#cairo x gn reader

[woewriting]

impure

pairing: cairo sweet | reader summary: even the most honest, kind-hearted can be corrupted by evil — especially if it has brown eyes, freckles and a breathtaking smile. word count: 1180 warnings: mdni, +18 only! implied sex, very brief smut at the end, blasphemy (?), nonlinear narrative. every line in italic is a quote by frederick nietzsche. 

this one is for you, @wesstars | masterlist

As Nietzsche once said: “if you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.” 

That's how it felt to stare into your eyes for Cairo — she could see all your demons, fighting the urge to escape from the depths of your mind and release their chaos into the unknown world. It was fascinating, daring even, to unveil each creature that gazed back at her when your eyes met for a hot second in the middle of the crowded classroom. And when you quoted the first sentence of said quote, with dark eyes craved on hers, a grin drew on her lips.

“He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.” Your voice was low, matching the sound of your high heels stomping on the wooden tiles, following a pace that, somehow, was synchronized with the beat of your heart. 

Everything about you seemed well-placed, from the glasses that always slipped to the tip of your nose, forcing you to push the dark frame up every five minutes, to the white blouse that never carried a single wrinkle in the soft fabric; Cairo wanted to run her hands up and down your biceps when you brushed slightly against her as you returned to the front of the class. Even the chalk writing on the board behind you was perfect, rounded, and easy to understand. 

Hell! It didn't even look like you had troubles in your life, almost as if you were friends with all the demons screaming inside your head. 

There was only one that threatened to take over your muscles and move your body by itself, making you walk to the young writer that always sat at the first row, paying attention to every single movement of your body with curious eyes, staring at the window of your soul. The alluring brownish of her long hair created a delicate aura around her as the noon sun cracked through the big windows.

She was angelical, with freckles sprinkled all over her skin like the stars painted by Van Gogh, a dimple that came followed by an astounding smile. Yet, she was the devil. Forcing you to sin as you dropped to your knees to adore her; it was forceful, corrupt, making you ache as your mouth ran up and down her tasty body, thirsty, desperate. 

Cairo Sweet felt like heaven, but had a soul that was grabbed from hell and thrown into the body of a girl that craved the world, to be known, to take everything she could from everyone she touched. 

And you weren't different. At first, her greediness was subtle, well hidden under the facade of a lovely girl. You thought she was a “teacher's pet” — as your professor told you in one of his “preparation class” before you replaced him for the month as a graduation test, but the young writer was more than that, she was eager to please you, be it with her aggressive writing or with fingers deep inside you. 

Sometimes it felt like she was the test, and you would only succeed if you survive the storm that was Cairo Sweet.

When you fell on her bed for the first time, it felt like Lucifer descending from heaven, and Cairo was your personal hell. She smoldered against your fingertips, with gray smoke leaving her mouth at every word of euphoria, sliding her tongue against your lips with a carnal desire that consumed her more and more at every sob that left your mouth. 

The second time was excruciating. It melted your skin in a way that made you feel like it was written on your forehead all of your dirtiest sins, with the same perfection of your calligraphy and in every language so that all eyes on you were because of that. 

Cairo was charming, with her knowledge and way with words, leaving you in awe every time she asked your opinion or answered one of your questions, effortlessly expressing her vision of the world — there's not a single poet, writer, or philosopher that's not been read by her brilliant mind. 

Her favorite at the moment was Friedrich Nietzsche. For her, his view of the world was admiring, appalling. It's like he knew about the demons everyone constantly fought against, burying them deeper inside our core to prevent them from leashing them out in the open. 

Little did you know, it was because of you. Because of the way your eyes lit up at the mention of his name. 

While Cairo was a demon with an angel-like face, you were the opposite; with your dark clothes fitting perfectly on your curves and rough voice that always dropped one octave when you whispered her name like a prayer every morning for the past month. When you smiled, she could see the gentleness dripping like water from you, the patient you had with the students had her dumbstruck, looking at you with her chin resting on her hands, the cloth of her blouse itching her skin when you leaned forward to help a stupid classmate that only wanted to smell your perfume, leaning closer to your body as you calmly explained the most obvious subject, and that stupid smile on your face made it even harder for her to not clench her jaw over and over until you returned to your desk to finish today's reading. 

When you fell the third time, it left a stain that wouldn't disappear from the cotton sheets — the white wings of a fallen angel, burned in black soot, fully corrupted and taken. This time it was brutal, lewd, and enticing with a small portion of a euphoric hunger. She savored you on her tongue with a devilishly smile tugging the corner of her lips, crawling up your body like the scarabs that loved Cairo, following her like a deity. 

“Is man one of God’s blunders, or is God one of man’s blunders?” She asked, pressing her lips on your neck while her warm hands found your chest. 

“I cannot believe in a God who wants to be praised all the time.” Your answer came in between a catch of breath, eyes closed and head thrown back against the soft pillow, nails digging deeper into her back, bruising the skin with long, red lines that stung.

“If I was a God, would you praise me?” 

“I would adore you with every ruthlessly beautiful word known by mankind.” 

With your hands firm on her waist, you pushed her to the side, fitting yourself in between her legs. Taking a deep breath turned your eyes darker than they already were; what a bewitching view it was to have you worshiping her, with lips glistening and a firm hand on her lower abdomen as you traced the stretch marks on her inner thighs with the tip of your tongue before running it up and down her slit, trying to keep her body from smearing the soot of your wings as a remain of the innocence the devil stole from you in the most graceful way possible.

[wesstars]

crush

cairo sweet x fem!reader (no pronouns used)

summary: when cairo goes home, what comes to mind are thoughts of you. wc: 2.3k tags: explicit, minors DNI!! all characters 18+. university au. masturbation, smoking, non-linear narrative. reader is cairo’s teaching assistant, reader described as masc presenting. a/n: let me know what y’all think :) for the vibes

masterlist

“Is Professor Miller not coming?” Winnie had just dropped into her unassigned assigned seat next to Cairo, two minutes before Greco-Roman Literary Theory started. The flipping of pages punctuated the chatter of other students waiting, a comfortable sound.

“He said he’d be gone today,” Cairo replied absently. “There’s a ‘guest lecturer,’ our teaching assistant.”

“Oh, right. Who’s that?”

Cairo shrugged. “Who knows.” 

As if on cue, the door swung open. Cairo didn’t even look up—Miller mentioned that he kept a handful of research assistants that would be there to help with the advanced reading. But honestly, Cairo wasn’t sure what they could tell her that she didn’t already know. A melodic hum fell through the air for just a moment, a chorus. 

“Good morning.” At your lilting voice, rough with the edge of 10am, Cairo started. She watched you set your messenger bag on the desk. Your white shirt pulled over your shoulders; there was a glint at your collar, a necklace peeking through. A thin watch adorned your wrist. Winnie, along with some of the class, echoed your greeting, and Cairo blinked.

Late spring afternoon draped across the furniture in Cairo’s room, the quickly waning light giving easy way to a blue hour. Dropping her bag at the door, she tore off her shirt and skirt with the confidence of one standing before a crowd. Running a hand up from her sternum to her neck, she stretched languidly, sinking down onto her bed. After so many uneventful days—when she applied to Yale, she didn’t think that there would be any uneventful days—she finally had a story to turn over in her mind. 

You. You were a mystery. Even as you had started the class with an introduction, telling Cairo you’d graduated from a middle-of-nowhere college in California and sought a writing career in Vermont before delving into research, she longed to lay out the details and pull them out from under the rug. Where did you learn to teach? Did you like to drive, or be driven? Mountains, or the sea? Where did you grow up? Was there coffee or tea in your cupboard? Cairo’s stomach burned to know. Her dark eyes burned the ceiling with smoke signals, searching for you even though you were god knows where in that seaside state.

Arching her back, Cairo let her hand travel down, palm flat against her stomach, to trace the seam of her upper thigh. As the class had progressed, your keenly observant nature did not elude Cairo. Maybe listening was something that your pedagogy instilled in you, but the way you held each student’s question in the cant of your head, an answer in your crinkling eyes, listening seemed to be in your nature. It was meticulous, the way you picked apart the class text, weaving in references and tying it all in. In that two hour lecture, Cairo learned that you watched the same way you listened. 

Balmy as it was, the humidity made her dark waves cling to her skin, and she shivered as she brushed them back, thinking of a different pair of slim hands. Your scrutiny of each student had an intention that she couldn’t quite place; a determination that thrilled her. Cairo imagined that you’d observe her the same way, that she would be the one you were most fond of. It was only natural that her own attention would draw yours onto her. Holding the weight of your envisioned gaze made Cairo’s core twist, a pleased little flush that she prayed you could see. Your affected impartiality didn’t bother Cairo—in fact, it pulled her into your shadow. In her bed, she rolled onto her stomach then her knees, shaking her hair out. 

Her hands were steady as she reached for her bedside table, thumb rolling on the wheel of her zippo as she held the cigarette to her lips. Cairo took a drag, blowing out neat smoke rings as she settled back on her heels. The skin of her own fingers was cool against her lips, and when she took the smoke away, she studied the pattern of her lipstick on the white paper as she had so many times before.

She’d watched, unabashedly and unafraid of being caught, as you drummed your fingers on the chalk tray. Would your fingertip be soft or work hardened if it pressed down her tongue? Would your skin carry the stain of her red lip as deeply, as obediently, as the malleable wrapping paper?

“Alright, class,” you cleared your throat, turning slowly around the room to make eye contact with each student. “As you know, Jonathan’s away on a conference today. I’ll start with a bit of roll, just so I can learn your names. Not many of you come to my office hours, I know.” You smiled easily. It was so guileless, Cairo mused, nearly childlike. You had the class go around the rooms with names and majors, a circuit that Cairo gave no attention to other than your lilting rhythm of hums, the tapping of your foot on the floor, the way you flicked the corner of the role sheet with your thumb. Your gaze was soon on hers, waiting expectantly. She looked right back with a blink.

“Cairo Sweet. English major.”

“Cairo.” Her name rolled off your innocent little grin, making her cock her head. “Wonderful.” Fascinating. Would you whisper midnight black desires in her ear, so deep and dark they might be murmured into the ink of your own empty room?

You continued, circling back to the front and easily transitioning to the lesson plan. You had an awfully effortless way of grasping the class’ attention, holding gently and never forcing. It wasn’t like Professor Miller, who always seemed to hasten through the lecture so he could return to his research. She could tell you liked the woods of the text, to fall down into the depths of each word, feeling its weight in you and letting it rock. Just like Cairo. 

She sighed into the warm air prickling up her skin, the curl of your voice around her name making her nipples harden in her bralette, even in retrospect. Exhaling around her cigarette, Cairo brought her hands up to palm her breasts, feeling the drag of her rubied nubs on her palms. Was it the high of the nicotine, the blur of smoke ridden air that made her float straight up into the lofty space you’d created in her mind? Though the feel of her own fingers scraping the lace against her skin was familiar, she found herself keen to think of your soft or callused hands. She was wet already, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten wet so fast.

The weight she imagined of your touch on her flushed skin was completely, deliciously foreign. Unbidden but intimately welcome, Cairo wished that your caress would find the map of her chest as familiar as a classic, something you had searched a million times over yet always managed to find something new. Shamelessly, Cairo trailed her fingers down her stomach, nails catching on every rib as she arched her back in the spilled moonlight. The mystery in the crossing of your long legs as you’d leaned back on the desk climbed up her belly, curling in the thump, thump, thump, of her heart. The uneven roll of your sleeves clung to the corners of her eyes, eidetic and oh, so, tempting. She had watched you so ardently—did you like to watch? Would you watch? 

The space between her thighs was achingly empty, craving the set of your narrow hips. She was comfortable there, and she remembered the taut stretch of wool as you dropped into your chair and set one ankle over your knee. There was something endearing about the way your trousers had pulled up to reveal slouchy black socks, and darker her mind went as the material pulling creases around your lap made her shudder and—she reached behind to pull one of her fluffy pillows under her, smoke billowing into the air. 

Cairo gave her hips an experimental roll, imagining it was the soft fabric of your slacks against her aching cunt, and grinned around her cigarette. Unlike the pillow, you would be ever so solid under her, grabbing for her thighs like a dog yearns to please. Were you more likely to bruise her skin, yanking her into you without care for blood—or would you guide her gently, make a home in her innocence and hold her more dearly than life ever could? Either way, your desire for Cairo would be so apparent that you couldn’t help yourself.

The dip of your tongue in her navel, the little smirk you’d undoubtedly wear as you went down further—would you go for her throbbing clit first, or would your lips press so warm—she didn’t know. She didn’t have to, content with all those different versions of you unfurling before her. In her bedroom, each time she moved her hips, it became easier to imagine you guiding her actions, the bump of your nose on her folds, damned if not addicting.

Cairo grinned as she fell onto her forearms, hips pushing into the soft pillow without abandon. The slide of her panties soaked with slick against her sensitive clit felt like the delicate press of your splayed hand on her desk as you’d passed, eyes occupied by the text you were holding. It had only been a split second, but it was enough for her to memorize every crease, every vein. Cairo let out a whine, a demanding little sound, as her movements grew erratic. Looking up into the heaven where you must be, she imagined that you’d murmur to her, “I’m here, I’m here, how could I be anywhere else but here?” as you traced the dip in her back. Her arousal took her down every sullied path she’d ever dreamed of, but her mind stuck on one gesture that made her mouth go dry. 

She remembered the way your shirt got just a bit untucked when you stretched during the class break. You’d instinctively tucked it back in, quick as you surveyed the class. Cairo thought that you’d dress yourself back up the same way after you bent her over the desk after class, pushing her skirt up and shoving your fingers into her, painting bruises onto her hip bones with how tight you held her.

The two of you would share a mutual understanding that she wanted this, wanted it bad enough for you to take it whenever you saw fit. Cairo decided that today, this time, you’d be as rough as you pleased, a cup of pens clattering to the ground as you pushed her down, forearm across her shoulder blades. Your necklace would be cold on her warm skin, would it be cold on her tongue? You’d put two, three fingers inside, humming in that absentminded way you did. She thought you’d nuzzle into her ear, all lips and sharp teeth, asking if she’d sprayed your favorite hair mist of hers because she hoped you’d notice—she did—and take her, break her, whatever you wanted. 

You’d send her plummeting down towards a deeper hell (or was it higher, up to your majestic heaven?), already knowing everything that her body needed. Cairo imagined herself coming so helplessly around the stretch of your fingers, so high strung from nights of trying to mimic the press of your touch on her clit, unable to reach the same heights you sent her to. As she held back tears, eyes on the ceiling in reverence, feeling herself drip to the floor, you’d sigh as your mind wandered to other things already, carelessly running a hand down her back. 

Cairo gasped, dropping her nearly finished cigarette in favor of gripping the bed sheets. The white fabric wrinkled around her fingers, reminiscent of your shirt creasing as you’d rolled your sleeves up. This was something new you could show her, just how fast she could come and just how wet it made her. It was a marvel, feeling the fabric cling to her cunt, almost as good as how you’d feel. Resting her forehead in the crook of her elbow, she murmured your name over and over again, a little susurrus of a litany, so similar to your preoccupied hum. Panting, Cairo giggled in her bliss, soft and bright as Californian oranges clinging to rich leaves. You were dark enough to be tucked into the wrinkles in the soft pillow, dark enough for Cairo to love, as a journal loves a secret.

Sated, Cairo grabbed her phone and typed your name in. The results spilled out, and she scrolled, looking for all of the details in the background of your social media posts, curiously drunk on the year’s gap in your CV. Cairo noticed the perfect little circle where the cigarette had burned when she dropped it, and she brushed away the remnants. The gesture smeared the ash on the sheets.

—

Walking into your office with barely a knock, Cairo took in the familiar room of an academic, but with your unfamiliar knick knacks around the place. A lighter, a leather wallet, glasses and wired headphones. You didn’t look surprised as you glanced up from your laptop. Instead, you smiled. 

“Cairo, isn’t it?” 

A flush of pleasure shot straight into her—you remembered. She nodded. Your shelves were covered in books and stacks of reviews, the morning’s leftover cup of coffee sitting on one of the ledges. Did you smoke before, or after your coffee? The terrible, terrible want to replace the taste of smoke on your tongue with the taste of her gave Cairo just the confidence she needed. 

“What can I do for you?”

Cairo leaned over your desk, watching the way your eyes dropped to her burgundy lipstick. “Would you be able to help me on the Aristophanes reading?” She pushed her copy of The Clouds towards you. “I can’t seem to grasp it.” Your eyes met hers. “Of course.”

--

a/n cont'd: can you read my mind, i’ve been watching you… there’s just something about you, baby… ♪ / hope you enjoyed @woewriting :)

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

masterlist

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 22] || [Chapter 23]

Rating: E Pairing: Ghost x Price || Price x Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 500~ cw: angst, selfish john price, thinking of someone else while fucking (mental cheating? idk) Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: this is angsty. this is NOT gonna please some of you. john is a selfish man.

Chapter 22.5: Cardiff, London, Cairo, Cabo, Tel Aviv.

John doesn’t know how it happened.

One moment he’s leaving, the next he’s on top of you on the bed.

You’re whining needily as he slowly rolls his hips against yours like it’s the first time.

You’re lying on your back, your legs are spread on either side of him, your ass propped up on his thighs as he kneels on the mattress.

“You’re so beautiful on your back like this, fuckin’ ‘ell…” John murmurs as he pulls you up to him, one hand snug around the small of your back, the other around your shoulders.

Your chest presses tight against him while your feet struggle to find a perch on the slippery edge of the mattress, your arms wrapped tight around his shoulder, hoping your weight doesn’t make him lose balance.

His lower arm rocks you back and forth on his cock, drawing more mewls of pleasure from your lips before he captures your mouth in his, your tongues blurring together.

For a moment he’s not in Hereford, in your flat.

For a moment, there’s a piercing poking his tongue, and another set of them rubbing against his lower belly, threatening to catch on his happy trail of hair.

For a moment he’s in Simon’s apartment in Cardiff.

For a moment he’s on a rainy rooftop in London, doing a stakeout on an armed militia leader.

For a moment he’s in Cairo, in a sandy warehouse, dead bodies around them, after stopping an arms deal.

For a moment he’s in Cabo, South Africa, sneaking back into a sex trafficking cell safehouse after it had been emptied, under the guise of ‘checking it over one last time’.

For a moment he’s in Tel Aviv, having prevented a missile launch that almost cost both their lives.

Cardiff, London, Cairo, Cabo, or Tel Aviv…

He’s always fucked Simon like this. His pants just barely undone, Simon perched up on his lap, rocking back and forth on his cock, his moans being quieted by a tongue down his throat.

The only difference is that they’re usually huddled together in a corner of a room, so that no one spots it…

And not in the middle of a bed, in a comfortable, cosy, homey flat, where the only thing keeping you from serving as a counterbalance and landing you both on the mattress again is John’s sheer strength.

Tossing you down onto the mattress again, he breaks the kiss and rubs his open mouth across your cheek, down your jawline, and onto your neck. “So good f’r me.” He whispers in your ear.

You’re not Simon…

But you definitely make Simon happy.

He saw it in his eyes.

You make Simon happy in a way John never quite could.

And he makes you happy too…

John knows he’s not exactly a selfless man. He’s quite selfish, in fact.

But you’ve just extended him an opportunity to join you in making Simon happy.

And he’s bloody taking it.

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

taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!):

@daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark

@severenswife , @enarien, @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket

[ortegahaze]

love at first fight

pairing: Cairo Sweet x gn!reader

synopsis: you meet Cairo in a dive bar, and sparks fly at first sight. Over time, the two of you share an intense connection, but her fear of getting too close leads to a fight that pushes you both to the edge. When she storms out, you chase after her, realizing just how deeply you need her.

warnings: brief mentions of alcohol, fluff, angst, fear of abandonment, family issues. i think that’s it.

a/n: i watched miller’s girl, and my spotify shuffled into LANY’s love at first fight, so that’s what you’ll get! bear with me on my first attempt at writing something!

word count: 5,1k

—

You push open the creaky door to a crowded dive bar on the Lower East Side, the warm, sticky air washing over you as you step inside. It’s one of those dim, unassuming places where the music is just a bit too loud, and the lights are almost nonexistent—perfect for people looking to get lost, even if only for a night.

Navigating through bodies and laughter, you head to the bar, scanning the room for the friends who insisted you needed a night out. You finally spot them, greet everyone, and order a drink, feeling the thump of the bass in your chest as you settle into the rhythm of the place.

After a few rounds, as conversations start to blur, you feel the need for some fresh air—and maybe a trip to the bathroom. You follow a dimly lit hallway and join a small line in front of the restroom. That’s when you see her.

She’s leaning against the wall, eyes fixed on her phone, with a slightly furrowed brow that only adds to her effortless cool. You notice her right away—her dark hair falling just below her shoulders, curtain bangs framing her striking, intense features. You watch as she raises her head, eyes flickering with curiosity before they lock onto yours.

For a moment, everything else fades, and it’s just the two of you, held in place by a magnetic pull neither of you quite understands. She studies you, her lips curving into a faint, intrigued smile. Her gaze is steady, deliberate, like she’s sizing you up, and you can’t help but feel a surge of excitement under her scrutiny.

“You waiting on the bathroom too?” you ask, nodding toward the closed door, trying to initiate some sort of conversation.

She tucks her phone into her pocket, crossing her arms as she leans in a little closer, deciding to gift you with her full attention. “I thought about cutting the line,” she replies, her voice low, with a hint of mischief. “But I’m trying to behave tonight.”

You chuckle, noting the playful gleam in her dark brown eyes. “Is that something you have to work on?” She tilts her head, considering you with a smile that makes your pulse quicken. “Depends on who’s asking. What’s your name?”

“Y/N.” You tell her, feeling strangely nervous, but the nerves melt away as she repeats it softly, as if testing it out. “Nice to meet you. I’m Cairo.”

“Cairo,” you say, letting the name roll off your tongue. “That’s a unique name. I like it.”

She shrugs, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “It’s grown on me. So, what brings you here?”

You laugh at her directness. “Oh, you know, just another Thursday night. Friends dragged me out of the house and into trouble.”

Her smile widens, and she leans in a little closer. “I like that. I don’t usually come to places like this, but I figured I’d give it a shot.”

The bathroom line moves, but you both stay put, caught up in your conversation. There’s a palpable energy between you, sparking with each shared glance and laugh. She’s bold, with a way of looking at you that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room, even though the bar is packed.

