a broken nose. Then, the one-and-only pool party chicken fight tournament — Pieck and Porco fought dirty."

"Is that why it was the one and only?"

"Yeah. Bert got another bloody nose, but that time from Annie going a little too hard."

He snorts.

"We had to save him from becoming the next Owen Wilson, so — no more chicken tournaments."

Titan frat is… well, excessively competitive, you've learned in your year or so of dating Reiner.

(Blame Porco and the new pledge, Eren Yeager, for only exasperating in this year with the month-long holiday challenges.)

You shrug a shoulder. “I could help.”

“And mess up your pretty nails?” Reiner shakes his head, glancing briefly through his peripheral vision. He smirks. “Ain’t no way.”

Right.

Reiner’s also very giving, during this season — in more ways than one.

First it was the fully-paid-for manicure yesterday.

Then it was the reservation for a Christmas Eve dinner to your favorite spot in the inner city.

Now he’s trying to win Marcel's approval in this ridiculous decorating contest in your name, and you feel… well, loved.

(There's no disputing that you've won the boyfriend lottery.)

Which, of course, means you have only one thing you can do in this situation.

He’s too wound up.

Distracted.

So you reach down to the pile of icing supplies strewn about, picking the small red accented tube.

You swipe some on the tip of your finger, mindful not to get it under your nails.

Reiner doesn’t even see it happening.

He’s too busy playing fixer-upper on the front side of the house, his too-big hands delicately toying with the too-small decorations he’s pasting on the cookie.

You wait a few seconds, letting him place the door where he wishes, before swiping the icing over the side of his neck.

Reiner tenses, turning to see what the hell just hit his neck, but he’s too late—

You’re already leaning in, sliding the tip of your tongue along his skin.

The man gasps, dropping his own piping bag to the supply assortment below.

“What are you—”

“Decorating,” you murmur nonsensically, grinning from ear to ear as his attention disappears completely from the gingerbread house to you.

“The guys are in the other room,” he rasps, eyes wide.

The pledges, he means — banished to the enclosed patio as they work on their own poorly-designed houses.

Through the last year while dating Reiner, you’ve learned very quickly how sensitive he is.

Sometimes all it takes is a look to get him hard.

Your ego has never recovered, and it’s not deflating now.

Except his eyes soften and a gentle chuckle exits his throat when his golden eyes search your face.

“Wait, you got—”

“What?”

His hand gently cradles your jaw.

“Hold still, baby.”

His thumb raises to swipe at your nose, where his smile only grows.

You stay still, obedient to his command, unable to stop looking at him.

God, he’s gorgeous.

He’s so fucking gor—

Something touches your lips, and you belatedly realize Reiner’s taken it upon himself to push the red icing along the seam of your lips, parting them easily.

You can taste the sugary sweetness on the tip of your tongue.

“Shit, sorry." When your brows knit in confusion, Reiner explains himself. "Seems like I missed a spot.”

Oh.

His pupils dilate as his gaze drops to your lips, as if he’s ready to devour your whole.

Your entire body turns into flames.

“Just one spot?” you murmur, and a wicked smirk crawls to his mouth.

That same thumb drops to glide the remaining icing over your chin.

“I fear it's a couple of spots, but don't worry. I'll get you cleaned up.” He tilts his chin. “I take care of my girl, remember?”

(As if you could ever forget.)

His words get your blood pumping. Pledges and wandering eyes be damned.

“What about the gingerbread house?” you murmur, entranced by the way he continues absently swiping icing over your jaw, chin, and cheeks.

(Marking a trail his lips will devour.)

“We can bring the icing upstairs,” Reiner suggests with an innocent shrug. You know it’s anything but. “I’ll finish that damn house eventually, but I have something sweeter to tend to.”

Before you can say another word, the blonde stands from his chair and gently takes your hand into his.

You easily stand with him, unable to stop giggling as he tugs you eagerly upstairs.

He’s determined to win, yes, but to him —

He’s already won.

He has you, after all.

#reiner braun x reader #reiner braun x you #reiner x reader #reiner fluff #reiner x you #attack on titan fanfiction #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #snk x reader #snk x you #aot x you #reiner braun fic #reiner braun fanfic #holiday fanfic #holiday one shot #twelve days of amymas

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