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magic-ace · 11 months ago

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[Chess] Go shove it up your ass: the story of Hans Niemann's (alleged) vibrating anal beads, and the biggest scandal in chess history

Fuck you Rian Johnson, there's a new exciting mystery set during Covid. And this one has butt stuff in it.

This is a bit of a bizarre case: an incident in a niche hobby went viral and spread across the Internet, to the point where most of you have probably heard at least *something* about this. But so many people don't know *why* the anal play was so controversial, or even what happened. So sit down, relax, and lube yourself up, because we're going to slide inside of the biggest drama chess has ever seen (except Bobby Whoggy).

---

A few brief disclaimers before we start.

First, I don't want anyone to say that I haven't researched this well enough, or haven't checked my sources, so during the entire writing process, I have been wearing anal beads, which vibrate at varying speeds. During this time, I have not lost a single game of chess at the grandmaster level. That may be because I haven't *played* any games at grandmaster level, but I just think the beads are working.

Second, some of you may be worried that I'm not going to approach this seriously, and will spend a lot of time making anal jokes. You're absolutely correct. This writeup will be absolutely stuffed as I jam them in for your pleasure. But I also cover all the boring non-butt stuff as well, so you can stick around for that.

Finally, I tried writing a version of this where I'd stop occasionally to address public response. That immediately became unreadable, because there was *so much*. So while I'm only bringing up major figures, rest assured that at every point of this drama, there were hundreds of thousands of memes, tweets, and flame wars. This was (and often still is) half of the jokes on r/AnarchyChess. Every single person even remotely involved in chess knew about this. This got front page articles from major international newspapers. It was *big*.

With those settled, let's dive on in!

---

# Setting up the board

Chess is the game with the little horsies and the bloated monarchy running around on a checkerboard. While not the oldest game in human history, it has certainly been the most successful and long lasting over the past 1,600 years. Over those years it has been the game of kings, a way to test improvements in programming, and the easiest way for any writer to show you that a character is super duper smart.

It's a bit odd to talk about something as widespread as chess "becoming popular", but nevertheless, that's what has happened in recent years. In a perfect storm of people staying home due to Covid, new online options to play, streamers looking for content, and *Queen's Gambit* being a smash hit on Netflix, a new wave of people to play chess. The most popular website, Chess.com noted that their daily users have grown five times larger since 2020, with five million people each day and three times the subscribers.

With that wave came increased attention and focus on watching professionals. Some are just a classic Twitch stream, but there has also been a surge of interest in the world's top players at tournaments. After all, while most pro sports had to be shut down, chess tournaments could continue online with a minimum of difficulty. And as we all know in any hobby: new fans leads to mo money, which leads to mo drama.

Now that the pieces are all in position, let's look a little more at our two players.

**Magnus Carlsen** became grandmaster at *thirteen*, and became world champion in 2013. He has held that position uninterrupted since, a record only matched by legendary Soviet chess master Garry Kasparov (Gary Chess to his friends). If I went into all of his various achievements, awards, and tournament victories, I'd hit Reddit's 40,000 character limit, so just believe me when I say that he is *good* \-- maybe even the best ever. Aside from chess, Carlsen is generally seen as a decent guy. He's known for being mild mannered and polite, being both a good winner and loser. He has also managed to turn chess into a genuinely lucrative profession, on top of becoming a model and semi-celebrity with his own chess app.

It can be easy to underestimate the skills of chess grandmasters, and just hear "he's good". It goes way beyond that. Magnus playing a regular person in chess is like Muhammad Ali boxing against a cardboard cutout of a toddler. And that cardboard cutout is soaking wet. Chess scales exponentially, so he's not just crushing the average person, he is annihilating people who have dedicated their lives to the game.

**Hans Niemann** is the opposite of Magnus in many ways. While he also started chess at a younger age, he stalled for a few years, and didn't become a professional until he was in college (what a loser, am I right?). During Covid, he got a lot more into chess, amassing a significant following over Twitch. Part of that was due to his skill, but a large degree is how... let's say *passionate* he can get, win or lose. Unlike Carlsen's poker face, Niemann is prone to fits of emotion and yelling. You can get a picture of what that looks like [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2E3IsTQ5ISU&ab_channel=GMHikaru). This has lead him to be called the "bad boy of chess" (which is a bit like being the academic of the concussion ward). As you might imagine, he's not exactly well liked by many other chess players. According to close friends, Niemann has told them that he doesn't care how he's perceived, because he'll be good enough that major tournaments *have* to put up with him. He's well on his way to achieving that, with a rapid string of victories securing his spot as the fastest rising star in chess. However, even before this event, there were a number of rumors about him being a cheater.

Magnus and Hans represent the rapidly forming divide in chess, between the old and the new. This has been caused by the surge in online popularity, with far more amateur players being interested. Some don't even play that much, they just want to watch skilled streamers. As you can imagine, this can lead to more than a little bit of conflict. It also means that chess players now have *fandoms*, which is very weird, and also complicates drama, since each side's fans will follow along loyally.

Finally, the third character in our little drama. **Hikaru Nakamura** is sort of what you'd get if you crossed Hans and Magnus. He took a more traditional path to becoming successful chess player, at one point being ranked #2 in the world. However, he's far more well known for his Twitch stream, and is often credited as one of the major figures who started the online chess craze. Like Hans, he thrives on his personality -- although he tends to be less confrontational, more comedic. He has followed the time honored Internet tradition of "person who is really good at something uses their skill for stupid and ridiculous purposes", which has paid off. He is a friendly acquaintance of Magnus's, with the two of them collaborating to make the only use the [Bongcloud attack opening](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bongcloud_Attack) (a common chess meme) in a professional game. He has a rivalry with Hans, making fun of him on stream for things like his accent (Hans is known for a fake European accent, which he will forget to speak in at times).

But enough setup. It's time for the game to begin

# The Opening

>For quick development is of the utmost importance, and he who succeeds first in placing all his pieces, from their initial awkward positions, to such places as give them command of the greatest possible number of squares, has the better chance of concentrating a superior force on some important point.

---

Most people hearing about this drama assume it started at the Sinquefield cup, the incident that really went public. In reality though, it was the *second* incident.

**Always do foreplay before full anal**

The first sparks of drama occurred a month previously, in August of 2022, at the FTX Crypto cup. You may now pause to laugh at the fact that FTX sponsored an event to convince people crypto was for smart people, then went tits up and lost everyone's money after robbing them blind. But a company who got to the top by brash maneuvering and blatant lying might have been oddly prophetic.

Niemann beat Carlsen in their first match, a major victory for him. When asked how he managed to pull it off, he told reporters that "the chess speaks for itself", and wouldn't say more. Carlsen then proceeded to steamroll him in their next three matches, eventually winning the whole tournament.

This didn't exactly go *ignored* at the time -- Niemann's fans celebrated, and a few chess fans took note. But the FTX cup wasn't a prestigious competitive event, where players were at their best. It's a little like scoring some points on Michael Jordan in a game of pickup basketball: still good, but it doesn't mean you can beat him in an actual NBA game.

With that out of the way, let's move on to where it gets *really* juicy.

**Pounded in the butt by the Sinquefield Cup**

On a lovely St. Louis day, September fourth, Magnus faced down Niemann at the Sinquefield cup. It was a significant tournament, with a prestigious history, world famous players and a $350,000 prize. Ahead of the game, most of the discussion wasn't on who would win, it was how well/badly Hans would lose (or tie). He was never going to beat the world champion (especially since Magnus played white, a major advantage), but he could prove his skill by how close the game was. Except... Hans didn't lose. He won. Carlsen went on to hand Niemann his ass in the two speed chess games which followed, but nobody cared about those. The drama had begun.

This was... an upset can't even begin to describe it. Carlsen has been the world champion since 2013, and the #1 rated player since 2011. Since 2011, he has only lost nineteen times in classical games where he played white (to fifteen players). Given that he was playing against some of the best players in the world, that is a *staggeringly* impressive record. At the time of this game, he had not lost a similar game in the last fifty-three sittings, over two years. Niemann isn't *bad* \-- he's still competing at a level that most people could barely dream of, especially at his age. But this would be like if a random athlete from Belgium managed to outrun Usain Bolt. While wearing crocs. And hungover. Not to mention, it seriously damaged Magnus's attempts to raise his rating to 2900. The win seemed too good to be true -- which as it turned out, might have been because it wasn't.

**Magnus withdraws**

In a move that shocked and confused the chess community, Magnus withdrew from the tournament the next day. He refused to state why, only tweeting out [this](https://twitter.com/MagnusCarlsen/status/1566848734616555523?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw%7Ctwcamp%5Etweetembed%7Ctwterm%5E1566848734616555523%7Ctwgr%5E78e3b897f66f8becfe7d31ba89075dd1472167ef%7Ctwcon%5Es1_&ref_url=https%3A%2F%2Fnew.chess24.com%2Fen%2Fwall%2Fnews%2Fmagnus-carlsen-withdraws-from-the-sinquefield-cup) \-- a withdrawal message, along with a video clip of Jose Mourinho saying "If I speak, I am in big trouble".

Jose Mourinho. The soccer/football coach. Whose comment about not speaking was because he wasn't allowed to make allegations of cheating.

Oh shit.

It may not seem like it, but in professional chess, this is a Very Big Deal. Withdrawing from a chess tournament, by your own choice, without some kind of emergency, at this level of play... it just isn't done. It's not just rare, or uncommon, *it doesn't happen*. Magnus had never done so in the past, nor had any other chess player at his level in the past fifty years. Former champion Gary Kasparov spoke out, asking Magnus to explain the decision, and calling it "unprecedented".

Along with the shock of him withdrawing, it meant the few games he'd already played were annulled for the purposes of the tournament -- so Niemann didn't get any benefit from his win. This almost certainly wasn't Magnus's main intent, and he didn't have a choice in it, but it can easily be seen as him twisting the knife.

The organizers politely wished Magnus well, and confirmed that he hadn't submitted any formal cheating complaint. Despite that, they instituted a fifteen minute delay on the broadcast, and increased anti-cheating measures. They later tweeted out that no player at the tournament was suspected of cheating, all of which fueled rumors even further.

**Niemann responds**

Niemann gave a [post game interview](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DCeJrItfQqw&list=PLVWaFpMwtaGje62nXsd8ryInBy-nkKZs7&index=23&ab_channel=SaintLouisChessClub), discussing both the game and Carlsen's withdrawal. In it, he said

>And I think even if it was a draw, he was so demoralized because he was losing to such an idiot like me. It must be embarrassing for the World Champion to lose to me.

Not helping yourself dude.

Hans then went on to explain that, in actuality, it was all a big misunderstanding. Referring to it as a "ridiculous miracle", he explained that when studying Magnus's past games (a common tactic), he had seen Magnus use a similar variation of his opening against Wesley So at the 2018 London Chess classic. Problem solved, right? Still a good game, just a lucky one. Everyone can go home.

Except Magnus didn't play that opening against So. In fact, neither Magnus nor So played in that tournament at all, and analysts mentioned that the tactic was an unusual one for Magnus, not a repeat.

Whoops.

Throughout the whole interview, Niemann seemed to be struggling. He was unable to give explanations for some of his moves, and tried to argue that a computer's prediction for a move was wrong (it wasn't). All of this just caused even more speculation to grow.

PlayMagnus (Magnus's chess app) tweeted out in response to the interview, with a link to an article called "greatest chess scandals", and [a meme](https://imgur.com/a/Y3ms3Fr). This was quickly deleted.

**Suspicions of cheating**

As mentioned at the start, the chess world exploded. People argued, analyzed, and took sides, all while the memesters reveled in glorious chaos. The reigning world champion was taking on one of the most polarizing figures in chess. As mentioned previously, the chess corner of the Internet was on fire, and the blaze was quickly spreading.

Professional chess players generally stayed neutral. Some of them, such as Kasparov and Karpov (who, despite their names, aren't a comedic slapstick duo) seemed to take Niemann's side, arguing that the game showed no evidence of cheating. However, most critics added that they would like to hear Magnus come forward with actual complaints and allegations so that they could make a real judgement. Professional chess is relatively drama-free, with many unspoken rules of etiquette, so no one wanted to rock the boat. They were professional, reasonable, and *very* unsatisfying to read about, so let's talk about the fightin'!

Hikaru became a *very* significant figure in all this. He had never hesitated to criticize Hans before, and he made his thoughts very clear: Carlsen had withdrawn from the tournament because he believed Niemann had cheated. Given that he was a streamer, his analysis of the situation was far more animated and entertaining than most other professionals. He also claimed that Hans had been banned from Chess.com in the past for cheating, a claim repeated by several other figures in the chess world.

I'm taking time to note Hikaru's response, because he was a crucial part in all of this. Of course it was always going to be a drama within the chess community. But Hikaru is notable for both being an Internet person, and *understanding* the Internet. He communicates in memes, in jokes, with big splashy statements that throw aside rules of etiquette. No major drama can thrive off of bland, pre-planned press releases and ten hour long analysis videos that end inconclusively. Magnus and Hans may have lit the fire, but Hikaru was the oxygen that it needed to grow into an inferno.

Both sides had a lot of arguments, so I've gathered them all here.

||Magnus fans|Hans fans|

|:-|:-|:-|

|Hans's performance fell after the Sinquefield cup started using stronger anti-cheating methods, going from a 270 ELO to a 250|His performance is worse now because he can't cheat like before.|Hans was publicly accused of cheating by a major figure, and chess is a highly mental game. It makes sense that he'd lose focus. Plus, other players in the tournament had similar drops in performance.|

|Experts looking at the game suggested they didn't see any proof of cheating|That's because Hans did so subtly, and used technology sparingly. High level cheating can be hard to detect without analysis.|There's no evidence of cheating because there was no cheating, Magnus is just mad.|

|Hans's interview made it look like he didn't understand the moves he made, and made a false statement about learning from Magnus's past game|He clearly didn't make all these moves himself, because he's unable to understand them. His lie about analyzing Magnus's past game proves this even more.|Again, he was just accused of cheating by the world's best chess player. Of course his head wasn't in it.|

|Hans has a long history of credible cheating accusations|Once a cheater, always a cheater. Why would he stop?|There's not enough proof to say that. Also, the allegations are that he cheated in online matches, not high level in person tournaments.|

|The tournament had vigorous anti-cheating methods even before they increased them|Clearly, they weren't good enough, and we've seen evidence of people evading them in the past.|This shows that Hans couldn't have cheated even if he wanted to.|

**An aside: Cheating at high level chess**

I figured it'd be worth taking a moment, and explaining *why* there was such debate. After all, if Hans cheated, it should be easy to find out, right?

The problem with catching cheaters at high levels is that it is *very* difficult to do accurately. While plenty of cheaters get caught, they tend to either be low level players or they're physically caught with communication devices. The usual method of analysis is to compare the move suggested by a computer to the move played, and see how often they match up. Unfortunately, this is only really effective for amateurs. After all, "this grandmaster who dedicated years of their life to chess made a lot of optimal moves!" isn't exactly an airtight claim. They also have the skill required to play without the computer, so they can use it sparingly, and not get caught by an algorithm. Niemann could have made a move from a computer, then two or three of his own, then the computer, and so on.

So while analysis can prove that Niemann wasn't *entirely* relying on a computer, and it can *suggest* that his moves were his own, it is very hard to say that he never used one.

Making it even more difficult, chess is a game where a tiny advantage can have massive effects. A single suboptimal move -- not even bad, just suboptimal -- can lose you the whole game. Think about it like Olympic sprinters. Sure, adding 0.05 seconds to their time wouldn't seem like a big advantage. But at their level, a tiny advantage to one competitor can be what it takes to win.

One last thing: chess is a highly mental game (all those buff chess players you see are just a coincidence). So someone's emotional state, sleep patterns, hell, even their appetite can all provide that tiny edge someone needs. Remember that for later.

**Digital anal-ysis**

This is the point where the vibrating anal beads theory first started. Note that it started as anal *beads,* not a plug, like so many foolish butt plebeians thought. Trust me, *completely* different feel.

People joked that Hans Niemann had vibrating anal beads up his ass, with a friend watching the game. The friend would plug the board into an AI, get the best move, and vibrate it to Hans using the butt toy.

From what I can tell, Chessbrah was first to mention it on a stream (although Eric Hansen may have done so first). Within minutes of him saying it (and no, I'm not exaggerating), r/AnarchyChess had gleefully jumped onto the meme, and were milking the ~~prostate~~ joke for all it was worth. The most iconic version of it was penned by u/XiTro with [this comment](https://www.reddit.com/r/chessmemes/comments/x8217h/the_real_answer_is_actually_elementary_magnus/). Even Elon Musk (thrice cursed spawn of a dozen devils that he is) [weighed in on Twitter](https://www.chessdom.com/elon-musk-comments-on-accusations-towards-hans-niemann-tweetoftheday/).

Most treated it as the meme that it was, but a number of people seemed genuinely convinced. Several poor, long suffering reporters were told by their editors to go do a serious article about the potential butt-bead usage. An adult cam site even offered Hans a vast sum of money if he'd play nude to prove he didn't have anything up his... sleeve. The anal beads meme became far more well known than any of the other legitimate complaints about cheating.

**Hans finally responds**

In another interview on September sixth, Hans discussed the allegations. And oh boy, he came out swinging.

Throughout the entire interview, he was clearly pissed off. He admitted that he'd cheated twice on Chess.com -- once at age twelve, once at sixteen. But in the three years since then, he claimed he had played completely honestly. In addition, neither of the games was significant. There was no money or official tournament involved. Why should he continue to be punished for the mistakes he'd made as a kid?

He even seemed to address the anal allegations, which had clearly left him sore

>They want me to strip fully naked, I’ll do it ... I don’t care, because I know that I’m clean. You want me to play in a closed box with zero electronic transmission? I don’t care, you know? Name whatever you guys want.

Hans, buddy, with all kindness: I really do not want to see you strip naked. Please don't.

But all of that became secondary. Because in the interview, he announced that he had just been banned from Chess.com because of the recent match against Magnus. Remember how I mentioned earlier that Magnus had made a chess app? Well, just over a week before Magnus had lost to Niemann, Chess.com had offered to buy it for $87 million. That deal was later finalized, with Magnus becoming a "Chess.com ambassador".

The plot thickens.

Hans accused Magnus, Hikaru, and Chess.com of trying to destroy his career, and announced that he was going to fight back. Why Hikaru? Well, Hans had noticed what was being said in the stream, as shown [in his tweet](https://twitter.com/HansMokeNiemann/status/1567665353727135746).

The day after this, Chess.com uninvited Hans from a major tournament, explaining that they'd reached out to him privately to explain his ban, and reiterating that it was *not* in retribution for Magnus's loss.

# The Middlegame

>We must throughout maintain a favourable pawn formation, in view of the end-game which might be forced on us by exchanges. On the other hand, as soon as we have gained an advantage sufficient to secure the victory in the endgame, we must ourselves, by the exchange of pieces, try to reduce the position

---

**The rematch of the century.**

On September 19th, both Magnus and Hans were set to play against each other once again, in the Julius Baer Generation cup. The chess world waited with bated breath, and watched the stream to see what would happen.

Magnus made his opening move... then resigned, and switched off his webcam.

People were *shocked* \-- most of all the [poor announcers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IW9Z_-wxq4E&ab_channel=GuardianSport) left to deal with it (seriously, just watch their reactions). A number of popular streamers were live streaming the game, many of whom had [similar reactions as they watched it](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rel6kLRZ-2w&ab_channel=ChessWolf). This was a definite breach in etiquette, and it shattered any remaining possibility that Magnus didn't suspect Hans. He was clearly refusing to play against him, and was purposefully making that statement in the most dramatic way possible.

It also pissed off a *lot* of people, including those who were fans of Magnus and who believed Hans cheated. The common sentiment was that if Magnus really believed Hans was a cheater, he should officially come out and say so, not dance around with middle school "I'm not playing with you" bullshit.

Magnus had stated that he'd refuse any interviews during the Baer cup (for reasons that are obvious in retrospect). However, when asked on broadcast, he replied

>Unfortunately, I cannot particularly speak on that, but people can draw their own conclusions, and they certainly have. I have to say I'm very impressed by Niemann's play and I think his mentor Maxim Dlugy must be doing a great job.

Hot *damn*. You can dislike Magnus, but the man has a genuine talent for subtle burns. Maxim Dlugy *was* Hans's mentor... and had been caught in a very public cheating scandal.

The International Chess Federation (FIDE) sent out a [tweet](https://twitter.com/FIDE_chess/status/1573337597879123969?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw%7Ctwcamp%5Etweetembed%7Ctwterm%5E1573337597879123969%7Ctwgr%5E007c4f901c4aca744575b3562fd9e662e2fb4e8c%7Ctwcon%5Es1_&ref_url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.cbssports.com%2Fgeneral%2Fnews%2Fchess-sex-toy-cheating-scandal-explained-world-no-1-magnus-carlsen-hans-niemann-in-wild-sports-controversy%2F) with their thoughts on the situation. They weren't the ones running either tournament, but they explained that, as the governing body for the chess world, they were tied up in it. Their message was similar to what most others were saying: "Cheating is bad, and we'll look into it. But Magnus, dude, get a hold of your shit and do this properly." It was a message that could have been crafted by a dozen politicians, saying a whole lot without taking a side.

(Magnus went on to win the Baer cup anyway, but no one really gave a shit about that.)

**Magnus finally responds**

The day after winning the cup, Magnus [tweeted out an official statement](https://twitter.com/MagnusCarlsen/status/1574482694406565888?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw%7Ctwcamp%5Etweetembed%7Ctwterm%5E1574482694406565888%7Ctwgr%5E007c4f901c4aca744575b3562fd9e662e2fb4e8c%7Ctwcon%5Es1_&ref_url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.cbssports.com%2Fgeneral%2Fnews%2Fchess-sex-toy-cheating-scandal-explained-world-no-1-magnus-carlsen-hans-niemann-in-wild-sports-controversy%2F)

At this point, the gloves were off. He formally stated that he believed Hans was cheating, calling out not just one game, but his entire adult career. He talked about how cheating was an "existential threat" to chess, and how he wanted to fight it as a whole. At least in terms of worries about general cheating, Magnus is correct. Chess is experiencing a boom in popularity (with far more prize money), and is moving online, which means that people suddenly have much more motivation and opportunitY to cheat. This reframed the issue, from Magnus protecting his own reputation, to him defending the game as a whole from cheaters.

Magnus pointed out that Niemann had not been taking their game as seriously as most players would, appearing relaxed and not paying attention "while outplaying me as black in a way I think only a handful of players can do". This can certainly come off as a tad... egotistical, but Magnus seems to just be stating the facts as he views them. Chess is a highly stressful mental game, and grandmasters excel at studying each other's body language. A game with the best player in the world *should* have had more of an effect. Was Hans relaxed because he knew he was guaranteed to win? Or was he just really good at bluffing?

But what's that? What's that teeny little sentence near the end that most people overlooked?

>I am not willing to play chess with Niemann

What many people would come to realize is that this was *massive*. If you're organizing a tournament, and you have to pick between the world champion and a guy who is a pretty good player (with a very bad reputation to boot), who are you gonna go with? Magnus had already proven he would follow through on his threat. He was essentially shutting Hans out from a lot of high level play, silently asking organizers to pick a side.

**A new challenger has entered the arena -- the Chess.com** **report**

Chess.com had been mostly quiet after banning Hans, just denying that it was in retribution for Carlsen's loss. And then, on October fourth, they released their [report](https://www.chess.com/blog/CHESScom/hans-niemann-report) (alongside a [Wall Street Journal Exclusive](https://www.wsj.com/articles/chess-cheating-hans-niemann-report-magnus-carlsen-11664911524). And they brought the receipts.

The document is seventy-two pages long, and includes detailed analysis of over a hundred online games played by Hans, proving that he'd cheated in them. They used software, checked with experts, and looked to see how often he was clicking away from the page mid-game. All of that combined showed a frequent pattern of cheating. Contrary to Hans's previous claims, he had absolutely cheated at high levels and when money was involved, especially against other streamers. Quite repeatedly in fact. And far more recently than he had admitted.

And if that wasn't enough, it revealed that Hikaru's allegations had been true -- Niemann had previously been banned from the site. They revealed messages between Hans and themselves, where Hans apologized for cheating, which lead to him being allowed back. They also had transcripts from a call he made

>As you \[Hans\] admitted to me \[Danny\] in our call where you confessed that “having a higher rating would mean people tune in more to my streams when I’m battling Hikaru, Danya or Eric (Hansen). I need people to believe that I’m a worthy rival to follow and subscribe”.

You *have* to wonder why he'd lie about something when he had handed evidence to the people he was lying about.

They explained that they usually kept such matters private, and were only revealing them because Hans had made a number of public claims against them, and they wanted to set the record straight. The report also repeatedly emphasized that Carlsen had not been involved in the decision to ban Hans from the site or tournament, and that they had not been biased against him.

Although most of the report focused on Hans's online play using their site, a few pages were dedicated to his OTB (over the board) play. They didn't make any concrete accusations, but pointed out some irregularities in his game with Magnus, along with suggesting that his rise in success with OTB (over the board) play was extremely rapid and suspicious. However, they concluded by saying that they could find no significant evidence of OTB cheating, but suggested that someone look into the irregularities further, as they had no authority or data to make a conclusive statement.

The report closed with a brutal finale: revealing a personal letter to Hans, sent just after he made public accusations against them. Much of it just details the same things mentioned above, but they closed by offering Hans a way to get his account back, and to play in tournaments again, if he was willing to own up to his mistakes and start playing honestly. Hans had refused. His permanent suspension was no one's fault but his own.

I guess you could say they wrecked 'em. Or in in this case, they rectum.

So... drama over, right? Niemann had just gotten slapped down *hard*, and was proven both a liar and a cheater. Except it wasn't over.