Cairo glances around, then turns her attention back to you, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Alright, so tell me something interesting about yourself,” she says, her gaze unwavering.

You think for a moment, trying to come up with something that might catch her attention. “I once accidentally ended up in a closed museum after hours,” you say, grinning. “Security found me taking selfies with the dinosaur exhibit.”

She lets out a laugh, her eyes lighting up. “Okay, that’s a good one. Remind me not to follow you into restricted areas.”

“Noted,” you reply, feeling warmth spread through your chest at the sound of her laughter.

The dark-haired girl steps closer, and you feel the energy between you growing, a spark that neither of you seems interested in ignoring. Talking about everything and nothing, words flow easily, punctuated by shared glances that linger just a little too long. Cairo asks you questions that dig deeper than typical small talk, and you get the sense that she’s genuinely interested in what you have to say.

Someone clears their throat impatiently behind you, reminding you of the line you’ve barely moved through, but Cairo only glances over her shoulder before looking back at you with a shrug. “Guess we’re holding things up,” she says, though she doesn’t make any move to step aside.

“Seems like it,” you say, matching her casual tone. “Not sure I’m ready to leave, though.”

“Good,” she replies, a playful gleam in her eyes. “Then let’s get out of here.”

You follow her out of the hallway and back into the main part of the bar, where the music is even louder and the lights even dimmer. She slips her hand into yours, leading you to the small dance floor near the center of the room.

The moment feels surreal, like something out of a dream, but you let yourself get lost in it, letting the music pulse around you as you move together, the crowd pressing in on all sides. You’re not sure how long you stay like that, moving in sync, bodies close and breaths mingling.

Cairo’s hands find their way to your shoulders, pulling you closer, and when she leans in, her lips brush against yours in a kiss that sends a jolt of electricity through you. It’s intense, overwhelming, and you feel yourself melting into her touch, the world around you fading until it’s just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.

After a while, you both break apart, breathless and grinning. She leads you to a quieter corner, where you spend the rest of the night talking, laughing, and stealing kisses. The hours slip by, and before you know it, the bar is starting to close up, your friends nowhere in sight.

As the night winds down, you walk with her outside to wait for her roommate, the cool air a welcome change from the heat of the bar. She turns to you, that familiar spark in her eyes, and you can’t help but smile, already wondering when you’ll see her again.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. “Give me your phone.”

You chuckle, pulling out your phone and handing it to her unlocked. “Better late than never.”

She takes it, typing her number in with a quick, practiced ease, then hands it back to you. “Don’t disappear on me,” she says, a playful smirk on her lips. “I’m not done yet.”

Watching her close the distance with a quick peck on your lips, her arms resting on your neck, nails grazing the back of it. “Send me a text, and maybe we’ll continue this somewhere quieter.” She detaches herself from you, glancing back once with a smile that makes your heart race as she heads to her roommate’s car.

You look down at your phone, where her number is saved under the name “Cai.” You’re smiling as you head home, already looking forward to whatever comes next.

—

The days turn into weeks, and before you know it, you and Cairo have fallen into a rhythm that feels almost effortless. You find yourself thinking about her constantly—her quick wit, her sharp observations, and the way she makes even the most mundane moments feel alive with possibility.

It doesn’t take long for Cairo to start spending more time at your place. Her books are scattered around the apartment, and some of her clothes now occupy a corner of your dresser. One morning, you notice her toothbrush beside yours on the sink—a small, almost trivial thing, but it feels monumental, a sign that the two of you are sharing something real. Most mornings, you make coffee together, often in a rush as you both scramble to make it to class on time. You’re studying music education at NYU, and Cairo, as you quickly discover, is majoring in English Literature at Columbia.

You’re fascinated by her mind, by the way she sees the world and how she captures those feelings with words. Sometimes, she reads her writings to you, her voice soft and steady, and you find yourself captivated, hanging on every word. There’s a vulnerability in her poems, a rawness that she doesn’t always show in everyday moments, and it makes you feel like you’re glimpsing pieces of her that few others get to see.

One evening, you’re lying on your bed, a book in her hands as she rests her head on your chest, the two of you wrapped up in a comfortable silence. She’s engrossed in a collection of poems by Sylvia Plath, and you watch her as she reads, the way her brow furrows slightly whenever she comes across a line that resonates with her. After a moment, she catches you staring and raises an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

“Caught you staring,” she teases, nudging you gently with her elbow.

You chuckle, reaching over to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “Can you blame me? You’re kind of fascinating.”

She smirks, setting the book down and propping herself up on her elbow. “You’re just saying that because you don’t understand most of these.”

“Oh, is that so?” you reply, raising an eyebrow. “For the record, I appreciate literature. I just happen to be more of a music person.”

She grins, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Alright, Music Person, what’s the last good book you actually read?”

You hesitate, trying to come up with an answer, but she doesn’t wait. Instead, she grabs a notebook from her bag, flipping it open to a page covered in her neat, slanted handwriting.

“Here, let me educate you,” she says, settling back down beside you as she begins to read some of her notes. Her voice is soft, but there’s a power in her words, an energy that draws you in. She speaks with a passion that makes you feel as if you’re experiencing the books through her eyes, sharing in the emotions that each story brings to life.

When she finishes, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “You’re incredible,” you say, barely above a whisper. “I could listen to you read all day.”

A faint blush rises to her cheeks, and she ducks her head, smiling. “Yeah, well, it’s just words,” she mumbles, closing the notebook and tucking it back into her bag. But you can see the pleased expression in her eyes, and it makes you want to know her even more.

On another night, the two of you find yourselves walking along the riverfront, the cool night air wrapping around you as you talk about your lives, your dreams, the things that keep you up at night. You tell her about your goal of becoming a music teacher, how you’ve always felt that music could be a way to connect with others, to make a difference. She listens intently, her gaze never leaving yours, and you feel a warmth spreading through your chest, grateful to have someone who truly cares about your passions.

“Why music education?” she asks, genuine curiosity in her voice. “You could do anything with your talent. Why teaching?”

You smile, looking out at the shimmering river as you gather your thoughts. “Because I want to give others what music gave me—a place to feel understood, to feel like they belong. I guess I just want to share that feeling with someone else.”

She nods, her expression thoughtful. “I get that. Writing’s like that for me. I can put all these thoughts and feelings down on paper and make sense of them, even when everything else feels like a mess. It’s like finding pieces of myself in the words, you know?”

“Yeah...” Feeling a rush of affection for her. She’s so open, so unguarded in moments like this, and you feel grateful to witness it. For all her confidence and sharp edges, Cairo has a tenderness about her that draws you in, a depth that makes you want to know everything about her.

There are still times, though, when you can sense her pulling back, as if she’s afraid of letting herself get too close. You see it in the way she’ll suddenly grow quiet when you talk about your childhood, her gaze turning distant. You realize that for all her brilliance, Cairo is used to keeping people at arm’s length, holding them just far enough away to keep herself safe.

Her self-sabotaging habits linger, small tells that make it clear that trust doesn’t come easily for her.

One evening, as you lie together on your bed, she turns to you, a serious expression on her face. “So, what happens when we graduate? What if this… I mean, we’re both on different paths. What if you end up teaching in another city, and I’m still here?”

You take her hand, gently tracing circles on the back of it. “We’ll figure it out when we get there. But right now, I’m here with you. I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to.”

She nods, but you can see the uncertainty in her eyes, a flicker of doubt she can’t quite hide. You understand; she’s had people come and go, and part of her probably believes that you will eventually, too. But you’re determined to prove her wrong, to show her that not everyone leaves. For the first time, you feel like you’ve found someone worth holding onto, and you’re not about to let her slip away.

In those moments when she lets you in, you see the side of her that’s kind, vulnerable, and deeply passionate. It’s a side that not everyone gets to see, and it only makes you fall for her harder.

The weeks pass, filled with nights spent talking, laughing, and sharing dreams and insecurities, building a connection that feels stronger with each passing day. Cairo challenges you, inspires you, and makes you feel alive in ways you hadn’t known before. And despite the little cracks, the insecurities, and the fears, you both hold onto something rare, something worth fighting for.

As you lie together, her head resting on your shoulder, you realize this is what you’ve been searching for—a connection that goes beyond words, a feeling that’s as exhilarating as it is terrifying. You’re falling for her, and deep down, you know you’re in it for the long haul, ready to face whatever comes next, as long as she’s by your side.

—

It’s been a couple of months since you and Cairo started officially dating, and things are going well. You’ve fallen into a comfortable rhythm together, and you find yourself feeling more at ease around her than you ever have with anyone else. Then, one night, you get a text from your parents—they’re in town for a couple of days and want to meet up for dinner.

Excited, you bring it up with Cairo, hoping she’ll join you. “So… my parents are in town. And they want to meet you,” you say, flashing her a warm smile as you lean over the counter where she’s flipping through one of her books.

Her reaction is almost immediate. She tenses, her fingers pausing on the page, and her gaze grows distant. “Oh,” she says, not meeting your eyes. “They want to meet me?”

“Yeah,” you reply, noting her sudden change in demeanor. “I mean, it’s just dinner. I figured it’d be nice for you to meet them. They’re great—they’d love you.”

She frowns slightly, closing her book with a sigh. “I don’t know. Meeting parents is… kind of a big deal. It just… feels a little too… serious.”

You reach over, gently taking her hand. “Hey, it’s just dinner. We don’t have to stay long, and you don’t have to do or say anything special. I just want you to meet the people who mean a lot to me.”

She hesitates, looking torn, and you can sense her reluctance. You know—or at least assume—that she has a complicated relationship with her own family, since she never shares anything about them, but you hope that she’ll agree, if only to understand a little more about your life. Finally, she lets out a breath and gives a small nod. “Alright. I’ll go.”

The dinner starts off smoothly enough. Your parents are warm and welcoming, clearly eager to get to know the special girl who’s making you happy. They ask her questions about her studies at Columbia, about her dream to become an author, and at first, she responds politely, if a bit reserved. But as the conversation shifts to family, you notice Cairo’s demeanor start to change.

“So, Cairo,” your mom says, smiling kindly. “Do you see your family often? Are they from around here?”

Cairo’s shoulders tense, and she forces a smile. “Not really,” she replies, a slight edge to her tone. “They’re pretty much always traveling. I grew up mostly on my own.”

Your parents exchange a quick glance, and your dad offers a sympathetic smile. “That must’ve been hard. You’re very independent, then.”

“Guess I had no other choice,” Cairo replies, and the words hang heavily in the air. She quickly takes a sip of her water, avoiding further eye contact.

Sensing the tension, you try to shift the conversation, hoping to steer things back into safer territory. But the rest of the dinner feels strained, and you can tell Cairo’s growing increasingly uncomfortable. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you wrap things up, saying your goodbyes to your parents and walking Cairo back to your apartment.

Heading back to your apartment, you can feel the tension building, a heavy silence settling between you that only seems to grow with each passing block. She has been silent since you left the restaurant, and as you step inside, she slips off her coat and heads straight to the window, arms crossed, her body tense as she stares out at the city, the light from the street lamps casting shadows across her face.

You close the door, taking a deep breath as you try to gather your thoughts.

“Cai,” you say softly, “babe, what’s going on? You’ve barely said a word since dinner.”

She doesn’t turn around. Instead, she lets out a bitter laugh, her shoulders stiffening. “Your parents were just… so perfect,” she says, her voice tight. “The way they talked about family, about you. It’s like this little fairytale that I can’t be a part of.”

Her words catch you off guard, and you step closer, trying to understand. “They weren’t trying to make you feel that way. They were just… they were just being themselves. They were trying to get to know you.”

Cairo spins around, her eyes blazing, the moonlight filtering through the window and casting shadows across her face. “But don’t you get it?” she snaps. “I didn’t have that. I didn’t grow up with parents who actually cared. Mine were never around, always off in some other part of the world, leaving me to figure things out on my own. I had empty rooms and empty promises. That’s my reality.”

You reach out, hoping to bridge the distance between you, but she steps back, her fists clenched at her sides. “Cairo, I know you’ve been through a lot. But I’m here now. I want to share my life with you—everything. I want you to feel like you’re not alone anymore.”

She shakes her head, her gaze fierce and defiant. “That’s just it, though. You’re so desperate to bring me into this perfect world of yours. But that’s not who I am, and it’s not who I’ll ever be. I’m not some puzzle piece you can just fit into your life. I don’t want to be fixed.”

“I don’t want to fix you!” you say, your voice rising in frustration. “I just want to be with you, to understand you. I want to know the real you, Cairo, all of you. But you keep pushing me away, like you’re afraid of letting me in.”

She scoffs, a flash of anger in her eyes, and you can see her jaw clench, her expression hardening as she glares at you. “Afraid? You don’t know the first thing about fear. You’ve never had to look at everyone around you and wonder how long they’re going to stick around. People leave, okay? They always do. And I’d rather end it now than wait around for you to realize I’m not worth it.”

Her words sting, and you feel a surge of desperation, a need to reach her, to break through the wall she’s built around herself. “Why are you so determined to sabotage this? To ruin something that could be good?”

She laughs, a sharp, bitter sound, her eyes filled with a mix of pain and anger. “Because that’s what I know. This is how I survive, alright? By keeping people at a distance. It’s better to feel nothing than to risk everything and end up with nothing.”

Your chest tightens, and you feel the anger bubbling up inside you, the frustration spilling over as you step closer, looking her in the eyes. “You think I’m going to leave, don’t you? You think I’m just like everyone else, ready to walk away the second things get hard. But that’s not who I am, Cairo. I’m here because I want to be, because I care about you. But you’re making it impossible when you keep shutting me out.”

The brunette clenches her jaw, her eyes blazing with an intensity that takes your breath away, and for a moment, the only sound between you is the faint hum of the city beyond the window.

The moonlight catches in her gaze, and you see the fire there, a fierce, untamed energy that both draws you in and scares you. She’s like a storm, unpredictable and powerful, and you’re caught in its path. She turns away, her shoulders heaving as she takes a shaky breath.

“This… this isn’t going to work,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m not what you need, and I can’t be what you want me to be.”

You reach out, desperation filling your voice as you try to stop her. “Cairo, don’t say that. I don’t need you to be anything other than yourself. I just need you here, with me.”

Practically interrupting you, she gives her back to you and heads for the door. She turns, looking at you one last time, and for a brief moment, you see a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. But then she shakes her head, her expression hardening once more. “I can’t do this,” she says, her voice trembling as she opens the door and storms out into the night, without even getting her coat.

The door closes behind her, leaving you standing there, alone, the silence pressing in around you like a weight. You feel the hollow ache in your chest, the pain of words left unsaid, and you sink down onto the couch, replaying the fight in your mind. You remember the way the moonlight caught in her eyes, the fire in her gaze as she looked at you, and you feel a surge of regret, a desperate need to chase after her, to tell her that you’re not giving up that easily.

You grab your coat—and hers and head out. Sprinting down the stairs, feeling each step rattle beneath you as you grip the railing, your breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. You’d hit the elevator button a dozen times, but it never came, leaving you with no choice but to take the stairs, every floor dragging you further into a spiral of regret and desperation.

As you descend, something inside you crystallizes—a single, undeniable truth that settles deep in your chest. Cairo has put up walls, pushed you away, tried to convince herself and you that she isn’t meant for this—but you know better. You know her and you’re not ready to let her go. Not now, not ever.

And it hits you all at once. You don’t care if the train to her dormitory isn’t running. You’ll keep running until you catch her.

It’s been two months and twenty-five days since that night at the bar, since you’d both shared a knowing smile that set off sparks. You’ve shared so many moments together since then—small, precious details that mean more than you could have imagined. And it’s in this moment, barreling down the last flight of stairs, that you realize you’ve never fought for anyone like this before. You’ve never felt so sure about anyone before.

You hit the last step and burst through the door, the cold air hitting you like a shock as you scan the street, your heart pounding. You spot her down the block, her arms wrapped tightly around her, shoulders hunched as if she’s trying to disappear into the shadows. You take off running, your voice breaking through the silence of the night as you approached.

“Cairo!”

She stops, and for a moment, you’re both suspended there, the world around you quiet and still. She doesn’t turn, but you can tell from the way she holds herself, the slight tremor in her shoulders, that she’s struggling. You catch up to her, breathless, reaching out to gently touch her arm, handing her the coat. She pulls away, just slightly, but getting the piece of clothing and wearing it, still standing close enough to let you know that she’s listening.

“Please,” you say, voice barely more than a whisper. “Don’t go. Not like this.”

She doesn’t respond right away, and you can see her clenching her jaw, the moonlight casting shadows across her face, illuminating the fierce, guarded expression in her eyes. “Why did you follow me?” she asks, her tone filled with a mix of anger and something else—something raw and wounded.

You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. “Because I can’t just let you walk away. I can’t pretend that this fight didn’t happen, and I can’t pretend that I don’t care. Cairo, I’ve never fought with anyone like this before. And maybe that’s because I’ve never wanted anyone like this before.”

Her eyes flicker, and you can see the conflict warring within her, the tension in her shoulders as she struggles to hold herself together. “You don’t understand,” she says, her voice trembling. “I’m not… I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to be the person you want me to be.”

“I’m not asking you to be anyone but yourself,” you reply, stepping closer. “I don’t need perfection. I need you—the real you. The one who’s scared and fierce and so damn beautiful that I can’t think straight when I’m around you.”

She looks down, her fingers twisting together as she takes a shaky breath. “I’ve never let anyone this close,” she whispers. “I don’t know how to let someone stay.”

“You never really know someone until you see the other side of them,” you say softly, the realization settling deep inside you. “I didn’t know you were the one until tonight, until we almost lost this. But now I know, and I’m not letting you go.”

Her gaze finally lifts, meeting yours, and you see the tears shining in her eyes, the vulnerability she’s so carefully hidden beneath the anger and sarcasm. Slowly, she reaches out, her fingers brushing against yours as if she’s afraid that you might disappear.

“I’m afraid,” she admits, her voice breaking. “Afraid that if I let you in, you’ll see all the things I’ve tried to bury, and you’ll decide I’m not worth the effort.”

You take her hand, holding it tightly, grounding her in the moment. “Cairo, I’ve already seen them. And I’m still here, aren’t I? I’m not going anywhere.” She lets out a shaky breath, a tear slipping down her cheek as she looks up at you, her expression softening, the fire in her eyes replaced by something warmer, something hopeful.

“I don’t know if I can promise that I won’t push you away again,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. “But I… I want to try. I want this. I want you.”

A surge of relief washes over you, and without thinking, you pull her into your arms, holding her close as she wraps her arms around your waist, clinging to you as if you’re the only thing keeping her grounded. You can feel her heart racing against yours, the warmth of her breath against your neck, and for the first time, you feel a sense of peace, a quiet certainty that you’re both exactly where you’re meant to be.

As you pull back, you look into her eyes, a smile tugging at your lips as you finally let the words spill out. “I love you, Cairo Sweet. I don’t need things to be perfect. I just need you, with all your flaws and fire. Because you’re the only one I want, and I’m ready to fight for this, as long as it takes.”

She stares at you, her eyes wide, and then she lets out a breath, a small, almost incredulous smile breaking through her tears. “I love you too,” she whispers, her voice filled with a quiet, unguarded honesty that makes your heart swell. “Even if I’m still a little scared… I love you.”

You pull her close again, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, and for a moment, the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped up in each other. You can feel the weight of the past slipping away, replaced by a warmth that fills every corner of your heart, a quiet promise of all the things yet to come.

Finally, you step back, still holding her hand as you start walking together, side by side. It’s been two months and twenty-five days, but you know without a doubt that her toothbrush is here to stay, and so is she. You both share a quiet smile, knowing that while the road ahead won’t be easy, it’s one you’re ready to face together.

And as you walk into the night, you feel a sense of contentment settle over you, a certainty that some things are worth fighting for, worth running after.

Because love isn’t always about perfect moments—it’s about the fights, the struggles, and the quiet, steady resolve to hold on, even when it’s hard.

[spidermanstealyohoe]

we are the people || c.s.

“i know everything about you, you know everything about me”

__________

parings: cairo sweet x gn reader

summary: after everything happened with mr. miller, you and cairo just weren’t the same anymore

warnings: language, angst

words: 1.0k+

__________

__________

you’ve been aware cairo had an interest in mr.miller for some reason, you didn’t know why since he was like the least most attractive teacher in the school along with boris. one day, she asked you come to her mansion only to find her balling her eyes out looking extremely frustrated. you assumed it was something between her and mr.miller, little did you know she’d been secretly planing to seek revenge for him failing her.

ever since that day, she’s been different, no longer delicately spoken and collected, no longer the same cairo you knew since you were kids, she’s kind of two-faced now matter a fact.

you now were standing in her room as cairo stands up on her bed, reading her testimony that would be spoken in-front of the entire school. after she finishes, she looks up you with shaky breath. "...so, how was it?" cairo asks you with a very simple tone as you knew whatever you said, it wouldn’t matter. all this because of a rejection?

“why are you doing this?” is all you could muster up as she scoffed and came down from her bed, looking at you with a cold expression.

"why am i doing this? why wouldn't i?" she walks closer to you, looking at you like a wolf over prey. her gaze is dead like a predators as she glares down at you, "because he deserves it, that's why,"

“for what? for rejecting you?” you scoffed out softly, looking at her with a look full of disbelief and anger for what she’s doing.

cairo scoffs herself, her lips twisting into a snarl. “he didn't just reject me...he threatened to fail me," she retorted. "and it would've been my first bad grade, i’ll lose my perfect track record if I fail, you know how important my grades are."

now you’re looking at her like she’s lost her mind, “are you fucking crazy? maybe if you didn’t write that creepy story about you two this wouldn’t have happened!” you exclaimed.

yeah, cairo had told you everything since the beginning, how she wrote this smutty story about her and mr.miller inspired by cairos favorite author henry miller. the idea was sick and just beyond inappropriate. she takes in your expression, your disbelief in her actions, it only makes her more bitter.

"maybe if mr.miller wasn't such a creep this wouldn't have happened either," she replied, her voice venomous, you rolled your eyes at her words. you knew half of what she was saying was true, mr.miller should’ve stopped it a long time ago but cairo was the one who started all of this.

“well maybe if you hadn’t started throwing yourself at him, this wouldn’t have happened.” you said coolly and not thinking at the moment. cairo's eyes widen as you say that, anger flashes across her face and a look of disbelief.

"what did you just say?" she snapped, her voice rising in volume. she was on the brink of losing here and your comment definitely didn't help, especially since the truth stung so badly.

“you fucking heard me.” you lowered your tone as you two glared at each other.

"you really think i came on to him? you really think i’m that desperate?" cairo shakes her head in denial, but a hint of uncertainty flashes in her eyes. the truth was eating away at her but she refused to give in.

“i know you were desperate to get fucked.”

cairo's cheeks turn a slight red color and she's caught off guard by your bluntness. she opens her mouth to speak but can't find the words, her anger growing hotter. you were getting under her skin.

"i wasn't desperate...i just...wanted his attention," she admitted finally, her voice betraying the true depth of her feelings.

“what happened to you?” you asked bluntly and out of the random. cairo furrows her brow in confusion, thrown off by your sudden question.

"what do you mean 'what happened to me?'" she asks, her voice still tinged with irritation. she moves closer to you, her eyes searching your face for answers.

“i mean you’ve changed, you’re not the same person i used to know.” you said softly as you two were now inches apart.

cairo's heart sinks at your words, hearing the truth in them. she averted her gaze, not wanting to face the reality of what she had become.

"i...i’m still the same person," she mutters, her voice tinged with regret. but you both knew it was a lie. she was caught up in her anger and revenge, and the cairo you used to know seemed so far away now.

“are you?” you asked, your voice raising as your eyebrows knitted together. cairo's shoulders slump as she stares at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and hurt.

"what do you want me to say?," she asks through gritted teeth. you knew your question had hit a nerve.

"yes, i've changed! is that what you want to hear? that i’m not the girl you knew anymore?"

“all because of a teacher that didn’t wanna fuck you?!” you scoffed as her expression went from anger to hurt.

“you know what? get the fuck out!” she pushes you back making you stumble back slightly, “i don’t ever want to see you again!” she yelled as her eyes filled with tears threatening to fall.

“guess that makes two of us…” you mumbled as you slowly backed up from her and started walking back towards the door, “goodbye cairo, enjoy your stupid revenge.”

and with that you slammed the door not looking back, cairo stood there feet planted on the ground as her tears that were threatening to fall finally fell. she wanted to desperately go after you but she knew you would just ignore her.

the only time you saw her was in the halls, she had her gaze to the floor and her books to her chest as she made her way to class. you two did bother to make eye contact at all. part do you wanted to talk to her but you didn’t, instead you walked past her like strangers with memories.

[cobaltperun]

hi ! can you please write an angsty fic with a happy ending with gn!reader x tara or cairo your choice where t or c breaks up with r and r becomes a fuckgirl and t or c gets jealous. there could be some sort of conversation along the lines of r saying “how i chose to get over you is none of your business” and t or c responding “don’t” totally okay if you don’t want to or are not comfortable !! <3

(Don't) Let Go

Cairo Sweet x Female Reader (Request)

Masterlist

A/N: I usually keep this for the end, but two things, Anon added a correction, from GN! to Female Reader, so just pointing that out to clear potential confusion. Second, this depicts some unhealthy coping mechanisms, so I just want to say, do not follow R's example. Also, Anon, hope this is what you wanted 😁😁

Word count: 1.8k

She watched you from afar, her eyes narrowed, hand gripping the glass of wine so hard she was surprised it didn’t shatter and a frown that told her company not to interact with her unless necessary. You were drunk, dancing with a girl you were flirting with, your hands were on her hips, and her back was pressed against you as the two of you laughed. Tonight’s distraction. It didn’t escape her attention that this girl was a blonde, tall, green eyes, with plenty of make-up, though she could see she was still fairly pretty. Last night you went to the apartment of some red-head the night before that, some other girl with a tattoo who dyed her long wavy hair some ridiculous shade of orange to look like some anime character. The point was, each night you chose a girl that was the exact opposite of her and while Cairo wasn’t jealous, she hated seeing you like this.

Did she have the right to complain though? She broke up with you, she ruined yet another relationship. She ruined everything she touched.

It’s been a few years since she ruined her friendship with Winnie, since she thought she found her love in Miller and was disappointed and in a way betrayed. And she could never trust again, but you somehow broke through her shell, offering company she didn’t even realize she was craving.

It wasn’t like she was following you, or keeping tabs on where you were, or who you were sleeping with, it just so happened that the group she just finished a big college assignment with wanted to celebrate so they made her go with them. And the other two she knew about? Rumors, mainly, though she did catch sight of you with the girl, who lived a block away from Cairo, last night.

What were you doing? You weren’t ruining your life, entirely at the very least, you still managed to keep up with the classes, but you were drunk for most of the day, and if you weren’t drunk, you were hungover. Why did you break up again?

Oh, yeah, because she wasn’t ready to fully commit to the relationship, afraid of getting burnt again, and chose the worst possible option. She just ended it all, over a text, no conversation, no explanation, she just sent the message and blocked you everywhere. She couldn’t ask for forgiveness, though she greatly regretted what she did. She couldn’t watch you take that girl to your apartment, or go to her apartment, though.

So, she said goodbye to the group she came to the bar with and made her way toward you through the crowd of drunk partying people wasting away their free time. “Y/N,” she called out to you over the loud music and she watched as you staggered back, your eyes gaining some clarity as you recognized her.

“Cairo,” you slurred, your hand falling from the blonde’s hips.

“Come with me,” she didn’t wait for you to respond, she didn’t wait for the surprised, and a bit to drunk to understand what was going on, blonde to catch up with what was going on either. She just grabbed your hand and pulled you along. And you let her drag you to the counter and pay for your and hers bill and dragged you outside to look for a cab.

“What are you doing? I was having fun in there,” you leaned against the lamppost, barely standing and not even looking as the bright lights probably made your head hurt.

“By ruining your liver?” Cairo snarked, much more annoyed than she hoped she would be. This wasn’t her business, even if she stopped you tonight what was she supposed to do? Babysit you until you got your shit together? She didn’t have time for that.

A voice in the back of her head told her she was probably the one who pushed you toward this behavior. Her consciousness, perhaps?

“None of your damn business,” you glared at her and she hated seeing that look in your eyes directed at her.

“Right, get in,” she dragged you along as the cab pulled up and she gave the driver her address.

It took her a while, but she managed to get you to her apartment and to the sofa in her living room. She took your shoes off and pretty much pushed you to lie down before she went to get a blanket. When she came back you were already asleep, and she wondered how you managed to actually fuck any of those girls when you were this drunk?

She wasn’t jealous. She just wondered.

She made her decision, she broke up with you.

She still found herself thinking about you every now and then, because truly, you didn’t deserve it. You treated her right, better than anyone before you, that was for sure, you didn’t quite share her interests, but you were more than willing to listen, to grow by experiencing them with her. She could count on you if she wanted a thought-provoking debate, or a passionate night. She could talk for hours with you, or be perfectly comfortable in complete silence.

And she ended it.

And she thought it didn’t matter to her, but as she watched you sleeping there all the times you spent together came back and she… she wanted to fix things, to get a second chance, to make it work this time. And if anyone asked, no, a tear didn’t fall from her eye as you mumbled her name.

~X~

You woke up with a pounding headache, expecting to see a blonde next to you on the bed. Instead you were hit with the smell of spring field, the scent Cairo used when washing her clothes and everything else. You blinked at that and groaned, burying your face in the pillow. The books surrounded you, on the shelf, on the coffee table, everywhere and you only knew one person that had this kind of apartment…

“Damn it,” you cursed, tempted to just walk out and pretend this didn’t happen.

“Damn it, indeed,” and so much for that plan, you turned to the side, toward her bedroom doors and saw her, just as beautiful, enchanting even, as she was the last time you saw her. Before she went and broke up with you over a text and blocked you on everything. And then promptly refused to even acknowledge you existed despite your attempts to at least talk to her to make sure you didn’t hurt her somehow.

“Cairo,” you sighed, sitting up slowly to avoid making the headache even worse.

“Y/N,” she nodded, walking over to the kitchen and bringing you a glass of water and aspirin.

You just watched her, frankly curious and suspicious at the same time. What was her deal? Breaking up with you like that and now acting like this. So, once you downed the aspirin and water, you turned your attention, or as much of it as your headache allowed to Cairo. “What are you doing?”

She sat down in the armchair to your left and you were reminded of all the times you’d spend here, working on some assignment, together, or separately, not really caring as long as you were together. “Babysitting you, sine you clearly can’t help but get drunk and fuck any girl that doesn’t look like me,” she sounded like she had the guts to actually accuse you of doing that, and sure, it was true, and you would be the first to admit it wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism but…

“How I choose to get over you is none of your business,” you bit out, feeling the anger and frustration from the month that passed since she broke up with you reaching a boiling point.

“Don’t,” she suddenly said.

And you stopped, flabbergasted by her response. “Don’t what?”

“Get over me,” she dared to say, and you laughed, looking away from her in utter disbelief.

‘Don’t get over her’ that was what she said? After all this time that was what she was telling you? That she sort of regretted breaking up with you.

“Are you for real right now? You sent me a text, blocked me and then acted like I didn’t exist!” you raised your voice, angry at her.

“I know,” she nodded, not even looking for an excuse.

You snorted. “You know? No, that’s amazing, you are unbelievable, you know? You really expect me to run into your arms? After everything?” you demanded.

Cairo shook her head, but you saw her biting her lower lip. “Y/N, I made a mistake, I apologize. I shouldn’t have hurt you like that,” the cracks in her unbreakable mask appeared, and she closed her eyes, missing the surprise on your face. “I was afraid of getting hurt again.”

So, she hurt you instead, before you could hurt her. She told you, on one long night, what happened to her, with Miller and her best friend, and as much as she hurt you, you somewhat understood her fear. “Do you have any idea how many times I got slapped or just kicked out because I called a girl your name? No matter how different they looked? You’re all I can fucking see,” you still loved her, because as much as she hurt you the time you spent together was some of the best time of your life, you thought she was the one. “How can I trust you not to do this again?”

Cairo looked at you, surprised, tears filling her eyes though she tried to hold them back. “I can’t blame you if you choose not to trust me again, I probably wouldn’t be able to trust you if our positions were switched,” she confessed.

You reluctantly opened your arm and gestured for her to come closer, and though surprised she did. She sat down next to you and hugged you, her hands wrapping around you tightly as you hugged her back. It still felt right. This. Being in each other’s arms.

“I need a bit of time, I need to take it slow if you want to give this, us, another chance,” you said, knowing that you couldn’t keep destroying yourself over this, and that maybe, much like her actions poisoned your life, they could be the antidote you needed.

Cairo nodded. “As much time as you need, I’ll be right here waiting,” she promised, the conviction in her voice made you believe that maybe, just maybe, reconsidering this relationship wouldn’t be the worst outcome you could imagine.

[cinnbar-bun]

Good Fortune

Pairing: Dio Brando x GN!Reader

Summary: Dio is told he is lucky, often. He can't see how, considering how awful his life has been. But after meeting you, the child of George Joestar's old business partner and Jonathan's friend, perhaps his luck has turned for the better.

Even if he refuses to engage with such notions.

Rating: SFW but it's painful

Word Count: ~4.5k

AO3 Link: Here

Notes: Childhood-friends-to-lovers, Phantom Blood!Dio, babes this just angst, talks of death and dying, death, religious discussion, religious imagery, Dio unfortunately falling in love, Reader is MENA! but it's easy to ignore, foreshadowing for parts 3 and 6 (no spoilers though), yes I made this to be self indulgent because I wanted to torture Dio because omg what if he went to Cairo specifically because his partner mentioned it?

Dio stares in front of the full-length mirror in his room, adjusting his suit and tie. George explained he was having an old friend over tonight for supper, making a brief comment about how said friend was also bringing his child over. Dio noticed Jonathan’s eyes widen and the smile adorning his face- obviously, they were acquainted from before he ever arrived to the mansion. 

He could only sneer as he thought of how obnoxious this ‘friend’ could possibly be. He couldn’t just antagonize them or Jonathan like he normally did, not when George would be around and watching. The thought of having to sit all night with that buffoon and a friend of his made him want to gag. 

Alas, one must do what they have to do to obtain wealth and power. If he wanted the Joestar fortune, he had to play the game correctly. Assuring he was in good standing with George and this guest would only serve him well in the future. 

And who knows, Dio chuckles to himself, maybe this ‘friend’ of Jonathan’s would slowly grow to hate the boy as well. He brushes his blond hair back, fixing it up properly. A loose strand makes him use his hand to push it back, and he smirks as he sees the three little birthmarks on his ear. He fixes his cufflinks and proceeds to walk out of the room, annoyed at having to put on airs, yet interested to see what will become of this dinner. 

The minute he steps down the stairs, there is a knock at the door. Dio curiously looks from the staircase at the large front doors that George himself approaches. The first thing Dio can make out is a large man, around the same age as George- perhaps a few years older if the few strands of gray hair are anything to go off of. Before he can take a closer look, Jonathan races down the stairs, accidentally brushing shoulders with Dio. 

“You damn-,” Dio snarls, but quickly shuts his mouth in case of anyone nearby. Jonathan didn’t seem to notice, instead jumping off the last few steps and running towards the guests. Jonathan yells out a name Dio doesn’t recognize, but the energetic boy is quickly put in his place with George’s hand on his shoulder.

“Jonathan! That is not how we greet our guests!” George scolds his son. Jonathan’s shoulder slink apologetically, like a beaten down puppy. 

Dio despises that look more than anything. He makes an expression of disgust before he hears some chuckling. 

“Oh, it’s alright, George, let the boy be! He’s young!” A jovial voice exclaims, and George sighs. 

“I’m aware, my friend. I just can’t help but worry about what kind of man he will grow up to be,” George muses, tugging on Jonathan’s ears. Dio’s ears pick up that despite the negative words, George isn’t angry at Jonathan. Jonathan himself isn’t too offended either. 

Hmph. Disgusting. 

Dio figures that he’s seen enough and makes his appearance in front of the guests. The man is clearly foreign and has some semitic features that Dio hardly has ever seen in Britain. He’s finely dressed, wearing a fancy English suit and plenty of gold accessories. Dio finds himself fascinated by the many rings on the man’s fingers. 

“My, my, and who could this be?” The man questions, a friendly smile on his face. Dio is frankly grossed out by the overly familiar tone the man takes, but bites his tongue back. 

“This is my adopted son, Dio Brando,” George proudly states. The man extends his hand to Dio and shakes it with a firm grip. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brando,” he introduces himself then pats his child on their shoulder. “This is (Y/n), my only child. I assume you’re all the same age, so I think you’ll get along splendidly.” 

Dio glances at you briefly as you bow your head politely to him. “It’s very nice to meet you, Dio.” 

You look quite similar to your father, albeit, younger and more rounded, with the same features Dio finds rare on you. Your clothes are just as intricate as your father’s, clearly very expensive, making Dio curious about just how rich you and your father are. 

Dio bows his head back to you. “It’s nice to meet you as well, (Y/n).” 

Once the greetings are done, Jonathan goes up to you and excitedly beams at you. “(Y/n), did you bring anything for me this time?” 

Dio is almost tempted to smack Jonathan on behalf of George, but you chuckle and nod, seemingly not minding. You glance over to make sure the older men are not looking and open your satchel, taking out a red box. Dio and Jonathan peek at it while you remove the cover. Inside the box are small, pink cubes covered in white sugar. 

“Woah… what are these?” Jonathan asks. 

“Lokum, oh, ah, ‘Turkish delights’,” you say in English. Jonathan is about to take one when you close the box and shake your head. Jonathan pouts after being denied, probably due to his love of sweets. “After dinner. Otherwise my father might lecture me.” 

“Turkish delight, you say?” Dio repeats. “So, I assume you and your father must deal within the Middle East, correct?” 

“Yes. He was born there, then moved here to start his business,” you pridefully comment, always happy to share how proud you are of your father’s hard work. 

“Interesting…” Dio thinks. He frowns when he thinks of his own drunkard of a father, and the gross feeling that dwells within him bubbles upfront. How nice it must be to be happy for your father. How wonderful it must feel to be proud to share the same DNA as the man who had created you. He can’t point to a single thing he enjoyed about Dario, can’t even count anything nice the man has done on one hand except die. 

Yet you look to hold your father in such high regard, perhaps even moreso than Jonathan does to George. Likewise, your father keeps smiling at you and flaunting your accomplishments to George, as if you were the best of the best. As if you were the most wonderful thing to have ever graced this earth. 

Dio can’t help but feel disgusted and so, so jealous that you get a father who adores and spoils you like nothing else. You don’t even have a mother, but that doesn’t seem to damper you. Any hope he had of wanting to meet you is squashed by the hatred and rage he feels for your relationship. 

----

You write letters often, Dio finds out. Now Dio knows why Jonathan is always so excited to check the mail. Soon after leaving the dinner party George held, Dio started getting letters addressed just to him from you. 

Apparently, you were too stupid to understand that Dio wanted nothing to do with you and actively despised you like he did Jonathan. Or maybe you just didn’t care, since you began writing about anything and everything you were thinking of as if you were old acquaintances. Dio once snagged Jonathan’s letter from you to see if the tone was any different, but almost nothing was, except for mentions of a historical places Jonathan would like to possibly visit. 

At first, he burned them away, not interested in whatever mindless rabble you had to discuss. He had no interest in history, none in studying, and absolutely none for whatever rich person you had just met on the road. Jonathan writes back plenty, but in order to save face, Dio writes back, only very rarely, pretending as if he actually cared. 

It isn’t until his birthday that he sighs and relents, opening up the package you had sent. He rolls his eyes at the well wishes you give him (although he does wonder briefly how you knew his birthday) but finds two wrapped gifts in the box. 

In the first one, thinner and longer, is a selection of the Turkish delights you had brought over the first time you met. He actually hadn’t bothered trying it then, mostly due to his disgust with you and the fact Jonathan looked like he was enjoying himself when he took a bite. 

He snorts and rolls his eyes, about ready to throw away the sweets when the smell of the powdered sugar and rosewater drifts into his nose. It is… certainly unique, he thinks. Nothing like what he’s ever smelled before. He places the box on his desk again and glares at it, as if the treats were personally ruining his day. He folds his arms and stares at it some more. 

He should throw this out. Never look at this and just write a quick ‘thank you’ so you felt appreciated or something. But still… the powdered sugar dusting the outside, the sweet, sweet smell of it- it was far too tempting. He clicked his tongue and picked one up, groaning at the way the sugar dusted his fingers and part of his suit. 

“Disgusting,” he mumbles before he takes a large bite of it. The taste is nothing like what he’s ever had before, and he nearly chokes at it. He coughs then swallows, taken aback by the taste. It’s… it’s quite delicious. He’s never tried something so wonderfully sweet, something that overtakes the senses quite like this. Roses make an interesting flavor profile, he muses. 

Wait, no, what is he thinking, getting excited over this stupid gift from an annoyance like you? He closes the box of sweets then opens the last box. Inside is a ring, similar to the one your father wore at the dinner party. The ring had a large amber stone, and Dio twirls it in his hands, fascinated with how the light catches the stone. 

This must have cost a fortune. He chuckles as he picks up the note to go alongside the ring. 

My father and I thought a ring would be a good gift for you. He says that it’s always wise to have something nice on your hand. It can bring you good luck and make you stand out. I hope you like the color- he was going to get you the blue one, but this one reminded me of your eyes. I thought you might appreciate it more. 

Happy birthday, Dio. 

You sign your name at the bottom and Dio finds himself biting his lip harshly. It’s really frustrating how you always naively try to think of him like this. Who said he wanted your damn sweets? Who said he wanted your rings? Or your good luck? Who said he wanted anything you had? 

He shakes his head and gazes at the ring again. He hates himself, so why would you dare get something that is meant to be of him? This body that he despises, how could you covet it in a god damn ring meant for him? 

You bother and enrage him like nothing else. He always thought this was because of your friendship with Jonathan, but this just cemented that the hate he felt for you was entirely just because of who you were. Whereas Jonathan was an obstacle he needed to rid of for the Joestar inheritance, you were someone who actively treated him like a damn charity case. 

You must have thought you were so clever and kind gifting these things to him, weren’t you? 

Fine. If you wanted to be a useful idiot for him, then he would make sure to get the most use out of you. The violent rage he had boiled over into interest and excitement. He grabbed his paper and pen, quickly writing a letter back to you. 

This time, however, he made sure to be more expressive than he normally would have. He laughed loudly as he signed the paper in a hurry and sealed it within an envelope. This could be quite enjoyable. 

Imagine him- getting rid of Jonathan and using you for his own gain! Not just one- but two means of success and fortune! Oh, you were a delightful idiot through and through, he thought as he threw aside the lid to the dessert and popped in another cube. 

----

The years were kind to Dio. Ever since his plan to use you came to fruition, he slowly refined it to working his way up to being able to ask for your hand in marriage. He spent years cleaning up his act, faking his way to the top, even joining the rugby team and a university to study law. He was practically the perfect man- attractive, intelligent, resourceful, strong- why, anyone would be lucky to have him as a son-in-law and husband. 

The interest he deemed to show you in his teens made you reciprocate his affections. You began writing longer letters for him than you did to Jonathan. You would stop by and visit, not even for Jonathan, but just for Dio now. You two would have long discussions in the gardens, on the road, and in the library of the Joestar mansion. Your father practically adored Dio as a son, always patting his shoulder and joking with him more casually. He was an admirable prize, one that was practically handing himself on a silver platter for you. 

Except, somewhere along the line, like a damn fool, Dio made a mistake in his normally thorough plans. Somewhere, somehow- you managed to make Dio enjoy your presence. This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

When he first started trying to get your attention, he often would do so at the expense of Jonathan. He just liked pissing his brother off while he would drag you away as if he had something urgent to say to you privately. He would aggrandize and embellish his stories, making himself seem far more noble and special than Jonathan was. Of course, Jonathan, ignorant as may be at times, wasn’t stupid. He knew right away Dio was up to no good and tried to warn you, subtly take you away, or even insert himself into the times when Dio pulled you aside. 

Nothing worked, however. You either didn’t notice or didn’t care, always brushing aside the warnings and believing in Dio wholeheartedly. It was cute- misguided, frankly- but cute, nonetheless. Especially after Dio did his best to mend his relationship with Jonathan, Jonathan found he had no leg to stand on and tried to leave the past behind him, wishing you two only the best. 

Good, thought Dio. He was tired of having to play nice with his Jonathan, and now that Jonathan had no chance of stealing you away from him, Dio could enact his plan still. And that’s what it should have stayed. 