**The holes in the report**

Many people, both pros and fans, pointed out that the report didn't necessarily validate Magnus's claims. It could prove he had cheated online, yes, but it couldn't provide concrete evidence that he had cheated in any OTB game, including the one against Magnus.

And as many people were quick to point out, Niemann's skill jump *would* have been suspicious -- if it weren't for Covid. Being stuck inside for so long with nothing to do but play chess obviously meant that people would grow in skill much faster than usual. Niemann's rapid growth was matched by a number of other players, and in that context, wasn't as suspicious as it looked.

Additionally, the report had included a redacted list of *other* chess grandmasters who had been banned or suspended from the site for cheating. Some fans argued that, while Hans may have cheated, there was a culture of doing so, and Hans was unfairly singled out to be made an example of.

Finally, some pro players complained that they were worried about Chess.com banning them too if they criticized them. There is no current evidence of this happening, but some have claimed they were sent threatening emails. Chess.com obviously denies that. So far, no one has come forward with any proof on those emails, so we're left to speculate.

Still, Hans would probably fine so long as he didn't do anything monumentally stupid

**Hans does something monumentally stupid**

On October 20th, Hans filed a lawsuit against Carlsen, Play Magnus Group (Magnus's company), Chess.com, Daniel Rensch (Chess.com CCO), and Hikaru, demanding a hundred million dollars for supposedly destroying his livelihood with slander and libel (among other things). He announced it by saying (and I shit you not) "My lawsuit speaks for itself". You can read the whole thing [here](https://s3.documentcloud.org/documents/23170256/niemann-carlsen-lawsuit.pdf), which I highly recommend. Please, I beg of you, read the whole thing. Or at least as much of it as you can stomach. It's like if the Navy Seal copypasta went to Harvard. It reads like a teenager making their first edgy, overpowered OC for some kind of chess fanfic, where the world is against him but he triumphs nonetheless. I mean, there is a motherfucking *narrative structure* here. Sure, it's not a *good* one, but damn if they didn't commit.

Regardless of if you think Hans cheated, his legal case is nonexistent. All parties involved -- even Hikaru -- were very careful in the wording they chose. They insinuate or accuse him of cheating online, but avoided anything that could be considered direct slander. In fact, many have since speculated this is why the Chess.com report was so purposefully noncommittal over OTB cheating: they knew he'd take them to court, and only wanted to make airtight claims. Funny enough, although the lawsuit spends a *lot* of time talking about the report, they skip over the emails in which Hans confesses.

Also, Professor Ken Regan? The guy who the filing cites as "the world’s foremost expert on cheating in chess"? The guy they claim disproved all of the claims against Hans in the report? Yeah, he's one of the guys who *wrote* the report, and is extremely pissed off about them claiming his support.

# Stalemate

>If one side or the other emerges from the conflict with some material gain, it will generally be possible to force a mate in the end-game, whilst if both sides have succeeded by careful play to preserve equality of material, a draw will generally ensue.

---

Sadly, there is no earth-shattering conclusion to all this. Magnus didn't hack into Hans's anal beads and crank them up to max when he was on live TV. Hans never managed to ***destroy*** Magnus with ***facts and logic***. Chess.com and Hikaru both filed for dismissal in the lawsuit, and while it may drag on for a long time, there is absolutely zero chance Hans will win it.

FIDE is still investigating the allegations, but it is going to be an *extremely* long process, and one unlikely to produce significant results. They require a 99% accuracy result to convict someone of cheating (barring physical or eyewitness evidence). They're pretty anal about this, and are notorious tightasses. Given that analysis by the best experts in the world has utterly failed to find anything so far, I doubt that Magnus's claims will pay off.

In contrast, the Chess.com report is airtight, and pretty much shut down any complaints in that area, as well as discrediting Hans's word. He still has some diehard supporters, but few people dispute the fact that he cheated online.

I don't think there's any party that came out of this experience with their reputation unscathed. Magnus is still widely popular, but more and more people have grown to dislike how he handled the situation, and doubt is cast on his accusations. Meanwhile, Hans's fate is far harsher. Few people still like him, and he has become more of a running joke than a serious contender. The common sentiment seems to be that even if Hans wasn't guilty of the exact thing Magnus accused him of, he was still a cheater and won't be missed. There's a heavy sense of karma around it.

It's more than a little Shakespearean: Hans had a very solid argument, and could have attracted a lot of sympathy. He *was* accused of OTB cheating without evidence, and *did* suffer because of Magnus publicly blacklisting him. If he'd stuck to that story, and avoided shitslinging, his reputation would have remained intact, and Chess.com never would have released their report. Hans has an aggressive style of play, and it appears that translates over into his real life as well. Ultimately, he is to blame for his own downfall. Worst of all for him, he's not just remembered for the cheating he did -- he is forever immortalized as "the butt plug guy". An eternal joke.

Both players have continued their professional careers. But given that Hans was [given an extra thorough ass-scanning](https://www.tmz.com/2022/10/06/chess-grandmaster-hans-niemann-butt-scan-accuse-cheat-us-championship/) at security, it seems that people are unlikely to forget. People are left with the unanswerable question:

**Did Hans cheat against Magnus?**

At the end of it all, this is the question we're left with. We know that he cheated online, that's undeniable. So he was certainly *willing* to do so. But none of the methods he used online would work in person.

The anal beads theory is obviously ridiculous (probably). However, there *have* been several instances of people sneaking in communication devices, or finding other ways to get around anti-cheating methods.

Hans has pointed to the fact that he has been scanned for devices at all games he has played in since as proof. The issue is that... it's not really proof at all. All it proves is that he's not cheating in the present, which, given that the eyes of the world are on him, just proves that he's not a complete moron. No one doubts he's good enough to play very well on his own against similar or lesser players. The question is if he cheated against Magnus, which can't be retroactively disproven.

However, Magnus is also left without any way to prove his claims. Analysis has failed to provide any significant evidence of cheating, meaning that he'd have to find proof of the method Niemann used, or get an actual confession from Hans, both of which seem unlikely to ever happen. At this point, the only things Magnus has are speculation and circumstantial evidence.

One theory suggests that Magnus had heard the cheating rumors about Hans before their game (something Magnus confirmed). As mentioned, chess is a highly mental game, and there is a noted phenomenon where players are worse when they think their opponent has a bot (they often doubt themselves, or are distracted by speculation). This may have given Hans the edge he needed for a legal victory.

I'll confess to some bias here. Obviously, I don't like Hans as a person (I doubt anyone really does). And I'll admit, I wanted to believe he cheated. But I also have to admit that, at least against Magnus, the evidence seems to be on his side. In the end, I guess the chess skill was inside Hans all along. Deep, deep inside him.

After all that, I guess there's just one thing you can say: Holy hell.

I do not even enjoy chess -- no less what appears to be strange chess RPF. Be warned, dear viewers: this anonymous ask is filled with a fair amount of swearing and absurdist sexual content. Perhaps you (no, not the asker) are, as they say, "into" chess RPF. You do you, friend.

#textposting #askposting #...#Ellipses Anon I must ask #How do you find these posts?

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crystalninjaphoenix · 2 years ago

Text

The Specter

A JSE Fanfic

SepticHeroes AU: Part 15

Previous Part

This turned out longer than I expected, haha. But I was really excited to write all this! I’ve been building up to this moment for like ten chapters. After Jackie discovers Schneep’s secret, Schneep sits him down to explain everything. They have a nice talk. And... yeah. Enjoy! ^-^

===============

“Sit down, Jackie. It seems we need to talk.”

For a moment, Jackie just stared at Schneep. Still trying to process what he saw. Maybe it was just a costume. It was Halloween, after all. But it would be a hell of a coincidence for Schneep’s Halloween costume to look exactly like a supersuit that almost no one had ever seen.

“Jackie, please.” Schneep gestured over to the sofa. “You should not be standing in your condition, anyway.”

Without saying a word, Jackie walked over to the sofa and sat down. Collapsed, more like it. He winced as the shift in position caused the glass in his wound to dig deeper. Schneep walked over and sat down next to him, on the same side as the glass. He opened the white bag he’d brought with him and pulled out a pair of small scissors. “You do not mind if I have to cut your clothes around the injury, do you? It looks difficult to take off without moving the... object.”

“No. It’s fine.” Jackie wasn’t sure if those small scissors could cut through the fabric of his supersuit, but he knew there was no way to get it off without, as Schneep said, moving the object. He turned so Schneep could have better access to the injury. This meant he could barely see him, leaving him as just a vague person-shape on the edge of his vision. He felt uneasy. And he sort of hated that.

“I will be careful,” Schneep promised. Jackie could feel him pulling at the fabric of the suit. Then, a second later, the barest hint of metal on his skin. He tensed, but it was just the flat part of the scissors brushing against his back as they started to cut. “Huh. I was expecting more difficulty,” Schneep commented. “I suppose this special suit will not protect you from everything. You should put in a complaint with the League of Heroes.”

“What?”

“Jackie, please don’t kid me. I know you are Windstorm.” Schneep’s voice was calm as he delivered this news.

Jackie sighed. “I was wondering if you’d figured it out. Hoping you didn’t. How... how did you...?”

“Do you remember when you came to me about hurting your leg?” Schneep asked. “You said you jumped from a ledge, or something. I might have bought it. Or at the very least, I wouldn’t have assumed you were a superhero. If only I hadn’t seen Windstorm injure himself from a bad landing the night before.”

Right. The night at the U-Storit. Jackie remembered how the Specter had turned around when he cried out. “It could have been a coincidence,” Jackie protested weakly.

“It could have. But the very first time I met you, you had another injury. A close hit from Spitfire Cat’s energy beams. I checked the reports after I had my suspicions. No civilians were close enough to Spitfire Cat to get that injury. But Windstorm was. He was fighting him.” Schneep shrugged. “Two coincidences were unlikely. And you fit the general description, once I put aside my assumption that Windstorm was cisgender.”

Jackie gave a little laugh. “That assumption’s really helped me out, you know.”

“I can imagine.” Schneep paused. “Alright. Jackie, I have cleared the area.” Indeed, Jackie could feel cold air around the spot where the glass had impaled him. “Normally I would check your vitals, but you are handling this surprisingly well. Super well, I should say.”

“Ha.”

“I am going to apply topical anesthiril,” Schneep continued. “This is a super medicine, created by the League of Heroes. It will work like injecting local anesthesia. You will feel the area become numb in about one minute.”

“Okay.” Jackie nodded. “I-I thought you said medical supplies created by the League were controlled by them. How’d you get something like that?”

“Heh. Don’t tell the hospital.” Schneep began applying the anesthiril, and Jackie momentarily tensed at the cool feeling of the ointment. “I figured it would be useful. They have a million of these.”

“Stealing from hospitals?”

“One bottle. Like I said, they have a million.”

Jackie swallowed a lump in his throat. His feelings on Schneep wouldn’t settle down. On the one hand, he was a good friend, who had given him free first aid, and who had helped Chase for two and a half years now. On the other hand, there was no denying what he’d seen. Schneep was the Specter, and the Specter was a criminal.

A minute passed in silence. Then Schneep asked, “Can you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“Good, it has taken effect.” Schneep chuckled, then went silent. “I think... I think you will have to lay on your stomach now. I need to reduce bloodflow and remove the object, then clean and stitch the wound. It will be easier if you are lying down.”

Jackie let out a long breath. “Okay.”

They shifted positions so that Jackie was lying horizontally on the sofa and Schneep was kneeling on the floor next to him. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, so Jackie grabbed one of the throw pillows. He folded his arms on top of it and rested his head on top of those. Schneep was within his line of sight in this new position. Jackie watched him pull a syringe out of that white bag. “What’s that?” he asked.

“This will reduce the bloodflow I mentioned,” Schneep explained. “What? Not comfortable around needles?”

“I’m fine with them, I just... get a little nervous.”

“Hmm. You weren’t that nervous when you shoved a needle in my shoulder earlier,” Schneep said lightly.

Jackie tensed. “I—Schneep, you—I thought you would—you’re... the Specter.”

“Yes.”

The verbal confirmation hit Jackie like a punch to the gut. Suddenly, the whole situation seemed more real and solid. He went quiet for a moment, trying to figure out how to proceed. He didn’t even feel it when Schneep injected the contents of the syringe into the area by his wound—though that was probably because of the anesthiril. But he did feel it when the shard of glass came out a minute later. The strange sensation of something being pulled out, unaccompanied by any pain, made him gasp.

“Sorry, I should have warned you,” Schneep said, putting the bloodied piece of glass on his stainless coffee table. “This will probably feel odd. I need to check if there are any splinters inside the wound. Normally we use an X-ray for this, but as I don’t have one in my flat, I will have to make do.” He reached for the white bag, and Jackie quickly looked away, not wanting to see this.

“Schneep...” he said slowly. “Chase said... Chase said that you were going to spend time with Jameson today. That it was his birthday.”

“Those are both true,” Schneep said, his voice accompanied by slight clinks of metal that Jackie tried not to think about. “I told Chase I wanted to spend the whole day with Jamie. It was the least I could do for him, after he’s been alone for these past years. But then Jameson said he wanted to spend his birthday alone. He insisted. So I relented. With my day suddenly free, I remembered hearing about Windstorm’s welcoming ceremony on the news. It would be at SepTech, meaning they would move all their security to the party area, leaving the other sections spread thin. It was an opportunity I took. Afterwards, in the evening, I would drop by Jamie’s shop to see if he was still sure about being alone, and if he was, I would visit Chase and you.”

The fact that someone might just casually plan a day around a heist—let alone that Schneep would do that—once again sent Jackie into thoughtful quiet. Maybe it wasn’t so different from him planning a day around patrolling the city, or stopping a bank robbery. Just...on the other end of things.

“There.” Schneep set something on the coffee table. Jackie glanced over and saw a bloody sliver of glass. He immediately looked away again. Three more clinks of glass followed. “You are lucky, you know. Nothing smaller than that. And the cleaning will get rid of any other possible problems.”

“Schneep,” Jackie said gently. “I just... I just don’t understand. You... you’re a doctor. You have superpowers. It’s not like those things can’t overlap, but... why? Why do you use those powers to commit crimes? To be a thief? You don’t need the money. It’s clear just looking around.” He gestured vaguely at the nice living room. “So... why? You could be saving people.”

“I do save people, Jackie,” Schneep said gently. “I come across injuries, and I fix them. Many of them are life-threatening. The stories I could tell you...” He trailed off. Jackie could vaguely feel something rubbing at the mostly-numb area around his injury.

“But... you’re...” Jackie paused, searching for the word. “...reactionary. You could be preventing those injuries altogether.”

Schneep chuckled. “By disappearing? Tell me how removing myself from the situation could help other people.”

Jackie paused. “How... how do you have powers, Schneep? The Specter has been active for at least five years, so you’ve had them for at least that long.”

“How do you have powers?” Schneep rebutted.

“Born with them,” Jackie said casually. “It was a genetic thing.”

“Really?” Schneep asked, intrigued. “Elaborate.”

“Why should I?”

“I will tell you about mine if you do.”

Jackie sighed. “My mom had them. And so did my grandma, and my great-grandma, and so on for ages. They’ve been getting stronger through the generations. My mom was the first one to fly. She taught me everything I know. Well...not everything. But the foundations that I’ve built it all on.” He smiled. “She was a hero, you know. I always looked up to her.”

“Ah. That explains some things about you.” Schneep chuckled. He reached down and grabbed something more from the bag. “I am going to start the stitches now.”

“You better explain while you sew me up.”

“I will, I will. I just...have to figure out how to say it.” Schneep went quiet for a while. Jackie couldn’t feel the needle and thread, but he could imagine it. “I... am similar to you. I think I was born with a possible affinity for powers. See, my grandfather was a very good musician. A super musician, even.” He chuckled. “I suspected the truth even as a child. But I was not born with my powers. They had to be... triggered.”

“How?” Jackie asked.

Schneep paused. “There was an old well in my backyard when I was growing up. I heard if you threw coins in it, you could have a wish granted. So, starting when I was nine I would throw something into the well almost everyday after school. Any spare money I could find lying around, and when I couldn’t find any, I would throw in anything about the same size. Buttons and bouncy balls and erasers. I didn’t make the same wish every time, but there was one that would come up a lot.”

Jackie raised an eyebrow. “You wished to be a superhero and it gave you powers? If wishing wells can do that, how come there aren’t a thousand super-powered kids?”

“I am not sure. But my wish wasn’t exactly for superpowers.” Another pause. “For my tenth birthday, my mother invited all the kids in town my age to come to our house for a big party. It was a bad idea, considering most of them didn’t like me, but she wouldn’t listen when I begged her not to. I think she loved the idea of a big party more than she cared to hear me out.”

“I’m sure not all the kids disliked you,” Jackie reassured him.

“No, not all of them. But... there was a good number.” Schneep sighed. “My father ran a big business that employed many of the people in my hometown. And he did not treat his employees well. They hated him. They would go home and complain about Mr. Schneeplestein, and their kids would learn to hate that name. And the boy their age who went by it.”

Jackie’s heart sank. “You got bullied?”

“Quite a lot. And some of the bullies came to that party, wanting to eat free sweets and watch free entertainment my mother hired. I could have put up with them, except... a group of them got into my bedroom.” Schneep took a deep breath. “I had a stuffed bear that I loved, made by my Uncle David—Jameson’s father, in fact. I named the bear Davey, after him, and slept with it every night for three years. But I never took Davey out of the house. I knew how the kids would react. And... that day, they reacted how I thought.

“About five boys found Davey and began mocking me for having a teddy bear. They did all the usual tricks, like showing him to everyone and not letting me have him back. Then, they saw the well in my backyard. They went out there, taking me with them, and told me to throw Davey down the well, or else they would hurt me. And they were not lying, I knew from experience. So... I cried, but I did what they said. I dropped him in the well. And as I did, I made a wish. The wish that I had most often wished.”

“What was it?” Jackie whispered.

“To be a ghost.” Schneep gave a weak little laugh. “I know hearing it now, it is concerning. But I was ten years old, I didn’t understand that you had to die to become a ghost. Or at least, I didn’t truly understand what that would mean. All I knew was that ghosts could turn invisible and walk through walls. And, to my surprise, I woke up the next day and couldn’t see my own body.”

“Why would you want to be a ghost?” Jackie asked, confused.

“Ghosts cannot be trapped,” Schneep said, deliberately looking down at his stitching. “They can always get away. If a mean child tried to chase them down, they would just disappear. If a mean adult tried to lock them in a room, they would just walk out. I... I wanted that. I wanted to be untrappable.”

Jackie was quiet for a moment. He didn��t like the implications of that wish. The implications of a ten-year-old who wanted to be able to escape any situation. As if being trapped was something that happened often. But he didn’t press further.

“You are shifting position,” Schneep said. “Please stay still.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Jackie relaxed his muscles and rested his head on his arms once more. “Are you almost done?”

“Almost. I should have just enough time left for you to ask me the rest of the questions that are surely on your mind.”

“Hey,” Jackie muttered, half-offended.

“You know you want to know more,” Schneep said teasingly.

He did want to know more. “See, the thing is... you’re a good guy,” Jackie said. “Why not become a hero? Not even an official League Hero, if you don’t want, just... why not go out there and do good?”

“I do not like to be the center of attention,” Schneep said. “And I don’t like to be in physical fights. I can handle myself, if I am in either of those situations. But I would prefer to avoid them. You are right, though. I... From an early age, I wanted to do good. And I wanted to learn things, despite how my father always told me I would never go to university because it would poison your brain with weak ideas. Ha! The joke is on him, I managed to get into one of the best medical schools without him or Mama knowing.”

Jackie chuckled a little. “So, being a doctor. That’s how you were going to do good things?”

“Yes. I always wanted to be in SDER, because I thought that having powers of my own would give me an advantage in fixing super-related problems.” Schneep paused. “I was wrong. But I still wanted to do it anyway.”

“You were wrong?” Jackie repeated, confused.

“Medical school was a lot more difficult than I thought. I overestimated myself.”

“Hmm.” Jackie paused. “But I still don’t see the jump from doctor to supervillain.”

“I am not a villain,” Schneep snapped.

“The Specter is a thief!”

“Yes, but there is a difference between a criminal and a villain. At least, in my mind. A criminal just does crime. A villain hurts those who cannot defend themselves. I am careful to never do that. Any places or people I steal from are ones that can afford it.”

That rang true. The Specter mainly targeted rich families and wealthy companies. People who wouldn’t miss a few thousand dollars. People who could easily make new tech to replace whatever was stolen. “Okay... But there’s still quite a distance between doctor and master thief,” Jackie pointed out.

Schneep sighed. “Alright. You want an explanation. I already gave you part of my origin, might as well give the rest. Hang on, this is a tricky part.”

Jackie waited, feeling a few tugs as Schneep worked on the stitches. Until, finally, Schneep continued.

“Have you heard of Amorhart Medical College? It is a university just outside of Beckerville, and it’s one of the top institutions for super-related medical care in the world. I worked hard to get in there. I had already completed my degree in Germany, so as soon as I heard I was accepted into Amorhart, I moved to this country. I thought it would not be too hard. I had an education, and I spoke English well. But this was not the case. Medical school was... demanding. Not just with my time, but with my money. I told you of the fees that the League demands hospitals pay for using their medicine and equipment, yes? Well, those fees are twice as high for any schools training students in super-related medicine. Just in case the students misuse or break the supplies. And so, of course, the university got the money to pay those fees from students’ tuition.”

“When did you come to this country?” Jackie asked.

“About... seven years ago?” Schneep said. “I was twenty-two.”

“Alright.” Jackie nodded, then realized that he probably shouldn’t move too much and stopped. “I can see where you’re going with this. To pay for medical school, you started using your powers to get the money. Why didn’t you just get a job?”

“I did, Jackie!” Schneep shouted. Then cleared his throat. “Ah... sorry. I didn’t mean to be so loud. Good thing I just finished your stitching, otherwise I could have messed it up.”

“It’s okay,” Jackie said, though he was still confused. “But, uh, if you don’t mind me asking. If you had a job, why the stealing?”

Schneep grabbed a cloth from the bag and started cleaning Jackie’s wound again. “Because it didn’t pay enough. All of my free time outside of class was spent either working or sleeping, and that still could not nearly cover the fees. I applied for better ones, of course. But I never got too far. See, you probably don’t know this, Jackie, but there is a large group of people in this country who are not fond of foreigners. Even if people wouldn’t admit it, no one wanted to hire a college boy who wasn’t pureblooded English.” Schneep sighed. “And I was lucky, because it was only my voice and name that were different.”

“I...” Jackie wasn’t sure what to say to that.

“The one I was able to get and keep paid me just as much as it needed to. Long hours for little money. So I started taking out loans to keep up with the fees and the tuition and the everyday cost of living like groceries—I was lucky Amorhart had free dormitories. I spent two years trying... trying so hard to keep up with everything. Trying to find a way to be more... stable.”

“Schneep...” Jackie whispered. “I’m... sorry. I-I didn’t know.”

“I do not like to talk about it,” Schneep said curtly. “But... two years of this. Of living on the very edge. Then... my health started to decline. Physically, and mentally. I had a few breakdowns, one of which was at my job. And upon seeing that, my boss decided that it was time to let me go. That led to another breakdown, and then another when I could not find a new job. And only after that did I think that maybe... maybe my special abilities could help.”

“And so you became the Specter,” Jackie said.

“Well it took a few months to figure it out,” Schneep replied. “I will admit, I wasn’t so strict about my targets at first. The very first place I robbed was the office of a company that had denied me a job. Then I jumped right to stealing from a bank. And after a couple more heists, the guilt hit me, and I decided I would make sure my targets could recover.” He paused. “The costume was there at the start, though. I wanted to be sure I wouldn’t be identified, even though I would be invisible the whole time. Oh, by the way Jackie, I am done with the stitching. You can sit up.”

Jackie did so, slowly. He felt a bit stiff. But there was no pain. That would probably come later, once the anesthiril wore off. “The Specter became active about five years ago, so that matches up with what you’re saying,” he said. “Are you still paying for medical school now? Or did you just keep going for the thrill of it?”

“I did mention loans, yes?” Schneep pulled some bandages from his bag. “But you are right. With the profits I was making, I paid those off as soon as I could.”

Jackie raised an eyebrow. “So? Why keep up? Because of the Puppeteer?”

Schneep frowned. “Um... no. Whatever that is, no.”

“...wait.” Jackie blinked. “What?”

Schneep stood. “Do you want to do this, or shall I?” He held out the bandages.

“Uh... you can... do it,” Jackie said slowly, still reeling from the casual dismissal. Was the Specter not related to the Puppeteer after all? But... what about the SepTech heists, then?

“You seem confused.” Schneep sat down on the sofa next to him. “Well. I will continue explaining. Meanwhile, take off the costume so I can bandage.”

Jackie silently unfastened his supersuit. He wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath it, so Schneep had easy access to the injury.

“I stole enough to pay off all loans and fees, then I kept going,” Schneep said casually. “I wanted to have money to support myself while I searched for a stable job, after all. Yet, even after I got that, even after I was finally respected as a doctor... I still kept going. There was something thrilling about it.” A small smile curled his lips. “It is very exciting to be somewhere against the rules. Very... satisfying to outsmart security systems. But there was something more. There were... the League’s fees on the SDER departments at hospitals.”

Jackie nodded understandingly.

“I’d suffered through them myself, but... there were so many people out there who were in a similar situation. Ones who couldn’t afford the bills. And unlike me, it was never their choice. Nobody chooses to get injured when a supervillain picks up their car and throws it. But because it’s ruled a super-related injury, they get the fees.” Schneep shook his head. “It was never fair to me. So, any patients I worked on who couldn’t handle the charges... I would take care of the charges for them. With the profits from my heists.”