But fate was far more strange than Dio realized. One day, he would find himself listening to you more. While before, it was just to keep track of your stories to use later, it now became an interesting part of his day. Another day, he would naturally seek out your hand to hold- not as a means to make you swoon and desire him, but just for his own comfort. And on another, god, he couldn’t believe this- he found himself imagining what a ‘home’ could be like for you and him. 

You somehow managed to imprint yourself in his brain, filling his head with stupid, ridiculous, and childish thoughts. He found the hushed whispers he spoke in your ear to become less and less false as time went on. He found the way your cheeks would warm up made him grin and not smirk. He found your voice pleasant and the words you’d say become clearer. He found his body recoiling when any other man, especially Jonathan, tried to talk to you. 

You ruined him. You ruined everything. How dare you? He could afford plenty of things now, yet he continued to wear that damn amber ring on his finger. You adored his eyes, and for once, he found himself almost agreeing whenever he looked in the mirror before he would take you on a date. 

You. Damn. Worm. 

You must be the devil. You must be some evil snake charming him and destroying him inside and out. He couldn’t accept the fact that he, Dio Brando, was actually enjoying your presence in his life. 

You spoke of the trips you took with your father for business. You loved almost all your destinations, bringing back souvenirs and charming photos for him. But one city always stood out to him. 

Cairo. 

“Oh, yes, the city is wonderful there,” you mused dreamily. “There are these beautiful pyramids-” 

You point at the photos of these pyramids and he’s become interested in these monumental landmarks. Jonathan made a mention of them once, he thinks. 

“And what are these pyramids for, exactly? Why would someone just build these with stone in the middle of a desert of all places?” Dio raises a brow. Although he’s impressed, he finds himself questioning the worth of these structures. You chuckle, a sound he’s grown to enjoy. 

“The ancient Egyptians lived here, Dio. They built these pyramids and all sorts of buildings for their final resting place,” you smile. 

“Tch, how pretentious,” he teases. “You sound far too happy talking about a place of death.” 

“Perhaps, but you know, death isn’t so bad.” Now this makes him pause. 

“And what do you mean by that?” Dio questions. You shrug. 

“Well, for them, they believed that when you died, your heart would be judged and you could go to the Field of Reeds, Aaru.” 

“Similar to western dogma,” Dio mumbles. He never had such faith in things like ‘God’ or a ‘heaven’. 

If God really existed, he would have helped Dio’s mother. He would’ve made Dario a better father. Would have made Dio feel safe. 

But there is no such thing, no such tangible way to prove that God did exist. And it seems these ancient humans were just as foolish as the people of today. They would continue to believe in something that did not exist and did not love them. 

“Yes, you could say that,” you nod. “But I think the idea is nice overall. Don’t you think?” “I don’t understand what could be considered ‘nice’ about it,” he frowns. 

“I like to think of it as a second chance. Another way to live, having gone through the struggles of your first life. You’d know more and appreciate more.” 

You don’t notice the way his face tenses as he grits his teeth. Even if there was a god, in no way shape or form was Dio ever going to be in ‘heaven’. He could push that aside right away. He was the son of Dario, and that certainly already meant he was sentenced to eternal damnation. 

“I see,” is all he says. You snap your fingers as you then show a picture of a gorgeous terracotta mansion. 

“I almost forgot to show you! We got to stay in this beautiful place. Oh, it was just wonderful inside. I think you’d love it. There was a lovely garden there, too. I wish I could take you there, I’d show you everything Cairo has to offer! And you could finally taste the dates when they’re ripe and the festivals that go on there!” 

“I would love nothing more,” he replies, suddenly thinking of how hot Cairo must feel. He wondered how you would smile if the festivals were going on. How lovely the night must be with you in it under the lamps and palm trees of Egypt. “Maybe we can go for our honeymoon?” You lightly smack his shoulders and laugh. “Don’t tease me like that! Otherwise I might make you propose tomorrow!” 

“I could have that arranged,” Dio leans forward, resting his chin on his hand. 

“Let’s focus on our studies first,” you chuckle. “I really would love to marry, but alas, our fathers have decided to make us wait longer.” 

“Alas,” he joins in, the thought of finally being yours and you being his making his heart swell. 

Only you could offer Dio this momentary salvation. This brief respite of peace despite the anger and hatred he held in his heart. This was a feeling only reserved for you, the you who practically forced your presence and love onto him. 

It almost didn’t even feel like a part of his plan to gain the two fortunes, even though he would force himself to remember this was just business. Ah, but you made it so easy to enjoy life. You made him forget for a moment he was not the son of Dario Brando. You could made him forget he was a maniacal bastard orphan, instead making him feel he was Dio. A new Dio, a Dio no one could have thought ever existed, even him. A Dio that was just a man, for once. 

He would become Dio, the man who would pick you fresh roses. Dio, the man who carried you over puddles on the street. Dio, who enjoyed drinking tea with you. Dio, who loved when you slipped into your mother tongue. Dio, who held you when you cried. Dio, the man who would get curious whenever you would remark joyfully about his birth marks, saying he must have been lucky. 

The only thing “lucky” about him was you. That’s all he could genuinely point out in his life as “lucky” and “good”. 

So slowly, and foolishly, the only thing he could do was simply let you in deeper into his heart, letting you carve your initials into him and marking him as your helpless servant. 

----

It had now been two months since your passing. Dio returned to the mansion in a drunken stupor, finding he was unfortunately still aware. 

Aware of how empty he was. How angry he was. How much he despised everything. 

Why the hell was Jonathan crying over you? Jonathan knew nothing about you. Jonathan didn’t love you or care for you anywhere close that Dio did. 

That rich boy who had everything handed to him and given to him just for existing knew nothing of the pain Dio was feeling. 

He didn’t deserve to cry over you. Didn’t deserve to feel a god damn thing about you. 

Dio was the one supposed to marry you- not him! So Jonathan should have left and let him grieve properly over the fact his betrothed was now gone. 

Was this God’s way of punishing him? Huh? Was this his sick joke? A reminder to him that no matter he did, he was never meant to be happy? 

Was that all his life was? One meaningless, empty joke for God to amuse himself with? 

Dio couldn’t help but burn every letter he had kept from you over the years. He didn’t need them. With a bottle of alcohol in his hand and a few letters in the other, he held them over the fireplace and let them burn to ash and dust. He didn’t care. Couldn’t care less. 

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing could ever bring him satisfaction. Nothing could ever bring him joy or peace. He was obviously not meant to have it. 

Even your own father tried to console Dio, having thought of him like a son, but Dio couldn’t bother. Your father promised to give employment and a portion his fortune to Dio still, already securing his future wealth. 

But that wasn’t enough. It was not enough. For every ounce of love you tried to give Dio, he felt a thousand times more angry at the world he lived in. 

He didn’t need this world. He didn’t want any of this. He couldn’t live like this. 

He couldn’t die like you- oh god, no, he couldn’t. He’d most certainly be punished and made to repent for his sins. 

As he burned the last of your letters, he downed the rest of the alcohol, burning his throat. He could not muster anymore tears, not after he laid the roses down on your tombstone. Dio Brando was dead and buried alongside you. 

All that was left of him was his hatred. 

So close to having everything he wanted, and now it was all gone. 

He was so close to even giving up his earlier desires to torture Jonathan, instead content to protect your father’s business and travel with you after he finished getting his degree. But now he had nothing to hope for. 

Drunk as he may have been, he found himself thinking like he did when he was a young boy. 

Yes… I’ll just kill them all. I’ll ruin them all. I should’ve stuck with that plan originally. 

He cursed himself between hiccups, cursing himself for daring to let you in, letting himself feel safe around you, letting himself be vulnerable and able to be torn to shreds by you. 

It was his fault. His fault for all of this. If he hadn’t acted a fool and loved you, he could’ve had Jonathan gone, perhaps disowned or dying in a ditch somewhere. He could’ve been the richest, prodigal son of Britain. He would’ve been powerful then. He wouldn’t have had to have you extinguish every ounce of life within him. 

He was no longer human. He was now Dio. Only Dio. 

Dio, who hated everything. Dio, who had no love for anything but himself. Dio, who wanted everything erased. Dio, who had become exactly like the man he despised most. 

He hated it all. 

In his anger, he picked up the pictures you had given him and threw them all in the fire. He hacked out his lungs when the smoke billowed from them and surrounded him. A few photos began to melt before his very eyes, but for some reason, one of them caught his eye. 

The terracotta, three story mansion from your trip in Cairo. The one you wanted to take him to. The one you two dreamed about going on your honeymoon for. The one you joked about possibly buying and redesigning to make it your home forever. 

He gasped and grabbed the photo, blowing out the flame quickly and saving a majority of the picture. The corner was burned off, but the picture still remained. He held it to his chest and let out a shaky breath. 

Cairo was something he could never give up. Cairo, the only place that would allow him to be with you. Cairo, the place where you two promised to go. 

You promised. 

So why…? Why? Why, why, why? 

But Cairo would have to wait. He had something he needed to do first. Once he could get rid of Jonathan and George, and everything else that would stand in his way, then he could go there. 

I will find you again in Cairo, my (Y/n)...

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Never ever again

Moon boys x gn!reader

Marc and Jake got into shit once again and Steven had to experience what it felt like when they got drunk.

*C'mon buddy, stick it inside already. Can't be that hard!*

Steven stopped.

"Bruv, that sounded so dirty coming from you."

*Get the key into the lock...* Marc repeated, this time slower and more thoughtful.

Steven tried to unlock the door again, but everytime he had a perfect angle and pushed, the key slipped.

"Bloody- I can't believe I'm too drunk to unlock that stupid door."

*Dude, try it nice and easy, Stevo. Nice and easy.* Jake chimed in, his words came out a bit slurred.

Steven tried again and finally it worked!

He hoped you'd be asleep by now, he was already embarrassed enough by being the one fronting when they're drunk. Steven stepped inside, not knowing you were very well awake.

You were in the bathroom, getting ready for bed. As you left, Steven nearly got a heart attack seeing you walking out because he didn't realize the light was on.

"Oh fuck–" he jumped.

The sudden appearance of Steven made you suck in a breath and make an ungodly sound. "Shit! Holy fuck, Steven."

"Hiya." he made an apologetic smile. "Y're still awake?"

You let out a breath to calm down, smelling something strong coming from him. "Yeah. And you smell like you fell into alcohol." you pointed out, taking a sniff and making a face.

Steven sniffed on his arm, smelling the alcohol Marc and Jake consumed on their mission.

"It wasn't me, Marc and Jake are responsible."

You crossed your arms. "Oh. Typical. I know you could never chunk down gallons of alcohol like they can. You're a good boy." you smiled. "But seriously, you should sleep."

Steven couldn't help but smile proudly at how you called him a good boy. "Oh, I'm what now?" he somehow wanted to hear it again.

"You're drunk."

"Oh.." his face fell a bit, but he grinned lazily as he started walking past you, wanting to clean himself in the bathroom.

When Steven walked past you, your senses were overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol, causing you to cough out. "Oh god- oh my.." another cough came out and you immediately made your way to the nearest window to open it wide. You stood there, poking your head out to get as much fresh air as possible.

Steven soon came out of the bathroom, having stripped off his clothes and only wearing boxers now. "My head feels like I've been hit by a bloody train."

"What have you done in Cairo when Marc had his quality time with the scotch?" you asked, turning around to face him.

"Nothin', he was out the whole time, he just slept it off and took a pain killer the next day."

You nodded. "Alright first-time-drunk Steven, you should sleep."

Steven flopped down on the bed, holding his head. "Fuck my head's spinnin' I don't think I'll be able to sleep."

"Want me to get a bucket...just in case?"

Steven nodded. "That would be lovely, thanks."

You went to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and made it wet, then returned with the bucket and the cloth, putting it on his forehead. "Here, that should help you get sober quicker."

"You're the best." Steven smiled contendly.

You sat down on the edge of the bed. "Care to tell me what the fuck happened?"

Steven nodded. "Well, Marc was after this druglord or whatever," he flipped the cloth on his head to the colder side. "That guy invited him for a round of alcohol, Marc had to do it for cover. In the end Jake took over and killed everybody inside the room."

"Jake managed to kill people while being drunk?"

"Yeh."

"Alright Steven, you should get some sleep." you patted his shoulder.

Steven nodded, closing his eyes for a few seconds before he opened them again. "Oh shit, I think I'm going to–" he quickly sat up, getting out of the bed to make his way to the bathroom.

Making your way over, you gently knocked on the door. "You okay in there?"

Judging from the sounds you heard coming from the bathroom, Steven was not okay.

"Don't come in here unless you want to know what an atomic bomb smells like, luv."

As bad as you felt for Steven and as bad as you wanted to whoop Marc's and Jake's asses for putting Steven through this hell, you had to suppress a laughter threatening to come out of you at Steven's comment.

But a snort came out of you, and you wanted to punch yourself for it. "Sorry." you covered your mouth, trying not to laugh.

Steven went quiet inside the bathroom, you heard the toilet getting flushed. You turned to walk back to the bed.

"Oi!"

You stopped in your tracks.

"I swear I'll never drink again. Ever."

You snorted. "Tell that Marc and Jake."

Steven came out of the bathroom. "I'll never understand how they can drink such stuff. The hardest stuff I've ever drank was Wine."

He flopped down on the bed again, putting the cloth back on his head. "I feel like I'm close to dying."

You headed for the kitchen, grabbing some crackers, a bottle of water and something salty. "Then Marc and Jake have to be alcohol-immune zombies or something." you joked, setting the things on the bedside table. "Eat those, it'll help with your hangover tomorrow."

"Nah, I can't think of eating anything now. Just let me lay here and let nature reclaim me, would ya?" It was Marc now.

"Then tea?" you suggested.

Marc looked at you, making a face. "Ugh.." he scoffed. "Steven can have the tea."

"Coffee? Black no sugar, your usual?"

Marc removed the cloth from his head. "Yeah but no. I'll make it once I wake up." he mumbled, pulling up the covers.

"Hey where is Jake?" you asked.

Marc closed his eyes. "Jake's out cold."

You decided to let them rest, wanting to prepare the coffee. "I'll go make the coffee."

"Nuh-uh."

Looking back, you saw Marc still with his eyes closed, pointing a finger at you.

"What?"

"Don't you dare move a muscle." he mumbled.

"Huh?"

"Yeah you heard me. C'mere, plant ya ass down on this bed and sleep."

Marc can be a goofball when he's drunk and he knows it.

"But–"

"Ah-ah." he opened one eye, then the other, smiling at you. "Please?"

"Can't sleep alone? You?" you chuckled.

He shook his head, pouting at you.

You surrendered "Fine. But only until you fall asleep." you smiled.

He nodded, smiling.

You laid down next to him. Marc pulled you into his side, shifting into a comfortable position.

Marc fell asleep almost instantly, you followed shortly after.

Couple hours later, you stirred awake, feeling the bed empty. Sitting up, you spotted him sitting on the couch, eating the stuff you brought earlier for Steven.

"Getting sudden hunger attacks?" you rubbed your eyes.

"Yeah. I guess early hangover's kickin'." Steven was back.

You got up, making your way to Steven and sat down next to him. "How do you feel?"

"Much better." he smiled.

You smiled back. "You better stick to tea. It's better anyway."

"Yeah I will. Tea tastes much better anyway." He grinned.

You couldn't agree more.

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Is there a home to be found in these history books (is there something good to be held in these hands)

Day 4 of Thank You, Haikyuu - event masterlist here

pairing: bokuto koutarou x reader (gn) x akaashi keiji

length: 7.3k

genre: archeologist au !! fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: they get trapped in an ancient tomb but they make it out in the end obvs, there's a lot of talk of privilege and financial obstacles and burdens, we don't all get to choose the life we live, you get what I mean

a/n: we can't even talk abt how late I'm posting this there's a finish line and I'm crawling to it

tags: @love-and-lore

"Darling, this is not all coming with us to Cairo," Keiji's voice is tired as he stares at his kitchen table and the various bags and bins and piles strewn across the wooden surface. Koutarou pauses where he's standing in their home, a climbing harness hanging off of his shoulders as he tugs at the carabiner to test it.

"Of course not, Keiji," he says simply. "That bin's staying here." Keiji looks wearily at the small box at the end of the table and then steps forward to shift some things around, carving out a space for himself and his laptop across from his partner. 

"Why are they sending us out there again, anyway?" Koutarou mumbles, his hands busy sifting through a pile of carabiners and harnesses, all moderately the same, while Keiji opens his laptop and begins clicking through files. 

"Well, apparently they've found something new - they think we might be able to actually find the tomb now… let me look," Keiji murmurs, squinting at his screen. Koutarou, half wearing three different climbing harnesses, jingles across the kitchen to grab Keiji's reading glasses and place them gently on his face. Keiji murmurs his thanks and clicks open one of the files he's been sent by their research facility, scanning through it.

"So?" prompts Koutarou, picking up a water bottle and shaking it to see if it's empty.

"Well, apparently there was a sarcophagus recently taken to the British National Museum that some of the other researchers think was related," Keiji says slowly, scrolling through the documents as Koutarou frowns and picks up another water bottle.

"The tomb of Ammit has been lost for centuries - no one's been able to find it," he whines, earning a sympathetic look from Keiji over his laptop. "It's a waste of time for them to send us looking again."

"Most likely, yes," Keiji sighs wearily, just as fatigued by the endless search as his partner. "But it's still our job to - oh my god…" But then he stops, leaning in and squinting at the files on his laptop. Koutarou perks up at the change in Keiji's voice and rounds the table once more, four water bottles held in his arms as he stands by his partner's shoulder and peers down at his laptop.

"What is it, baby?" He murmurs. Keiji leans back in his chair, taking his glasses off so that he can rub the spot between his eyebrows.

"It's been stolen," he says bluntly.

"What?"

"The sarcophagus in Britain… " Keiji says slowly. "There was a break-in at the museum the night it arrived. The cartonnage of the sarcophagus was taken, but nothing else was damaged or stolen." Koutarou's frown deepens at his words, leaning in further to scroll through the document and look over the evidence that's been sent.

"Looks like a professional job," he says tightly. Keiji hums in agreement. "Looks… clean, tidy, precise."

"Looks like…" Keiji trails off, letting Koutarou finish scanning through the file before straightening and looking down at him.

"Looks like our thief's back in the business," Koutarou finishes. Keiji's lips press into a thin line and he clicks on another email that contains flight information for the two of them.

"And… it looks like we're taking a trip to London first."

Thankfully, the two of them realized when they touched down in London that the museum had done an excellent job of cataloging and filing everything meticulously before the break-in happened. Once the two of them had arrived and flashed their credentials, they were given access to the winding back rooms of the museum and the images and information that they'd indexed of the sarcophagus. 

"Look at these photos," Keiji says quietly, his eyes focused on the files in front of him as he hunches over a table, boxes strewn around him. Koutarou stands and leans over his shoulder, humming in understanding at the sight. 

"That's the stolen cartonnage, yea," he mumbles. "But why take that?"

"It's the pattern on it," Keiji explains thoughtfully. "It... it looks like a star map."

"Oh my god," Koutarou perks up, grabbing Keiji by the shoulders to shake him slightly in his excitement. "This is it, Keiji - this is the map to the lost tomb."

"Likely, yes," Keiji responds, and he can't help but let a small spark of excitement bleed into his own voice.

"Can you read it? You can read it, right?" Koutarou grabs one of the photos, staring at it and narrowing his eyes.

"I can," says Keiji lightly. "But this map is thousands of years old… the stars looked a lot different then. It'll take some time for me to sort it out." Koutarou just shrugs at Keiji's words, unbothered by the timeline.

"Good thing we have that long ass flight to Cairo," he offers, but Keiji's busy pursing his lips and squinting at one of the photos. "What is it?"

"There's something else," Keiji says slowly. "It's… it's like it's in some sort of code. There should be a cypher somewhere for this." Koutarou frowns at his words, scanning through the images that are strewn across the table as he crosses his arms over his broad chest. 

"There's nothing else here… they said the entire sarcophagus was catalogued, right? And nothing else was taken besides the cartonnage?" Koutarou looks to Keiji for confirmation and the man nods, frowning as he sifts through the photos again.

"I'm sure of it," he says firmly. "If there is a cypher, it was never here."

"If our little thief's already been here, we have to assume they're on their way to the tomb already - they might have more information on this than we do," Koutarou says, an annoyed edge hardening his voice. Keji scowls at the thought.

"Yes," he says as he stands, slamming the file closed. "But that doesn't mean they'll figure out how to read the map faster than me. Come on." 

It's three days into their stay in Cairo that the hotel suite Koutarou and Keiji are staying in is broken into - but the three of you have been practicing this song and dance long enough that, by now, they know your steps. That's what you assume, at least, when a light is clicked on and Keiji's frowning face appears in the doorway, eyeing the way you have your hands on the documents and files that are spread over the kitchen counter.

"Kou," he calls into the room behind him, keeping his gaze locked on you as you remain frozen, leaning over the counter. There's a part of you that refuses to acknowledge that you've been caught, that refuses to face the fact that you've gotten sloppy, rushed in a way that you aren't normally.

But then Koutarou's standing next to Keiji in the doorway, the corners of his mouth tugged down into a deep frown as he glares at you, and you can't really think about anything beyond fight or flight.  

"Most people would be asleep at this time of night," you quip, straightening to round on them and face them both fully. There's no point, you think, in us all dodging one another again and again.

"Most people don't worry about their hotel rooms being broken into," Keiji responds dryly. "Why don't you step away from the files." 

You cross your arms, instead, rocking back on your heels and humming in mock thoughtfulness.

"Do you know," you ponder aloud, ignoring the weary sigh that escapes Keiji, "how much Ammit's ushabti is being sold for if it's found?"

"We don't really concern ourselves with black market pricings," Keiji shoots back as Koutarou lets his eye flicker down to the way you shift your stance, balancing evenly on your feet as if ready to move, ready to run at a moment's notice.

"Well, fortunately for all of us," you quip back. "I do. There's big, big money for anyone who gets their hands on it and I, personally, would love for those hands to be mine."

"If you have a point, I'd suggest getting to it before the police get here," Koutarou snaps, but you just grin.

"You wouldn't call the police on me. Who else in your life shows you this much of a good time?" But at the matching frowns of the two men, you sober and press your lips together, sighing through your nose and switching tactics.

"How's the, uh, star map coming along? Hm?" You say instead, letting your eyes wander down to the files on the counter once more. This time it's Koutatou's turn to grin and laugh and you snap your head up to scowl at him.

"Oh," he says. "Oh… you haven't figured it out, have you? That's why you're here." You bristle at that, a small, quick sort of thing before you right yourself and glare at him.

"Well, what can I say, not all of us went to school for this," you offer dryly, but your comment is ignored as Keiji steps forward. He walks past both you and Koutarou to stand on the opposite side of the counter as you, gathering documents into his hands and shoving them back into files. 

"I'm not sure why you think," he says quietly, a sharp edge to his voice. "That we'd ever help you find the tomb."

"Because," you say breezily, the lack of concern in your voice making him pause. "You don't have the cypher." That's enough to make both of them freeze, Keiji dropping the file he's holding down onto the table and Koutarou stepping towards you, an action that makes you brace yourself on your feet and angle yourself towards the open window behind you and the lock that you'd broken to get in.

"You have the cypher?" Koutarou asks bluntly. You grin a bit wickedly and reach into your jacket, pulling something out of the inner pocket and placing it on the counter between you and Keiji. When you lift your hand, a shining, golden scarab sits on the cool marble, intricate designs of blue lapis winding around it.

"If you open it," you point out, "the cypher's inside… it's not much to crack, really, but I've already done that part, anyway." Keiji picks up the scarab, holding it up to the dull, yellow light and turning it over as he looks at the symbols on it.  

"How long have you had this?" He murmurs distractedly.

"A while," you shrug. He shoots you a scathing look and you smile. 

"But why… why are you giving it to us?" Koutarou asks, stepping forward to peer at it as it sits in Keiji's hand.

"I'm not," you say simply. "I'm just letting you look at it." Koutarou arches a brow in question and you continue. "See, here's the thing. You can't figure out the map's code. I… can't figure out how to follow stars from thousands of years ago. I figure… we can help each other." Keiji grips the scarab tightly in his hand and scowls at you. 

"Why do you think we'd do that?" An annoyed edge seeps into his voice. "We have the scarab now." You just look at Keiji rather patronizingly and raise a brow.

"I've been running circles around both of you for three years," you point out "Do you really think I couldn't get that back if I wanted to?" Keiji just sniffs indignantly and places the scarab back on the counter between you, crossing his arms instead.

"Either way," Koutarou jumps in. "Why do you think we'd help you? You're a thief, you've been stealing from us for three years. We could just call the police on you right now."

"Yes, it is interesting that you didn't," you say, snatching the scarab up from the counter and grinning when Koutarou shoots a hand out just a bit too slowly to stop you. "But, by the way, I'm not sure me raiding a tomb before you have a chance to is really me stealing from you." Keiji scoffs at your words and Koutarou scowls as he points a finger accusingly at you.

"We don't raid," he snaps. "We're researchers. Most of those artifacts, we catalogue and leave behind, only to find the dig sites looted by you days later. We're trying to preserve history. You're trying to stomp it out."

"Not to mention," Keiji adds, "you do have a habit of hacking into our systems and pilfering my research. If nothing else, that has to be stealing from us."

"Alright, alright," you hold your hands up defensively, the scarab safely in your pocket. "I'm suddenly feeling a bit unpopular here."

"You've always been unpopular here," Koutarou says dryly and you measure him with an unimpressed look.

"Whatever," you say pointedly, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from their moral judgements. "Do we have a deal or not?"

"No," the two of them snap at you at the same time, making you click your tongue in annoyance and rock back on your heels, your arms crossed firmly over your chest. 

"Then you won't find the tomb," you shrug. Keiji huffs and looks at you disapprovingly.

"Neither will you," he points out, but you just shake your head.

"I can always find someone else to read the map. You, on the other hand, won't be able to do anything with that code without the cypher… ever." The two of them glare at you for a moment, twin looks of annoyance boring into you before Koutarou speaks again.

"If it would be so simple for you, why don't you just do it on your own? Why come to us at all?"

"Because I need to be quick about this," you offer quietly. Keiji gestures for you to elaborate as he leans forward to prop his forearms on the counter and look at you closely. "Well, it's like I said. There are a lot of eyes on this tomb right now and I'm not the only seller going after it."

"Ah," Keiji nods in mock understanding. "So it really is just about stealing profits."

"Oh, bite your fucking tongue," you snap tiredly. "You've got too much moral high ground to care about the fights I have with other thieves." You say the word in a mocking sort of way, impersonating the way that the two of them have spit it at you in the past. Keiji just hums thoughtfully and stands straight again, exchanging a look with his partner. In response, Koutarou merely shrugs in an unbothered sort of way and turns to you once more. 

"You know," he points out, "even if we help each other find the tomb, we'd never let you loot it."

"Yes, I had thought of that," you say rather sourly. "But I suppose the artifacts being safely passed over to you two means that no one else can grab them, either… I don't get a profit, sure, but neither does anyone else."

"Do you care that much about winning this game of yours?" Keiji asks bitterly. You fix him with a hard stare.

"I care that much about keeping my livelihood intact and operational," you point out plainly. "Do we have a deal or not."

"Fine," Keiji sighs, rubbing a hand over his forehead to ward off his oncoming headache. "We'll map out the location of the tomb together. You won't take anything, you won't touch anything, you'll get nothing from this," he says harshly. You purse your lips in annoyance.

"And in return… you two will say nothing of this," you request firmly. "I don't need the cops sniffing around here looking for me and I'm sure you don't need the headache of all that questioning. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Koutarou nods firmly. You sigh and roll your shoulders back, willing away the tension in them. It's a horrible deal for you, really - and you know that, of course. But sometimes, you think, losing is worth it to drag a few others down with you. You're sure your newfound partners wouldn't agree - but you're also quite sure you don't care. 

It's three more days and nights after that of all of you pouring over the sharing information that you'd gathered, Keiji focused on tracing routes over maps and planning out the logistics, while Koutarou busies himself with preparing for the expedition. It's… tense, of course, the two of them weary of any sudden backstabbing from you while you remain alert, half-convinced that they will have called the authorities on you in any of your moments of relaxation.

But perhaps they're more understanding than you thought they were, because the path to the tomb that the three of you can finally journey to remains undisturbed by their assumed betrayal. And perhaps you're a more honest person than they thought you were, because you remain faithfully helpful and measured throughout the voyage. 

When you're finally faced with the entrance of the tomb, crumbling and half buried under centuries-old mounds of sand, there's a spark that zips through the three of you at the thrill of it. It's a sort of static in the air, a tangible kind of hunger that's shared amongst you as you look into the dark, gaping maw of the tomb's entrance.

"This is going to be dangerous," Koutarou says honestly as he kneels, pulling grappling equipment out of his bag.

"You're welcome to stay here, then," you say flippantly, and a little breeze of delight blows through you at Koutarou's responding cheeky grin. 

"Not a chance," he quips back, tossing a climbing harness to Keiji.

"I didn't think you usually came out on the actual expeditions," you say as you watch him heft on the harness. Keiji looks at you pointedly, like you should already know the answer.

"I don't… but this is different," he says simply.

"Why, because I'm here?" You ask, half-jokingly. When he stays quiet, though, you frown. "What do you think I'm going to do? Off him in the middle of the desert and steal the ushabti?" Your voice catches with disbelief and Keiji looks at you almost apologetically - almost. 

"I think," he says carefully, "that it would be a bad idea for anyone to be out here alone. Koutarou isn't always by himself on these expeditions - we have colleagues, you know."

"In Cairo?" You point out. Koutarou just shrugs.

"Yea," he says easily. "Our research facility operates pretty globally." You hum in annoyed understanding and secure your own climbing harness, preparing to grapple down into the depths of the ancient tomb.

"What about you?" Koutarou prompts. You look at him, puzzled.

"What about me?"

"Who do you go with?" He clarifies. You just shrug your shoulders, shuffling a bit on your feet.

"I… don't," you explain. "I do this on my own." Koutarou gawks at your words and Keiji pulls a sour face.

"That's not safe, you know," he chastises. "What if something were to happen to you?" He's walking past you towards the tomb entrance as he speaks, and you step quickly in front of him to block his path, leaning in to look at him closely.

"What, are you worried about me?" You tease. He looks past you pointedly, a blush beginning to show on his cheeks as the rising sun peaks high in the sky, bathing the endless golden dunes around you in a hot, wavering glow. 

"It's time to get going," he says in lieu of answering, and Koutarou barks out a laugh at the spectacle of it all.

"Uh huh," you agree in mocking seriousness, throwing a grin to Koutarou over Keiji's shoulder. It's… nice, you realize in a painful sort of way. It's not just the safety of going with them that assures you, but something else… something that makes your heart thump a bit too loudly in your chest.

It feels almost like… home - the thought comes to you in a striking, panicky sort of way as the three of you grapple down into the tomb, the realization making you waver as your hands tighten on the rope. Fortunately - or rather unfortunately, the shifting of the sand above the three of you and the winds of the wide, endless desert begin to blow the dunes. As sand begins to trickle onto your heads, larger rocks and debris from the once-standing structure begin to crumble under the force, caving in above and in front of you.

There's a bit of a scramble, Koutarou grabbing you by the harness when the three of you land on your feet and hauling you back as what was left of the entrance caves in completely, bathing the three of you in endless darkness and the quiet of the world below. As you and Koutarou both crack open large emergency glowsticks from your bags, the light of them illuminates the smooth, sandstone walls and the way that Koutarou's hand is still rooted on the front of your harness, his arm wrapped around you from behind to pull you to his chest. 

You clear your throat pointedly and he lets you go like he's been burned, an apologetic, sheepish sort of grin crossing his face in the hollow light of the glowsticks. Keiji, all the while, is using the light to poke around the passage that you've all found yourselves in, searching for a way through the debris,

"We're… trapped," he says haltingly, and you turn to shine your light onto the crumbled pile of sand and stone that was once the entrance, as if illuminating it will show some crack in the darkness, some way to escape.

"What?" You snap.

"There's always a way out, though," he says patiently. "You just have to find it." Keiji dutifully ignores your obvious disbelief at his mentality as he continues staring at the fallen rocks.

"That… might be difficult," Koutarou's voice has Keiji straightening and you turning to the sound, walking slowly down the passage to where he's approaching you.

"You can't wander off like that, Kou," Keiji says tightly, but his partner just shoots him an apologetic sort of look.

"It's really not a big deal - I get stuck in places like this all the time!" He says brightly. "That's what the satellite phone is for - I've already sent a distress signal, they'll come and dig us out."

"Right, your globally sourced colleagues," you say dryly, but Keiji makes an indignant sort of sound.

"All the time? What do you mean you get stuck like this all the time?" But Koutarou's already shining his light down the passage he's wandered down, showing you the beginning of the twists and turns in it. 

"It's a… maze, I think," he says slowly. You make a humming, high-pitched sound as you peer down through the endless paths.

"Of course," you say sarcastically, "because things really just weren't bad enough before."

"Did you bring the scarab with you?" Keiji asks quickly. You frown and pull it from your bag.

"Obviously, yes," you say as you hold it out to him, letting him snatch it from you and begin pulling it open under the light of the glowsticks. It stirs something in you, something nervous and longing deep within the recesses of your soul, the way that the three of you begin to work together and fall into step.

You suppose, as Keiji finds whatever he's looking for within the scarab, that the three of you really have been in step for all these years, you dancing around them and remaining just out of reach so constantly. You wonder, sort of guiltily and sort of earnestly, if they ever think of you when you get to dig sites before them and snatch artifacts, or when their crates are stolen in transit before they make it home, or when they're researching on-site and they go back the next morning to find their site plundered.

You wonder, through it all, if you've really been alone this whole time, or if the shadows that you leave behind have intertwined enough with them to keep you company in the sprawling, endless deserts of this life of yours. 

Keiji's voice, thankfully, interrupts your desperate spiralling as he announces that he's found the key to the path through the maze and Koutarou puts his hand on your shoulder, a concerned look on his face at your ashen, hurt demeanour. 

"The scarab has more in it than just the cypher," Keiji mumbles, squinting as he looks at it. "I'll lead… if we're waiting for the rescue team to get here, we might as well find what we came here for."

As you step slowly after him, your legs weighed down by the heaviness of Keiji's words, you begin to wonder what you really are doing here. You consider, with a hint of panic, what you've been doing all these years, trailing after the two of them and keeping yourself just out of reach, just far enough away from something that you could call home. 

Nightfall, within the depths of the maze, feels odd. The three of you know that it's time to rest only from the watches on your wrists and the fatigue that begins to weigh you all down. Laying in thinly padded sleeping bags on the hard, sandy floor, with the darkness stretching endlessly in every direction, sleep is hard to come by even for those of you who find yourselves used to nights like this. 

Somewhere to your right, Keiji sighs and rolls over again, shifting his back against the hard rock as if somehow he'll be able to find some comfortable space, as if trying over and over will yield a new result.

"Why do you do this?" he blurts out into the darkness eventually, seemingly too wound and uncomfortable to sleep.

"Me?" You ask.

"Yes, you," he clarifies, and his voice… is kinder than you remember, gentler than you think you've heard before. "Why did you choose to make this your life? Sleeping on the ground alone in a tomb chasing after stolen pieces of history."

"Well…" you begin carefully. "Why did you choose this?"

"That's different," he says quickly. "What Koutarou and I do is different."

"It's not, really," you say nonchalantly, but you hear the rustling of Koutarou sitting up on the other side of you before his voice rings through the darkness.

"It is," he assures. "We educate, we preserve, we… we're here to pass history forward, not to destroy it."

"Sure," you say easily, but Koutarou, you realize, isn't finished with his tirade.

"What you do is different - you're desecrating these sites, not saving them." You're quiet for a long moment after that, listening to the thump of him laying back down and shuffling endlessly to try to find some kind of comfort where he lies.

"I don't desecrate them," you say quietly, finally, your voice quiet enough to almost be swallowed by the vast emptiness of the night. Kieji makes a humming, indignant sort of sound and you continue. "I don't. There are others who do things a lot worse than I do. I… I've always done it as respectfully as I can."

"There is no respectful way to steal from the dead," Keiji says firmly, a finality in his tone. 

"I wouldn't," you begin, your voice wavering as you continue in a halting sort of way. "I wouldn't do it like this… if I had a choice."

"There's always a choice," Koutarou says easily, but you scoff and sniff angrily.

"You don't understand," you say, your voice thinner and weaker than you ever would've liked - and than they've ever heard before. "There's not always a way out… not for all of us."

"I didn't mean -" Koutarou starts, admittedly panicked by your wet sniffling, but you just barrel on.

"Not all of us have the money that you do have," you say earnestly. "We can't go to Ivy League schools and get degrees and good jobs. And if you don't have that, then you go off and do it on your own - just a little, just, you know, for the fun of it… to say you did it once. To say you lived the life you'd wanted, just once."

Keiji says your name quietly, a strained sort of guilt pulling at his voice, but you've started now - you've let the floodgates open and you find yourself unable, really, to close them back up again.

"And then you find something that sells," you continue, tears beginning to drip down your cheeks, disappearing into the blackness of the endless passage as your voice carries on, melting into the vast darkness. "And then something else, and then something else. You think about how you have enough money now to go to school, to get that life that you didn't have before…"

"And then?" Koutarou asks quietly, a sombre care in his voice that makes your heart clench painfully.

"And then your little sister wants to go to university. She wants to but she can't afford it and you think that you'd do anything to make sure she doesn't turn out like you. And then your mom gets sick and she's got medical bills that she can't pay on her own and… and it all just seems so selfish, to try to use your hands for something good when all that's going on."

Things are quiet for a bit too long after you speak, nothing but your stifled, sniffling hiccups heard as the two men lay in silence on either side of you. But then Keiji speaks, very cautiously, very slowly.

"I think," he begins, "that anyone who gives up their life to help others like that has done more good with their hands than most people do in their entire lives." As he speaks, Koutarou reaches out to you, through the endless darkness, to take your hand in his and intertwine your trembling fingers with his own. 

"And I think," says Koutarou gently, "that there are some people who wouldn't really understand that… if they grew up with privilege and opportunity. I think that people like that would be wrong to judge people like you." You squeeze his hand gently, just once, before letting go of him, rolling onto your side so that you can put your back to him.

"But they are still those people," you say quietly, the stretching darkness swallowing your words. "And I am still this thing." You've miscalculated, though, of course, because turning away from Koutarou has just put you face-to-face with Keiji. He slides closer to you on the rough, stone ground, reaching to brush the tears from your cheeks with gentle thumbs as he cups your face in his palms.

You wonder, in a bit of anguish, when touch had ever been this kind, this loving, and it brings fresh tears to your eyes that stream down your cheeks. 

"You can't cry so much right now, darling," Keiji says gently, wiping the tears dutifully from your skin. "We're rationing our water and we're stuck down here." You laugh wetly at his words, sniffing once more.

"I thought there was always a way out?" You quip gently, a quiet sort of jab at the blind privilege that the two men have often displayed. But they take it in stride, both of them, which is apparent by Koutarou's quiet, muffled laugh and the delicate kiss that Keiji pressed to your forehead.

"What can I say," he begins softly. "I worry about keeping the people I care about safe." That sobers you greatly, and you feel Koutarou's hand reaching through the thick darkness to grab onto your hand again.

"There will be a way out this time," Koutarou squeezes your fingers gently. "We'll make sure of it."

You do find it, eventually, the heart of Ammit's tomb where the sarcophagus lays. And there it is again, of course, that static-like hunger that hazes the air between the three of you - the feeling of the grandness of it all, of standing in places uncharted and finding things long lost.

You think once more, as you exchange shining, hope-filled looks, that there really is such little difference between what you are and what they claim to be. Perhaps, you think as you peer down at your hands, spreading your palms to stare at them under the glow of the Koutarou's light, perhaps these hands of yours can shape something good, after all.

You don't look for the ushabti - you figure that, since you've sworn not to take it, there's no point in searching. You know, by now, that there's no use in pushing for something impossible. So you stand, instead, off to the side while Koutarou and Keiji commence their business of taking photos and cataloguing and doing whatever else it is that they do.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Keiji says quietly, standing next to you for a moment to look you up and down over his glasses, as if he's waiting for you to kick the lid off of the sarcophagus and loot whatever you find inside.

"Yea," you say instead, your voice quiet against the thrumming power of the tomb. "It is."

"It makes it all worth it, right?" Koutarou chirps happily, an excited bounce to his step as he moves around the space like it's home to him, like he's settled into the comfortable grooves of this life that he's built.

As the two of them work, stepping around each other with the ease that only comes from calling someone home for so long, you spend your time standing under the dull hue of the glowsticks, staring at the ancient sarcophagus in front of you - at the grave of someone who died thousands of years ago. As you peer at it, at the intensity and the endlessness of it all, you wonder what it is you're really doing here. As history crumbles behind you and the future stretches on ahead, you consider, for a halting moment, if you really have the time to keep yourself hidden away like this. You wonder if there's space in the endless turn of time for you to stray so far from home. 

The walk back to the entrance of the tomb, after the whole spectacle, is slower than you'd like - there's an itch under your skin now, a desperation to breathe in the clear air of the endless sky and get away from this place of becoming - this place of taking. With every step that you take, you feel the weight of your life grow heavier, dragging you further down into the sands as you consider everything that you are and are not and maybe could've been if you'd given yourself the chance. 

The relief that you feel is immeasurable when the three of you finally plod back to the entrance and find Koutarou and Keiji's rescue team hauling rocks and debris away, a sliver of light growing and growing and becoming something more in front of you, bathing you in the shining, golden glow of the sun once more.

Koutarou bounds forward, eager to see the team as he waves to them.

"Konoha, hey," he calls. "You took too long."

"You're lucky we came at all, Kou!" The man, clearly joking, calls down as he throws two grappling lines down. You stare at the two twin ropes as Keiji and Koutarou step forward, and Keiji is about to call up that they need a third when you stop him.

"Don't bother. There's… there's no room for a third. You just go, I'll come up after you," you say quietly, and the two of them stare at you hard for a minute before Koutarou speaks up.

"There is," he assures. "We'll make room. We'll… we can make space."

"But," Keiji adds. "It's up to you. We'll go up and…"

"I'll follow," you say easily, smiling a bit as the sun finally hits your face, ricocheting past you and into the endless passages that dig their way deep below the sands. "I'll be right behind you - I always am." That's reassurance enough, thankfully, and they begin hauling themselves up out of the tomb. You, once more, you find, are left to chase after them, never given quite what they've always had.

Konoha, when you pull yourself up, makes a comment about the two of them picking up a stray. When Koutarou reaches one firm hand to haul you up by your climbing harness, effectively picking you up with one of his arms, you try not to take the quip personally.

"You alright?" Koutarou's eyes are gentler than they should be when he asks you, the sun bathing the world around you once more as he brushes sand off of your shoulders. 

"Of course I am," you say gently, and as you stare out towards the endless, rolling dunes of sand and the way that the desert stretches on infinitely, you can't help but feel as if you've stepped out into a different world. You feel almost as if a part of you was left down there, in that timeless tomb, and nothing will ever fall into place in quite the same way ever again.

"Alright, come on you two," Konoho claps a hand onto Koutarou's shoulder and jerks his head towards the paramedic on the team.

"I feel fine," Koutaoru nearly pouts as he watches Keiji already beginning to be checked over. 

"You've been in a hole for three days, so you'll have to forgive me if I don't believe you," Konoha responds dryly, dragging Koutarou along with him and away from you.

It's easy after that, you find, to sort of just… slip away.  By the time the paramedic's finished checking over Koutarou and Keiji, you're nowhere to be found, disappeared into the line of the horizon and the endlessness of the life that you've chosen to live.

"Do you think they'll come back?" Koutarou asks quietly, fiddling with Keiji's fingers as he stares out toward the immensity of the desert.

"I'm sure they will… when they're ready," Keiji assures quietly, but his brows furrow as he, too, stares out, and he wonders where in the endlessness you are. 

It's later that night, in fact, in the peace of their hotel suite, that you tap your knuckles gently against the balcony door. As Koutarou scrambles to his feet to let you in, Keiji smiles at the understanding that you've done that entirely for their benefit - that you could easily come and go from any locked part of their life if you wanted. 

"You came back," Koutarou says as he brings you into a crushing hug. You look at Keiji over Koutarou's bicep as it squishes your cheeks together and he laughs at the sight, swinging his legs up and off of the bed to come save you. 

"I'm glad, darling," he says quietly, extracting you from Koutarou's embrace to hold you delicately in his own hug, letting his partner press a kiss to the crown of your head during the process. 