“So you’re saying you’re a real Robin Hood, then?” Jackie asked.

Schneep frowned. “If you must. I don’t like that comparison. It’s too... hero-y.” He gave his head a little shake. “Well, I haven't been doing as much thieving recently.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” Jackie said.

“You noticed it?”

“I... may have done some research on the Specter,” Jackie admitted.

Schneep chuckled. “Of course you did. In any case, once I got a true doctor’s job, my schedule slowly filled. I considered giving up thieving altogether. And then...” He trailed off, the laughter fading from his face.

“Then?” Jackie prompted.

“I met Chase,” Schneep said.

Jackie blinked. “I... don’t understand.”

“Well, Chase probably didn’t explain our meeting in detail,” Schneep said. “I was assigned to help him in the wake of a super fight because of his injuries. All SDER doctors have a secondary specialty, and mine is neurology. And Chase needed a long-term doctor with that specialty.” He paused. “Jackie... when Chase was admitted to the hospital, he didn’t have anything. The only thing on his person was a driver’s license. When they checked his records, they found no relatives, no address, no job. The only thing he apparently owned was his car and its contents. His bank account was nearly empty. He couldn’t even remember who he was. And yet...” His voice sharpened. “...he was still expected to pay the hospital. Still expected to pay those fees to the League.” He gave one last tug on Jackie’s bandages, securing them. “It reminded me what I needed the money for. People like him, who could not afford the care, but who deserved it.”

Jackie checked the bandages. They felt tight around his torso. Then he leaned back against the sofa. Hearing all this, he couldn’t bring himself to hate Schneep. He couldn’t bring himself to see Schneep in the wrong light. Sure, he stole things as the Specter, but he helped people as a doctor. “You really hate the League of Heroes, huh?” he muttered.

“Hate? No no no.” Schneep shook his head. “I hate the fees, but I don’t hate the whole organization. They do good things. Mainly in how they connect Heroes together, offering them resources they couldn’t normally get. Like that fancy neutrinalin you had today.”

“Sorry.” Jackie winced. “It’s uh... really hard to get to you when you keep walking through walls.” Now he just felt like a massive dick for that.

Schneep grinned. “That is the point of being intangible.”

“It is, it is.” Jackie folded his hands on his lap, and looked Schneep directly in the eyes for the first time in this whole conversation. “Schneep. You... really don’t know anything about the Puppeteer?”

“I have never heard that name before, no.”

Jackie glanced down at Schneep’s hands. There were no strings around his wrists. “Have you ever met a supervillain who wore a black mask that covered his face entirely? Spoke in a computerized voice? Has the ability to mind control people through wrapping strings around their arms?”

Schneep’s eyes widened in unmistakable alarm. “No. But today, there was a computer voice at the ceremony. It looked like chaos had gone down there.”

“The Puppeteer attacked the ceremony. When you showed up there—as the Specter—I assumed you were part of the attack.” Jackie paused. “But that’s also because you’ve been stealing from SepTech. Right?”

“Yes.” Schneep had no qualms about admitting it.

“Some items that have gone missing from SepTech have turned up in the Puppeteer’s possession. I... I thought the Specter had got them for him. I thought you were working with him.”

Schneep shook his head. “Absolutely not. I do not work with others. I barely interact with the same buyer twice when selling tech.”

“Then... we’ve been chasing a red herring this whole time.” Jackie’s heart sank into a pit of despair. All of this had been useless. Worse than useless! He’d just found out one of his friends was a supervillain! What was next, Chase would be the Puppeteer himself?! Jameson would be the missing hero Timekeeper?! Both of those were absurd, of course. But still. He felt like he didn’t know anyone anymore.

“I am sorry for that,” Schneep said gently. “Truly. But... I must know, Jackie. Are you going to arrest me?”

That shocked Jackie out of his self-doubt. “What?”

“You are a Hero, it is your job to track down... villains like the Specter.” He spat out the word ‘villains’ like it tasted disgusting. “So, you have tracked me down. Are you going to arrest me?”

“I... I... don’t... know.” Jackie had been fully prepared to arrest the Specter. That was how this always went: he caught the bad guy and sent them off to trial. But... it was Schneep. He was a doctor. And more importantly, he was a friend.

Jackie tried to muster some feelings of justification. Schneep had still committed crimes—he’d broken into dozens of places, all his stolen goods together were worth thousands. But... no one had been hurt. Not really. Some companies had lost some profits, but they all recovered swiftly. As far as he could tell, there hadn’t even been any emotional damage on the part of the victims.

Schneep raised an eyebrow. “Well. That is not a comforting answer. Perhaps I should cash in my vacation time for work and leave town for some time.”

“What? No, you can’t do that!” Jackie protested. “Chase needs you!”

“Not as much as he used to. And now he has you.” Schneep shrugged. “I would keep in contact.”

“I...” Jackie sighed. “Schneep, I... I don’t want you to...” He trailed off.

Schneep stared at him, waiting. “Yes?” he prompted.

“...nevermind,” Jackie muttered.

He’d never expected to be in this situation. He was already risking his Hero status by allying with Spitfire Cat. But he couldn’t bring Schneep in. Schneep had healed him despite knowing that Jackie was Windstorm, and could arrest him at any time. And besides that, Chase would be devastated. And besides that... Jackie wasn’t sure he would be able to sleep at night.

“I’m not going to arrest you,” Jackie announced. “You can... keep doing... whatever. As long as no one gets hurt.” He hesitated. “But... Schneep. Does Chase know?”

“Does he know you are Windstorm?” Schneep asked quietly.

Jackie was silent for a moment. “You have to tell him.”

“I’ll tell him when you tell him.”

“What?!”

“It is not fair that one of us would tell and the other wouldn’t,” Schneep said. “Either we keep this our secret, or we let Chase in at the same time.” He sighed. “Besides, I never understood why the heroes never told anyone their identity. Sure, you shouldn’t announce it to the public. But your friends? Your family? If what you were doing is illegal, I understand not wanting them to know. But heroes are, well, heroes. People love them.”

“It’s... easier to not involve people,” Jackie said slowly. “And not everyone loves supers. When I first moved in with Chase, I thought maybe he wouldn’t... like them, either. Considering a super battle cost him his memory and easy motion.”

“Well, you know better now.” Schneep folded his arms. “So, you should tell him. And once you do, I will tell him my identity, too.” Jackie’s hesitation must have shown on his face. “Oh come on, don’t look at me like that. You have much less risk. I will literally be telling him that I’m a criminal.”

“I just don’t want anything to change between us,” Jackie said quietly.

Schneep’s expression softened. “Things cannot be the same forever, Jackie. If you plan on living with him for a while, it will be harder and harder to keep a secret. His memory may be bad, but he is much more observant than he seems. Eventually, he will realize there’s something you’re not telling him.”

Jackie let out a long exhale. “Will you be telling Jameson?”

“Do not change the subject.”

“It’s a fair question.”

Schneep sighed. “Jamie’s situation is more complicated than Chase’s.”

“Oh yeah, because having your doctor also be a criminal mastermind isn’t complicated enough,” Jackie drawled.

“You think I’m a mastermind?” Schneep actually looked flattered at that.

“Don’t get a big head.” Jackie went quiet for a long moment. He stared up at the ceiling, finding patterns in the plaster. Then he sighed. “Fine. I’ll... tell him. Eventually. And when I do, you’ll tell him about the Specter.”

Schneep gave a single, firm nod. “You better be honest when you tell him. I’m planning on opening my news by saying, ‘so you know how Jackie is Windstorm?’ and if you lie about already telling—”

“I get it, Schneep. Fuck.” Jackie rubbed his eyes. “I can’t believe it’s not even noon yet. This has been the longest fucking day of my life.”

“The longest fucking day of your life so far.” Schneep grinned.

Jackie didn’t bother to respond to the joke, merely standing up, pulling his supersuit back on. “I’m going to go home.”

“And you’re going to tell Chase about being Windstorm?” Schneep asked.

“No,” Jackie immediately said. “Not yet. He... he wanted to have a good time today. He deserves that.” He could tell that the holidays were a sore spot for Chase. Despite how positive he seemed most of the time, he’d spent long enough around him to know when his roommate was actually feeling down. One clue was staying in bed late; Chase certainly hadn’t been up when Jackie left for the ceremony.

Schneep nodded. “I understand. Have fun. I may try to stop by later, depending on how things go with Jameson.”

“Right. You said that was your plan.” Jackie hesitated. It felt...strange. To just leave after everything that had happened.

Clearly, Schneep didn’t feel the same way. He stood up, took Jackie’s arm in a gentle hold, and walked towards the front door. “You should be careful on the way home. I think the numbing should last until you are back at your flat, but go fast, anyway. Can you be halfway across the city in twenty minutes? I never paid much attention to Windstorm’s flying speed.”

“Y-yeah, I can handle that.”

“Great.” Schneep opened his front door. “Jackie...” He looked straight into Jackie’s eyes and took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “I mean it. Be careful, my friend.”

Jackie felt something in his chest ache. “I will,” he whispered. “I promise.”

Schneep gave him a smile. “Good. I will see you again soon, then?”

“Yeah.” Jackie stepped out into the hallway. “See you soon.”

Schneep closed the apartment door. It clicked shut quietly, leaving Jackie to stare at the wooden surface. He took a deep breath. And turned around. He should probably take the elevator down. Walking down the stairs might risk tearing the stitches.

===============

The apartment was just as silent as it had been when Jackie left that morning. He went in through his bedroom window, maneuvering carefully to keep the stitches safe. They were starting to itch a bit. He wasn’t sure if that was normal, if it was an infection, or if it just meant the anesthiril was wearing off. In any case, he resisted the urge to scratch as he changed out of his supersuit—making a mental note to sew up the area Schneep had cut open—and into regular clothes. Then he went across the hall to Chase’s bedroom.

“Chase?” he called, knocking on the door. There was no answer, so he knocked again and raised his voice. “Chase, I’m home.”

A moment passed. Then: “Hi,” Chase said. “Welcome back, haha.”

“Can I come in?”

“Uh, sure. Door’s not locked.”

Jackie turned the handle and opened it, looking inside. “You haven’t done laundry in a while,” he said idly, noting the corner full of dirty clothes.

“Hey, I’ve been busy,” Chase said defensively. He was still lying in bed, blankets pulled up to almost hide the fact that he was still wearing the shirt he’d worn yesterday. Frosty was lying on the bed next to him, head on his chest.

“I can do it for you, if you want,” Jackie offered.

“Nah, that’s fine. I can... I can do it.” Chase gave him a small, tired smile. “I’ve just been tired all the time lately. Don’t worry about it.”

“Right. Well, if you ever need me to, I’ll be here.” Jackie cleared his throat. “Anyway. You wanted to hang out today, right? You haven’t told me any plans or anything.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I, uh, didn’t really make any. I don’t do plans.” Chase ran a hand through his messy, uncombed hair. “Just give me, like, an hour to get ready. We can put on a movie. Something spooky for the season. I forget, do you like horror?”

“I’m fine with it. You?”

“It’s cool. But I’m a bit of a coward, so it’s always a risk with me.” Chase laughs drily. “Anyway. Uh, how was your day?”

Jackie felt a lump in his throat. No, not a lump. Words in his throat. Words explaining the long day he’d had, the pressure he’d been under for the ceremony, mingling with Heroes and city officials and that strange Dr. McLoughlin, the speech he’d given, how it had been interrupted by the Puppeteer, the brief fight he’d had with the villain that he’d abandoned to go after the Specter, getting injured in a fall, going back to Schneep’s apartment and seeing the Specter’s costume, Schneep explaining his powers and why he became a thief while he stitched up the injury, their eventual agreement that they needed to tell Chase the truth about what his roommate and doctor really did...

And then he swallowed that lump, and put on a smile. “Oh, you know. Nothing special.”

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #jacksepticeye au #jackieboy man #dr schneeplestein #chase brody #brigid writes fanfiction #septicheroesau

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bronze-bell · 17 days ago

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It's a long moment of waiting, but eventually the door opens before him. He can't help but notice how unevenly the handle turns, of course, waving politely as he bends down ever so slightly to enter the room, twisting the knob shut behind him.

Aesop, at first, plans to keep his distance, hands folded in front of him as he waits for Victor to seat himself. This process takes much longer and much more difficulty than expected, however, but... why else is he here, hm? Several collapses follow, noises that make him wince. Including one where Victor himself falls. That one most worries the Ferryman, as he swears he feels himself jump from the fear of something happening. Long, stringy white hair falls over his shoulders as he takes the postman's hand, a coat back that remains questionably solid gathers behind him as he sits down and helps Victor into position.

It may not be comfortable for him, but his own comfort is not what matters here. Once he knows he has a loose and careful yet secure hold upon the postman's waist, he slides the letter closer to the center of the desk with his fingertips, his head (which feels too rigid to be made of flesh) resting upon Victor's.

Victor was not very good with being looked at. That much is obvious. Especially when The Ferryman is staring at him awkwardly from the doorway. However, the Victor that wasn't currently regretting his life choices had decided that the chair and desk setup he'd gone with was a good idea.

To start, he puts boxes between the legs of the chair, (like he doesn't have enough places to store his lettering supplies) and that makes things challenging. Now, if the chair was a normal chair, this wouldn't be an issue. He could simply move the boxes... But.

You see, the writing desk is taller than a normal chair is good for. So the way to fix that issue, is to make sure the chair is also taller. Which means Victor has to climb onto it, in order to sit properly. Which means that a very annoying bar of wood frames the bottom of the legs, and blocks any attempt to, y'know. Manoeuvre the boxes.

It doesn't help that Victor (the current one) is not thinking straight, and had decided that moving the boxes would simply be too complicated! So he attempts to lift the chair.

Attempts. He nearly gets flattened by it in the process. But hey, the boxes can now be safely kicked under the desk for Wick to sniff at! Triumphantly, he's able to right the cursed thing.

Aesop is currently standing around the desk area (startling Victor for a second when he looks up) so Victor makes the decision to sit down at its current orientation. It doesn't have arm rests anyway, he can just turn to face him. Best not invoke any more of the chairs wrath.

Except much like everything else, that fails comically as well. (Although to be fair to the chair, it's definitely Victor's lack of sleep this time around). The lack of armrests make it very easy to get out of, but it doesn't really... Help with the opposite. He is stuck attempting to climb the damn thing before the Ferryman finally takes pity on him and grabs him by the hand.

...Huh. Well, the first thing Victor notices is that for all the curses he mentally wanted to yell at the thing, the chair was, very conveniently, hunter sized. ...That's probably why the chair is this size, actually. (He should have read the fine print when buying it from the bird woman, but frankly he just wanted to leave the shop faster.)

The second (and absolutely more important) thing is that he is currently seated on Aesop's lap, and it leaves him blushing as red as his misplaced hat as he recognises it.

There are hands around his waist to keep him from falling (which is quite the sensation when you're as unprepared as he), and he fits neatly against the curve of the man's blooming ribcage.

Thank god Aesop isn't looking at Victor's face, because he's halfway between embarrassed and overjoyed. Although by the way the Ferryman's own porcelain facade rests on Victor's head, (don't think about the hands in your hair, Victor, don't think about th-) he seems not to mind his rising body temperature.

There is the sliding of paper, and Oh. Fuck. Right. That's why he's here. The letter. Well, thank god for past Victor, who, before he had completely lost it from lack of sleep and still had foresight, had laid out paper and pencil on the table for writing. And so, shakily opening the letter, he reads through before he places it back onto the desk, next to the paper.

And then, after drawing an arrow to the first paragraph to explain what's going on, he begins to annotate. Is his annotating... Coherent? That's questionable. Is it readable? Even more questionable. But he's currently only being kept awake by the shock of Aesop pressed against him, so he's doing his best with what he has, thank you very much.

(his notes are either some degree of affectionate, or thinly veiled "I am in absolutely no position to comprehend any of this right now. I get the gist, though!" Maybe Aesop should have expected this, from the way his last letter went.)

#identity v #identity v rp #「 victor writes 💌」#identity v ask blog #idv #victor grantz #huntersop event

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prianya · 2 years ago

Note

Hello!! I just stumbled upon your blog and I find your writing absolutely lovely and heart warming to read!! Thank you for writing what you write!! :DD

If you're not busy, may I request a Scar (or any hermit of the dealer's choice) with a gn reader who's somewhat of a bird hybrid who have difficulties in spotting glass and ends up crashing to some whenever they try to visit him through a gap that they thought was open? Can either have them just.. Bonked against the glass or straight up breaking it in the process.

Have a good day!! And take care! :D

Crystal Clear

GoodtimeswithScar x Reader ▪︎ Platonic

Word Count ▪︎ 479 words

Summary ▪︎ Being a bird hybrid, glass was the bane of your existence because you can't see it, unfortunately.

Note ▪︎ Aw, you're so sweet! Thank you for your kind words! I hope you enjoy this, even if it is a little short. There is a short mention of blood.

This situation wasn’t something you were ever worried about. It was known by pretty much everyone that due to you being an avian hybrid, even if you didn't have the wings to show it, you couldn't see glass. To be fair, neither could Grian so it wasn’t like it was a selective thing. Stained glass was bad too since it just made it look like the room was coloured differently from the outside. There had been a few times where you had just simply walked into a glass door, or tried to reach through a closed window. This time, though, you had flown straight into the door on a balcony at full force.

All you had wanted to do was visit Scar, but no, you had to crash into a stupid door. Scar had looked up quickly when he heard the thud, and had quickly come to see what had happened. Opening the glass door and stepping out onto the balcony, he found you slumped on the railing. You looked up when you saw him, lifting a hand from your face to wave to him. Scar gasps when you do, pointing at said hand. When you looked, you realized it had a bit of blood on it.

“Oh,” you say, bringing your other hand away from your nose and looking at the blood.

“Good Void, are you okay?” he says, grabbing your forearms and pulling you to stand.

“Thank you, and I feel fine, just a little dizzy,” you reply as you stand shakily. Scar just nods, and leads you inside to sit down. He walks off after you slump into the chair, and comes back a few minutes later with an ice bag and a healing pot.

“The potion’s just in case you broke your nose, but it doesn’t look like anything more than a bad nosebleed.” Scar hands you the ice bag and sets the potion on the small table next to you.

“Do you want to take off your elytra?” he asks gently, and when you nod yes, he holds the wings while you unclip the harness. He sets the pair of faux wings down behind the armchair and walks around to his own chair.

“Thanks for the ice bag, and sorry for crashing into your balcony,” you say sheepishly, an apologetic smile on your face. Scar just hums, waving a hand.

“It’s fine, I forgot to open it for you so it’s more your fault than mine.” The both of you continue to chat, and you take off a few hours later with a promise to visit again soon.

When you do visit again, you stop short of flying straight through the door and land on the balcony. Taking careful steps and squinting at the door, you conclude that it’s open. You then walk forward confidently and are stopped short when you thunk into the closed glass door.

#hermitcraft x reader #platonic x reader #goodtimeswithscar x reader #goodtimeswithscar x you

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yes-this-account-is-alive · 3 years ago

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Cypher x a quiet/secretive reader (She/her)

Like maybe he was first interested in her because of how secretive she was even if it did frustrate the hell out of him. I don’t know, I just love your writings and there is very little cypher content out there. Thank you.

aww that's so sweet! i'm flattered ^^ if you really like cypher content ii highly suggest you check out @agentgumsh0e! she loves cypher and writes for him a lot too!

You weren't a new agent, people just knew so little about you that you were practically one. Sova, with a lot of difficulty managed to track you down and invite you to the protocol. You both used to work together you see, but after you parted ways he lost all contact. Thankfully, he remembered the one piece of information you let him have: every year, you would be in Kiruna watching the northern lights during September.

Safe to say that he was shocked that you, save for your face and physique, looked completely different from the last time he saw you. But, considering how you were he couldn't say that he wasn't expecting it. As you watched the colors in the sky dance that mid-September night, you felt a familiar hand place itself onto your shoulder. You greeted him warmly and offered him marshmallows you had been roasting. He accepted them with a smile and started to converse, recruiting you in the process.

When you first came in, Cypher was already on the case. Hell, he was on the case way before that but what had him drop it for a while was the distinct lack of information there was on you. Now that he had the subject in proximity, he could do a little field work.

He approached you as you were cooking brunch for Sova and yourself, potatoey goodness sizzling on the pan and freshly made ones sitting on the ivory plate beside the stove. He started to make small talk as he brewed some coffee, trying to see what he could get from you. Unfortunate for him, you answered in short phrases and most of your answers were generic.

"So what's your favorite food, [Agent Name]?"

"I like everything."

Then a minute of silence until he asks another question.

The air was so god damn dry and he was losing it. How can someone have nothing interesting to share about themselves? If you were lying, he couldn't even tell! Nothing gave it away and you were very focused on cooking those damn pancakes. A few moments passed before you waved the man goodbye and went to sit down with Sova in the dining room.

Seeing as you weren't answering much, he decided to have a chat with Sova after you left to train in the range instead. To his disappointment, the initiator didn't have much to say about you either other than you loved travelling and could deliver insane punches. He took note of that and went back to his workshop.

Weeks passed by of this variation of Vogue's 100 questions and to his surprise (and thankfully to cease his frustration), he got SOMETHING. It was after he had helped you fix your intricately designed prosthetic legs.

"How is it?"

"Good."

You paced around the room, testing them out. He looked on in interest as you stood up on your toes as a ballerina would and held your leg straight up. A needle.

"I used to do ballet when I lived in France, shame I can't dance like I used to."

You waved him goodbye and exited his workshop. It wasn't the intel he wanted, but it shifted his interest in you for the sake of knowing everything to slight curiosity as you would with meeting someone new.

The second time you said something about yourself, he was listening intently. The two of you were just lounging around on the soft sofas in the living room. Most of the other agents had returned to their quarters or were practicing in the range so it was empty, save for you both.

You were drinking your own blend of coffee, Aamir had not seen anybody else drinking the same so he decided to try his luck and ask about it.

"Oh, I worked at a fairly bougie roastery when I was in Vietnam. Coffee there was perfect in quality and ever since I had a taste, I couldn't drink normal coffee anymore! I've spoiled myself quite a bit, haha."

It was the longest you had spoken at a time that day, he was all ears and when he heard you laugh? His heart, for the first time in a while skipped with joy. He was so enraptured by the little emotion you let ooze through your voice that he was stunned for a few seconds, before giving a quip in response upon seeing your gaze staring into his.

With each following conversation, you unveiled more snipets of your life. The info broker was hooked on each word. And, with each smile and giggle you sent his way, he found himself wanting to see them more and burn it into his memory.

Safe to say, you captured this man's heart without even trying. He'd sit down next to you during break and you'd tell him about the wonders you've seen. Off-handedly, you said you'd take him to see some of your favorite spots and honestly you nearly killed the man. He was blushing under that mask so hard, even Raze's most vibrant red spray paint couldn't compete.

He was in love, very much so.

Extras!

Oh, and don't tell him this: but you definitely saw the stink eyes he gave Sova. You'd just be talking to the initiator, reminiscing the good times you both had and Cypher--jealousy written all over that mask of his--would burn holes through Sova's back. He'd then drag you away to his workshop to ask for your opinion on something he was working on.

Sova noticed his actions as well but decided he wouldn't interfere for a while. He and the sentinel don't have the best of relationships but he trusted your judgement in people so he let it be. Brother figure Sova is looking out for you. He'd definitely murk the man if he did anything bad to you.

#.request #valorant #valorant x reader #valorant cypher x reader #valorant cypher #cypher #cypher x reader

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iwannawritelots · 2 years ago

Text

Spooky❤️

Originally written September 2022

Masterlist

Genre: fluff

Ship(s): Beelzebub/MC

(genderless MC)

Compliments/nicknames/descriptions of MC: MC is smaller/weaker than Beel

Trigger/content warnings: Beel being a bit self-conscious, words associated with pumpkin carving that could be seen as a bit gore-y?

Headcanons/notes from the author: I got the idea from @kitsune-oji !! Thank you so much, this was so fun to write. I hope I characterized Beel okay haha.

Brief Blurb: MC and Beel carve pumpkins together.

Beel smiled with his eyes as he assisted you in setting down newspaper on the floor. He hadn’t really partaken in pumpkin carving before, so he was excited to do so. “_____, I’m happy you’re letting me help.”

You chuckled and patted his head before standing up. “Well, I don’t know why I wouldn’t.”

“My brothers would be afraid of me eating the pumpkins…”

Attempting not to frown, you told him, “That’s why we grabbed snacks. Don’t worry about that.” You went over to the table and picked up a pumpkin before bringing it over to the newspaper and setting it upon the pile. “Um… I don’t know if I can lift yours.”

Beel glanced at his pumpkin, which was on the floor next to the table. It was probably cumbersome enough for him to carry, but you could only imagine the difficulty you’d have carrying it. “Makes sense.” He got up and shuffled over to it, then picked it up and brought it over. “Now what…?”

Chuckling, you went over to the knives and found some that would properly work for the pumpkins. “We need to empty the pumpkins first.”

“Oh, yeah.” Beelzebub nodded and took a knife from you once you passed it handle-first. Before doing anything, he watched you start to slice into the pumpkin’s top and make a circle around its stem. He carefully mimicked your actions and took the top off. When you cut off the strands of pumpkin innards from the underside of the top, he did so as well. “We can eat the seeds, right?”

“We should wash them first,” you told him gently. “Otherwise you’ll taste a lot of pumpkin guts.”

Beel made a small, pleased hum at the thought of eating the seeds. “Okay…” he paused the process for a snack, picking up a granola bar and eating the entire thing before continuing to follow your lead. “Mm… pumpkin smell…” He attempted to pick out the seeds as he gutted the pumpkin. “Do you know why humans make jack-o-lanterns?”