"I just… I just came to say goodbye," you say weakly, stepping away from both of them.

"No -" Koutarou starts, but you smile sadly and he snaps his mouth shut.

"I am sorry, you know, for all the trouble I caused you both," you continue, twisting your fingers nervously as you look between them. "I don't think I really cared about it but… but I - I do now and I'm sorry."

"It's alright, darling," Keiji says softly, a care in his voice that rattles you. 

"Anyway," you plow on, "I won't do it anymore."

"What?" Koutarou says, bewildered.

"I won't - if I know it's you, I'll stay away," you continue. "I promise, I'll… when I see you, I'll duck. If I hear your names on a job, I'll back out. You won't have to worry about me anymore."

"And if we want to?" Koutarou challenges, and you hesitate at his words.

"Well, why… would you?" You say slowly, but your choice of words just has him rolling his eyes before grabbing you by your arm and pulling you forward until you stumble against his chest and he can slam his lips to yours.

Keiji, while he looks on, goes to the nightstand next to their hotel bed and pulls out a business card, scribbling something on it. By the time you and Koutarou part, your face heated and lips reddened, he's pressing it into your hand. In your dazed state, you don't even check to see what it is - you just look to Keiji in expectation. 

He laughs, an honest, unencumbered sort of thing before holding your face gently in his hands and pressing a firm, sweet kiss to your lips.

"It's a mutually shared sentiment, I promise," he murmurs as you part, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks before he finally pulls away. It's then that you finally look down at the card in your hand and see the stamp of their research facility on it.

"What's this for?" You mumble, staring down at it. 

"I'd really rather you didn't keep yourself from us," Keiji says easily. "You know, our department is always looking for more contract employees, people who are willing to travel and work wherever's needed, whenever's needed." 

"The three of us work well together," Koutarou adds, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone gently. "It'd be nice to do it again."

"Oh, sure," you murmur, thumbing the corner of the card. "And, uh, what's their policy on hiring criminals, do you think?" Keiji frowns at your words, feigning thoughtfulness.

"I don't think you've ever been charged with anything," he says simply. "Why ever would they think you're a criminal?"

"Now that you mention it," Koutarou copies Keiji's fake consideration as you gawk at the two of them. "We never did discover who that thief was, did we? It's a shame, I mean, but I guess that's one of life's great mysteries."

"I suppose it is," Keiji nods solemnly, ignoring your spluttering shock. "And, you know, if the thefts suddenly… stopped, well, I can't imagine people would keep caring about it, can you?" They both look to you then, waiting for your confirmation as you stand, dazed and staring at them.

"Well… sure," you say eventually, a breathy quality to your voice. "I mean… I guess some things just… go away. I guess there are things we get to just… put down."

"Exactly," Koutarou says, booping your nose and laughing at the way it scrunches up at the contact. "Let your hands relax," he coos, swinging your intertwined hands with his. "Just put it down." You sigh at his words, letting yourself relax against the two of them - much to their delight as Koutarou wraps his arms around you, keeping you upright. "Stay here with us tonight," he continues softly, a gentle plea in his voice. "Don't disappear just yet."

"We'll pick it up when someone needs to," Keiji offers softly, taking your face gently in his hands to press fleeting kisses across your cheeks. "We'll give these hands of yours a break."

It's three weeks after that, when Keiji and Koutarou are en route to Greece, when their phones both ping. It's a group chat made by an unknown number, with coordinates and the pictures of a cypher sent to them.

"Huh," Koutarou says as he and Keiji both flick through the photos. "This feels… familiar, doesn't it?" Keiji smiles at his partner's words, looking down at the messages. They both know their thief well enough to know that it's you, and they recognize the folder in the background of the photo - the stamp in the top right corner that shows the symbol of their research facility.

They know that this is what it looks like when you use those hands of yours for something good.

[winniethewife]

You've been in the dark believing your thoughts (Marc Spector x GN!reader)

Prompt: Power Outage

Warnings: PTSD talk.

Words: 540

It had been storming all day and into the night. They were sitting on the couch watching a movie, when suddenly the power cut out.

“Awe fuck. Where did we put the flash lights again?” they start to stand up but Marc pulls them back down. 

“We’re fine. It’ll probably come back on in a minute.” Marc seemed a little tense. They could instantly tell something was off.

“Marc? You okay hun?” They ask leaning over to try to get a better look at his face in the darkness. They reach to caress his face, their soft fingers over his cheek, his face relaxes at their touch.

“Yeah, I just, the dark is calming. Less to see, less to think about.” Marc says, his voice low and slightly shaky. They could tell something was on his mind. They pulls his head into their lap as they sat in the darkness, running their fingers through his hair.

“You wanna talk about it?” They ask softly, their eyes slowly adjusting to the dark as they looked into his eyes. He takes their free hand in his as he looks up at them. He sighs, running his thumbs over their knuckles.

“I don’t know. It’s complicated.” He mutters.

“I can handle complicated.” They reply. Their only focus is on making Marc feel safe. He swallows hard.

“Do you remember when we first met? I fell asleep on the bus, you had sat next to me and...” He laughs slightly “I ended up on your shoulder, and you just let me sleep on your shoulder until way past your stop.” They laugh.

“You looked like you needed the sleep, and it doesn’t hurt that you’re so handsome.”

“I don’t think I’m that handsome” Marc says bashfully. He feels the heat in his cheeks, he looks up at them.

“I’d disagree.” They smiled at him, slightly curious where he was going with this.

“I’m immensely glad that we did meet, I wasn’t in a good place then. I had just gotten back from Cairo and…there was so much going on…I just, I needed someone to trust. Someone real.” He looks away from them, his thoughts wander to that night in the desert, and how in one night his whole life changed forever. He feels his chest tighten and his mind start to slip. They reconized the signs, the way his breathing staggered, the way he stiffened in their arms, the way his gaze grew distant.  

“Marc, I’m right here. It’s okay. Do you want me to light a candle. Get us out of the dark?” They ask. He shakes his head.

“I don’t…I don’t like it when you see me like this. I just…” he hesitates. “I’m a broken person.” When he said that it broke them, this was a Man they loved more than anything. Flaws and all.

“Marc…” Before they can say anything the lights comeback on. The power restored. Marc flinches as the lights come on, and they see the tear tracks down his cheeks. “Oh Marc.” They pull him into a tight embrace. The movie they we’re watching plays in the background ignored. Marc silently sobbing in their shoulder. Nothing about this is easy. In the dark or in the light.

Bingo Masterlist

Tag: @moonknight-events @juneknight @spacecowboyhotch

[sofiaaaaaaaa03]

Homecoming

Title: Homecoming

Part 8 of Scribe of the Gods Series: Epilogue Pt. 1

Pairing: Steven grant x gn reader (platonic), Marc spector x gn reader (platonic)

Rating: PG

Word Count: 6k

Description: Many months after the attack of Cairo, Marc and Steven have done their best to return to normalcy. While doing so, they await for the return of the Scribe, who had been away during this time to help the Ennead return to its former state. Finally, the scribe is able to return home, with much to discuss.

A/N: .... HI.

It has been... far too long. This was long overdue, and I want to say thank you to those who have been patient. It means so much to me that you all were so willing to wait while I was away, a lot has happened but I genuinely did not want to leave this unfinished. I felt like I had to finish the story. Originally, I wanted to have one single chapter for the epilogue, but I decided that I should split it up as a thank you to those who were patient. I hope you all enjoy, I'm incredibly rusty and i didn't go back to edit this because i just wanted this out so you guys know what i've had collecting dust for the last few months. 100000 percent promise that i plan to and will most likely go back and edit this, but I really couldn't wait to throw this out there. Love you all. RAHHHHHH

London library has felt more empty in the last six months now that it has one less presence. Taking the weekly trips to the library just wasn’t what it used to be for Steven, who often took the trip to rotate his book cycles for his nightly readings. Now that y/n had gone off to all ends of the earth on behalf of the Ennead, there was no one to carry the same conversations the unlikely duo had prior. Steven didn’t blame y/n or feel any ill towards them leaving him and Marc and the life they had in London. In fact all he had was pride for them. They had a big job to accomplish, judging from everything they’d told him with all of the letters they’d sent to his and Marc’s flat. Writings on postcards that served as a reminder that the scribe thought of them, that they were still around in his life.

Despite their loud absence, Steven still kept the habit of visiting the library, but not under the same urgency as before now that he was no longer as afraid of wandering about under the night sky as he was before. His relationship with Marc had finally found balance. The man no longer stayed awake at night , fearful of ending up in obscure places. Marc promised Steven that now that they were no longer serving Khonshu there was no more reason for him to leave the apartment during the night to go on missions. Steven was relieved to find this out, as it meant that he was able to put himself to ease during the night, and now he got to read for his own pleasure rather than a desperate attempt to remain awake. 

Not only that, but Steven managed to get a job at the museum- thanks to Marc’s help- as a tour guide. He needed to refresh his knowledge of Egyptology and the library had a large selection of books for him to choose from. 

Steven thanked the librarian, a rather stern sort of woman who liked to drone on and on about herbs, picking up his books with a little polite nod, and made his way out towards the exit. He paused a few steps in, looking back at the desk once more with memories of the conversations he and y/n had floating in his head.

He gave a sigh. Thank goodness they were coming back soon.

He couldn’t wait.

One last look and he made his way out of the door and into the London streets.

—----

It’s been too long since y/n stepped foot in the London Library. Six months. Give or take. They’d stopped bothering to keep track after the numerous tasks they’d completed on behalf of the Ennead. For whatever it’s worth, the six months were filled to the brim with ensuring the gods’ work in the mortal realm ran smoothly. 

The first few weeks were the worst of it. When the temple had just fallen and all the avatars had died there was nothing short of utter chaos. All of the gods were adamant for y/n’s help, insecure that they no longer had a human vessel to be able to oversee their work; they insisted that they were the first to receive the young thing’s assistance. Y/n did what they could to assist the individual gods, trying to tend to their needs in a matter of urgency rather than agreeing to any given moment.

They had to be firm about their servitude, Osiris told them after a meeting gone poorly- one of the gods had complained over y/n’s unavailability to help their request. But Osiris vouched for y/n and reprimanded the god for expecting y/n to waiting for a job to simply be handed to them, they were a human child, Horus. Where are your children now that we are all scrambling to get back on our feet?- they need to be mindful that the gods can forget themselves in their place of power. The god told the human scribe that as they continued their service and aid the gods, they had to prioritize what work needed to be accomplished. If a god came to them with a mundane task that could wait, y/n was allowed, even encouraged, to tell the god that the job will be done later. 

“If they have a problem with it, tell them that they can come discuss it with me.” Osiris would tell them this time and time again. He wanted to make certain that the scribe didn’t overwork themselves or felt the need to always say yes. And y/n took this advice, and had to use it many times, but they were grateful to have a god look out for them the way Osiris did.  

While the gods were generous enough to allow y/n an opportunity to work outside of the library, the only issue that came from this  was that y/n had no reliable place to stay. On normal accounts, before the collapse of the Ennead and their temple due to the demise of Ammit, they were able to rest between councils within the chambers of the temple. They’d find a little corner far enough where no one could disturb them and catch up on sleep while the avatars drank and caught each other up in their lives outside of ceremonial duties. 

Such was not the case anymore. All that resides in the chambers now are the ghosts of the avatars and the destruction of Ammit. Neither suitable company for the scribe to stay as they worked for the gods.

Despite all the time that'd passed, the chambers still suffered from Ammit��s destruction. Not as badly as before as every now and then y/n would lift random debris out of the way as a way to pass time, but even they didn’t have the technical skills to completely reform the chambers to what it once was. 

But six months had passed since the events of Cairo. Why was it that the pyramids and the realm of the ennead was yet to be restored? One day, amidst the gods after completing several tasks for them, the scribe inquired about this as they sat on a loose stone. Horus, in all his questionable glory, answered to the scribe. Without proper avatars, the gods had no ability to fix the destruction as they lacked a physical form. They needed humans.

Y/n thought that was bullshit, if they were being honest. They were literal gods. Why did they need an avatar’s body to be able to fix the chambers? Couldn’t a simple snap make it all better?

Whatever. It was not their place to question the gods, despite their obscurities and lack of explanations. Eventually, the chambers’ reconstruction finally started. It took longer than it should have when very few followers came for the call of Horus to aid in reconstruction, but progress was still being made. 

So, with construction happening at the temple it meant that y/n was unable to reside in the rubble of the chambers anymore. Instead, they spent their off hours in between hotel rooms and air bnbs. They didn’t mind it though, they finally had a proper bed and had a decent meal that consisted of something other than the Molokhia the gods had given them for the last six months. But really, to y/n, anywhere was better compared to staying in the london library. 

There was no point renting an apartment space when the gods started to send them to the ends of the earth for all sorts of missions. Whether it be recruiting a potential candidate for one of the gods, or scavenging artifacts stolen from the temple, the scribe had more on their plate than they’d anticipated and had no time to settle in one place for very long. They didn’t complain. The gods gave them the means to pay for living arrangements and for meals, and the pay was better than the one they received from working for the library. 

Six months. Six months was a long time, now that they thought about it. 

Thank the gods they were finally able to go home now. 

—-----

Now that they thought about it, the first time y/n had been to Steven and Marc’s apartment they weren’t even invited in. Should they knock? 

They stood in front of the door, but weren't sure how Steven and Marc would react to them suddenly showing up the day before they were supposed to. The two men were expecting y/n to show up the next day. They’d even insisted on picking them up at the airport and going out for lunch. Well, that was the original plan. Until the gods had decided to let y/n leave earlier out of gratitude and granted them a portal to anywhere they desired, it was only natural that they decided to end up at the front steps of the system’s apartment. A little surprise visit doesn’t hurt anyone, right? 

The scribe straightened up, realizing they’d spent too long standing idle at the door and needed to make a move. They raised their fist and rapped on the door several times. And when no one answered they waited a few more moments before knocking once more. 

Hm. No one was home. y/n uncomfortable shifted in place, waiting a little longer to make sure that no one was actually home before they began deciding their next move. Should they stay in place and wait for the men to come home? Would that be too awkward? Having the men walk into their apartment floor and find the young adult sitting on the space next to their door? Would it just be better to leave altogether and try to come back later? What if they miss the men again? They could always go, but the question is where? It’s not like they have a place to stay nor anywhere that seemed decent enough to crash, and-

“y/n?”

The voice from across the hall snapped y/n out of their thoughts almost immediately. Steven, in all his glory, stood at the space of the elevator that’d just opened. He stared at the scribe as though he’d unable to perceive that they were actually there. 

y/n faltered a moment, unexpected at the sight of the man faster than they were anticipating, and gave Steven a small smile, a little embarrassed that at the end of it they did just loiter in steven’s space like they didn’t want to.

“Hey, Steven.” They greeted him warmly. 

The gift-shopist turned tour-guide seemed to stumble in his words as an incoherent string of words fell numb to y/n’s ears. They tried to give him an encouraging smile, walking to steven’s space in the elevator as he remained frozen in place. Too frozen, in fact, as the door of the elevator began to shut with him still inside. 

“Uh, the door-” y/n jumped in their place, arm outstretched for the door though the gift shopist stuck their arm through in time to alert the motion detector. The doors stretched open as did Steven’s arms as he took y/n in for a big hug, which they happily reciprocated. It was the kind of hug where they teetered in place very slowly, taking in each other’s presence after months of being apart, 

“What’re you doing here so early?” Steven asked between breathy chuckles, slowly  pulling y/n away from him, they took a good look at the man and realized he’d sported a light stubble. “Ain’t we’s supposed to pick you up tomorrow?”

The scribe gave them a warm smile. “The Ennead let me go early!”

“Hmm. Are you sure it was ‘cause they couldn’t wait to get rid of you.” y/n didn’t miss the sly smirk steven sported.

“Shut up.” They retorted, lightly pushed Steven’s shoulders. “Just be happy I wanted to come back.”

The gift shopist grabbed at his shoulder and glanced at the doorstop, “Is that all you’ve brought with ye? Let me help you.” He of course was referring to the two duffel bags of y/n’s personal belongings that sat at his doorstep. For six months they’d lived off of everything in the bags and it was painfully obvious from the wear and tear of the bags themselves. Before they could insist that they could carry the items Steven already had his hands on the bags and was looking through his keys for his front door. 

The door flew right open in a matter of moments and Steven stepped to the side, grinning at the scribe as he gestured for them to go ahead. 

“Right, come on in. Make yourself at home”

—------

No matter how many times they’d reassured Steven that really, they didn’t mind, Steven profusely apologized for the state of his apartment. He droned for a few moments stating that with his new job he’d not had the time to tidy up nor did Marc want to clean after Steven, (“He says I’m in charge of cleaning up my own mess. The nerve of ‘him, talkin’ to me like I’m a child!”) all the while y/n paid little mind and allowed their eyes to wander. Yes, they’d been in the apartment once, but that was many months ago. And it wasn’t like they had the time to take it in back then. Back then, when they were observing Marc and Steven from afar under the orders of a concerned Djehuty. They hummed to themselves, remembering the late nights sitting atop of Marc’s rooftop while listening for any sign of disturbances that could happen to the men. 

Y/n sighed deeply, eyes wandering to the window they used to sit by. It wasn’t that long ago. Look how things have changed. 

From where they sat nestled in a quaint green armchair, y/n felt like they were back in the London Library. Nestled amongst an alarming number of books, manuscripts, a tombstone of forests and papetry. Every nook and cranny of the apartment was filled with paper. All that was missing from the library was the occasional bun-wearing, shushing librarians and underpaid security guards. 

“Did you read all of these?” y/n picked up a loose book resting close to them, lifting the cover to their sight.

Steven responded from his kitchenette, fiddling with three assorted mugs as he kept himself busy making something to drink for the two. “Yeah, more or less.” 

“Huh,” y/n lowered the book, smoothing their fingers across the cover as they glanced again at the books around them. “With all of these books there’s not much use going to the library. You have your own here.”

Steven walked over to the scribe and offered out their drink to them. “ I make a habit of buying books I like after reading them borrowed ones. Keep ‘em here like little trophies, yknow.”

“Oh, you’re one of those people.”

“Yes, I’m one of those people, but at least we’re a reason why you have a job at the library.”

They didn’t miss the amusing smirk that Steven shot their way as he plopped himself into his seat at the armchair opposite of theirs, not before settingy/n’s designated cup on the table in front of them. He took a swing from his own and a silence fell between the two. Doing their best to ignore it, y/n took another moment to discern the gift shopist’s apartment.

Steven must’ve noticed them observing the fish tank that stood loudly in the middle of the apartment, as he shifted in his seat and gestured to the papers that decorated the glass pane. All held up by magnets and were numerous by the numbers. y/n had barely noticed them with their admiration of the two fishes that swam inside. “We kept all your letters. Marc thought putting them up close to the water was a bad idea but I’s quite like them there.”

“Oh,” y/n let out a small smile at this, struck with warmth that the system liked the letters enough to put them up. Like drawings on a fridge. “I didn’t think you’d do that.”

“Of course we would. Marc wanted to know what you were up to, and liked to keep note of where you’s been since you had to be secretive about it.” Steven beamed proudly, standing up to approach the fishtank. 

“It was a necessary sacrifice,” y/n spoke, leaning over to grab their drink that Steven had prepared for them. “This was the best way I could keep in touch.”

During their time in the ennead, y/n was unable to communicate to marc and steven very often. Communication through modern devices were limited due to risks of tracing and exposing their location from those with malintentions. To help their friends know that they were still alive and well, the young avatar developed a habit of sending postcards to the system from locations they were sent to during a mission. Most of them were written with the generic, “I’m having fun’s” and “Wish you were here’s” to maintain obscurity, but y/n never missed a chance to send them so that Marc and Steven could figure out their last whereabouts from where the postcard originated from, and be relieved by the very fact that they were still alive and well. 

 “Wells,” Steven hummed to himself, turning to give the avatar a small smile as he returned to his seat. He had collected several postcards from the fishtank and waved them in the air before dropping them onto the table. Y/n watches the postcards splatter across the table, recognizing the images on the postcards from places they went to during their trip. “You have to tell us about your trips.” 

And so the scribe told Steven about their life the last six months. Giving an explanation to why they were so absent outside of handwritten letters. As they spoke Steven gave them all of his attention, sitting at the edge of his seat, forearms rested on his knees as he leaned in to every word they spoke. They made sure to speak in great detail as they continued, knowing that the gift shopist had waited a long time to be able to hear their experience firsthand. Marc finally made an appearance to make his own comments. Immediately y/n was ecstatic to hear from the marine and they began to catch up amongst themselves like they did with Steven minutes prior. By the time they were finished their mugs were empty and the sun had set.

“They had me go out and find the avatars,” y/n continued telling their story to Marc, pulling out a map from one of their bags and displaying it onto the coffee table. Marc leaned over, eying the jumbled scribbles written all over the world, marked with locations and field notes from your travels. “The gods, they chose their patrons from different parts of the world, Marc. I-I mean, I had to go to the most obscure places, finding these people, I even ended up in Jersey City, of all places looking out for this one girl-”

Marc closed the front door as he watched y/n run to their bag for the map, carrying takeout from a Vietnamese restaurant down the road. At some point during their conversation he proposed that they went to get some food. He chuckled at y/n’s demeanor now that they finally got to take out the map that they said they wanted to show him, gushing over their trips. 

“The Jackals are from Jersey,” Marc sat himself back in the chair, opening up the bag and placing their food onto the table. He lifted up a box, opening it up to make sure that he didn’t get the food switched, “My old man took me to one of their games back when I was a kid.”

He frowned at his food, eyeing the noodles. Steven began looking around the table before reaching his hand back into the bag, shuffling through napkins. “Bollocks, I think they’ve forgot my peppers.” 

“They’re here,” y/n took a small container of peppers from their side of the table and handed it over to Steven, eyes still trained on the marked locations of the map. He gave them an appreciative smile, humming as he opened up the container and poured its contents over the steaming bun bo hue he’d ordered.

He took a large bite of his food as he leaned over to take in the map displayed before him, trying to make sense of the scribbles. “Did you find all of them?”

Y/n nodded, finally reaching to grab their food. They couldn’t help but smile in content at the food when they flipped the box open. “I did. Finding them was the easy part. A lot of them were still distraught and panicked over the fact that the gods were real. One guy was so convinced that someone snuck him drugs and he was having a really bad trip. Other people took the whole thing really well, but a majority of them needed as much help as they could get from assimilating to the concept that an Egyptian god chose them as their patron.”