“Uh…” You thought about it for a moment, sorting out the seeds from the pumpkins’ insides. “It started from Celtic folklore, I believe. To ward off evil spirits or something.”

Beel was quiet for a moment. “Does that mean we’ll ward off the entirety of the Devildom with these up?”

You snorted. “No, probably not. Demons aren’t inherently evil like humans think, right?”

One of the biggest smiles you’d ever seen graced Beel’s face. “Yeah.”

The two of you ensured the seeds were all in a bowl to be dealt with later, then Beel grabbed another snack. “Do you know what you want to carve?”

“Hm…” Beel stared at his pumpkin. “Well… maybe a silly face?”

You watched him eat his snack, nodding with encouragement. “That sounds good. Here’s a marker.” You handed over a permanent marker, then focused attention on your own pumpkin. He watched you draw a face on yours, then attempted to follow the same format with a sillier face. After glancing over at his, you told him, “That’s very cute.”

“Are you sure…?” Beel tilted his head a bit as he looked over his pumpkin. “I think my brothers might make fun of it.”

“Well, they can cram it.” You huffed and kissed his cheek, then began to carve your pumpkin. “Just follow your lines and it’ll look great. Even if you mess up a little bit, it’s not a huge deal. It’ll still be awesome.”

Once the two of you were done carving, you helped him set up the candles on the inside. After lighting them, you hurried to turn off the lights. Beel wiggled a little and a tiny smile spread across his face as he gazed at the pumpkins. “They’re so cool.”

“Yeah! We should sit them on the front porch!”

He nodded and the two of you hurried to sit your pumpkins together in front of the house, candles still burning. Once they were set up how you liked, you took a few pictures, including some with Beel sitting next to them. Even though he wasn’t very expressive, you could tell he was thrilled. Maybe you could make Jack-o-lanterns together every year?

reblog divider story divider

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wonlouvre · 3 years ago

Text

more for forever | k. mg.

pairing: editor-in-chief mingyu x female reader genre: fluff, a little bit of angst, cliché (in the sense that mingyu is rich and likes to spoil his girlfriend) warnings: mentions of insecurity, food word count: 2.8k

💌: this is just pure indulgence and i really hope you all like this! please wait for wonwoo because i have something in store for him too ;) again, this is cliché please forgive me. please tell me what you think about it hehe i love reading your comments, feedbacks and tags! also a big thank you to @minkwans for sharing their ideas and giving this oneshot life! <3

The name Kim Mingyu didn’t ring a bell before. Not until his executive assistant reached out to you because apparently, the photographer slash writer read one of your blog posts and wanted you to take part for their sixth year anniversary issue. You know the famous magazine and publishing company, which is why you thought it was a scam or a ploy to steal your money. It’s a stupid assumption but you can’t blame your mind imagining the worse because you are not a fashion blogger at all. Why would a fashion magazine want you to write an article for them?

Sure, you regularly write and post blog entries on your website. But you write about your dog, your recently bought tea coaster and sometimes your skincare routine. Okay, maybe your occasional outfit of the day as well but nothing in detail. Again, why do they want you to write for them?

Kim Mingyu answered your questions and uncertainties when he personally emailed his contact details to you. You didn’t have to bite, but it didn’t hurt to confirm at the same time. You dialed the number and he indeed proved you wrong. He invited you for a meeting at his office and you accepted.

Your visits to high-rise buildings, much more to the luxurious office of an executive, is rare to never. You were jaw slacked when your eyes took in the crisp architecture. The design, the furniture, the color, the everything was beyond what you could have imagined a publishing company’s headquarters could be.

The meeting was nothing but short of an interview. He asked about your blog (which does not even have its own domain by the way), he asked what else you write about, he asked about your desk job (which doesn’t pay much but enough for you to get by), he asked if you have any background about fashion and one last question about your dog, Max, before talking about his proposal.

To be honest, Mingyu’s offer was tempting. For one article, the commission would be enough for you to move out of your current apartment and move to a brand new and fully-furnished one. But you remained true to yourself and without thinking twice, you declined.

You can tell that the editor-in-chief and his assistant, who stood beside him all throughout, was surprised by the looks on their faces. But Mingyu respected your decision and didn’t pursue any further. You took your stand from the chair and sincerely thanked him for the time and opportunity. You thought that would be it but when he followed suit with your actions and reached his hand out, it was your turn to be surprised.

You didn’t hesitate to mirror him and shake his hand, firmly. After that, you’d figure that it’s the end and that you’ll probably get to see a glimpse of him only through your television or phone. But Mingyu proved you wrong once again when he sent an unexpected email three days later asking why.

What might be the reason why you didn’t accept his offer?

You believed he deserved an explanation of your personal reasons so you disclosed them. And just like that the conversation on that email thread naturally progressed and eventually deepened. The professional emails became casual text messages, the text messages became phone calls, and the phone calls became actual face to face dates at late hours of the evening because he usually clocks out at 9 o’clock.

The rest, as they say, was in the hands of history.

Your first date with Mingyu was particularly odd. It was at a traditional Korean restaurant owned by one of his friends who introduced himself as Angel even though his real name is Jeonghan. You didn’t question him or anyone else why because that’s none of your business. But back to the date. It was odd because you have never been to a restaurant that’s completely empty and dead silent before (aside of course, from the typical music played in the background). You asked Mingyu if such an occurrence is normal and he just plainly answered that he rented the whole place all to yourselves. You have always known he’s rich. However, you didn’t believe that booking the whole restaurant was necessary.

Nonetheless, that first date, in some way, was special for you because there were no distractions. You enjoyed his company and you can tell he enjoyed yours too because he’s quick to mention a second date and it didn’t take a heartbeat for you to say yes.

But, by far, Mingyu inviting you to the behind the scenes of the making of the sixth anniversary issue that you turned down writing for is one of the most memorable dates the two of you had. It was out of the blue and you two were having difficulty in syncing your schedules. He was beginning to get busier and busier as the anniversary neared and the only way he could think of still making time for you is inviting you to his office. He called you and asked if you’re free to have lunch together. And you, being attracted to the handsome and tall man, didn’t hesitate to say yes.

He was in the middle of ending his morning meeting when you arrived and you were almost caught off-guard when all eyes were suddenly on you, making you feel small. But Mingyu didn't care as his smile beamed, immediately standing up from his chair to walk towards you. The rest of his staff were still in the midst of walking out of his office when he grasped your hand to pull you inside and you have never felt so shy your whole life.

Since then, he made you tag along to the creative process and you witnessed how hands on he was with every article, every photo, every brand, every trend and every detail that goes to the magazine that he has built and loved with his blood, sweat and tears. He’s beyond dedicated in finding and doing what’s best for the magazine and most importantly, its loyal readers.

You can tell that he really is deserving of everything that he has and is still receiving.

Mingyu being perfect also applies to your relationship. He’s always present despite being booked with fittings, meetings, photoshoots and business travels twenty-nine days of the month. He never fails to call, never fails to answer your calls. He never fails to offer the warmest hugs and the softest kisses. Well, he fails to be on time during your dates sometimes but he never once stood you up and his cuddles when he sleeps over are enough to apologize for the lost time.

The only flaw he has is that he doesn’t know how to take no for an answer. Most especially at times where he wants to shower his love in ways that cost more than your paycheck in a year.

Here are some examples:

You know that Mingyu pays attention to every word you say. Even if you just mentioned a passing topic, he will do his best to keep those in mind. With that being said, you mentioned once that you want to renovate the extra bedroom of your apartment and turn it into a study where you could work someday. Your boyfriend, being the rich man he is, offered to hire and pay a team that could help you bring the design you envisioned into life.

That was during the first few months of your relationship and you were flabbergasted by how easy it was for him to do or much less say. Needless to say, you immediately turned him down and he respected that (but of course, he pouted about it like a child all throughout the day).

But wait, there’s more.

Do you remember how you mentioned that Mingyu travels frequently? Yes? Well, Mingyu always books an extra ticket for you just in case you want to join him. Sometimes it’s not even about the flight ticket anymore. It’s about him stopping by your apartment to pick you up unexpectedly as if France is only a drive away.

It’s unbelievable, really. That’s why you always close the door on his face. But of course, you don’t forget to give him a long kiss and “stay safe” or “I’ll miss you” farewell. Mingyu, ever the good boy he is, lets you win and just return your kisses a little longer for the days he won’t be able to do so.

Mingyu’s intentions are pure and you’re well aware that the man that you love is only doing this because it’s simple, he loves you. He wants what’s best for you, he wants to give you what you deserve. You can never blame him for being out of touch from reality at times, but you can learn and grow with him. Although of course, he still needs a scolding and a wake up call every now and then.

Anything else? Yes.

You didn’t take into consideration that he’d remember, but one night while the two of you were about to fall asleep, you sleepily mumbled about your dreams of attending graduate school. It was a mere whisper in the late night against his chest and you even thought that he wouldn’t hear you at all because his eyes were already closed. You honestly didn’t expect that he’d send you brochures of different universities who offer various programs the following day. You had to calm him down as he excitedly talked you through it. You even had to shut him up with your lips and explain that you don’t have the time to study at the moment with your current job. He tried to encourage you with praises and admiration of your dedication, skills and knowledge. But no, you didn’t buy it and that’s the end of discussion.

The gifts, however, are something that Mingyu is not giving up on. The first few instances he gave you gifts whether it be a high-end handbag, shoes, clothing, and even jewelry, you allowed him. Because there were only a few. But along the way, the gifts got bigger and more frequent. You had to sit him down to set limitations. It was a long conversation of him trying to get the upper hand. But you didn’t let him outsmart you with his hugs and kisses. It was either he was going to tone it down with the gifts or no gifts at all.

Sometimes, as much as you hate to admit it to yourself, you can’t avoid getting insecure and afraid that the euphoric time you share with Mingyu is not meant to last. At some point, the fact that he's one of the youngest successful editor-in-chiefs of a multi-million earning magazine got overwhelming. You can’t help but feel that you’re no match for him. And again, you hate that your mind gets clouded with ideas that you’re just a charity case he enjoys spending his money on. Of course, you believe that he doesn’t look at you in that way.

It’s you who thinks so.

“Hey.”

You release the bite on your bottom lip at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice. Your lost eyes shoot to the stove where he’s cooking and you notice that he’s about done so you should set the table.

You didn’t even answer Mingyu’s call which concerns him. He wipes the sauce off his hands on the apron he’s wearing and holds your waist before you could even round the corner to the cabinets.

His warmth snaps you out of your thoughts. Your eyes blink up to him and he just raises his eyebrows at you.

“Is there something wrong?” He asks and lowers the heat of the conduction.

“Nothing, nothing,” you lie, shaking your head, “Let me get the plates. I’m quite hungry.”

You try escaping his strong arms and gaze, but he doesn’t let you go. Instead, he wraps his arms around your waist tighter. Your palms automatically land on his chest and the lean muscles make you gulp.

“I’m going to ask again and this time, I want you to tell me the truth,” he says in a serious yet gentle tone. “What’s wrong?”

You sigh and lean your forehead against his chest. Mingyu also sighs and kisses the top of your head. It’s better to tell him now because you’re not going to get anywhere if you’re just going to keep it to yourself. It will be unfair for him too and that’s not what you want.

“I just don’t feel so good about myself over the past few days,” you finally voice out. You sound weak, but Mingyu can hear you loud and clear. “I feel like I don’t deserve you.”

Mingyu had to pull away and hold your shoulders to search your eyes, his frown showing disbelief and sadness both at the same time. “Did I do or say something to make you feel this way?”

“No, no,” you quickly say and hold his cheeks. “You did absolutely nothing. It’s just all in my head.”

Mingyu becomes silent and you wish you could just drop it because the regret and embarrassment is slowly dawning upon you. You wish you didn’t bring it up anymore because why would you burden him with your problems?

But Mingyu proves you wrong once again by holding your hand and carefully tugging you to sit on the dining table, saying softly, “Come on. Let’s talk about it.”

And talk you did. You let out your concerns, worries, fears and insecurities. You bore it all without hiding or masking anything. A tear or two slipped once or twice and some words were interrupted by your hiccups, but Mingyu was patient. He listened and held your hand, promising you that it’s okay. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to be worried. It’s okay to be vulnerable in front of him. It’s okay to trust him because he loves you.

Mingyu loves you and his words and actions assure you that it’s okay to love him too.

When there were no more words left to say, the two of you shared a comfortable silence. The weight on your shoulders and the sick feeling in your stomach immediately vanished and you have never felt so relieved. You have never felt so free and loved. You can’t believe that Kim Mingyu is real.

“I know that this is unwarranted,” Mingyu breaks the silence after a while, “but I want you to know that I don’t think of you in any of those ways. To me, you’re the person I love and I am happy with regardless of our different upbringings, different jobs. Those don’t matter to the time and love we share together.”

“I know,” you affirm and kiss his cheek.

Mingyu nods and smiles against the palm of your hand when a memory suddenly pops in his mind. “I’m not sure if I have told you this already. But the blog entry of yours that caught my attention is about your first ever blog post.”

Your eyes widen at his confession. You have never heard of this before. “You mean the one where I talked about why I love writing so much?”

Your boyfriend smiles and nods. “That one.”

“Gosh. That’s so embarrassing,” you groan and palm your face.

“What do you mean embarrassing?” He argues, taking your hand to hold again. “That post was one of the most genuine posts that I have ever read. You explained, word by word, your passion, love and dedication to writing in the most honest way possible. Who wouldn’t be moved?”

You pout and unbeknownst to you, that makes his heart squeeze in adoration.

“It’s not that special,” you mumble, eyes on your intertwined hands.

“It is to me though.”

Mingyu’s eyes are dreamy and glossy as you meet them again and you could never be more in love. He holds your arms, coaxing you to stand up to straddle his lap. You giggle when he protectively wraps his arms around your waist. His nose scrunches when it grazes yours, but upon meeting his lips you feel it exhale a breath of relief.

You kissed and kissed and kissed. But when Max barks at the two of you, reminding you of the dinner you’re supposed to eat and share with him, the two of you burst into laughter before reluctantly detaching from each other.

“You doting over me with material things is a perk,” you humor him and he gives you his signature giggle. “But, I wouldn’t trade sharing the same bed, cooking meals or taking care of Max together over any of those.”

Mingyu nods gives you one last yet long kiss, a promise that there’s more for later.

More for forever.

---

a/n 2: this was supposed to be the header/poster of this story but it was too big lol

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buckyownsmylife · 3 years ago

Text

Young and Beautiful - Steve Rogers smut

The one where you were supposed to be a one-night stand, but Steve won't let that happen

Warnings: smut, and a little bit of angst.

A/N: this was our first ever patreon-voted fic, chosen for the month of May! My patreons at the $3 tier get to send me their ideas once a month and two of them end up being voted so I can write one of them each month. June’s fic is the one where Ransom needs to get a sugar mommy, and if you want to suggest a story for our July’s fic, please consider becoming a patreon! Thank you to my darling @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog for reading this over for me.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

The first time wasn’t a mistake, I could admit to that. Steve had been coming to the same bar where I worked for almost a year now. I knew who he was, of course. Everyone knew - he was hard to miss. But I think what he liked about our run-down place is that no one seemed to care about Captain America and the things he did when he didn’t have a bottle of beer in his hand.

Over here, he was just Steve. And Steve tipped well and drank a lot - I was sure he couldn’t get drunk, no matter how many beers I served him, but he never stopped asking me for more.

So, needless to say, he was adored. Adored by my boss, who was always around to keep watch of his customers and keep them in line. Adored by Luke, who guarded the entrance, for all the nights Steve helped him get rid of men who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. And adored by all the waitresses, for precisely the same reason - and because I always shared my tips with all of them.

Even the kitchen staff adored Steve. Besides, it’s not like he was hard on the eye - all the girls (customers and staff) were constantly fawning over him, but he was nothing short of a gentleman, always.

Actually, he seemed to avoid the members of the opposite sex as best as he could, clearly not interested in whatever it was that they planned to possibly get to do with him. Well, except for me.

He never avoided me. I always figured it was because I was the guardian of the alcohol - we’d even joke about it sometimes, when he came to sit by the bar after politely declining someone’s advances.

“It’s just hard to understand how to date nowadays,” he commented one day after a pretty girl actually asked him out on a date right in front of me, but he refused. I shrugged as I wiped the counter, thinking if there was any advice I could give him.

“It really isn’t that hard. You go out to dinner, walk her home and when you step in front of her door, you ask her for some coffee. She’ll usually do it herself, but if you want to show your interest…” His frown was amusing, to say the least, but I held back my laughter so he wouldn’t be even more uncomfortable.

“A coffee?” Giggling, I nodded. “Before bed? But…”

“It’s a metaphor, Steve. A lady can’t very well invite you into her sheets, now can she?” He blushed three different shades of red when I winked, another giggle escaping. “I mean, she can, but we like to keep some things unsaid - innuendos can be very sexy.”

Two months had passed and if Steve made use of my lessons, I wouldn’t know. He never brought anyone to the bar and never left with any lady who approached him either.

“What can I get ya, Steve?” I’d always ask. I’d never once called him Cap or anything other than the name he used to introduce himself - even though I obviously knew who he was. He always took his time before answering my questions, even if they required a simple yes or no, which amused me to no end.

For a while, I actually believed a gun or one of the buildings the Hulk had undoubtedly thrown in his direction had left him with a difficulty of hearing. But then after my first question, he never seemed to have any problem understanding me at all.

“Just a beer,” he’d say, a small, soft smile as he tried not to stare too much at me, fingers tapping on the counter while I got his order. I appreciated his effort not to make me uncomfortable - I knew he’d seen how often men did that to me. I had no doubt that was why he only ever looked me in the eye from under those huge eyelashes of his.

“There you go.” Always the same routine, we never once deviated from it. Until one night when I was supposed to close the bar and he heard my boss instructing me to be careful.

“There’s been a lot of robberies this late at night. Make sure you lock everything up properly.” I saluted in jest, making the old man laugh and shake his head at me. “See you tomorrow, kid.”

There were only a handful of customers - Steve included, and he was the only one by the bar, so I threw him a quick smile as I wiped the glasses and started to clean the counter.

“Can I get you anything else?” I offered, but he only grimaced in response, leaving me confused. “Is there something wrong?” He stared directly at me without answering for a while before he was able to snap out of whatever it was that had frozen him.

“You’re supposed to leave by yourself at two in the morning?” I chuckled lightly at his concern, avoiding his gaze so he wouldn’t see how it warmed my heart that he’d be preoccupied over me, someone that was a little more than a stranger to him.

“It’s part of the job,” I reassured him. “Well, usually it’s part of Luke’s job. But whenever he has to leave early, it’s my duty to fill in for him.” He nodded, but didn’t make any movement towards leaving. Usually, he would be gone by now, but it wasn’t that extraordinary for him to stay until the hour I left.

This was the first time he stayed this long though, considering I wasn’t the one responsible for closing the bar and I only realized it when I looked around and noticed we were the last two people left in the room.

“Planning on drinking much more?” I joked, trying to gauge if he was going to be much longer, but he seemed startled by my question, looking around to verify the same thing I’d just noticed.

“Oh, no. Not at all.” I smiled, thankful that he was conscious and wouldn’t force me to stay even longer after my shift had finished. “I just figured I could walk you home. It is pretty late, after all.”

My heart warmed up at how sweet and thoughtful this man was. He had no reason to wait for me to finish my job just to walk me home, yet here he was. “Thank you, Steve,” I acknowledged, sending him a grateful grin. “Let me just check the bathrooms real quick. I’ll grab my purse and we can leave.”

He nodded, watching me do as I said and in no time at all we took off together in the direction of my apartment. I wasn’t worried about making small talk with him on the way there - I knew he was a good conversationalist from all the times he had stayed by the bar instead of taking his beer to a table, and I adored the stories he told of his missions just as much as I appreciated how he genuinely cared about what I had to say.

The walk to my place seemed shorter than ever before, and in a few minutes we were standing in front of my door as I searched for my keys in my bag.

“C-Can I…” He murmured as I looked for it, glancing up at him and smiling to signal he should continue even though I couldn’t give him my full attention at that moment. “Would you… Do you have some coffee?”

I was so shocked that my head whipped up to stare at him, eyes wide and unbelieving. Did Steve… Did he… Did he want to have sex with me? “I mean… in your apartment, do you have some coffee in your apartment?”

The thought was so extraordinary that the second I realized his intentions, a fire of desire warmed my lower belly, not because he was Captain America, but because he was an attractive and sweet guy that was way out of my league and I couldn’t believe he was into me.

He kept talking as I kept blinking at him, trying to process what was going on. “’Cause I’d really like to have some coffee… with you… If you want some too…”

His voice got smaller the longer it took for me to answer him, until it disappeared completely and he cleared his throat. “Nevermind.” He was about to turn around and make a run for it, I was sure, but I was able to grasp his wrist just in time, signalling him to stop because I had something to say.

“I would love to make you some coffee, Steve.”

So yeah, the first time wasn’t a mistake. He was way too fucking sweet and I got hot just by seeing how nervous he was to ask me for some “coffee”, incredulous that I was capable of affecting this giant man that much.

So as soon as we were in my apartment, I tied up my hair with the little hair tie I always kept on my wrist during work and got on my knees for him.

And I cherished every fucking second of it.

The way his mouth fell open in a gasp when I reached for his jeans, the little moans he let out as I licked his member… I couldn’t close my eyes, too transfixed by his expressions to miss anything.

The way he pulled me by my hair to devour my mouth, hands so eager to undress me that he ended up ripping my blouse, but it only made me giggle.

The way his groan sounded almost painful when he picked me up, shoved me against the door and penetrated me, filling me so beautifully I hit my head back against the wood and didn’t even notice it.

He got me to cum without almost no preparation, just from the thrill of it all, the stretch of his member inside of me. When I urged him to cum in my pussy, the look on his eyes was enough to get me to cum again, milking him dry as he emptied himself with a growl, forehead dropping against mine while he tried to catch his breath.

I was expecting him to leave immediately or maybe stay for an actual coffee. I wasn’t expecting him to pull out, drop to his knees and start lapping his cum from inside of me, eyes as focused on mine as I had been for him only minutes before.

Burying my fingers in his short locks, I tried to keep myself up despite the way my legs trembled, but Steve just adjusted them so they’d be over his shoulders and held me up with his face buried in me.

I had never cum so many times in a row. But then again, I had never had a man eat his own cum out of me.

I fully intended it to be a one time thing, and that was my plan. I thanked him for eating me out, made him some coffee, giggled at his stories about his friends and for a second it almost looked like we were back at the bar, only the counter was my kitchen table and I was allowed to sit on the other side.

He didn’t ask to stay the evening and I breathed a sigh of relief after I closed the door behind him, ignoring the slight empty feeling that momentarily hit me. This is what I wanted, I reminded myself, and by acting the way I expected him to, he had made it clear that he understood the rules of the dating world he claimed to know so little of.

This was a one time deal. Nothing more.

But then the first night we saw each other at the bar again, it was when he burst through the door to punch some guy who came in just as I was closing, trying to steal the money we had in the vault. I was so fucking relieved to see his face that all I could do was tremble in his arms after the police came to get the robber, and of course I couldn’t let him go after that.

He walked me home and I didn’t even ask anything, just stood on my tiptoes to kiss his lips, using my grip on his shirt to pull him in as he helped me with my clothes.

“You’re so fucking pretty…” He moaned, and perhaps that should have been my first sign, the one that alerted me to stop what I was doing and not make this into a mistake I couldn’t take back.

He hadn’t talked the last time. He had never complimented me before.

“God, your ass…” He groaned as he palmed it, helping me over his lap when he took a seat on my couch, until I could fuse the both of us and ride us to hysteria.

But I didn’t mind. I didn’t mind because it felt so fucking good to be desired by him, to have him inside of me, cumming deep into my pussy only to eat it all out of me again.

It didn’t take long for me to learn about the errors of my way, though. In fact, it started the very next day, when he walked into the bar grinning from ear to ear and made a beeline in my direction.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted, and my eyes went wide as two saucers, especially when I saw him lean over the counter like he intended to peck my lips.

“Hello, Captain.” I quickly turned my back to him, facing the shelves of liquor to pretend that I was looking for something. My heart sank to my stomach as I took in what was happening, what I had just done in my effort to put some distance between us as if last night had never happened. “Can I get you anything?”

The time it took for him to answer almost had me looking at him from over my shoulder, but I restrained myself. “Yeah, you,” he finally said, and I breathed out in surprise. “Why are you acting this way?”

I panicked for a few seconds, reaching up for an already clean glass to attack it with my rag. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tried to reassure the both of us, still incapable of looking him in the eye.

But I could see his massive body by the end of the counter from the corner of my eyes, where he always sat, and I saw him tap the old battered wood with his fingers - fingers he had used to spread me open for his tongue to reach - as he thought.

I hoped he would let it go. I hoped he would not.

“Fine,” he relented, and I froze, uncertain of what he meant. “I’ll come back tomorrow.” My head snapped up just in time to watch him leave, and he didn’t even look over his shoulder.

I tried to tell myself it was for the best. He needed some time to get over whatever the hell it was that he thought he was feeling and tomorrow things would go back to normal. But that wasn’t what happened.

He came back with flowers the next day, and I didn’t have any reasonable excuse not to accept it. He didn’t push for anything, just gave me the bouquet before asking for his usual drink. And then he proceeded to stay the entire evening right there, where he always sat, carefully watching my every move.

For the first time in a while, I broke two glasses in a single evening.

The day after that, he came with a box of chocolates. I couldn’t hide the smile because they were my favorite - I didn’t know how he knew it until he reminded me.

“You told me you liked them right when I started coming to this place.” His eyes were so heavy with a sad feeling that I couldn’t recognize that I had to avert my gaze. It messed with my heartbeat, it left my throat feeling dry.

“Thanks, Captain,” I softly acknowledged it, and I saw the way his grip on the box tightened. I saw it in the way it was slightly crumpled when I took it from his hands, but he didn’t say a word.

There was only so much that he could take, though. And I knew that. It didn’t help that my boss had caught onto his intentions and started to push me to go out on a date with him.

“Why don’t you give the poor guy a chance?” He’d incite, much to Steve’s utter glee.

“Yeah, Y/N. Why don’t you go out with me?” Steve urged, and although he never asked when my boss wasn’t around to initiate the teasing, I knew he wondered.

And the truth was that I wondered about it too. Because everything was screwed up now. When I gave him his beer and our fingers brushed, mine were left tingling. When I looked his way to find his gaze already on me, I shivered.

So yes, the second time was undeniably a mistake, but there wouldn’t be a third time. I’d make sure of it.

Steve’s P.O.V.

I was tired of waiting. I knew I had wanted her since the first time I laid my eyes on her, when I decided to stop at this rundown bar in the hopes of one night of crappy beer without being bothered by anyone asking for autographs or pictures.

I’d come here almost every night when I could escape the tower to watch her work, slowly getting her to warm up to me, and I fell for her personality in the process.

The way she clearly saw me as Steve, and not my title.

The way she always laughed at my stories and shared what had happened in the previous nights with the raucous customers.

The way she seemed to care about everyone and everything that came into contact with her.

So what started as desire became something deeper and for the first time since I was unfrozen, I found myself eager to understand what dating in this new century was like. I asked Sam for advice, and even Tony for any tips he could give me, but their general ideas didn’t matter to me when all I wanted was one single person.

Her.

So I asked her for her thoughts on the matter and was surprised with myself when I put them into practice. I was even more surprised when she accepted my advances and welcomed me into her embrace.

I was sure I’d never been happier than that evening.

But to have her pretend nothing had happened and even worse - treat me like a stranger after I had learned the taste of her skin? Nothing hurt deeper than that.

And still, I understood. I realized then that she hadn’t seen the situation the way that I had. She had thought all I wanted was a one-night deal - well, two-night deal - because I had never shown her anything to make her think differently.

So I set out to do just that. My way this time. And I was just about ready to ask her on a proper date when I was forced away for a whole damn month, having to resort to my hand and my memories of her body to get through the cold nights on the field.

The second I was back in the city, I only had one thing in mind. To get what I wanted, in whatever way she would let me.

“Can we talk?” My voice sounded clipped to my own ears, and maybe that’s why her mouth opened in surprise - or maybe it was seeing me at the bar so early, when there was barely anyone around, after being absent for so long.

“Sure,” she finally accepted, shrugging like it was no big deal, but I knew better than that. She might not know it, but I could read her perfectly, and I knew she was hiding her true feelings even to herself. I knew those feelings were deeper than she had ever felt. I knew they made her scared.

“Not here.” She stopped cleaning glasses then, frozen for a second before she looked around, taking in the fact that no one else was going to need her for a while. There was nowhere to run and maybe I was a jerk for doing this during her work hours, but I was a desperate jerk and I couldn’t wait a second longer.

“Okay.” She sounded small, and I knew what she was expecting to get out of this conversation. Closure, in one way or another. For me to finally let go of her. But I wouldn’t.

I wanted her too damn bad to let her escape like that.

“Go out with me.” I asked the second that the office door was closed behind us, and she immediately started shaking her head. “Yes, please,” I insisted. “Let me show you that I want more from you. I want so much more.”

“I can’t give you more,” was her answer, and she still avoided my eyes as she spoke. “One night, you even had two. That’s all I can give you. Please don’t ask me for anything more.”

“Why?” I asked, and the frustration in my voice was enough to get her to meet my eyes for the first time that evening. “Why are you trying to avoid this? I know you want me, Y/N. You wouldn’t have slept with me if you didn’t. So just tell me why.”

“I can’t,” she insisted, moving towards the door, but I grasped her hand to stop her before she could slip through it - much like she had done that first night, when I thought I’d screwed up any chance I had to ever be with her.

“Tell me why you’re holding yourself back from me,” I ordered, anger and desire creating an explosive cocktail inside of me, making my voice hoarse. I saw her shiver. I watched her break.

“Because it was too fucking good and I swear to God, if you get your mouth on me again, I’m gonna marry you.” Our expressions mirrored one another, eyes wide, mouths hanging open. She couldn’t believe she had let out her feelings like this. I couldn’t believe there was all there was to it.

I dropped to my knees before her.

“Come here.” I shoved her jeans all the way down to her ankles, sending the button flying somewhere. I couldn’t tell where and I didn’t care. All I wanted was to show her that there was nothing wrong with wanting this, with wanting me because as long as she allowed me to, I’d give anything to be with her.

My tongue was so hungry to taste her sweetness again. I licked a stripe between her lower lips before I could even get my hand there, spreading her with my fingers for easier access.

God, she was heavenly. I watched her let her head fall back against the door, much like the first time I was able to be in this position, and my heartbeat fluttered at the realization that this time, I was much closer to getting what I really wanted from her.

“I’ve been terrified of my own feelings for long enough,” I decided to confess, parting from her clit to be able to speak but slipping two digits inside her hole, filling her up, preparing her to welcome me. “I can wait for you to come to terms with yours. But I can’t keep myself away,” I warned, quickening my movements as I chased away the taste of her in my tongue. “So don’t ask that of me.”

Her moan had my eyes sparkling with excitement. I lowered my head to suck her button, see the way it made her thighs tremble on each side of my face.

“So fucking sexy,” I moaned against her cunt. “Come for me, sweetheart. Drench my face.” Her little cry of ecstasy denounced she was about to do just that, so I twirled my tongue around her clit, rubbing my digits against her sweet spot as her body tensed under my ministrations.

“There you go…” I whispered, fascinated with the way she looked after her release. It was like she glowed from the inside, muscles relaxing to accept my caresses when I finished cleaning her with my tongue and rose to my full height.

“Next time you try to pretend something between us didn’t happen, I’m gonna bend you over the counter and spank your ass in front of all of the other patrons,” I warned her before nibbling her earlobe. “Go out with me,” I tried again, and she took a deep breath before answering, looking up at me from under her eyelashes.

“Okay.”

#my fics #steve rogers smut #steve rogers #smut #patreon one-shot #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers reader #steve rogers reader insert #steve rogers reader inserts #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers one-shot

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the-hidden-pages · 4 years ago

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Misread Affections - Laszlo Kreizler/Fem!Reader SMUT

I started at midnight. I had 0 words. It’s 4:30am. I have 4643 words because I have fallen deeply for Doctor Laszlo Kreizler. Forgive me for this.

Synopsis: With all your history together, you and Doctor Kreizler believe you understand each other. Yet when you believe him to be infatuated with Karen Stratton, and he believes you to have affection for Marcus Isaacson, you’re both stunned when you find yourselves to be proven wrong.

Warnings: NSFW. Desk Sex. Dirty Talk. Patient-to-Friend-to-Lover. Definite depression and general self-loathing.

SPOILERS FOR THE SECOND SEASON!!!!!!

You had always admired the man Doctor Laszlo Kreizler was.

He championed those who could not champion themselves. He worked tirelessly to understand the minds of criminals. To those very same criminals, and many others that lived as outcasts to society, he would offer kindness and understanding. At his best he was beyond intelligent and, daresay, sweet.

At his worst, he was ruthless, and his own self-loathing would have him come across as unempathetic most days. While preaching to others to care for himself, he would often forego his own care. While offering an ear and a receptive mind, he would refuse to offer himself the same.

You knew this within mere days of knowing Doctor Kreizler. And such facts made you rather fond of him.

A fondness that was not helped by his handsome build, his dark locks, his scrutinizing gaze.

And yet no part of you could justify ever acting upon this fondness.

You had come to him both as a patient and a colleague. You had always been aware of a darkness within yourself, ever since you were a child. This darkness had only grown, too often all-consuming, leaving you. a dysfunction wreck of a human being. However, you had an obligation to keep going, a promise you had sworn to your sister to continue your own existence. So, exist you did.

While your family’s fortune wasn’t enough to send you to Harvard, like the Doctor himself, it did allow for you to be a reasonably educated woman of the times. A deep fascination in understanding your own darkness led you to the work of alienists, and eventually to the work of Doctor Kreizler.

While you couldn’t often justify breaking societal rules to such an extent, you found yourself motivated enough to call upon the Doctor with a proposition – should he aide you in understanding your own illness of the brain, you would offer any services you could to the Kreizler Institute.

You could tell he was curious of you. A woman of your standing did not often make such demands with such authority, nor so blatantly admit to her own illnesses. He quickly agreed, eager to study why you considered yourself so damaged, and happy to take on an extra set of hands with the children he looked after.

Over time, you begun to slip effortlessly into Doctor Kreizler’s life.

You met the likes of Cyrus and Stevie, along with many others that worked at the Institute. You were then blown away by the strength within Miss Sara Howard, and the pure, undiluted love that Mister John Schuyler Moore could show others. You were even called upon on several occasions to be a fresh set of eyes, the murders of young boy prostitutes and kidnappings of babies not deterring you, to the surprise and reluctant joy of the Doctor.

And as Doctor Kreizler studied you, you studied him.

You slowly learned of all the emotion he kept hidden behind the façade of professionalism. The kindness, the love, the anger, the fear. While he showed none of these most days, occasionally a concoction of such feeling would burst in an overwhelming outpour.

In offering him a platonic safe space, a place for him to talk through such outbursts should he wish, he in turn aided you.

The darkness you felt for so long began to subside some days, and between the efforts of him and a passing remark from John, you learned of an outlet for your darker thoughts – writing.

While expressing your own emotions and turmoil did not come easy, you found it far simpler when written down on paper, as opposed to spoken aloud to a judging room.

Doctor Kreizler gifted you a beautiful leather-bound journal a mere day after this revelation, with the request that you record your thoughts. He promised he would not read it unless you requested him to as an act of therapy.

For many days, you allowed him to read any thoughts that came to mind.

Thoughts of blood, of death, of pain and anger. Thoughts of a stolen childhood, of worthlessness, of longing.

Many days when he read your pages, you would be silently crying as he did, fearful of his judgement. But it never came.

Instead, he would close the book silently, and offer you professional advice.

One particularly rough day, in which your narrative was beyond vicious to you, he closed the book before finishing, and offered you something you didn’t expect – an embrace.

He hugged you so tightly, that for once…

Your inner monologue ceased.

His own, however, raged on.

How could you think so lowly of yourself, he wondered? While he could understand mindsets built from trauma, he couldn’t help but wish you could see yourself through his own eyes. Your empathy when you cared for the children in the Institute. Your intelligence when conversing with Miss Howard. Your artistic delight when laughing with John. And the perspective, the warmth you offered such a broken man such as himself.

Neither of you knew, in that exact moment, that the other was realizing the fondness you both held in your hearts for each other.

And neither of you knew how truly broken the other felt at their core.

Two souls, believing themselves to be undeserving of love, finding it in their hearts for the other.

When the beautiful, cunning Doctor Karen Stratton entered the picture, you asked Doctor Kreizler to refrain from reading your journal.

He was hurt by this, but profession and courtesy claimed that he could not show it.

You began to withdraw from him, placing your entire focus on the case of the stolen babies and your focus on the children in the Institute. Kreizler, in his own difficulties of potentially losing the said Institute, took notice of your own withdrawal from your sessions, but held enough hope that you had found stability to care for yourself. You still conversed with Sara, you smiled with John. You had even been introduced to the Isaacsons, and he had wondered if you had taken a liking to Marcus.

You deserved a young man such as him, he told himself, heart heavy. A whole, young man with enough strength to support you.

And on the night of Marcus’ death, he believed it to be confirmed.

He found you alone, in his study where you so often had your sessions with him. You were curled inwards on yourself, clutching your journal as though it were your lifeline, sobbing uncontrollably.

He moved to console you, arms holding you tightly.

“It’s all too much,” you choked out, unable to articulate much more.

Doctor Kreizler nodded, waiting for you to be able to go on.

You regained some breath with difficulty. “I just…I can’t stand to lose a friend. Not after everything else lately.”

“I know how difficult it can be, to lose one you love…” Kreizler began, not noticing how your sobs stopped in confusion. “After Mary, I…Well I swore I would never again…The point is, I-“ he stopped short.

You had spluttered out a laugh.

Your hand covered your mouth immediately, noticing what had just happened. You immediately moved to cover it up, wiping away your tears and standing up away from him. “No, no, Doctor. Heavens, Marcus…well, he was loved but, I saw…I see the Isaacsons as brothers I never had. He was dear to me but…not in the sense I suspect that Mary was to you.”

“I…see…” Doctor Kreizler pulled back, sitting in his study chair as he gazed at you. “Apologies, I seem to have misread your relationship. Nonetheless, his death has greatly affected you, as it has all of us. I suspect it will be a very difficult grieving process, but…” he manages a soft, rare smile that warmed your heart. “We will endure it together, as we have these cases.”

“Will we?” your voice grew empty as your thoughts swirled.

He titled his head, unsure of where this was leading. You gathered your courage to question him.

“Rumour has it, Doctor Stratton has asked you to join her in Vienna. I wonder if you’ll go.”

Silence falls over the room.

Laszlo couldn’t understand what this had to do with anything. Your crying, your distress over Marcus. What did his leaving have to do with any of your distress?

“You’re greatly upset by something,” he eventually said, gazing at you with a more analytical eye than before. “I’m afraid you give me too much credit, if you think I know the specifics of it.”

“I-“ you stopped, clearing your throat as you choked up. Your knuckles turned white on your journal’s edges, hands shaking. “Doctor Kreizler-“

“It’s been months since we’ve known each other,” he interrupts, “and we haven’t held a session together in nearly five weeks. Would it pain you to call me Laszlo? Are we not…friends?”

You gaped at him, but his face remained unreadable.

You shake your head. “Yes, it…it would pain me. It would pain me a great deal, Doctor – it does pain me a great deal to hear you call me a friend when…”

“When what?” he prompts you sharply, and you inhale quickly.

“When I feel I’ve been dishonest with you, unkind to you…” had the room not been dead still, Laszlo might have missed the next words you whispered. “I feel I’ve been perverse to you.”

If he was confused, he didn’t show it. And you were talking now, the words spilling out, a cascade unable to end.

“I feel as though…had Marcus not…died…tonight, I might never have done this. But then my mind, it began spinning so quickly I couldn’t stop it, and I couldn’t help but imagine countless scenarios in which Libby, in which the Dusters, in which…well, in which any number of causes might take your life as well. In which you might die before…before I can confess…” You huff, your words getting caught once again. With a determined move, your arm shot out to pass your journal to him, and Kreizler takes note of a particular page being creased.

He looks up at you, but you don’t meet his eye.

“I’ve marked where I want you to start reading. Just…go from there. Inform me when you’re finished.”

You walk over to the window, desperate to be distracted, as Doctor Kreizler opens the book and reads at your request.

He can’t comprehend what he’s reading at first.

While he had grown accustomed to your twisted perception of yourself, he hadn’t realized just how ruthless the self-loathing could take you. Endless doubt of your friendships with the team, with your position as a caretaker, in your abilities to be a friend. And as words continue, he realizes your doubts in being a partner, a lover.

If he grows flustered at the words he reads, he’s determined not to show it to you.

He reads your envy of women like Sara Howard, able to move forward with such strength and certainty, and of Karen Stratton, so brash, so forward. Your envy is strong towards her, in her abilities to understand sexuality, passion, human desire, and in…

In her connection to himself.

His eyes widen as your own ramblings seem to uncover a truth you hadn’t explored before – your attraction to the Doctor that had aided you, offered you employment. The pure taboo of such affections, yet your inability to stop it. Your adoration, your admiration for the intimidating, raw man that he was. How you felt unworthy, that you would hold him back, that he deserved a woman as delightful as Doctor Stratton, a woman who could stimulate him academically, that could pleasure him physically. How you felt so deeply ashamed of harbouring such elicit fantasies of the man that had been nothing but kind to you. How you loved him so deeply it made you want to die, because you would never be deserving –

You heard the journal snapping shut, and you couldn’t bring yourself to face the Doctor, knowing what he must’ve read, dreading what he must now be thinking.

The silence lasted far longer than you would’ve liked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

“I find myself taken aback more often than I like,” Kreizler’s voice shatters the still air. “I believe myself to be so wise, so understanding of the mind, and yet I come across a mind such as yours that I…I truly cannot fathom how you think what you think.”

“I’m sorry,” you start, voice breaking as tears begin to flow again.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a hand on your own. You don’t dare to turn around, frozen like a rabbit having been sniffed out by a hound.

“You think me to be attracted to Doctor Stratton, am I correct?”

You nod. Of course, he was. Was it not obvious?

“Karen and I are colleagues, and friends, should I be too bold to assume so. I can recognize that she is a physically beautiful woman, yes, and I’m sure some day she will make a man a very happy husband, should she wish. But her and I have a kinship, a partnership, not unlike what I believe you and Marcus might have had, that I too misinterpreted as love.”

You sniff, closing your eyes tightly. What was he trying to tell you?

Doctor Kreizler spins you around slowly, leading you to face him.

“I do not harbour half the affection in my heart for Doctor Stratton as I do for you.”

You freeze. “Doctor-“

“Please,” he reaches up to cup your face, wiping away several of the tears that had fallen. “Please call me Laszlo. You are not the only one to have an epiphany after the loss of our friend, my dear. If you are being so honest with me, I feel it only right to offer you the same.”

“Laszlo…” you whisper, meeting his eyes for the first time since he read your words. His heart breaks with the pain within them. “How can you do this? Look at me, hold me, when you see how broken I am? I’m undeserving-“

“You would choose to love, to care for a cripple, a shell of a man in the eyes of society. A man who has too often neglected the children he cares for, often spat in the face of those he dares to call his friends. If either of us is undeserving of the other’s love, my dear, it’s me.”

Your brows furrow angrily, reaching up to mirror him, cupping his own face with both of yours. “Laszlo Kreizler you stop that right now, I won’t hear any more of…you’re smiling. How could you be smiling?”

He leans into one of your hands affectionately, a rare, dashing smile lighting up his features in a way you cherished to see, despite the circumstances. “Perhaps we are both wrong. Perhaps…perhaps we need each other, to use each other’s eyes and hearts to understand who we truly are. We both have such lowly opinions of ourselves but…perhaps it was meant to be.”

Your own smile was beginning to form, despite your best efforts, as your brain’s screaming of all that could go wrong began to quieten.

“I hesitate to believe in fate, Doctor…” you trail off, taking a step closer, your heart filled with hope and eyes filled with wonder. “I hesitate further to admit to needing someone, and yet…my brain is only ever kind and quiet when I’m around you.”

Laszlo’s weaker arm rests on your hip, while the thumb of the hand caressing your face moves to trace your chin. “My language is not as…poetic, as yours, my dear,” he confesses, and you both chuckle, “but I very much would like to kiss you, with your permission.”

“Laszlo, you could do anything to me,” you confess, reaching forward to finally meet his lips.

It’s messy, and uncoordinated, but any lack of experience the pair of you may have is made up for by the pure, electric eagerness that overtakes the both of you. You’re both exploring, testing each other, in some give and take dance that does not seem to quell any emotions within you, instead quite the opposite.

You could kiss him forever, you quickly realize.

But by some cruel twist of fate, you have to pull away, air taking priority.

You stare wildly at him as he breathes heavily, eyes darker than you had ever seen, with a sense of uncertainty that you hadn’t ever seen about him before.

A teasing smile finds its way onto your face, as you can’t help but test your luck.

“How far, exactly, did you read in my book?”

He blinks at you a couple of times, uncertain of your line of questioning. “I read of your jealousy, of your shame, I don’t…I don’t believe I finished it all, I found I had to address the issue before I continued –“

“Would you like to know what else was in there?”

Laszlo appeared flustered as you led him back to his plush chair, and you knelt down between his legs to pick up the book that had fallen to the ground. You don’t offer it to him, however, instead putting it aside.

“My dear, I don’t –“

“I ask you to stop me, if my advances are too…forward to you, Laszlo.”

You slowly rise from your place, moving to lift your skirts so you might position yourself above the Doctor, straddling him in his chair. As if on its own accord, his good hand rises to situate on your waist tightly. You gently grasp his weaker hand, his “broken wing”, and lift it to your mouth, delicately kissing the palm, each finger.

Laszlo mutters your name, transfixed by your mouth’s movements.

“I would love every part of you,” you begin, continuing your assault of affection as you whisper against the part of him, he views as most broken. “I would care for you in every capacity in which I’m capable. I would strive to be deserving of you in every which way.” You drop his hand and lean forward, hands grasping the back of the chair as you hold his gaze. “I would have you claim every part of me, I would have your marks for the world to see, if you wished. I’ve dreamt of you and I in the most compromising positions that I dare not say, on nearly every surface of your study, my bedroom, the Institute. I would give you every single piece of me, Laszlo, every ounce of my attraction. I would give you my darkest sins and my deepest pleasure, if you would allow me too. Please, Doctor Kreizler, let me please you.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting from your confession.

Perhaps you wondered if he would push you away, exclaiming that your desires were too much, your words too sinful, and that he would cease associations with you immediately. Perhaps you thought he would scold you for being too wanton, too unbecoming of a woman of your standing. Perhaps you hoped the worst that would happen is he would kiss you softly and instruct that you both go to bed in separate rooms, that more carnal needs could be discussed at a later date.

Never in your wildest dreams did you expect to feel Laszlo shift and harden beneath you, eyes growing so dark they were nearly completely black, and have him reach his hand to curl around the back of your neck.

And you certainly didn’t expect the deep growl that escaped him as his lips, tongue, and teeth clashed with yours frantically, animalistically.

Neither of you had experience, you both knew this.

But you both knew what you wanted, what you needed, and that would be enough to motivate you.

You both took what you could, Laszlo leaving your lips to reach what he could of your neck, lavishing it with lips and tongue. He explored expertly, quickly learning what you liked based upon the quickening of your breath, of your pulse. What was left of his analytical mind was fascinated by the chain reaction of events, how you spurred each other on.

When he nipped at your ear, your hips rolled uncontrollably, and a rough groan escaped him unconsciously.

Fascinating indeed.

He panicked slightly when you stood, wondering if he had stepped too far. The panic raised as you strode across his study, heading quickly to the door.

“Wait, my dear, I-“

“Calm down, Laszlo,” you hushed him, and he heard a loud click of the door locking from where he sat. “I merely don’t wish to be interrupted. If this is still what you wish.”

He leans back in his chair, breathing heavily, observing you as you stand once again before him. “I should be asking you what you want, my darling.”

You grin, shaking your head. “Was my speech before not enough for you to know what I want, Doctor Kreizler? Can you not infer exactly what I want from you from the writings in my journal? It’s your turn to share, else I might just leave you like this.”

His good hand involuntarily juts forward, grasping yours desperately.

“Don’t you dare.”

You giggle, and he smiles at the sound.

“Then, tell me what you wish, Doctor.”

“I wish…” he trails off, watching as your hands move upward to begin slowly undressing yourself.

“Yes?” You prompt him teasingly, continuing your motions. “Don’t mind me.”

Laszlo shifts in his chair, erection clearly visible by the bulge in his slacks. “I…I wish…” his voice trails off again as his eyes take in every inch of your skin that’s uncovered. “I wish to be with you in every manner. Intellectually, spiritually, physically. I wish to connect with you in a way I never will with any other living creature on this Earth. I wish to feel you around me, to bring you to climax. I wish to fill you, to be yours, to fuck you, to make you Mrs. Kreizler…”

He stops at that, only becoming aware of his own ramblings you straddled him once again, completely nude.

The faintest voice in his head wondered if you made him stupid, but it was silence as his eyes took you in completely.

“You are the most gorgeous specimen I’ve ever been graced with seeing, my love.”

You pull him in to a languid kiss, gently tasting each other as your hand travels down his chest.

“You speak of love, of my being Mrs. Kreizler…” you start, almost losing your train of thought as you feel him twitch beneath you, your hips rolling to meet his. “Another day I’ll ask you to remind me of those words. But for now…” you lean forward, mouth grazing his ear, causing him to shiver. “I need you to fuck me, Doctor Laszlo Kreizler.”

For all of your faith in him, you don’t expect the next feat of strength.

With only his good arm he manages to lift the pair of you from the chair, quickly placing you upwards and onto the desk of his own study, mindless of the papers underneath you, of any others that might be in the building as you shriek in surprise.

He captures your mouth with his, more forceful, captivating, as his good hand explores your form, grasping both of your breasts before heading downwards to the warmth between your thighs. His fingers collect some of the wetness that had escaped your folds and examines it with an almost mocking scientific fascination.

“Is this all for me, my darling?” he questions, and you find yourself at a loss for words as he curiously lifts his fingers to his mouth, his tongue slowly tasting you off of them.

“Fuck, Laszlo,” you whisper, reaching forward to pull him in for a kiss again as he chuckles darkly against you.

His teasing ends when your hands wander downward, now working at the buttons of his slacks frantically, your palm grazing across his length through his pants, causing him to gasp.

“My God,” he pants out, and you pull him out of his slacks. He’s hard, warm, rigid in your palm, with veins and girth that you hadn’t imagined in any of your fantasies, but was now all you could imagine filling you, ending that emptiness that you felt.

“Please,” you whimper, and he gently removes your hand, before lining his cock up with your entrance.

He meets your eyes, checking one last time to ensure this was what you wanted.

“Laszlo, please –“your begging is cut short as he breaches you slowly, pushing his full weight forward as the pair of you connect.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt.

A tantalizing combination of pleasure and pain, your mind repeating an endless mantra of “Laszlo”, which you realize, when he’s fully inside, flush against you, that you’re muttering out loud.