Marc nodded knowingly at them, “Not everybody is okay with the whole ‘gods are real’ schtick.” 

The scribe stopped looking over their map to gaze at Marc. They hesitated for a moment. It had been a really long time since they’d seen Marc, they realized now that they really had no idea of how he’s been since the attack on Cairo, whether the attack had left him with any mental troubles or injury now that Khonshu’s power was no longer there to speed up his body’s natural healing process. On the topic, y/n was greatly concerned on how Marc and Steven had been handling themselves now that they were no longer indebted to Khonshu. 

Y/n hesitated a moment as they observed Marc, who was keeping himself occupied with his meal now that there was a bit of silence to dwell in. 

Finally, they spoke. They were sure that Marc could be able to hear the hesitence in their voice, but it was too late to stop now. 

“So, how have you been? Like, with Khonshu and everything.” 

Marc said nothing for a moment. Finally, he deeply sighed. He kept his eyes trained on his soup, picking at the noodles with his utensils as he slowly spoke. “I feel much better, I would say”

“Yeah?” Y/n responded. They reached for a napkin laying on the table. 

Marc nodded. He shifted himself to lean forward more on his knees. “Like, you know how we were pretty much forced to serve Khonshu? Well, now that that’s over with, I feel like I can do whatever I want now,” He let out a sort of dry chuckle, seemingly pondering over his own words. “Like, I never understood how limited our life actually was… it feels really… open now, do you understand that?”

He continued, not waiting for the scribe’s response, a look of content written on his face. “Honestly, I feel good about it.”

Marc didn’t sound like he had any doubt about his decision to end the system’s relationship with Khonshu. When he spoke, he sounded so sure of himself and where he was currently, trying to return to normalcy after Cairo. Well, as normal as it can get for people like them, y/n reminded themselves. There was no way that either of their lives would ever be the same. They were forever thrusted into the world of the gods, and even though Marc and Steven had chosen to retire that life, y/n knew very well that they were still a pawn waiting to be used in the eyes of the gods. They just hoped that that would never be the case. For Marc and Steven’s sake, they deserved to have their retirement be undisturbed. 

“That’s,” y/n began, trying to find the courage to speak after realizing they’d remained silent a little too long. They blinked several times. “That’s great. That’s really great. I’m happy for you two.”

Steven beamed at them, shifting in his seat after putting his meal back on the table. “Ye, it is really. I’s been real nice not havin’ any more trouble at work because of that nasty old crow.”

“He caused you both more harm than good,” The scribe nodded knowingly at Steven’s words. 

Steven swallowed another portion of his soup, rubbing off the droplets that trailed from his lips. He cleared his throat, but y/n’s attention was fixated on the napkin he’d dropped on the table. He didn’t wait for the scribe to acknowledge him, but they were able to hear the way he was trying to tread lightly as he spoke.

“Speakin’ of the gods,” He began slowly, waiting a moment to make sure that y/n had nothing to say before he continued, “now that you’re done workin’ for the Ennead, have you put any thought to what you’re going to do with Djehuty?”

It was obvious that this question came to y/n as a surprise when they jolted at the mention of the god. Steven hummed anxiously and raised his hands toward the scribe, profusely apologizing for bringing up the god in question.

“No, no it’s fine,” y/n raised a hand to reassure Steven. “It’s just, it’s the last thing I want to think about right now. Djehuty hasn’t approached me since I first started working for the Ennead, and everyday since then it’s been this waiting game of when he’ll actually show up again. I’m a little on edge, I guess.”

“You still don’t want to see him?” Marc stood up. He stretched his arms into the air briefly before throwing them down again, observing the contents on the table. By this time, all of their food had been finished save for the spring rolls they’d decided to split together. There was one left that sat there for a lot longer than it should have, neither y/n nor marc wanted to be the person to take it out of courtesy. 

“No,” y/n glanced up at Marc. He stood over the scribe with the spring roll offered out to them, they gave him a brief monotonous look before accepting the spring roll from him. They inspected it before taking a small bite. They hummed, scanning the table for peanut butter sauce while Marc began clearing the plates away. 

“Why is it you don’t want to see Djehuty, again?” The utensils clinked in Marc’s hands as he gathered up what he could, swiping his finger into the peanut butter sauce as y/n grabbed the container. He raised it to his mouth to taste and made his way to the kitchenette to dispose the takeout boxes. 

“ ‘cause most likely he’s going to ask me to be his avatar again,” y/n states after swallowing from their bite. The scribe took another bite of the roll, gathering their own mess of napkins and peanut butter sauce and making their way to where Marc was in the kitchen. They spared him a glance as they approached. He had this look on his face that told them that he was choosing his next words carefully. 

They opened Steven’s fridge, eying for a spot before placing the peanut butter sauce somewhere for Steven to taste later. Marc reached for his drink from the countertop, “And what would your response be?”

There’s a pause. And Marc is observing y/n with a look on his face that made them feel like they were being read like an open book. 

y/n straightened themselves up, slowly closing the fridge door to look at Marc with skepticism in their eyes. They had yet to say anything to the ex-marine, but they didn’t have to when the look that they gave him told him that he was pushing a nerve with them. But 

“You’re talking to a guy who’s well-versed in this whole avatar schtick,” He crossed his arms, leaning his weight against the kitchen counter. The man gazed at y/n with a look, “I know coping mechanisms when I see one. Instead of facing Djehuty head-on, you decided to play it safe and hide behind Ennead, but now that you’ve ditched that strategy, you’re still avoiding Djehuty even though you’re technically still his avatar. I just want to know why exactly it is you’re doing that, that’s all.”

y/n turned away from Marc, uncomfortable at the pressing question he’d asked them. They tapped their fingers against their upper thighs in an attempt to dispel the anxiety growing inside of them.

“Its just that,” they began slowly, articulating the feelings they had kept to themselves for so long into words as they spoke. They hadn’t thought that they would share this with anyone this soon, let alone the System. “if I wasn’t his avatar… then what would I even be? I can’t even imagine what I would become. It’s all I've ever known. It’s the reason I’m alive.”

“Well, yeah, its why you were alive the first time.” Marc countered plainly, a resting his face onto his open palm as he had his weight on his knees.  He didn’t miss the glare that y/n had shot him. They didn’t like to be reminded of the whole situation they’d had with Djehuty in the Duat. Although Marc did his best to respect it there were times where he wasn’t shy to tell them how it was. It struck a nerve with them every time he did so. 

“Yeah, cause who wouldn’t want their entire existence defined by being a puppet for an ancient deity. At least I wasn’t dumb enough to be manipulated into it.” 

Marc blinked at y/n’s words. He leaned back slightly, eyes fixated on the scribe as they snapped at him with a hostile air to them. He was unable to see their face as they had turned their head away from him, but he knew deep down that their outburst at him was simply a defense mechanism, a way of protecting themselves from the blunt remarks and sudden pressure to answer questions he’d put them under without warning. Marc didn’t blame them for lashing out in such a way, he probably would have done the same too if he was in their position. 

Slowly, Marc sighed from behind y/n. They could hear the slow movements he made behind him as he made his way to refill his water from the sink. They sighed, pushing their hands to their face and wiping it across their eyes. They’d forgotten themselves in that moment, and felt guilty at how they responded to Marc’s questions, he was kind enough to invite them to food and there was too much time that had passed between the two to snap at him, even if it was through a joking manner. 

“Look, Marc-”

“No, I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that. I’m sorry for pushing your buttons.” Marc stood by the scribe, clamping a firm hand onto their shoulder. He had faced them now, carrying a water in his hand as he offered them a small nod, acknowledging his words. He extended the glass in his hands towards them, waiting for them to take the cup from his hands before patting his open palms onto the pockets of his pants. He seemed to be looking for something as his eyes searched the room. 

“You know what? It’s been a long day, I’m sure you’re tired after all that traveling.”

“I literally went through a portal,” Y/n couldn’t help but smile at the marine with an incredulous look on their face. 

“Well you’re still in Egypt, aren’t you?” Steven mused, raising his eyebrows at the young thing. y/n rolled their eyes at Steven's whit. “It’s a whole two hours difference. What is it… it’s midnight for you, right, let’s get you ready.” y/n groaned at the statement. They weren’t tired at all from their journey. Steven was only using that as an excuse to go to bed early. They knew that he and Marc, despite being in their late 30s, were really just old men who slept for more than they should. 

“You can take the bed tonight, y/n. I’ll set up the couch for myself-ah.” Marc raised a hand to them with a firm voice telling them that there was no room for arguing. “You’re taking the bed. Tomorrow we can regroup and have more time to figure out what we’ll do now that you’re here.”

Marc left their side with one more pat before he approached a cabinet on the far side of the room. He opened it and pulled out a few blankets and a pillow before making his way to the couch. y/n observed the marine from their place in the kitchen, not daring to move until they were certain that the man was not at all disturbed by their presence. They kept watch as he made a hmph, releasing the noise while plopping himself across the couch with a blanket over him and a book in his hands.

The scribe, still unwilling to move from their place, observed the marine for a little bit longe, hoping to find reassurance that he held no grudge against them for their earlier attitude. They watched closely, but neither Marc nor Steven showed any visible signs of resentment. Instead, Steven gave them one last look, offering a genuine "goodnight" before settling down with his book.

Filled with a mix of relief and lingering guilt over their behavior, y/n glanced between the man in the couch and the bed they'd offered to him. They looked back at Steven, and after a few moments realized that they were fully staring at the man who had clearly told them goodnight. Slowly, they walked past the couch and took a peek into Steven and Marc's designated sleeping spot in their open apartment. Not to the scribe's surprise, their bed was surrounded by mountains of books that Steven had collected. Despite the overwhelming number of books it all seemed to be a sort of organized mess that only Steven could understand.

The scribe took their bags from the floor beside the couch where Steven read their book and took out some pajamas and bathroom bag. They made sure to stay quiet while they went to change and prepare for bed, scared that if they made too much noise, they would bother Steven. In the bathroom, they pulled out a shirt that read "I survived my trip to NYC," a memento they bought from a subway giftshop during a recon mission on behalf of Horus. Slipping the shirt over their head, y/n caught their reflection in the mirror.

Staring at themselves, they recognized their own face staring back at them, but a nagging sense of detachment washed over the scribe. The conversation Marc tried to have with them minutes before was fresh on their mind. They stared at themselves in the mirror, eyes flickering between one another as they tried to discern what exactly it was, they were feeling.

y/n raised their hands to grab onto the fabric of their shirt, looking down at the words as they rubbed their fingers across the fabric. Suddenly, the shirt's message seemed to mock them. The only reason they were able to get this shirt was because of their work for the Egyptian deities. In this life that they'd lived, they'd accomplished so much. They'd made a name for themselves amongst the gods and had earned their respect, but even that didn't outweigh the dangers and mental exhaustion that came with being an avatar.

But it was all that they'd ever known. This life. The life of servitude for the Egyptian gods. y/n had confidence that if they were to continue their involvement in the affairs of the gods, including Djehuty, the scribe had no doubt that they would thrive.

But was that really what they wanted? y/n slowly let go of their grip on their t-shirt, raising their hands to their face as they observed themselves in the mirror.

This was something that the scribe had contemplated since the first day they began working on behalf of the ennead. They agreed to help the gods reform the Ennead so that when it came down to it, they could go to the gods and ask them to return the favor out of the kindness that they may be able to show to an avatar that dedicated so much time to them.

The scribe had enough of staring at themselves in the mirror, hoping to pick up their toothbrush and toothpaste. They poured a dollop of paste to their brush, raising the toothbrush to their mouth, leaning over the sink to brush their teeth.

On the other hand, they pondered while brushing, there was the very big resentment towards Djehuty that held them back from being so willing to work for him again. Djehuty, who had betrayed their trust long ago by revealing that he'd stolen their soul without disclosure. They found it extremely difficult to fully trust that old bird, fearful of being deceived again.

But... despite their reservations, y/n grappled with the uncertainty of letting go. Being an avatar and serving the gods had become their identity, their purpose. It was all they had ever known, and the thought of severing that connection to become a normal human filled them with uncertainty of what their human life would hold in store for them.

Could they even do it?

If they were being honest, y/n was very jealous of Marc and Steven. The men seemed to have severed their connection with Khonshu so easily. They barely even hesitated. Now the men were building a life of their own, getting jobs, healing.

The young avatar spat out into the sink, cleaning any paste that covered their mouth before finally leaving the bathroom. They entered into the dimly lit apartment, slowly making their way to Marc and Steven's bed, not without sparing a glance to the couch where the system was settled in. Probably still reading their book. They made a mental note to themselves to ask about the book at a later time, when they'd find a good opportunity.

As they settled into the bed, y/n covered themselves with the blankets Marc had laid out for them. It felt peculiar to sleep in the bed of another man. The scribe felt like they were completely violating the system's personal space, despite Marc insisting on the arrangement, assuring them that it was completely fine.

They stared up at the ceiling, unsure if they were quite ready to sleep yet. The scribe hummed, turning to their side after some time, They listened to the water filter of Gus the Second's fish tank hum amidst the stillness of the night and the occasional turning of page as Steven flipped through his book. In the moments before sleep finally took over the young thing, y/n laid in bed and observed Gus the second swimming around in his little home. They could see him clearly, swimming and exploring in his own little world, and they couldn't help but wonder if Gus ever caught glimpses of Steven and themselves about the apartment and dreamt of leaving his home in the fish tank to explore Steven's apartment.

-----------

@astrobuzzsstuff

@blustalker

@thekaibabes@nerds4life246 @samanthacookieone @thekaibabes @kiara-is-gay @pcotato @sagedgeek @blustalker @atzlena @xiernia @dheet @astrobuzzsstuff @lourecovette @fezlvr @wanderingmaximoffs @jay-alison @dweeb-central @theseawa @mothperson666 @yeetyeetchickenmeat @allynplays @raylan-c @crowpop

 @maryvon3002 @flyingmushroomss @livpoststhings @lunalixya @jvdethirlwall @ihatemyselfmorethanmydepressionydepression @childofthemoon7 @daughterofthequeen @forgetful-cupid @lunalixya @voonha @lookitseddie

[woewriting]

amae (ii)

pairing: cairo sweet | reader summary: cairo's actions continue to frustrate you, but when unspoken words are finally said out loud, you understand her. word count: 4619 warnings: mdni, +18 only! jumpscare: mr. miller, sexual tension, a bit of angst, jealous cairo, small reader x winnie situation, scisorring, face riding (reader receiving), language, smut in general, brief softness.

part 1 . part 2 | masterlist

Apparently, college parties were a bit different in Tennessee, which was a sweet surprise to you. Different from the ones you were used to back in your hometown, this one was hosted at the English professor’s house  — you noticed as soon as you opened the front door, a picture of him with his wife near the entrance.

You raised your eyebrows when you bumped into your professor, an apologetic smile on his face.

“I didn't see you there, I'm sorry.” He touched your arm in a weak squeeze before placing his hand back in his pocket, the other holding a red mug.

“It's okay, Mr. Miller. I didn't know you would be here.” 

“I always host this reading before the actual party. My wife and I will go on a weekend trip and Winnie asked if she could host a ‘small’ gathering; apparently, the house they usually go to for the party is unavailable. Beatrice left after noon. Smart decision of hers.” You laughed at his expression, knowing damn well it would be anything but small. You could tell by the faces around you that you never saw in any of his classes or readings before. They didn’t exactly fit the ‘tortured-poet’ profile “Are you joining us for the reading? It started a few minutes ago, I just came to the kitchen to get some more coffee. Cairo should start at any moment.”

At the mention of her name, you felt a bitter taste in your mouth and you took a deep breath. 

A week had passed since the girl sat on your lap, kissed you, allowed you to touch her and then started acting as if nothing happened. During classes, you could feel her eyes on you, that uncomfortable feeling of being watched taking over your senses every five minutes, as if she was waiting for you to turn around and smile at her.

But you didn't. You avoided her like the plague. As soon as the class ended, you gathered your materials, plugged in your earphones and left without looking back. 

Winnie complained a few times about your sudden avoidance of her and Cairo, asking non stop what had happened, if she did something that got you upset, but all you could do was apologize and say you had a lot on your mind with finals and assignments with a short deadline. It wasn't a full lie, but the girl could see the change in your expressions.

And now, all that hard work to avoid the brunette would go downhill as she was waiting a couple steps away from where you were standing, waiting for Mr. Miller's returnal so she could read what she had prepared for tonight.

“Cairo and I aren't in the best place right now, if I'm being honest. I didn't know she would be here.” 

“Oh…” The man scratched his chin. “I didn't know that, I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do to help, don't hesitate in asking. I know Cairo, she can be… stubborn.”

You bit the inside of your cheeks at the statement. During your first days in Mr. Miller's class, Winnie kept you updated on the strange relationship Cairo had with your now professor; on how starstruck the young writer was at being close to someone she admires and looks up to. It was uncomfortable seeing how close he would be to her, making your stomach twist inside you with anxiety, yet there was nothing you could do as she seemed happy to be noticed by him. 

When you asked about this whole situation to Cairo, trying to disguise your reactions, she told you: “he is someone I admire and I know he can help me with my writing. I look forward to our meetings as I have his attention all to myself.” You gave her a small smile that nearly made your eyes shake. Just like now.

You blinked a few times, pursing your lips together. 

“We'll be fine.” You decided to answer, not truly believing in that. “But I appreciate the offering, Mr. Miller.”

“Anytime.” 

“Does your wife know that soon her house will have drunk people stumbling against the walls?” You asked in an attempt to ease the sudden awkward silence.

“God, no.” He laughed.

“I’ll try to keep the glass decoration in one piece.” Once again his hand rested on your arm for a few seconds in a silent ‘thank you’ before he checked the silvery watch on his wrist. 

“The reading is almost finished. Walk with me?”

Unable to deny the request, you simply nodded, walking in front of the professor as he motioned to you. 

The second you arrived in the living room, your eyes landed on her like a magnet. It might be because she was standing in the improvised stage by the window, or because of the deadly stare she locked on you when you walked in with Mr. Miller by your side. If she had a laser in her eyes, you'd be a sieve by now with thick blood covering the dark wood floor. 

A hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you to the corner. Winnie smiled at you, saying she saved you a seat by her side on the couch even though she wasn’t sure you'd be here for the reading. The childish side of yours screamed for you to answer her with: “if I knew she would be here, I wouldn't have come” in a very annoying voice, but you only smiled at her, squirming in the leather couch. 

The room was in complete silence, waiting for the girl staring at you to start her reading. Cairo took a deep breath, licking her dry lips to start. The sun was starting to descend on the window behind her, transforming that whole scene into a beautiful portrait that your mind would keep for as long as you could remember.

“And as I witness her most intense intentions through dark eyes, with hands marking mine own peachy skin in a bruising grasp, I fall asunder above her. My body; weak, begging, pleading for her merciless touch as I watch her slam the door shut. The smell of something burning fills the walls, yet it's not the smoke that leaves my lungs, it's the fog that fills as I turn, fated to fall and fated to fail, and wish for her gaze, my resolute resistance scrawled in sand, tumbling through her open hands just as through the neck of our hourglass.

From the high, the grayness takes form; thick, lascivious, dangerous. The unsureness of faith buries words that one day I aim to say. Miserable thing, watching with tearful eyes as she leaves. The tree branches knock on the window, witnessing the whole pitiful scene engraved in my memory.”

You paid attention to every word she enunciated with a strong, determined voice, it felt like she was trying to open your skull and carve each one onto your brain matter. You felt dizzy at them, heart beating fast against your ribcage. While everyone applauded the young writer, you clenched your jaw, swallowing nothing that would help your sudden dry mouth. 

Cairo smiled, the type of smile that would make anyone drop to their knees and pray for her. Winnie was excited by your side, the subtle scent of alcohol you smelled on her made you laugh. The girl was loud and, at the moment, when all eyes turned to you two, you regretted sitting by her side. From across the living room, your eyes met hers again, now sat beside Mr. Miller while he whispered something in her ear to which she smiled wide, turning to him. 

As another student took over the stage, you couldn’t absorb any words that were said, disappearing into thin air. All you could focus on was Cairo’s hand occasionally touching his forearm when she leaned to say something in his ear, earning a quiet laugh from the professor, the urge to stand up and drag her away from that bothering situation, instead you walked to the kitchen in hopes to find a single drop of alcohol that would make that tension vanish from your body. Soon, Winnie joined you. 

“This is so boring, my God!” She whined, sitting up on the kitchen island while eyeing you up and down in the bright light for the first time. “You’re  overdressed as usual, I see.”

“Your underwear as usual, I see.” Winnie spread her legs as long as the short leather skirt allowed her to, giving you the high quality view of a lacy underwear as she takes the vodka bottle from your hands, taking a long sip, feeling the burning spreading over her chest with a satisfied hum.

“You like?”

You let out a huff, looking away. “You wish.”

“I will kiss you one day.” She said more to herself than to you, like a secret promise that escaped due to the lack of inhibition — not that she had any, even in her sober moments that word didn't exist in her vocabulary.

Shaking your head at her statement, you pulled the sleeves of your sweater, taking the half empty bottle from her hands and getting ready to prepare yourself a drink that didn’t taste like a slow death. 

The reading kept on until the sun was completely set in the horizon, turning the living room into a dark scenario, lit only by the yellowish color from the table lamps. Slowly, the students started leaving while others arrived, walking in the house with bottles and bottles of alcohol, storing them in the kitchen’s fridge.

While you paid attention to the cup in your hands, wondering how long it would take for you to detach from the reality that was drowning you, you felt a bump on your shoulder.

“What is it?” 

Winnie signalized with her head, making you look over your shoulder, witnessing Cairo and Mr. Miller talking near the stairwell that would lead to the second floor of the house. 

“I think he wants to take her upstairs.”

“She can do whatever she wants, Winnie.” You mumbled, trying not to squeeze the cup in your hand when taking a sip. The bitterness making you frown. “Cairo is a big girl.”

“Are you sure about that?” 

“What do you mean?” Turning back to her, your eyebrows sewn together in confusion.

“Because she won’t stop looking at us.” You shrugged, finishing your drink in one long sip. You felt your stomach complain at the big wave of alcohol. 

“She can disappear with him for all I care.”

Winnie tilted her head, still looking at the two of them with narrowed eyes. “Oh, so I shouldn’t say they’re going upstairs and she seems pretty excited about it?”