“Oh, my love,” he breathes, his damaged arm lightly resting on your thigh, his other gripping your hip so tightly you knew there would be marks.

“You feel so right,” you mindlessly breathe, and you can’t help but moan at the feeling of him twitching inside you at the comment. You would remember that he likes praise, but…

“I don’t know that I will last long, my love,” Laszlo warns, his voice low, gravely, warm against your neck as he buries his face into it, pressing kisses into the skin of your shoulder.

It crosses your mind that you’re completely nude and he’s fully clothed, but the thought fills you with warmth rather than disappointment.

“Nor will I, but this will happen again, won’t it?” you question, a hint of doubt crossing your voice.

The Doctor silences it immediately, kissing you deeply. “Every night, every hour if you would let me, my darling. You are so wonderful…”

“Then please, fuck me Laszlo. I want to cum, I want you to fill me, I – oh!”

The first snap of his hips was relentless, and it was only more intense from there.

He was strong, sure of his movements, chasing his own pleasure and encouraging yours as much as he could, pressing kisses into your neck, your breasts, your lips, his good hand finding your hair tightly. Broken moans left you as dark, rasping breaths escaped him, and it was all too soon before you felt your peak approaching, familiar with the sensation from lonely nights with your own hand curiously working against yourself.

“Laszlo, Doctor Kreizler, I-“ at your moaning of his title, something in him snapped, and his teeth sunk into where your neck met your shoulder.

A deep cry left you as you reached your climax, a white-hot rush waving over you.

As your cunt clenched around him, Laszlo lost himself, growling his native German tongue as he lost his rhythm, heat filling you as he came.

You two didn’t have much time to come down from your highs, as the door to his home could be heard opening and closing from the floors below.

“Doctor Kreizler?” Sara Howard could be heard calling.

Your eyes wide, you rushed to put yourself back together, close wrinkled, roughly thrown back on and your hair being a wreck. You hoped you could pass it off as merely the result of a rough day, an intense mental break.

You turned to Kreizler, who was a picture of perfection, seeming to not be rattled by the events before…almost.

“Back to the case…?” he trailed off, his voice filled with uncertainty, and you smiled fondly at the terribly awkward, intelligent man before you.

You step forward and kiss him softly, the warmth between your legs and bruises on your thigh a reminder of what had just occurred.

“Back to the case. We can continue our escapades when it’s all over, Doctor.”

He chuckles, confidence returning to him as he nods. “I look forward to it.”

#x reader smut #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler imagine #Laszlo kreizler fanfic #smut #godpleaseletmerest #Ineedsleep

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julemmaes · 3 years ago

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Robyn

Rowaelin Month, Day Ten

A/N: I'd planned on posting them in order, but you get what you get. Idk when the other prompts will come tbf. I hope soon. Anyway, I managed to write over 6k words today and I'm pretty fucking proud.

This is just fluff over fluff, so yep enjoy!!

Word count: 3,047

Rowan was unbelievably late as he sped through the streets of Orynth.

So late that the school had called not only him, but also the front desk of the place where he worked when he hadn't answered the call on his personal phone. Sorscha, his assistant, had entered his office with an embarrassed smile on her lips, as if she didn't want to tell him that he had forgotten for the umpteenth time to pick up his daughter from school.

Lorcan had joined him, for some strange reason, but Rowan had stopped bothering when it came to his best friend. He'd been trying to figure out how he reasoned for years and had come to the conclusion that there was no logical sense in the actions of the man sitting next to him, who was currently singing at the top of his lungs to one of the songs on the Frozen CD - which much to the chagrin of both of them, had gotten stuck in his car radio months before, forcing them into hours of torture.

He would never deny that the songs were all quite catchy, but after the sixteenth time Rowan had had to listen to Let It Go at maximum volume, his positive opinion of the film had begun to waver.

As they pulled into the school parking lot, Rowan noticed with deep regret that the only cars still there were those of the teachers and school staff.

They both got out of the car, Rowan walking quickly towards the entrance while Lorcan dragged behind him.

He greeted the caretakers sitting at the entrance, who returned a big smile. A smile that grew even wider when his large, imposing friend entered a few moments later. He stopped to talk to the old ladies and Rowan walked down the corridor he knew led to Robyn's classroom.

He could hear muffled voices from inside the teachers' room on the left and the one he knew belonged to Miss Galathynius coming from the right. He looked out over the classroom, spotting the two people sitting at a desk.

As soon as his daughter saw him, her eyes widened and a huge smile flashed across her face.

No words. No "hello, daddy!" or "I missed you!" from the little girl.

Her teacher turned as she leapt out of her chair and ran towards him, hugging his legs and looking up at him. Rowan smiled at her in turn, running a hand over her hair that was shot in every direction.

"Hello, little bird," he murmured to her. The child's smile widened even more if that was possible.

The woman a few feet away from them pulled herself upright, crossing her arms over her chest and offering a sincere smile to the child, who hid behind his thighs.

Rowan was about to tell her that Robyn was shy with everyone like this, ready to defend his daughter's behaviour as he was used to doing in front of every adult, but he was beaten to the punch.

"It's good to see you, Mr Whitethorn," she said, extending a hand. Rowan shook it without hesitation. "Actually, I just wanted to write you a letter regarding Robyn," she continued, never taking her eyes off the little girl. "Nothing serious," she hastened to reassure him when Rowan grimaced, "quite the contrary. Robyn is remarkably good. One of the best in the class, though I shouldn't offer that information so bluntly."

Miss Galathynius winked at him, but he couldn't process what he'd just been told.

"Sorry, could you-"

The little hands clamped around his trousers tightened a fraction more and Rowan looked down, trying to figure out what was bothering his daughter, but then something happened that he hadn't even dared to dream about in recent times.

"You're here!"

The little girl broke off and ran away from him in less than the blink of an eye.

Rowan turned just in time to see Lorcan grab Robyn in mid-air, spinning her around as he brought her to his chest and showered her with kisses. The loud, incessant laughter that erupted from her seemed too much coming from that fragile little body, but he never tired of hearing it.

"Why hello baby!" said Lorcan laughing in turn, starting to tickle her until she begun to rebel and he was forced to let her slide to the floor. Robyn was still laughing at the top of her lungs and nearly fell to the ground as she squealed left and right, letting herself be pushed around by the closest thing to an uncle she had ever had.

When Rowan turned back to the woman, she was wide-eyed and her lips slightly parted as she watched the massive man dressed completely in black and the menacing face turn into a completely different person the second he had seen Robyn.

He chuckled, "I know, it's not every day you get to see a little girl be so comfortable with a brute like that."

Lorcan, who was listening to everything, looked him straight in the eye and without stopping smiling and playing with the little girl, mouthed to him to fuck off.

"Well, yeah. You caught me a little off guard." she confessed, still shocked to hear how Robyn was having a full conversation with Lorcan. They couldn't hear anything of what she was actually saying, but even just the fact she was talking to someone seemed to have Aelin unsettled.

She returned her attention to Rowan and let out a breath that sounded more like a giggle, "I've never heard her laugh before."

He nodded, blushing a little at the teacher's surprised but relieved tone.

"I'm sure the dean warned you about the problem she has," he said in a low voice. He grimaced at her poor choice of words, "I mean, not problem, but the difficulty she finds in interacting with people she doesn't know."

Liar, he told himself. Robyn hadn't spoken to anyone but him and Lorcan since the day Lyria had died. It wasn't a difficulty, but a response to the trauma that prevented her from speaking to anyone who wasn't part of her immediate family.

"I know, I know. We've been looking for solutions together." she informed him. "I give her a white board every morning. Come on, I'll show you." she turned to the desk they were sitting at earlier and raised the magnetic board, on which a few words were scribbled on. "I'll write here what she might need. Yes. No. I need to go to the bathroom. I'm thirsty. I'm hungry." she read, listing the various options. Rowan gaped. "We've only just started going over the alphabet for a second time, so she can't really read or write yet, as I imagine you know, but the little drawings next to each sentence help her."

She continued talking, but he couldn't quite follow.

The woman in front of him - aside from being breathtakingly beautiful - had done as much as she could to help her child with communication.

"Mr. Whitethorn-"

"Rowan. Please, call me Rowan." he said, clearing his throat once he realized how hoarse it sounded to his ears. Lorcan walked up to them at that point, still holding Robyn in his arms and positioned himself next to him, letting their shoulders touch in a comforting way.

"Call me Aelin, then," she smiled at them both. Then she made a small grimace, turning to Rowan, "I wanted to ask if it bothered you, that I sought a solution like that. Maybe I put her in distress, embarrassed her. I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that I wanted to solve this on my own. I really wanted to discuss it with you, with your husband too, to avoid misunderstandings. Maybe we could arrange a meeting."

He was about to tell her that she had given him the exact opposite of annoyance, that he had been more than pleased that she had helped Robyn this way, when her words finally registered.

Lorcan, beside him, had opened his mouth wide and his lips were slowly bending into a mischievous smile.

Rowan furrowed his brow, "I'm sorry, what?"

Aelin's smile seemed to falter. "A meeting? With you? To talk about how to handle the situation," then she shifted her gaze to Lorcan, "You're more than welcome to join as well. I didn't know Robyn had two dads, I apologise for assuming Robyn had a mum and dad. That was very rude of me-"

"I love this," Lorcan whispered, laughing in shock. He turned to Rowan with eyes that sparkled with amusement, "I would definitely be the top."

Rowan looked at him with an expression of complete shock on his face, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Robyn gasped, opening her eyes wide and bringing a hand to her mouth, pointing then to Rowan's.

"Yeah, sorry, love. I shouldn't have said the bad word." he apologised, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. He turned back to Miss Galathynius, "I'm sorry to have to disappoint you, but we're not married."

"No need to lie, sweetie. I'm sure Aelin," he gave her a knowing look, "doesn't mind at all about our relationship status."

Aelin nodded, "Well, yes. That doesn't change anything. Mr..." she turned to Lorcan, searching for a name.

"Salvaterre."

"Mr. Salvaterre can still attend. The fact that you are not yet married is no reason why you cannot both be present at the meeting. You don't have to worry, we are a very tolerant school and if anyone bothers you, you can come directly to me."

A sound of sheer glee escaped Lorcan.

Aelin continued, "I mean it. I was pleased to see both of you today. I was also pleased to see Robyn smiling so much." she concluded, looking the little one in the face.

Rowan took a deep breath, bracing himself, "No, I meant, we're not a couple. We're not gay. He's her uncle."

The woman's blonde eyebrows shot up and a second later she turned almost as red as the dress Robyn was wearing as Lorcan shook his head muttering something very much like 'you're no fun', which made Robyn giggle.

"Why did you even get off the car?" he asked him exasperated.

Lorcan shrugged, "Because I missed my little bean, you monster." he replied, clutching Robyn to his chest. The little girl clutched Lorcan's shirt in her chubby little hands and Rowan huffed, shaking his head.

Aelin brought her hands to her face, leaning against the desk behind her. She shook her head, her face still hidden, "Oh, god. I'm so sorry."

Lorcan let out a dry laugh, "Don't worry about it. It was fun while it lasted." then he turned to Rowan again, who was still trying to recover from the idea of being involved in a relationship with his friend, "You're really no fun."

"Yeah, no fun dad." repeated Robyn.

Silence fell over the class. Rowan looked at her with wide eyes and blinked once, twice. Robyn was staring at him with a sweet scowl that mimicked so much that of the man who was still holding her, but Rowan couldn't get over the fact that his daughter had spoken while Aelin was still beside them.

He was about to talk, noticing how Robyn had started squirming in Lorcan's arms, when there was a knock at the door.

They both turned, Aelin peering over Rowan's shoulder, and saw the figure of a petite girl with black hair and eyes standing in the doorway, watching them with her head slightly bent to the side. She had a tag on her t-shirt that was too colourful to belong to someone who didn't work in a school with children, so he guessed she was a teacher herself. Besides, Rowan felt like he'd seen her elsewhere. Probably every day when he picked Robyn up from school, he said to himself.

"I know you're not supposed to eavesdrop but I stopped by earlier and heard you were a couple of dads," she said by way of introduction. "I just wanted to reassure you that the school is an extremely safe place. I'm the one who did most of the interviews with the parents," that's where they had met then, "and one of the questions that is asked is just about the tolerance of the people who will be attending the school."

Aelin watched her, remaining silent the whole time and putting on an amused smile, nodded, "That's what I was telling them. How tolerant the school is. They make such a cute couple, don't you think, Elide?"

Rowan turned to her, arching an eyebrow, silently asking her what she was doing. The woman, as if she could truly understand what he was trying to convey to her, nodded her head towards Lorcan, who Rowan only then noticed was standing weirdly, his eyes fixed on the woman in the doorway.

He grinned, deciding to take his revenge right away. "Oh, yes. Thank you so much for the reassurance," Rowan began to play along as well. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lorcan turn towards him, dropping Robyn to the floor, who made a disapproving noise at being dumped so suddenly. "We are happy to know that this school is a safe place for our daughter. And for us."

Elide offered him a blinding smile, "Good. I'm happy to hear that you are pleased so far. And I am happy that Aelin is the one who is taking your daughter's class. She's the best one here."

Rowan didn't know her yet, but he knew the thing Elide had just said could only be true.

"Well," she said again, giving them an apologetic smile, "I really must go now, but if you need anything, you can find all my contact details on the website. Have a nice day!"

Aelin and Rowan said their goodbyes, thanking her. Lorcan took a while to recover, but when he realised he was staring into empty space he ran towards the door, almost stepping on little Robyn, who was moved by Aelin.

"We are very much not gay, miss!" he shouted into the hallway. Aelin, now beside him and with a hand on Robyn's shoulder, cackled. With Lorcan's infinite luck, someone walked by just then and gave him a stern look. "Oh, shut up ma'am. I'm an ally. The best ally."

Rowan shook his head as Lorcan launched himself in pursuit of the poor teacher and burst out laughing when he heard him shout, "I'm not homophobic! I'm willing to suck someone's cock if I have to prove it to you!"

Aelin opened her mouth wide before bursting out laughing in turn.

Robyn, seeing both adults so happy, giggled too and Rowan bent down to pick her up. The little girl laid her full head of white-light hair on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

She was tired and Rowan really needed to get her home to sleep.

He glanced at Aelin and reduced his lips to a thin line, "I'm sorry about the commotion, I'll try not to bring him into the building again. Even if it means tying him to the seat."

The soft laugh she gave made something tighten in his chest. He frowned.

Aelin didn't seem to notice the effect she had on him, "Don't worry, Elide is crazy about fools like him. If he says the right things, we might start seeing each other outside of school too."

Rowan nodded, now too caught up in the thought of having to take Robyn home to focus on anything else.

They agreed on when to hold the parent-teacher meeting and then he grabbed Robyn's backpack, walking towards the exit.

He was thoughtless as he reached into his pocket for his keys and balanced everything else - including the girl - on his other arm, but when Robyn's hand brushed his cheek, he looked down and his eyes met their twins. Green against green.

"What is it?"

The little girl's voice never stopped making him smile. Each time was like the first time she had said dada.

"I really like her."

Rowan frowned, "Who?"

"Miss Aelin." she whispered, almost as if she was afraid they might hear her.

He smiled at her, "Yeah? You like her?"

"She's nice to me."

Rowan had to put her down as he opened the door and let her get into the back seats by herself.

"I'm glad she's treating you well, love," he let her know, buckling her in.

He hoped she'd tell him more about her new teacher, but like any kid her age, the topic of conversation couldn't last for more than four lines apiece, "Where's Uncle Lorcan?"

Rowan snorted, "No idea, little bird."

Robyn nodded, "Elide is pretty too."

And as if those words had summoned him, Lorcan appeared beside the car, making them both scream. He entered the car in a heartbeat and turned to his daughter, who was still settling into the seat. "Do you know Miss Lochan?"

But before she could answer him, Rowan had entered the car in turn and smacked the back of his head, which made the Robyn giggle, "You're not using my daughter as your wingman. Now stop it and buckle up."

Lorcan gave him a gentle push, before doing as he was told and for once he was happy he'd convinced him to do something.

Or at least, Rowan thought he had convinced him.

"What if I left you a note to deliver to Miss Lochan, Rob? Would you be up for it?"

Rowan knew, even without looking at her, that she was nodding emphatically.

Keeping his eyes on the road, he murmured, "Could you stop calling my daughter Rob, please? You'll give her an existential crisis."

Lorcan clicked his tongue against his palate, "Rowan, I'm not giving her a damn thing. We live in this new world, okay? Your daughter could be called Simon and still be a beautiful princess. Grow up and educate yourself before you talk shit."

"Aaaah!" shouted Robyn, "Bad word!"

Rowan sighed and shook his head, but still he was smiling.

This was his life. Had been for the past two years.

And he wouldn't change it for the world.

tog tag list (if you wanna be added or removed just dm me or send me an ask)

@maastrash @ireallyshouldsleeprn @sleeping-and-books @hellasblessed @thegoddessofyou @ghostlyrose2 @claralady @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @letstakethedawn @terrible-and-proud @post-it-notes33 @booksstorm @nalgenewhore @queen-of-demons-and-hell @lanyjoy-13 @vasudharaghavan @cupcakey00 @bri-loves-sunflowers @queen-of-glass @thewayshedreamed @the-regal-warrior @fangirlprincess09 @januarystears @rowaelinismyotp @starbornsinger @bookstantrash @thegreyj @feysand-loml @autumnbabylon @a-court-of-milkandhoney @highqueenofelfhame @story-scribbler @mariamuses @rhysandswingspan @tanvee1231

#rowaelinmonth #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #tog #throne of glass #rowaelin fic #fluff #rowaelin month day ten

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cinnamonest · 4 years ago

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Kaeya Alberich - Yandere Profile

YES I love my eyepatch boy!! I really like him as a yandere, because he's definitely got several traits and behaviors that would make him a very unconventional/different yet absolutely terrifying one to have. Him or Diluc as your yandere is basically like playing a game on maximum difficulty. He's so arrogant dammit why does he have to make it hot

More importantly, someone take the ability to write n/sfw away from me I s2g... I go from trying to make serious content to nasty weird kinks and completely feral in .002 seconds the moment I add that readmore

tws: gaslighting, manipulation, yandere, mentions of mutilation

tws (below cut): noncon, a good deal of sadism, mentions of an*l

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What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

He's actually one of the worst yanderes you could have in almost every regard, for two very simple reasons: his crippling psychological issues, and his intense selfishness. The first manifests as severe abandonment issues. It's the origin of his unhealthy feelings, most likely. Kaeya doesn't like the instability of people - based on his backstory, people always leave, or die, and even if they don't intend to, somehow it feels like abandonment, and he resents it. People leave him all alone and afraid and uncertain. That's generally all he knows, and despite the smug exterior, he's actually pushed people away quite a bit, keeps everyone at arm's length to ensure they can't become someone too important for him to accept their sudden absence. He can't care about someone, because that someone is fated to inevitably leave him, no matter who it may be.

That's why, once you manage to worm your way into his feelings and heart despite his best efforts, once he finally caves to acknowledging the feeling, he's aware. Painfully aware, because be can't stop worrying every waking moment about you, your well-being, your location. It reaches a point where he can't go about his job because he's simply too consumed with his worry.

The solution that kept him safest in the past was to avoid developing emotional attachments, but when he does, he's terrified of both your safety AND you intentionally abandoning him. Really, the latter would hurt worse, since he can't fault you for dying, but to abandon him? It would break him.

And, to some extent, he's developed a lot of prideful anger about it, deep, deep down. He feels that he doesn't deserve to be abandoned, doesn't deserve to just be left behind under the guise of some greater purpose, and he'll be damned if he just lets you toss him aside like he feels others did. Even if you reject him, he won't accept it. You don't get to reject him. He won't allow that. What has he ever done to deserve everything that's happened to him? Nothing. You're the one person who has stayed with him, and you're going to continue to be with him. Forever.

That being said, he's still somewhat confident because he's got that arrogance about him. He doesn't perceive rejection, because he's always gotten a lot of attention for his looks, even if he's never actually followed through on anyone else's attention out of those same fears. He'll write off any perceived rejection as being for some other reason, something besides an actual rejection, and he'll seek to eliminate whatever he feels is keeping you from just accepting him.

Honestly, one of the most likely to have a full blown, classic-yandere-style psychotic breakdown. He can be driven to a snapping point, if there's enough stress or obstacles, and in case of that, he'll be a lot more willing to kill, and a lot more willing to hurt you, but it's a point that would still take a lot to reach.

But what's really terrifying about Kaeya is his delusions, primarily his ability to mentally justify everything he does without hesitation. Even most delusional yanderes struggle - they feel like it's wrong, they know it is deep down, and they take time to convince themselves of their delusions, tell themselves it's ok over and over, beg for reassurance, and get defensive when called out because they know they're in the wrong. The same isn't true for Kaeya. He automatically justifies his actions by default, and has absolutely zero doubt or hesitation to do so. He doesn't even need a complex reason for justification - it's a simple one. He deserves what he wants. Anything necessary to achieve that is fair.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

Highly likely and very quickly, right up there with Diluc and Razor. And he's absolutely remorseless about it. It ties back into his delusional state and ability to justify anything he does - this is what's best for you. If you don't get that, that's your problem, not his.

He's another one to not want to pull some barbaric move like knocking you out, rather, he'd rather just trick you into walking right into your new home. He gets that you'll be upset about it, but to him, that's just part of the process. Not that he'll tolerate it for too long. 12, maybe 24 hours is enough time for you to reasonably be upset, but if you're still trying to fight him on this after that, he's going to get snappy about it, thinking you should already be over that by now.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape?

You're not leaving.

It's not worth trying, really. How he manages to do it is a mystery to you, but he'll manage to keep you locked in right there at the headquarters with him. How Jean and Lisa haven't found out about you being there, how he convinced all of his guards to be on his side of things, you have no idea. Realistically, if you get out, he's likely to make you out to be some kind of criminal that needs to be found -- just not to hurt you in any way, so goes the order, and the knights know better than to question why.

He has eyes and ears everywhere, it won't take them anytime at all to find you. He's so confident in that, and combined with his pride, he doesn't feel the need to go get you himself. No, it's a lot more satisfying to sit back and watch as they drag you through the doors of the headquarters, slowly pull you to the end of the room and drop you down at his feet, where he can look down on you with that closed-eyed, artificially wide smile that tells you that you have seriously fucked up.

Escape attempts aren't going to be met with a single shred of mercy, really. The thing about Kaeya is he's ultimately a selfish, selfish bastard with a lot of deep-seeded, highly repressed emotional issues, and he has absolutely no problem with keeping you bound hand and foot, or maybe even make some permanent modifications to your body if that's what it takes to keep you. It's not a wise idea to even try unless you're absolutely certain to succeed, otherwise you may find yourself never getting the opportunity again. You don't really need those Achilles tendons intact, you know. And your ankle bones are just so fragile, they'll snap with just a little twist. Actually, that wouldn't be too bad, giving you more reasons to be grateful when he's doing everything for you.

He's not one to just let it go, either. No, escape attempts are the one unforgivable thing for him, the one thing that will make him totally and completely snap. You don't get to do that. You're the one thing that doesn't get to just disappear out of his life in a flash. Half the reason he sends the knights to get you rather than going himself is to give him some time to let the rage settle down, otherwise he knows he might not be able to control himself and might end up hurting you even worse than he intends to. He's not going to buy any excuses and won't go any lighter on you if you beg and grovel or anything. But you will apologize -- you get to choose how hard it is. You can apologize the easy way, or, if you don't want to, there are many ways to force it out. But by the end, he'll get an apology, and a promise to never try again, out of you, no matter what that takes. It's by far the worst state you'll ever see him in, and really, once is enough to dissuade you from trying again.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

You'd have to try pretty hard. He doesn't have the sheer amount of years of life experience like Venti or Zhongli, but he's not the captain for no reason - he's perceptive, and highly intelligent.

Rather than simply mastering reading human voice and facial expressions for telltale signs of deceit, he's good at learning individuals in particular - memorizing the patterns of thought and action of a particular individual, and predicting how they will act. He can do it with everyone else with ease, how much more, then, with the object of an obsession? If you're trying to formulate some plan to trick him, he'll already predict what you'll do, if you lie, he already knows. It's creepier than the others, really, because it's not just that he can tell when you're lying, but rather he already knows you're going to lie or try some scheme before you do it. It feels so tailored and personalized to your thought patterns, it almost feels like an invasion of the privacy of your mind, which, really, is the one privacy you thought you had left.

He's great at gaslighting himself, too. He's a very good liar, and can make you believe anything he wants. He'll target your fears and paranoias, make you believe you're going crazy, and he'll do it all so perfectly you'll never suspect a thing. You'll end up coming to him for protection and guidance, exactly as planned.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

Pretty strict. He doesn't let you have any outside contact, and you're limited on what you can do when he's gone. He'll bring you some books, maybe something to draw on -- no sharp writing utensils, though. In his mind, that should be enough to occupy you.

You won't get outside walks or visits. It's just too risky for him, and he really doesn't like seeing other people look at you. If you really, really beg, and you've been on amazing behavior, and you're well into your relationship, maybe a few months or so, there's a chance he'll take you out at nighttime, or sunrise, but at the slightest sign of intentions he doesn't like, you'll be dragged back, and you won't see the sun for a long time.

You'll have a very limited wardrobe, he doesn't see why you even need to wear anything, but if you're going to be stubborn, he can get you something simple, like an old shirt and some underwear, but that's about all you can have. Any requests for actual clothing are going to be denied. It's ridiculous for him to spend money on something you don't need, and besides, he prefers it this way, y'know?

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

Generally, it's a simple one: obey. You do what he tells you to do, and you don't do something if he tells you not to. This stems to similar rules that develop: be submissive, don't be argumentative, don't be defiant. Follow those, and you can both be happy, and that's what you want, isn't it? It had better be - he's not very lenient, and will harshly punish even small offenses. As for that punishment... most of it isn't going to be sfw. That's just how he is.

What he will do is emotionally manipulate you, and he's rather good at it. You wanted to escape? Ok. He'll let you have your way, let you be alone. All alone. All by yourself, in a little room, with no one at all, which is exactly how you would have left him, had you succeeded. He knows very well how that kind of loneliness bites. He's not totally cruel, though, and he won't withhold affection from you by the time he returns -- he doesn't need to, you'll already be crying and apologizing, which is exactly what he hoped for. Not that he won't briefly mock you for it.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're crying like that because you actually missed me. Oh, you did? Being all alone isn't particularly fun, now is it? I'm sure you understand that now."

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Kaeya's an insanely jealous person. It doesn't show on his face, but it eats at him internally. It doesn't matter if it's a love interest, a platonic friend, even a family member. It's all the same -- people who want to take your attention away from him, people who you smile at that aren't him, people you love that aren't him. He's not one to delude himself into thinking everyone secretly loves you romantically, rather, it doesn't matter. Romantic interests are the worst threat, sure, but friends and family aren't much better.

He sees himself as above killing, though. He has people to do that for him, and he likes knowing that he has that much power. He's not going to dirty his hands with it, and frankly, they're not even worthy of his time and effort to kill them. Knights and other connections can take care of it just as well.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

As somewhat previously discussed, the primary form of making him mad is attempting an escape. That's on a whole new level of anger because it strikes at a very deep, wounding insecurity. On a normal day, though, he's more easily exasperated than angry. He gets frustrated somewhat easily, especially if you're trying exceptionally hard to be a brat. He has very clear warning signs. His signature little smirk drops, he gets quiet, he balls his hands into fists and digs his fingernails into his palms. At that stage, he's irritable and might snap at you, but won't get too angry until you ignore those signs and push it.

If you do push him, though, he gets genuinely mad, which is a very quiet anger at first -- he doesn't talk much when he's mad. He acts. You'll know he's snapped when he puts down whatever he's doing, and just silently stomps over to you, face completely empty and flat, looking down at you with a cold expression. It's enough to put fear in you, but at that point, even if you apologize, you're not getting out of whatever he's planned.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

Strongly in the "below" camp, a rather unusual stance for a yandere. Like many things with him, there's an inexplicable duality going on there. You would think that if you loved someone so strongly you'd kidnap them, kill for them, and potentially suffer consequences just to have them, that you would really think highly of them. On the flip side, you would think that if you really saw someone as lowly, you wouldn't care for them, you'd see them as disposable.

But neither is true for Kaeya, no, he balances both obsessive love and complete narcissism regarding you. You're not disposable, no, he can't live without you, he needs you. But at the same time, you're not gonna be on any kind of pedestal. No, if anything, he sees himself on one, more like a throne, and you on the floor before him, how things should be.

He has a similar mindset to Zhongli or Albedo - you're fragile, you're dumb, you're incapable, and you need someone to care for you, protect you, guide you, someone who knows what's best for you, since you clearly don't. However, he's lacking in the attitude those other two have -- there's no seeing you as an angel here. There's no viewing himself as being absolutely honored to take care of you, or viewing protecting and caring for you as some kind of privilege that they're blessed to do, the way those two do.

No, as much as he loves those things, he'll never admit it, not even to himself really. Rather, his mentality is that you should be grateful. Here he is, a very highly respected, accomplished, capable person, and you...? You have what to offer, exactly? That's right, nothing, really, only cuteness and obedience, the latter of which you refuse to give him even though you really ought to. He's taking on the burden of making sure you don't get yourself killed, and how do you repay him? By getting mad about it, throwing a fit like some little kid? He puts up with your tantrums, which are really undeserved, by the way. He puts up with your disobedience and repeated rule violations, your sheer determination to defy him when he's going out of his way to do what's best for you.

One day, he thinks, you'll mature a little bit and understand why he does what he does, and when you do, you'll come groveling and sniffling about how sorry you are, how you'll never defy him again, how you'll be good and obedient from now on, and he'll love every second of it. He looks forward to that day quite a bit.

"Sigh... you know, you're pretty lucky I love you so much. You could stand to show me a little thanks, don't you think?"

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He's strongly determined, and yet... doesn't do much to try. It goes back to his mindset that really, you're the one who should be grateful for him, and eventually, you will love him. He's not gonna grovel to you or try different ways of making you love him, no, he's far too proud for that. But he's a smart man. He knows the effects that complete and total isolation other than one other person can have on someone. He's just going to sit back and wait for that effect to kick in, and slowly watch your fragile little mind deteriorate until you're desperate for affection. At which point, well, he can use it against you.

"You were so mean to me before, weren't you? You fought me every step of the way, and now you're just going to turn around and act like that didn't happen...? Well, if you're really sorry, I'll forgive you. But how am I supposed to believe you really are...? Maybe you can think of a way to prove it, hm?"

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Probably the severity of his degradation. As aforementioned, most yanderes, even the more confident or cocky individuals, either worship the ground their beloved walks on and sees themselves as beneath them, OR sees their darling as some sort of fragile, angelic being, and they are simply a protector or caretaker to that being.

It's a bit different with him, ever the narcissist. It's a strange duality born out of a rare mix of neediness, obsession, and pride. You're more like a toy, or a pet - an invaluable pet that he could never part with, but a pet nonetheless. He certainly looks down on you more than the average yandere - he mentally associates you as naive, fragile, even dumb like a lot of the aforementioned protector/caretaker types, but without the reverence to make up for it.

It's a bizarre duality that not even he fully understands - don't think for a moment that that means he'll ever tire of you, or view you as disposable. No, he's actually one of the most obsessive ones, yet very demanding of attention and praise, rather than giving it.

He frequently tests you - things like leaving the door unlocked, waiting outside just to see if you'll try it. Seeing you open that door, watching your face go from ecstatic excitement and drop to wide-eyed terror, it's priceless.

"My, my, you didn't waste any time at all, did you? Why do you look so surprised...? You should know I wouldn't slip up that badly."

Pet names, but in the most infuriatingly condescending way, and uses them more often when he's mad and trying to warn you that you're pushing his limits. Particularly fond of "sweetheart," especially with a low warning tone and clenched teeth.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

Horny fucker, all the way. The man has a lot of stress and frustration in his life already, that much more if you're... less than compliant with your new lifestyle. Sex, especially rough and hard, is a fantastic stress reliever.

Very little reservation. He's not crude about it, but he tends to make subtle innuendos very frequently, and laughs at your embarrassed reactions. Definitely the type to pull the whole shtick in which he says something with a blatant sexual undertone, then elaborates in a way to make it sound like having meant something else, follows with that smirk and says, "Why? What did you think I meant?" It's something he really enjoys doing, and loves to get embarrassed reactions out of people, particularly yourself.

"Touchy" doesn't begin to describe it. Pretty much from the moment you meet him, he's got his hands somewhere on your person. He grabs your shoulders when he stands behind you, he wraps an arm around you from the side when he walks up to you, he's always pressing his hands on your back and sides whenever you're navigating the streets, walking through doorways, wraps an arm around your waist when sitting next to you. It's highly uncomfortable, but really, he's just got something very subtly, but very strongly intimidating about him. You almost don't want to confront him on it. If you do, he'll laugh it off, and stop -- for maybe 48 hours or so, and then he'll be right back at it.

To the surprise of, well, everyone who's ever met him, he doesn't actually live up to the rumors of having been around the block, so to speak. His experience is actually little to none - that kinda happens when you push everyone around you away. Not that he'd ever let you know that, of course, and will probably lie if asked, but you can gleam a little bit of truth from slightly awkward movements and a bit of noticeable shakiness.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

Kind of like Razor, the issue is that he loves you, and what better way is there of expressing love? He's not much for gift-giving or words of affirmation - no, he's a lot better with words of degradation, it comes more naturally to him. And he's certainly not one to enjoy acts of service -- well, not doing them, he'll gladly take them as a sign of your love, though. No, he expresses love through touch. It's like how, when you hug someone you really love, someone you missed, you squeeze them extra tight - the love manifests as a physical urge for some strong expression. Humans are physical about their emotions -- we punch walls when we're mad, we jump up and down when we're happy, and when you love someone, sometimes you just really, really want to pound them into a mattress as hard as physically possible. That's normal. That, and really, he's got his vices. He's actually fairly weak when it comes to resisting temptations, and prone to give in to urges for physical sensations like drunkenness and sex.

Is another one to be convinced that, with time, you'll come around. And is absolutely the top candidate to be one for using your own body against you - if you get wet, if you whimper, if you cum, that's just proof that you really do want this, that you're just being difficult because you enjoy being a brat, and he'll be sure to tell you that.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

This is nearly indistinguishable from punishment, sadistic bastard

D/S dynamics

Arrogant fucker wants to be served and worshipped, you could see it coming from a mile away. Anything that puts you beneath him is going to make him happy - anything where you're where you're supposed to be. There's a lot of options, but it doesn't really matter, as long as he feels like he's in control and ownership of you in some way, and as long as you act accordingly.

He wants it to be something that’s not just for sex, but rather, he’ll end up carrying it over into normal life, whether you like it or not. If you just went along with it in hopes of getting it over with once he cums, you’re going to be in for a treat when it starts to carry over. He gets a little too used to being worshipped, and decides he likes that submissive attitude on you enough to want to see it all the time.

Petplay/Collaring

It really helps that he sees you as something of a pet already, but really, the collar is the selling point. Even if you never go outside, there's something unbearably hot about the possessiveness of it all - really, it's there to remind you of your status as property. He wants to own you, and for you to be forced to acknowledge that he owns you, and there's really no better way to do that than something with his name on it. It's even better with a leash, one he can pull on when he's fucking you to pull you back onto him over, and over, and over, hearing it choke you the more he shortens it.

But really, having you crawl towards him on all fours and obey little commands so simple they're humiliating is pretty nice, too.

Impact pain/painplay

There's really nothing quite so powerful feeling as watching you cry and squirm from it, y'know? He's another one that just likes the marks his hands, belts, or anything else can leave all over the skin of your ass and the back of your legs. The thing with him, though, is it's not even always a punishment, he just does it for fun, and that makes it unpredictable. Will definitely make you count, it's a sadistic torture for your mind and body.

Throatfucking

May be used as a punishment measure, may just be because he's craving it, either way, even if you have a gag reflex, you won't for very long. He'll train it out of you gradually, grabbing the back of your head and just slamming all the way down into your throat, holding you there, making you choke - it's a beautiful sound, really, listening to you gag, all while your throat spasms around him, it's the best feeling, really, and will definitely be used as a threat if you need incentives to behave.

Choking

Ties into the dynamics, but really, there’s not much to say on this one. He likes the power trip from having his hands wrapped around your throat, seeing you struggle, watching your face go red, hearing those little choking noises. It puts power over you into his hands, and if you get pleasure from it against your own will, that’s even better.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

Absolutely one of the ones to use it as a tool. If you have a baby, you'll be so much more bound to him. You'll need him more, you'll want him around more, you'll be much less likely to leave, and in a way it feels a little bit like a sign of ownership over you.

That being said, he's also acutely aware of his jealous tendencies, and realizes he would also be very likely to become jealous if he felt like you loved a baby more than him, or gave it more attention and affection than you do him. He doesn't like the thought.

So ultimately, the latter side prevents him from willingly trying, but if you really, really have defiance issues even after he's tried everything he can to break you help you adjust, he might consider it.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

If it's mild enough, he can just take the route of extremely rough fucking - it gets rid of the frustration, he likes hearing you whimper and squeal, and he can leave lots of little bruises as reminders of what not to do in the future.

But, again, he already gets off to putting you in pain - it'll be that much worse when you've done something to deserve it. Harder hits, no mercy whatsoever, and he just loves all your little cries, wiping away your tears and smiling at you, right before bringing down whatever instrument of pain he's chosen again. If you really, really make him mad, and he really wants to make you cry, he's not above fucking your ass, either, watching you cry and beg, but you'll learn with time that begging doesn't ever get you out of anything.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Definitely an ass man. Likes fucking you in doggy, seeing the ripple every time you bounce back off of him, pulling your hair or arms to add some force. He likes seeing all the little red marks that his hands and belts and anything else will leave on the skin, views it like marks of possession. Grabbing, beating, fucking, it's all good.

#Jesus take the wheel im too nasty for this #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere kaeya #tw: dark content #tw: noncon #tw: non/con

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daddyjackfrost · 4 years ago

Note

Just a ✨suggestion✨ you know how Kuroo is like the master of provocation and he motivates people by getting under his skin? (The way he did with Tsukki)

I feel like he’d do that with his s/o too! However, not everyone responds well to that (I know I wouldn’t💀) so like I can see him going about his normal way and his s/o bottling it up until one day they couldn’t take it, and when he finds out Kuroo is DEVESTATED like wow he pushed his own s/o to their limits :(

jansjs yes. just yes.

Kuroo would definitely 100% to this, but not with the intentions to hurt you. it’s just his nature yk? he’s always been able to pick people apart until he can press their buttons just the way he wants.

i think it would start slowly. you wouldn’t actually realize Kuroo was provoking you until you stared thinking about his words late at night. Until you started watching yourself around him a bit more, afraid he’d say something that had you silently fuming in anger or self hatred.

—————

it was thursday night, and you were so angry you had put off all your work till the last minute. You had a giant writing assignment due tomorrow morning, and you hadn’t even begun.

Kuroo was out with Bokuto and as much as you wanted your boyfriend to cuddle you and pester you with love, a small part of you was glad he was away.

Last night, you had asked Kuroo for some help with chemistry, and usually, he would be ecstatic to be able to help you, but not last night.

“Kuroo, can you help me with this?”

Kuroo pushed himself off the sofa, walking up behind you to lean over your shoulder. His hazel eyes skimmed the questions you we’re having difficulty with and he let out a small teasing laugh.

“Oh come on, y/n. You study so hard and want to do all these big things and yet you can’t solve these problems?”

You wiped your sweaty hands on your leggings. You were already struggling and having Kuroo demeaning you was not helping.

You sighed and threw him a small smile. “You’re right. I’ll do it on my own.”

Kuroo just nodded and patted your head. “See? You can do anything you put your mind too.”

You just let out a small laugh, not believing him for a second.

You hear the door open and you grip your glass of water tighter. You wanted to talk to Kuroo. You needed to tell him you didn’t appreciate his provoking ways, and that if he wanted to motivate you, he should find better ways. It wasn’t healthy for you to actually be anxious when he was around, but recently, Kuroo had been a bit more demeaning and a bit more scheming.

“Y/n~” came Kuroo’s voice. “I’m home.”

“In here!”

After a couple seconds, Kuroo walked into your living room. His eyes landed on figure, sitting on the sofa with your laptops on your thighs.

“What’re you doing, babe?”

You groaned and tilted your head back to rest of the sofa. “I’ve been trying to write for the past two hours.”

Kuroo frowned and moved closer to you. “Why did you put this off till last minute, y/n?”

You closed your eyes and muttered a few profanities under your breath. “I don’t know, tetso.”

You prayed Kuroo would just smile at you, maybe tell you that it would be okay. That you would finish it and that he believed in you.

But no, that’s not Kuroo.

Because Kuroo’s never been one to gently motivate, or to praise. Unless it was in bed, but even then, it was rare.

Kuroo tsked, and your eyes shot open. You knew a jab from Kuroo was coming, and you hated it.

“You always do this, y/n. You always procrastinate and then complain. Don’t you want to be better? Do you really want y/f/n to exceed you?”

Tears sprung to your eyes. You knew he was right, he was always right, but you didn’t want to hear that. You didn’t want to hear about how terrible you are with time management, and how you always procrastinate.

You wanted to be angry at Kuroo, hell, you were angry at Kuroo, but the logical part of you always made it difficult. You had been friends with Kuroo since you were younger. You knew of his nature, of her personality, but it’s like the small wall Kuroo had made to not hurt you had broken. You knew it wasn’t intentional, but that didn’t hurt any less.

You abruptly stood up, slamming your laptop closed.

Kuroo’s eyes widened and he took a small step back.

“Kitten?”

You shook your head. “I’m gonna go finish this upstairs. There’s some leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry.” And with that, you walked away.

Hours later, when Kuroo made his way to your shared bedroom, he hoped you were done and awake. He had barely seen you today and he wanted to sleep with you in his arms.

Kuroo was smug. He was glad he was able to motivate you and get you working on your assignment.

Pushing the door open, Kuroo’s eyes landed on your slouched figure against the bed. Your laptop was shut and your eyes were tightly closed.

Kuroo felt his eyes soften. He loved seeing you asleep, it was the only time you were truly ever at peace. Except, when Kuroo walked closer to you, ready to lay you down properly, he noticed the tightness of your eyes, and the small frown on your lips.

Kuroo just brushed it away.

It’s just stress, he thought.

When you woke up, you were greeted with Kuroo’s sleeping figure. His black hair was swept across the pillow and his eyes were shut. You could feel his arm wrapped around you and you smiled.

You let yourself enjoy a few more moments, but then you slipped out of bed and started your morning routine. You were going to talk to Kuroo today. You didn’t know how much longer you could withstand his harsh words.

Kuroo found you in the kitchen. Your back to him as you flipped some pancakes.

You slightly jumped when you felt strong arms wrap around your waist.

“Morning, love.” Kuroo’s husky morning voice greeted you.

You squeezed his hand. “Morning.”

“You finish your paper last night?”

You nodded, flipping the pancake. “Yeah.”

Kuroo kissed the back of your head. “See? I knew you could do it.”

You mumbled a small yeah, and pushed Kuroo away from you. “Set the table, Tetso.”

Kuroo nodded and picked up two plates from the cupboard. He grabbed two knifes and forks and put them on the table. You brought the plate of pancakes and sat down.

You both began to quietly eat. Kuroo didn’t think much of the silence. He knew you weren’t really a morning person and didn’t appreciate a lot of talking so early in the morning.

You, however, were a nervous mess. Throughout your shower and up until Kuroo had hugged you, you were thinking of ways to bring up the issue.

You put down your fork and knife, clearing your throat.

Kuroo looked up at you, his mouth full of pancake.

A small smile made its way to your face. He looked so cute like this, with his cheeks all puffed out.

“I-uh,” your palms began to sweat and you wiped them on your sweatpants.

“Y/n?”

You slightly shook your head, trying to shake off the nervousness. This was Kuroo, you thought. Your boyfriend of four years. You shouldn’t be nervous.

“I wanted to—uh— talk to you about something.”

Kuroo nodded, and put down his fork and knife. All of his attention was on you.

When you didn’t speak right away, Kuroo’s lips lifted into a teasing smirk. “Cat got your tongue?”

Turns out this was the one time you were glad he had provoked you.

You slammed your hands on the table, causing Kuroo to instantly drop his smirk.

“That!” You yelled, pointing at him. “That needs to stop!”

Kuroo’s eyes widened in confusion. “...what?”

All the dismissal and all the logic had left your brain. You were angry at Kuroo, and the fact that he chose to poke fun at you while you wanted to talk to him made you all the more angerier.

“You always do this Tetsoru! I’m sick of you constantly trying to provoke me! It hurts! I know you mean well, but your words hurt me, and i’m sick of it!”

Kuroo’s eyes widen in surprise. When he fully processes your words, his lips tug into a frown and a whirlpool of emotions start rising in him.

Kuroo noticed your flushed cheeks, the few tears that had gathered in your eyes, and his heart broke.

He did that.

He hurt you.

He’s been hurting you.

“I know you do this to everyone, but I’m not everyone! You’re not on the court anymore! You don’t need to be sly or calculating with me.”

Every word of yours pierced his heart.

Kuroo knew he had a tendency to just try and get under everyone’s skin. It became a habit. However, Kuroo didn’t know he was hurting you.

“I love you Kuroo, but please, please take my feelings into consideration. Times when I need your reassurance or praise, you just end up hurting me.”

A couple angry tears had escaped your eyes, falling down your cheek. You felt so relieved to get all of this off your chest.

When your eyes met Kuroo’s, your eyes widened. There were tears in his eyes. His eyes were wide, and his hands were shaking.

You quickly slid off your chair and walked to Kuroo’s side, sitting on the edge of the table.

Kuroo’s heart hurt. He couldn’t believe he had hurt you like this. You were the one person he never wanted to hurt. You were the one person who Kuroo loved more than anything, and the realization that he had hurt you, killed him.

Kuroo lifted his head and his teary eyes met yours.

“I am so sorry, y/n.”

Your lips slightly parted in surprise. Kuroo had never been this open and vulnerable with you.

“I—” Kuroo let out a small breath.

“I never wanted to hurt you. I am so sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think about your feelings. Please, y/n, please forgive me.”

Kuroo’s lips trembled.

You felt your heart squeeze in your chest. You were glad that Kuroo realized his words had hurt you, but you didn’t want to see him hurt.

“I promise I’ll be better. I promise I’ll work on it.”

You nodded softly at him. “I know, Tetso.”

You pried Kuroo’s arms apart and slid onto his lap. Your legs were on either side of him. Kuroo didn’t dare touch you. His arms were limp beside him.

You brought your hands to his cheeks, slowly brushing his cheekbones.

“Please don’t leave me,” Kuroo mumbled.

You tilted your head closer to his face, softly kissing his lips.

“I’m not leaving you, not over this.”

————————-

PLS WHAT IS THIS

anyways, i hope you like it! I wrote this during accounting so 🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu asks #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo tetsurō #kuroo x you #kuroo headcanons #angst #kuroo tetsuro x you #haikyuu angst #hurt/comfort

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outofsstyles · 4 years ago

Text

a/n: This is by far THE MOST requested fic I’ve ever had and (a year later) it’s finally here!! First of all, sorry that it took me so long but when I first wrote Wildest Dreams I never intended on it having a follow up, but the amount of love I got from it was so overwhelming that I decided to put this together for you all :) I’m not gonna lie, I’m a bit nervous about it, considering the amount of requests I’ve had the past year, I know there’s gonna be a lot of expectations and I wanted to do something a bit different so it’s not too predictable lol. So yeah, as always, feedback is very much welcomed!! If you enjoy please reblog it to support my writing, it would mean the world to me <3

word count: 13.7k

warnings: none!

concept: It’s Evan’s birthday and he decides to do something a bit different.

Wildest Dreams: read part 1 here :)

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

In the last two steps, you have to use your leg to support the box as it starts to slowly slip down your fingers. This serves as a reminder to start exercising again now that the midterm is over — meaning that you should finally give in to Nia’s pleas to join her in the free week of Pilates classes she got when signing in at the gym, “Exercising is one of the best ways to relieve stress!” She would argue, to which you’d simply reply with something along the lines of: “So does binging another trashy reality tv show!”

Thankfully, no one seems to notice your struggle, sparing you the embarrassment of listening to their teases due to your difficulty in carrying one of the smallest boxes of the bunch. Nate barely glances at you once you finally reach the car to hand him the box, only shooting the longest smile you’ve ever seen coming from him—which somehow still manages to be probably the quickest when compared to any other regular person. His girlfriend, who stands with hands on her hips, entirely held his attention. Nia’s purple strands of hair poke out of her half-bun in every direction and her bottom lip has found its permanent spot between her teeth as her eyes fixate on the vehicle in front of her, barely blinking.

“Everything alright, Ni?” You prompt, trying to even your breathing. “Forgot something? There’s still time to check.”

“It’s not that.” She mumbles, shaking her head to break out of her thoughts. “My keyboard doesn’t fit.” Nia nods at the instrument lying on top of the car’s ceiling.

“Oh,” You say, frowning your lips as you take in her stressed figure. Clearing your throat, you attempt to blurt out a joke, “Maybe it’s a sign you shouldn’t move it and stay right here in our little flat with creaky doors.”

She breathes out a sharp laugh, finally looking at you as she drops her arms. “Don’t start.” She warns, “You promised; no crying today.”

“Don’t worry, I’m good at holding back the tears.” You give her a soft smile, pulling her smaller frame into a hug. The sudden reality of your best friend and roommate leaving you hitting you at once. “Gonna miss you, Ni.”

You feel her sigh into your shoulder, arms circling around your middle. “I’ll be ten minutes away.”

“Not the same.”

“I know.”

The two of you sway in silence for a moment, and you watch from over her shoulder as Nate attempts to awkwardly pick up the keyboard, almost dropping it on the sidewalk in the process. He grunts, the instrument tilting in his arms, and you giggle as you hear Nia sigh once more. Tightening your arms around her, you release each other as she turns to check on her boyfriend who holds the instrument as you would a newborn — except this one is half his size and hard as a wood plank.

He glances between the both of you, helpless. “Uh, where does this go?”

“You can put it with the other big boxes upstairs, babe. We’ll take them Sunday.” Nia says, moving to close the trunk. She looks back at him, calling back in a sing-like voice before he disappears inside, “Thank you!”

You lean back against the car, a playful pout plumping your bottom lip. “Am I only seeing you again on Sunday, then?”

“Nope, I’ll pick you up for Evan’s birthday — did you forget about it already?”

You have. “Of course not. It’s on — tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow?” Nia gasps, eyes widening. “Holy shit, tomorrow’s Friday.”

You nod slowly, just as shocked as she is about how quickly the past couple of weeks have flown by. Between piles of book reports and stress-tear-stained essays during midterms week, you also had to find some time to help Nia with packing boxes while searching for a new roommate for yourself. If you managed a five-hour sleep on these past days, that would have been a well-rested night. So you can’t really blame yourself for forgetting about Evan’s birthday when Nia herself had it slipping through her mind.

“This is an emergency,” Nia says, eyes focusing on a point beyond you and, you feel like, if you listen close enough, you can hear the engines inside her head working. “I’ll have come here earlier so you can help me with my outfit.”