“Yup, not a single thought about it is on my mind right now.” Grabbing the bottle again from her hands, less subtle and emptier than the first time, you poured yourself a very generous sip on your cup, drowsy smiling to Winnie when you handed over the, now completely empty, bottle. 

As the minutes went by and the alcohol went in, your control over your senses were slowly losing its grip and you started to worry about Cairo against your will. Controlling the impulse to run upstairs as you weren’t drunk enough to blame on the booze, you shook your head, leaning your body against Winnie’s while the girl talked excitedly to a random boy from the football team, your mind too caught up analyzing the things the young writer said earlier to pay attention to any conversation around you. 

The music wasn't loud enough as the professor still hadn't left, but you could feel every beat of it synchronized with the beat of your heart. 

Your fingers found the skin of Winnie's thigh, starting to draw random lines out of boredom. Other than the girl, and Cairo, you weren't familiar with the faces that kept on surging from the front door every five minutes.

“If you keep doing that, I'll drag you upstairs too.” Black whispered, making you tilt your chin up at her.

“Maybe you should.” 

Winnie was beautiful, you couldn't deny that. From the hazel eyes to the plump lips that looked so attractive at that moment, getting closer and closer, making a tingling feeling crawl over your legs like a spider. You wanted to kiss her, and you would have, if it weren't for the footsteps coming from behind you, making Black pull away. You knew it was Mr. Miller, the strong perfume making your nose burn. 

The older man stood in front of you, looking at Winnie who was still seated on the marble island, an innocent glow in her eyes that almost made you laugh, but a hand wrapping around your wrist pulled you away from that situation. All you could hear as you were being dragged to the — now empty — living room was Mr. Miller asking the girl to behave and to not destroy his house or he would fail her. You laughed to yourself.

“Did you seriously allowed Mr. Miller to take me upstairs?” Cairo asked, pulling at the sleeves of your sweater like a spoiled kid when you refused to look at her, waving at the professor when he turned around to leave, leaving the house and a bunch of teenagers and new-adults unsupervised.

Your eyes were dark and your body a little soft when you stared at her, yet you still were in control of your actions, the drinks just diminished the worry of doing or saying something wrong. At that point, you didn't care about what left your mouth. You wanted to curse the young writer.

“He's our English teacher, not a serial killer.”

“He could've forced me to do something!”

“You seemed pretty excited to go with him. Now, excuse me, I'm gonna find Winnie so we can finish what we were about to start.” Before you could walk past a furious Cairo, her hand, once again, glued to your chest.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

"What the fuck is wrong with you? You blew me off, Cairo. What did you expect? That I would run after you and beg for your attention?"

"Yes!"

You let out a breathy sigh, the corner of your lips up in disbelief. "You really are so self-centered, you don't care about anyone other than yourself. You're a fucking bitch!"

"And you're dying to fuck this self-centered bitch."

"Not after Mr. Miller, thank you." You scolf sarcastically.

"He didn't fuck me, you idiot.” The hand in your chest grabbed the fabric of your sweater, pulling you down to her so she could whisper with lips nearly pressing on yours. “He wasn't you." 

Her eyes softened as well as the fist that held you in place, moving it to the back of your head. 

Staring at her eyes, you didn't know what to find. You didn't even know what you wanted to find. Maybe a sincere answer.

“Cairo…” You started, sighing against her lips, closing your eyes for a brief moment, trying to gather cohesive words to form a sentence. You blamed the alcohol for this pathetic lack of senses. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to care. I want you to show how desperate you are to have me, how you crave my body in your hands.” You swallowed hard, carefully listening to the whispery confession, the soft motion of her lips grabbing your attention. Once again, you wanted to steal that small freckle from her upper lip. “I want you to burn my skin with your fingers and bruise me with your mouth. And if you really wanted me to be yours, you would've turned around, thrown me on that fucking bed and taken me.” The strong pronunciation of that last part got your body heating up, the urge in your chest spreading in your veins and mixing with the existing alcohol. 

“You’re not very clear in your intentions, Cairo. You’re good at saying everything and nothing.”

Taking your hand, the writer pressed it against her chest. She took a deep breath, goosebumps covering her body at the warm feeling of having your hand touching her again.

“Can you feel that?” You nodded, letting your forehead gently fall against hers. “Do you understand now or do I have to draw it for you?”

Suddenly, your brain became fogged and you were getting lost again. You saw dark brown eyes. You felt a strong bumping in your hands. You smelled woody cologne and cinnamon. Yet, you didn't know where to go. 

“I want you to draw for me.” You said, desperately trying to find the right path.

Cairo nodded her head, pulling you with her once again, but this time, with her fingers intertwined on yours and more gentle than the first time. You trailed behind, careful to not trip on the stairs as she led the both of you somewhere you didn't know, the lights were off on the second floor, making impossible for you to see anything that wasn't right in front of you.

You heard the sound of a door opening and being locked once closed. The moonlight was invading the room through the open curtains. Blinking a few times to adjust the blurred vision, you felt your body being pushed against a soft mattress and a lightweight on top of you.

“I'll draw it for you.” Cairo whispered, pressing her lips on yours in a chaste kiss. “Do you have any idea of what you do to me?” She asked while kissing down your neck, your hands squeezing her waist over the cotton fabric. You shook your head, licking your dry lips, still tasting her lip balm on them. “Here, let me show it to you.” 

Cairo sat on your hips, guiding one of your hands under the white dress, in between her legs. Flashbacks returned and your heart stopped beating for a second while she moved herself on your fingertips, eyes locked on yours, a smirk surging in the darkness. When you moaned at the warmth that embraced your fingers, she did the same.

You breathed out the air that was stuck in your lungs, affected by the scene that unwrapped in front of your eyes. It was a erotic, alluring view, slowly burning itself into your brain like a polaroid. A flash of smile drew on Cairo’s face, satisfied with the reactions coming from you, with the way your eyes stared at her with a dark, flame of desire, lips parted as you struggled to breath.

The cold touch of her rings sent shivers down your spine when her hand wrapped itself around your neck, pressing the sides of it, feeling the pulsating vein under her fingertips. A sob escaping her throat when your fingers easily slipped into her, burying themselves in the warmth of her velvety walls, clenching around you, while the heel of your hand pressed against her swollen clit.

A vile glow shining in the dark brown eyes when she leaned down, squeezing the sides of neck harder as she felt the knot inside her getting tighter. That feeling of desperation growing impatient in her chest.

“Have I lost myself, or have I gained you?” You asked in a soft voice, following a steady pace with your fingers as she moved herself on you. Even when you were the one carrying her in your hands, it was hers that controlled the air in your lungs. 

You’ve always seen Cairo as a spoiled girl that grew up in a big house, having all her wishes wrapped in a pretty paper waiting for her on her bed when she came home from school. But now, as she falls apart in your hands, saying your name like a sacred mantra, you saw beyond words and actions, you saw the urge to be held and cared for, like a little girl that didn’t get a hug after they wake up.  

Staring at her in awe, you felt tears coming to the brim of your eyes, the squeeze cutting every small space for the air to bring you life, but you didn't care, not when you saw the vision of what heaven must be like; the curly brown hair falling over her right shoulder, the soft strands tickling the skin of your neck as she fell over you, hiding on your chest.

Coming down from her high, Cairo carried a sly smile when she looked at you. Her kiss tasted like ashes, bitter, against your tongue. 

“You taste sweet.” The writer whispered in between kisses, sucking your tongue into her mouth over and over, sighing in pleasure at the fingers that slid off of her. Carefully bringing your coated fingers to your mouth, you wrapped your lips around them, being watched with full blown eyes every movement of yours.

“And you taste divine.” 

It only took a millisecond for her lips to meet yours once again, the softness of the act long forgotten as she bit your lower lip, tasting the iron in her tongue with a sadistic smile at the painful cry you let out, squeezing her ass in your hands; burning the peachy skin with your fingertips. The words of her writing echoing inside your brain, spreading it on your blood flow. 

“I like this sweater, you look charming in dark blue.” Her hand found the collar of it, tip of her fingers tracing the skin underneath, making the fabric itch around your neck. “Take it off.” Despite the sweet tone in her voice, you obeyed the breathy order, pulling it over your head and tossing it somewhere in the unknown bedroom. Cairo stood up, removing the brown leather boots and her own dress, the white lacey set that remained on her body making you gulp. 

The writer stood in between your legs, her hands on your hair while yours held her by her waist, goosebumps all over her body as you kissed the toned abs, softly biting the skin.

Cairo looked down at you with curious eyes, the tip of her tongue trapped between her teeth, admiring the small galaxies your mouth left all over her like she was an empty canvas that needed some color. And you were doing the perfect job, painting an universe on her skin as you knelt down, bringing her underwear along with it. The writer kicked the useless cloth, putting her leg over your shoulder and hooking it behind your head; you salivated at the view of her cunt glistening in front of you. 

One of her hands caressed your face with gentleness, her thumb sliding over your bottom lip before she made you open your mouth, pushing her hips closer to your lips. She was dripping on your tongue, the taste of her filling your mouth as you hummed in pleasure, licking what escaped your agape mouth. 

The big brown eyes stared at you in flames, burning your skin into a bright scarlet crimson. You nudge your nose closer to her, inhaling the intoxicating smell; everything about Cairo was sweet, from her last name, to her voice that could recite the most beautiful poem by core, to the honey flavor slick that dripped from her aching hole, running down her thighs at the view of you ready to worship her, and when your tongue slid in between her folds in a long, slow lick, her head fell back and a shiver went down her spine. 

Pressing your tongue flat over her hardened nub, you closed your eyes, the grip on your hair pulling you impossibly closer. You circled her clit with the tip of your tongue, drawing random patterns with precision on the sensitive nerve, earning yourself a praise that came with a smile when she looked down on you. 

Moving your hands up her thigh, you squeezed the muscle, making her ride on your tongue, aggressively and delicious. The sounds escaping your open mouth reverberated all over her sensitive flesh. 

Cairo was an exhibitionist, she adored having eyes on her all the time, paying attention to every admirable detail that was attached to her. And having you on your knees praying against her cunt was filthy, enticing and agonizing, that heat wave scorching her insides and melting on your tongue, and you made sure to swallow it with a gratifying smile.

You could suffocate in between her legs and it would be a heavenly death. 

Kissing your way up, you brought her body closer, circling her waist as she hooked both legs around you, sliding her tongue over your shiny lips before you dropped her on the bed. Cairo was about to complain at the lack of care, but she soon shut her mouth, watching you kick your converse to the side and unbuttoning the tailored pants that hugged your curves in the right places.

Taking a deep breath, you slid the fabric down, taking your underwear with you, the shyness taking over you once you were free from any cloth covering your body; all this being watched with lustful eyes. 

The young writer’s eyes pierced your soul, engraving in her brain every mole you had around your shoulders, silently choosing her favorite one to add to the list of small details of your body she loved and kept fresh in her memories, always making sure to add ‘em in her writing. It amazes her how you never noticed the importance you had in her work, you were her muse. 

“Come to me.”

She didn’t have to ask twice, at the sound of her sweet voice your feet led your body closer to hers, moving according to her words, your knees sinking in the mattress only to find balance on top of her.  Her hands on your back brought you closer and you fell, once again, into that piquant feeling where it felt like you were about to drown, but her lips on your neck got you breathing in fervor. 

It was easy for the brunette to take control, reversing positions and sitting atop your abdomen, gripping one of your legs and casting one of hers in between them, fitting herself against you. 

“Fuck, Cairo.” You mewl, closing your eyes at the aggressive way she pressed herself down, easily gliding on you. One of your hands found her thigh, squeezing the flesh until it blemished under your fingertips, moving your hips according to the pace she set. It was cruel, desperate, the dark brown eyes fluttering closed. 

The bed slammed against the wall, the old wood-frame fated to snap at any moment; you didn’t care, it was impossible to focus on anything that wasn’t the girl in between your legs, rubbing herself on you with an inner desire to split you in half. You dazed at her, the angelical aura surrounding her like an armor, preventing the sins from escaping the walls of the still unknown bedroom like the squelching noises were, the lewd sounds from the both of you echoing around the hallway for anyone that dared to come closer and press their ears against the locked door. 

When the impetuous climax hit you like a jolt of electricity spreading in your veins, Cairo fell on top of you, exhaustion taking over her senses as well as the tired muscles complaining from all the spasms. 

The writer looked at you, tearful eyes as you soothed her bare back with an equally pleasured expression. Your bodies were weak, relying on each other at such a delicate and overwhelming moment, marked in black and blue by your hands and mouth, a greedy memory that will last. And if it ever vanishes, like the galaxies made out of bruises, all you needed to do is knock on her window.

[lostfirefly]

Thank you for your tag, @gingernut1314

One Piece

Updates are coming.

• You've Got the Same Dream as Me

Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10 (holy shit)

Catherine, a librarian who is searching for the trail of her sister who went missing on an expedition. Notes in books and diaries lead her to Cairo. There she finds a retailer from an artifact shop who, in exchange for selling her a map and equipment, insists that Catherine take her along. They get into a little (or maybe a big) adventure..  (based on my dream with Tom Cruise and Henry Cavill, but they have been replaced). Main characters: Sir Crocodile x OC, Buggy x OC. Catch Indiana Jones' vibes.

• Date Night (fluff and arguing)

My lovely Catherine and Buggy from "I've got..." are going on a date.

• Nightmare (the title can be changed) - pure fluff

The idea came after my nightmare tonight. Buggy x GN!Reader

Thank you, my lovely blue-haired clown for being an inspiration

[sandewich]

masterlist. wattpad. spacehey.

" Everyone likes to think they're a good person but good cannot exist without evil. Pleasure without pain. "

☆ sandewich , please do not steal my work.

★ I love kitty chicha and jenna ortega omg

☆ bisexual , 🇵🇭 , cat lover , Feb 22.

can write:

smut/lemon

lime

fluff/comfort/reverse comfort

angst

random/crackfic

fem, male, trans, nb, gn, and other readers are allowed to request!

no problematic things!

-- homo/trans/lesbian/bisexual/heterophobia, racism, neo/xenophobia, zoophiles, pedophiles. (Girl From Nowhere can have these, but it should be for an separate OC and not Y/n).

no weird kinks!

-- foot fetish, vore, piss/poo kink, blood kink, I think you get it.

below is the fandoms , groups , and actors !

!! ;; fandoms.

Girl From Nowhere (2018/2021)

Nanno x TK, Nanno x Y/n, Nanno x Jane/Rosy (maybe).

Yuri x Y/n, Yuri x Junko.

TK x Y/n.

The Night Has Come

All Of Us Are Dead

Choi Namra x Y/n.

Wednesday (2023)

Wednesday x Y/n

Enid x Y/n

Steven Universe

Class Of '09

and more!

!! ;; kpop groups.

NewJeans (Only SFW)

LOOΠ∆

Red Velvet

Enhypen

SKZ/Stray Kids

Blackpink

and more!

!! ;; actors.

Kitty Chicha Amatayakul.

Nanno (Mara Amaratayakul).

Suda Romyen.

LeeLa.

Golf.

Pu.

Jenna Ortega.

Wednesday.

Skye Willow.

Cairo Sweet.

Lorraine Day.

Nink Chanya McClory.

Yuri.

# sande yaps = sande talking / sande's thoughts.

# sande intro = introduction of sande.

like and reblog if you can !! ♡

[spidermanstealyohoe]

cigarettes out the window || c.s.

“but she never really quit, she'd just say she did”

__________

parings: cairo sweet x gn reader

summary: you desperately try to get cairo to quit cigarettes for her own good

warnings: language, smoking?

a/n: short lil chap

words: 1.0k

__________

__________

cairo was sitting in her bedroom lighting up a cigarette, that was in between her fingers. you see, you never had a problem with cairo smoking before but now it was just a constant thing that she did over and over.

you tried to get her to quit multiple of times but it didn’t really work, she just told you ‘yeah, i’ll quit tomorrow.’ or ‘i’ll throw them away later.’ but she didn’t, she never did.

you love cairo, you really do but everytime you try to get her to do something for her own good, she just shrugs you off or starts an argument with you for no reason at all.

every time you and cairo kiss, you could still taste the smell of cigarette in her mouth. that’s probably why you started to kiss her less. don’t get me wrong, you love kissing cairo but you just hate the smell or taste of cigarettes.

sometimes she’d lie to you saying that she did quit. but you knew it was a lie once you found her smoking outside school campus and when you found her opened cigarette pack in her room.

one day, she asked you to come over to her house to hang out and have a sleepover, you agreed like always since you never really turned down your girlfriend.

“hey, i’ll be right back.” cairo said softly as she got up from your arms and sat up on the edge of the bed. you frowned at her discomfort as you started sitting up as well.

“what’s wrong?” you asked lowly as cairo shook her head and stood up. “i’ll be right back, don’t follow me.” and she took off leaving you confused and dumbfounded.

she was gone for an hour and a half before she came back more comfortable and less stressed, she ignored your questions as she made her way to the bathroom. you knew what she had been doing but you didn’t push it not wanting to make her angry.

you could hear the sink running in her bathroom, meaning she was brushing her teeth attempting to get rid of the smell of cigarettes. the sink stopped running as she came back and laid down next to you again.

you felt and for her, she really couldn’t quit if she tried, she was in too deep. you knew you really couldn’t do anything about it either because it would result into an argument and god knows what else.

instead you held her tightly as if something was gonna take her away from you. she snuggled into your arms, slowly drifting off to sleep with the help of your arms around her and cigarettes.

[psychedelic-ink]

OSCAR ISAAC CHARACTERS | COLLECTION

* i do not give permission for any of my works to be copied, reposted or translated (without my knowledge)

TV SHOWS & MOVIES MASTERLIST

Here you’ll find the collection of all my fics written for characters portrayed by Oscar Isaac

🔮 personal favorite || ☔️ smut || 🤧 angst || 🧁 fluff || 🩸 dark content

ONESHOTS.

Soft Dark Nothing- Steven Grant x fem!reader 🔮☔️🤧

Steven’s been suffering from nightmares for a while now, you should’ve known better than to startle him awake.

Citrus Light| Steven grant x fem!reader☔️

You love the city especially at night. 

The way the cold wind brushes the loose strands out of your face, the way it rouses goosebumps across your skin. You love the lights, they remind you of the stars but instead of the sky they decorate the very earth you walk on. You look down on the city from the rooftop, everything seems so tiny. 

let me follow| steven grant x gn!reader - oneshot | mailcarrier may server collab 🧁

deciding that dating your postman would probably be unwise, you go out with a guy your friends set you up with. After a couple of shitty dates, Steven brings you a letter. You open it only to see that the guy had written you a long break up letter and telling all the things you did wrong on the dates. Furious by this, you invite Steven inside.

make your tea and your toast- jake lockley x fem!reader🔮☔️

your first time meeting jake lockley. an alter neither steven nor marc knows about.

stupid for you | steven grant x reader ☔️

steven wants you to admit he's the best you ever had, as always you don't make it easy for him

is forever for you? | jake lockley x reader

jake is always eager to teach.

DRABBLES.

Tongue Tied- Steven Grant x fem!reader x Marc Spector 🧁

Steven is helplessly and undeniably in love with you, simple as that. 

He enjoys talking to you, going to the movies with you, sleeping with you…He worships the very soil you walk on. Some would say he’s a little bit too in love but honestly who cares? Steven had you and that was all that mattered to him. 

Don’t Start Now- Marc Spector x archeologist fem!reader 🤧

Sweat drips down your forehead as you desperately try to follow Marc. The streets of Cairo are crowded as always, people bumping into you from every direction possible. Licking your lips, you reach out and grab the back of Marc’s jacket. He grumbles, clearly annoyed by you trailing him like a puppy. 

Walking On Sunshine- Steven Grant x gn!reader 🧁

Steven nervously stared at you from the top of his glasses. He was labeling the new products, or what he liked to call them junk, and was bored out of his wits. It was a tedious job and strained his eyes, which was the reason he was wearing his thick framed glasses. But his tedious day was quickly being proved not to be tedious anymore as you walked in through the glass doors. You had caught his glance, nodding as a small smile formed against your lips– Steven almost had a heart attack at that very moment. 

Love Me More - Marc Spector x fem!reader ☔️

marc wants you to prove how much you want him.

You Appearing - Steven Grant x fem!reader 🧁

Steven finds you on his doorstep, crying and needing a place to stay.

Flatline- Marc Spector x gn!reader 🧁

when the passionate night comes to a close and it’s time to resume normal life, marc is there to pick you up.

Heavy in Your Arms - Marc Spector x f!reader ☔️

‘literally come here so I can cover you in bite marks & hear you moan uncontrollably’

SERIES.

I’ve Got You Darlin’ - Moonknight x f!reader x Din Djarin 🔮☔️🤧

you find yourself in the middle of a dangerous race of who will steal priam’s treasure first; a mysterious cloaked figure who calls himself moon knight or a man in clad armor who calls himself the mandalorian. amongst the chaos, you and steven try to protect the remnants of history.

ONESHOTS.

save tonight(feat. frankie morales) ☔️

frankie comes with you with a proposal that you're eager to accept.

3 AM ☔️

santi comes to your room for a visit at 3 AM.

DRABBLES.

Already Gone ☔️

Both of your glistening bodies are buried in the darkness, only the light from outside reflecting against your skin. It’s always the same. He disappears for months. Comes back. Fucks you. Holds you. Makes you breakfast in the morning. Then leaves for another series of months. This time you're set on not giving him what he wants; your voice.

SERIES.

Watercolor Eyes ☔️

your adventures with sex worker santiago "pope" garcia

Poison & Wine (feat.din djarin) ☔️

the razor crest is low on fuel and din knows the perfect pit spot.

ONESHOTS.

Pumpkin Seeds ☔️

you and poe fin yourself on a pumpkin infested planet, however the flowers that surround them seem to be poisonous.

Arise Sun ☔️

William Tell is a dangerous man. You should’ve known better than to piss him off. 

Let Me Wrap My Teeth ☔️

after finding him wounded in an empty alleyway, against your better judgment, you decide to patch him up in your apartment. you expect that to be the end of it, never to see him again, that is, until you do.

Codeborn ☔️

artificial intelligence au + "here, you are. you tiny thing."

there are codeborns and codebreakers. In this world ruled by ai and the people who want to keep it that way, codebreakers fight for freedom while the feared codeborns (ai-enchanced humans) do everything to keep the so-called 'peace'. You are one of the codebreakers, hunted by one of the most menacing codeborn yet, miguel o'hara.