You chuckle. “What even is the theme this year?”

“He didn’t tell me,” Nia says in a huff. “But, on the bright side, I don’t think this year he’ll do anything too crazy — he was too busy these last couple months with that short film I told you about, remember?”

“Evan doing something low key? That’s a first.” You raise your eyebrows, skeptical.

“I mean, I don’t know. I’m just guessing.” Nia shrugs, picking at her nails. “I’m only saying because he mentioned once he was only inviting, like, twenty people.”

Now, this is a surprise. “I’m glad I made the cut, then.”

It’s not a secret to anyone who’s ever had any kind of interaction with Evan that he’s fond of the dramatics of life — his bright-colored outfits with mismatching patterns being the first example that comes to mind — and that reflects as well in his events. Especially when it comes to his birthday.

To be fair, you’ve only actually been to two birthday parties of his so far — considering the invitation usually finds you because he’s close to Nia and sees you as some sort of extension of her. Nevertheless, they were both impactful enough that left a clear impression of how much he enjoys celebrating himself. Last year in particular you remember quite well. It was what he called “Evaney” themed; being a mix of himself and his favorite artist: Britney Spears. And, while you and Nia showed up as one of at least fifteen different variations of the Baby One More Time schoolgirl outfit, Evan pulled a perfect match of the Oops! I Did It Again red bodysuit that he got one of his fashion student friends to tailor for him, as well as freshly dyed beach blonde hair to suit it. He even went as far as photoshopping pictures of himself on Britney’s body and had them printed on posters hung on every single room of the house. There were even custom-made cups and napkins with them — two of them that Nia stole at the end of the party still sit somewhere in your kitchen to this day.

Another particular thing you remember quite clearly was that there were enough people crowded in his living room to fill up your entire apartment, as you recall. And that’s about how a typical event at his home is like — even on his friendsmas dinner there were much more than just twenty people eating turkey out of disposable hot pink plates. So, Nia’s information leaves you wondering what he could have in mind for tomorrow with such a limited list of people.

Before you can voice your wonders to her, though, Nate pushes through the entrance door again. You can tell he, much like you minutes ago, is trying to cover his heavy breathing. “I left it on top of those big boxes with a bunch of books in ‘em.”

“Brilliant! Thank you, baby.” Nia grins, wrapping an arm around his middle. “By the way, we just remembered Evan’s birthday’s tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow already?” Nate asks, and you hold back a giggle at the way his face scrunches in discontent. He hates going to Evan’s to a point that’s nearly comical. “Fuck’s sake.”

“And I think I’ll come here early so we can get ready together.” Nia nods towards you.

Nate grunts. “Do I have to go this time?”

“Of course, darling.” She rises to her tiptoes to pinch his cheek, to which he brushes it off.

Nate looks at you, and you only send him a tight smile in solidarity. The two of you share similar experiences with Evan, considering the only reason either of you even gets invited is that because you’re close to Nia, and she’s close to Evan. Although you like Evan, even if you’re not that close with him, you can still put on your social mask for a couple of hours and have fun at his parties. Nate, on the other hand, is likely the least sociable person you’ve ever met, and it’s obvious how uncomfortable he gets every time.

Nia seems to sense how tense he gets as well, because she steps in front of her boyfriend, finding his eyes with her doe-like ones. “I mean, if you don’t want to, then you don’t have to.”

He sighs, “Of course I’ll go with you.” He looks up at you. “Maybe this time we can actually count how many faces of his we can see from the couch.”

This time you don’t hold back a giggle. “I have a feeling we’ll have an easier time this year.”

“Hope so.” Nate taps on Nia’s back. "Let's go, then? Is everything you need in the trunk?”

“Yup.” She answers, circling the car and opening the door to the passenger’s side. Before entering, she gives you one last look. “Do you want me to bring anything for you tomorrow?”

“I’m good.”

“‘kay!” She enters, closing the door behind her in a click and leaning over Nate to wave at you from his window. “See you tomorrow! Don’t cry too hard tonight!”

“I won’t!” You wave back.

Watching as the car pulls back, before driving away and disappearing around the corner, there’s a light breeze that raises goosebumps on the exposed skin of your arms. You cross them under your chest, leaning back into the wall of your building, not quite ready to go back to your empty home yet. The seconds blend into minutes and you stand there The promise you made to Nia not even a minute ago already pooling in your eye, knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep it anyway, you let it tickle its way down your cheek.

A rougher gust of wind hits you and, this time, you turn to go inside.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

The days are still not long enough so that the sun can shine proudly at seven in the afternoon, but as spring just about rounds the corner there’s still a golden glow as the rays provide one last warmth before disappearing on the horizon. And that’s how the sky greets you once you step out of your building to make your way towards Evan’s house for his birthday.

As planned, Nia arrived at yours with plenty of time so the two of you could help each other get ready, a bag filled with clothes she’s just taken to Nate’s yesterday under her arm for you to help her choose. “I’m thinking something monochromatic tonight.” She said as she walked in, making you jump in your spot on the couch as you didn’t hear her using the spare key. “I’m just not sure what color.”

She ended up choosing red. There was an old box of red hair dye you found lost inside the bathroom cabinet after Nia left — along with two different brands of shaving cream, although those belonging to Nate — and, after presenting it to her, she decided to go all for it, taking it as a sign. Nate showed up just about an hour after his girlfriend, still in his work attire and barely batting an eye at Nia’s new hair color as she blew dried it. The only comment leaving his mouth being, “You look like a tomato,” before kissing her forehead and excusing himself for a nap while the two of you finished getting ready.

What neither of you realized was that Nia’s last-minute decision took more time than you predicted, giving you barely enough time to get dressed. To her, that wasn’t exactly an inconvenience considering she had an outfit ready to match any color she wanted — in this case, was a red-dyed denim two-piece. and a matching jacket that ended up discarded after she noticed it covered her newest shoulder tattoo (though you tried to argue she could just have Nate carry it so she could wear it considering she eventually would get cold at some point). To you, however, was more of a stressful task, seeing you hadn’t taken in mind to think of an outfit beforehand. So you ended up just going with the safest option that didn’t give you a lot of room to overthink, choosing to finish your makeup on the way so Evan wouldn’t have any of your heads on a plate for being late.

You’ve found that applying mascara on a moving vehicle is not the easiest task, as Nia holds your elbow to help you keep steady while talking nonstop with the driver about a topic you stopped paying any mind to about ten minutes ago.

“I’m loving our black and red moment, by the way.” She turns to you, loosening her hold as you finish the last coat. “You look like one of those hot businesswomen with your teenage daughter who likes to dress like an animated character.”

You laugh at her comparison, only now noticing the discrepancy between both your outfits. Without even realizing it, you also ended up going for the monochromatic look. Except unlike Nia’s, yours completely lacks any color. “That’s actually the best comparison you could make.”

“I know — You can take a left right here — Here, I have lip gloss.” Nia fetches a small tube from her jacket (that she ended up taking, after all), presenting it to you.

“Do you not have lipstick?”

“Are you not planning on smudging it later?” Nia wiggles her eyebrows, teasing. The hint behind her words makes you roll your eyes, snatching the lip gloss from her hand without bothering to give her an answer. There was about a month or so, just before winter rolled around, that Nia felt as if she had a mission to get you with someone. You suspect, knowing too well how her mind works, that she must’ve felt some sort of guilt for what happened during her film project last year. It was clear that her attempts came from a place of good heart, but this doesn’t mean that it made them any less annoying. However, after her plans to move in with Nate became more concrete, her cupid persona seemed to have disappeared, or so you’d thought. But now that there’s nothing else filling her mind anymore, it looks like she’s back at it, and you can’t help but snort. “What? I’m just saying-”

“You say a lot of things, most of them are incorrect.” You say, “I’m not smudging anything tonight. Not on a party with twenty people, for fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t say that before — right there! The big house on the corner!” Nia leans over the console, signaling to the driver where to park. It’s so sudden that you notice how he jumps just slightly from his seat, chuckling to yourself at how Nate snaps his eyes at her.

The front of Evan’s Victorian home is unusually quiet once you step out onto the sidewalk. So much so that, if it weren’t for the lined cars parked along the street and filling his driveway, you would’ve thought you’d typed in the wrong address.

The discrepancy is clear to you when compared to other gatherings Evan hosts in his house, but especially for his birthday. Last year, you could hear Toxic blasting from his place from the moment you turned on his street, and a small crowd gathered on his front yard — most of which you recall being comprised of people plastered out of their minds, particularly one semi-naked man who was using one lamppost as a strip pole while swinging a stuffed snake

That’s more or less the standard one could expect when invited to a party at Evan’s. So, to find the street as silent as any regular day is, to an understanding, odd.

“Are you sure it’s the right date?” You ask as the metal creak of the front gate mends with gushes of wind whistling through the air.

“Yup,” Nia says simply, walking in front of you. “You can hear the music inside, shush.”

You come quiet, listening in, and, surely, you can hear the faint keys of a piano coming from the other side of the stone walls, but it only brings up more questions to your head than answers. Evan seems like the last person on Earth who would listen to classical music. Deciding not to voice your question this time, you follow short behind Nia, kicking some loose stones on the gravel path leading to the front door.

There’s no need for more than a single knock for it to open almost immediately, revealing a lace-clad Evan downing the last bits of his wine. Without the barrier you can hear the music more clearly, the keys of the piano meshing in a peculiar way, not like anything you’ve ever heard in a classical song— at least not ten years ago when you tried to learn piano for a year before giving up.

“Look at my favorite people!” Evan says with his purple-stained lips, pulling Nia for a hug with the arm that’s not holding the door open while pointing at a spot behind her. “Did you greet Jonathan when you passed him? It’s his birthday as well.”

He points to a spot where a gnome statue sits in the dry grass, face painted in clown makeup. Nate’s voice comes from behind you, “Christ.”

“Nate!” Evan chirps, going straight for the man standing with a sharp smile and throwing his arms around him. “You know you’re my favorite grumpy, right?”

Nate only taps on the shorter man’s back, quickly moving to Nia’s side as soon as he’s free from the embrace. With that, Evan turns to you, hands finding your elbows as he takes you in, “And what have you been up to, bug? It's been ages.”

“You know… Books and… Stuff.” You chuckle, brushing it off. “Happy birthday, E.”

“Thank you!” He claps his hands together. “Now, c’mon, let’s get all of you started.”

Following him inside, you’re met with a glittery box standing right next to the entrance; rolls of tape seal it shut, and a hand-sized hole has been cut on top of the lid. You try to peek at what could be inside, but strings of colorful crepe paper are stuck to the hole, making it harder to know its contents.

Evan picks up the box, holding it to his side. “So, I need each of you to grab a piece of paper inside the box. There will be a number in it but for now just hold on, drink, and chat while waiting for further instructions.” His voice lowers at the end to give his words more of a mystery behind them.

Nate tenses in front of you and you have to keep yourself from chuckling at his desperate gaze moving from the box to his girlfriend as he moves uncomfortably on his feet. Nia, however, only gives him a pat on his back, barely looking at her boyfriend as she does a little dance in excitement. “Oh, this feels fun.” She says, quickly reaching her hand inside the box and retrieving a piece of paper. “Mysterious, but fun. What do you have in mind, sir?”

“Nothing too crazy this year, darling, you can relax — We’re all too tired.” He moves the box towards Nate, who reluctantly reaches inside. “Just something to mesh people together that won’t give me too much of a headache to clean tomorrow.”

“Smart.” You say, peeking at the box as it’s presented to you before reaching for a paper inside, quickly reading the number eight written on it before folding the piece between your fingers.

“Nice! As always, drinks in the kitchen. We’re starting in ten minutes!” Evan claps, hushing the three of you further inside.

Surprisingly, this time around there are no posters of his face in sight as you follow Nia and Nate to the kitchen. There’s a mild mash of voices coming from the living room — where the sound of the piano is the loudest, and you wonder if he got an actual piano or if it’s just a Bluetooth speaker —, but it’s not nearly as loud as you’re used to from past times. The lighting has been lowered to a buttery yellow; you realize once you enter the kitchen that feels too bright to your eyes in contrast to the hallway.

“Is there any alcohol?” You wonder out loud, and Nia glances at you with her eyebrows shot towards her hairline. “What? I’m just asking ‘cause everyone is unusually quiet.”

“There’s wine and — what are these guys right here?” She picks up one out of four plastic jars sitting on the kitchen island, reading the label stuck to it out loud, “Strawberry Mary — ooh, this looks fun.”

You reach for the other three to check their contents, but all have names similar to the one Nia now fills her cup with — fruity, yet mysterious: Lana Banana, Jenny Berry Mix, and Pineapple Suzan. “Did he come up with these?” You chuckle, reaching for the berry mix.

“It was probably Adam,” Nia says, and you frown. “That bartender guy? The one with the pet snakes.”

“Oh, yeah. I know him.”

The room comes quiet as you serve yourself, and only after you glance up you realize a tension lingering in the air. Nate stands awkwardly in a corner, eyes fixed on Nia as he moves his head around subtly. Glancing between the two of them, you notice how their expressions change as they keep their eyes locked, not a single word being uttered out loud. To you, it almost feels as if they are reading each other’s minds, and the heat of their silent argument becoming clear once Nate huffs, shaking his head.

Nia clears her throat, seemingly uncomfortable, shooting you a knowing look. It’s only when she gives you a toothless smile that you realize the silent question behind it. “Uhm, I’m going to check if there are any sweets outside.”

Beelining towards the doorway, you quickly make your way out of the room. The hallway is empty and, from where you stand awkwardly in the middle of it, you can tell Evan’s left his spot by the front door, meaning he’s likely gone to the living room where the rest of the guests are. You can hear them chatting, although like you previously pointed, the voices are much more controlled than what you’re used to, and that makes you oddly flustered by the thought of walking in alone.

Considering the limited amount of invitations this year, the chances of you knowing anyone are slim and, to add to your sudden nervousness, most of the people from Evan’s closest circle of friends are — like himself — inexplicably intimidating. This is mostly because it feels like this unspoken competition that everyone has settled with each other, to subtly brag about your success whilst simultaneously pretending to be impressed about the other’s accomplishments. And for you specifically, considering you’re not part of this artist clique that they lock themselves into, it feels particularly tiresome to be part of those interactions.

So, you opt to wait for Nia, pretending to admire one peculiar painting hanging on a wall opposite to where the doorway leading to the living room stands. Every so often, you catch yourself glancing over your shoulder one way or the other, either towards the kitchen to check if your friends are joining you, or to the doorway where the rest of the guests are in. At one point, the voices get louder, joining in a laugh before tangling together in a mess of noise you can’t make sense of. It’s after a minute that you hear footsteps coming from the living room, making you freeze on your spot, carefully turning your back to whoever’s about to catch you avoiding the party, and focusing on the piece you’ve been staring at for the past five minutes.

The painting you first thought was just random strokes of earth tones abstractly put together you now realize it’s a man and it doesn’t take you more than a second or two to recognize Evan’s side profile in a peach shade. Your hand claps on top of your mouth as you fight the urge to laugh. The sound comes out muffled, but it stops as you hear the footsteps falter as they turn into the hallway. Keeping you back to them, you listen as the wooden floor creaks as whoever was approaching makes their way back. You peek to catch sight of who it might be, but all you make out is the shadow of mustard corduroys turning the corner.

As if on cue, Nia and Nate finally appear from the kitchen, thankfully neither appearing to be sour after the talk in the kitchen.

“Finally.” You say, still feeling giggly from your finding. “Nate, you have to check this-”

“Okay! Let’s start, then. Do we have everyone in the living room?” Evan’s voice interrupts you as he calls out. Nia guides you along with her to the living room. And, as soon as the three of you enter, Evan nods at you, before continuing, “Now that all the bunnies are trapped, we shall begin!” He laughs, clapping his hands together before motioning vaguely to everyone. “Before I explain what I have planned, I want to pair you all. So, I’ll call out the numbers that each of you picked when you arrived, so everyone can find their pair.”

You frown, confuse yet curious about what Evan’s up to as he calls out the numbers. Now that you stop to glance around the room, you note how there are more people than you’d expected. It’s still not nearly as many as previous parties of his, but it still feels like the room is nicely filled, maybe just a dozen people above twenty. And amongst them, there’s quite a few you recognize as they pair up together — like Georgia, the first one to be called, whom you spent a good half of the New Year’s party with, or Taylor, who gets paired with Nia (you remember him particularly from a film festival that Nia had been part of — he produced and directed a short film comparing the second wave of feminism to the wildlife in the Amazon Rainforest, and Nia couldn’t stop complaining about how bad it was for the entire week after).

It’s when Evan jokes with someone on the other side of the room, however, that you see him.

He’s tucked in a corner, right next to the bookshelves, arms crossed under his chest in a way that makes his tattoos pop out of his biceps, something you notice even standing on the opposite end of the room. His smile is subtle as he watches the scene in front of him, but it’s still enough for a dimple to poke at one side of his face -- it’s barely there, but you’ve seen it up close enough times that you notice those details. His hand holds a drink, but you pay no mind to it because what calls your attention is the mustard corduroy hugging his hips, the same one you watched run from you not only five minutes ago.

He laughs, and you avert your eyes, mouth still hung open. You wonder if anyone will notice if you leave.

But, as though he could read your mind, Evan calls the number written on that sits crumbled inside the pocket of your jacket. “Where are my number eights?”

You step forward and, like a magnet, your eyes glue on Harry as he raises his hand.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you have to fight against an urge to shut your eyes tightly as the regret of having left your room at all tonight becomes almost overwhelming. All you expected for the night was to forget about book reports and endless essays piled up on your computer, to relax, maybe drink a bit more than you should while watching Evan’s friends dancing with a taxidermy beaver or something of sorts (that was on his friendsmas party two years ago). Instead, here you are on what feels like the first day of class dynamic your teacher has imposed to make everyone interact with each other. And, suddenly, the long pages of (insert boring book) don’t seem that bad right now.

And to make matters worse (because the universe just likes to add a little more spice to your tragedies) of all people standing in this living room you just had to be paired with the one with whom you had a fling-like relationship six months ago.

It’s awkward before he even approaches you, the tension making you fidget in your spot anxiously, barely being able to shoot a tight smile his way.

The last time you saw Harry was through the rearview mirror of a car, standing on the sidewalk like an abandoned puppy with his tail between his legs. Though you admit you let your dramatics take away when you turned away from him to leave, the feeling behind it was genuine. You were upset. He had led you on, after all, made you think he wanted to have something more just to ignore you for months and, later, appear with a redhead under his arms and call her his girlfriend. So, yes, it wasn’t the best note to leave on.

But despite how you left the last encounter, the spark of nervousness that shoots through your stomachs right now doesn’t come exactly because of his presence, but more so for the awkward nature of this encounter. At the time it happened, you avoided any activity that had the slight possibility of seeing him again like the plague. You were hurt, and you were mad — though the second part was more directed at yourself than at him. But that was six months ago. After all, as much as you felt enchanted by him and as much as those two weeks you spent together were nice, that’s all that it was: two weeks. Yes, you were sad and, yes, maybe you shed a tear or two while watching Love, Rosie with Nia afterward, but that passed as quickly as it came.

That is, until now.

“Your hair is shorter” This Is all you blurt out when he stands in front of you again.

“It is, yeah.” Harry runs his hand through his hair. The strands that last time you saw him, curled around his jawline, now peek just under his earlobe. “Did it myself, actually.”

“Really?” You take a big gulp from your drink, gaze going anywhere but meeting his own. “Found yourself another talent.”

“Another?” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“I mean, besides acting.” You grin, holding the cup to your lips and sparing him a glance. “Suppose after your debut you’ve gotten yourself busy with casting calls”

“Of course” Harry laughs. Now that you’re closer you have a better look at his dimples as they pop out, as well as the constellation of freckles hugging his nose, and the mole right under his lips. You avert your eyes again. “I’m set to be the next Bond, in fact”

“Oh, wow.” You raise your brows, grinning at the brim of your cup. “I can see it.”

He turns to you, “Can you?” You peek at him. "Why is that?”

This is exactly what you were afraid of all those months ago after last seeing him. The entire reason you ran from any possibility of seeing him again afterward. You can still remember clearly how much of a flirt he is, even when he doesn’t mean to be. It’s not a secret that Harry’s a charming man. His words are like honey, and when he uses them just right, you know is enough to have you melting. And it doesn’t help how well you seem to click together. Even now, you still feel it by your impulse to flirt back, to look him in the eye, and get just close enough to feel the scent of his cologne. Do all that just to turn away in the last second. Tease him the same way he did you. But you don’t do any of that, of course, because you’re as petty as you are bitter. So, instead, you click your tongue. “Don’t get too comfortable, Harry, bet your girlfriend wouldn’t be happy about that.”

He chuckles. “What girlfriend?”

This time you turn fully at him, brows shooting up not in defiance, but surprise. “Yikes.” You say before you’re able to hold back.

“Yikes.” Harry still holds a smile when he repeats it, head falling as he lets out a — nervous? — laugh.

A question pops into your head. One that lingered in your mind for a good while now, but comes back a bit louder now that you have the information that his relationship was short-lasted after all. It’s a short one, but one that requires a long answer, you suppose. What happened? You think. But you don’t dare to voice it, you don’t want to have this conversation with him. Whatever the explanation is, it’s not going to change anything. So you just avert your gaze back to Evan, who now calls for everyone’s attention again.

“I know you’re all dying to know what this is all about. So, I’m going to explain it all.” And with that introduction, Evan dives into a monologue you only pay half mind to. It’s hard for you to focus on the words rapidly leaving his mouth as you can feel Harry glancing at you every so often from the corner of your eye. You listen in to Evan describing himself as a feisty kid and mention his love for drama, and then you feel the ghost of Harry’s arm bumping against yours as he sways on his feet. You try to pay attention to the story being told of the events leading up to this birthday party, and then you have to hold yourself back from meeting Harry’s eyes once you feel them at the side of your face once again. He makes a comment under his breath that you don’t quite catch, and you’re about to question him before Evan’s voice comes in an even higher pitch. “I wanted tonight to be exactly that: chaotic. I didn’t want anything to quite make sense, and I didn’t want to think much, if I’m honest, last year of film school is taking a big chunk of my functioning neurons and m’dad’s whiskey collection is taking the rest of them.”

There’s a collective laugh that takes place and, once again, Harry’s eyes peeking at you. “Everyone can relax, it’s not one of those murder mystery parties, as I’ve heard some people guess — for fuck’s sake as if I have the time and patience to plan something like that.” He says with a sip directly from a wine bottle you just now realize he’s been holding. “It’s a scavenger hunt, you have a partner and an envelope with clues. Each pair will find something related to moi and after it’s all done, we’ll eat burgers and talk about me for the rest of the night.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Harry mumbles.

Evan claps his free hand on his wrist, hushing everyone. “So off you go, c’mon! I’ll be hungry in an hour.”

“This is gonna be…” You start. “Interesting.”

“Interesting is a great word to describe it.”

“Well, let’s try to do this as quickly as possible, then.”

The side of his lips quirks up. “On a rush?”

“This is not exactly a comfortable position to be. I think you get it.” You say, fidgeting on your feet. You wait for a second for him to say something so you can start the activity, but he doesn’t and you realize there’s a piece missing. “Do you have an envelope?”

Harry nods, reaching for his pocket where the envelope sits folded in half. He swiftly opens it, taking out a card.

“Well?” You prompt, “Read us the first clue, Bond.”

There’s a smile that Harry fights against at the nickname and you’re not sure due to the dim light, but you think there’s a hint of a rosy tone on the apple of his cheeks. “An activity that grows lives and ruins manicures.” He reads out loud, pausing for a moment before laughing to himself. “I know this one.”

“Grows lives?” You frown. “As in, a pregnancy?”

Harry shakes his head, leading the way towards the corridor. “As in, gardening.”

“That’s a very weird way to put it.” You say, following him. “Does he garden?”

He walks into the kitchen, greeting two people you don’t recognize who are searching for something — their clue, you assume — inside the cabinets. “No, but his sister does. There’s a greenhouse in the back.”

You simply hum in response, muttering a quick thank you as he opens the door for you that leads to the back garden. The greenhouse is not unfamiliar to you from the outside, there have been a good amount of summer gatherings in his back garden for you to know of its existence. But you’ve thought nothing more about it. If you’re honest, you never really paid much attention to it. If anything, you assumed he used it as storage at most, never taking Evan as someone who enjoyed gardening. Though now you know you were right, you've also learned that his sister lives with him and you wonder why he’s never mentioned it before.

The curiosity inside of you wants to question Harry about it, to ask him what else he knows you don’t. When you think about it, there’s a lot you want to ask him about. Not just regarding Evan, but also regarding him. You wonder what he’s been up in the past six months if he ended up adopting the kitten he’d told you about back when you were still filming or if he read any of the book recommendations you wrote on his notes app one particular night the two of you chatted for longer than the moon could hold itself up in the sky. The part of you that begs for you to say something on the short walk is so strong you have to physically bite your tongue to be able to hold back.

You don’t have to hold for long, however, as Harry takes it upon himself to say, “So,” He starts, clearing his throat, “How- uh- how are you doing?”

Somehow, his words click something inside of your mind. They remind you of why you shouldn’t let that curious part of you win. The sole purpose of it not falling for his charm. You shake your head, “We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?” He frowns, his steps faltering for a second.

“Small talk.” You answer, focused on your goal. “We’ll just solve this thing as quickly as possible so I can go back home and finish my Euphoria marathon.”

“Right.” Harry nods once, and you can’t help but notice the way his lips quirk down, the frown not leaving his face. You can’t lie and say it doesn’t make your stomach drop the slightest bit to see you’ve upset him, but you have to remind yourself how much he’s upset you, too.

It’s protecting yourself, you think. After tonight, you don’t have to see him ever again.

Inside the greenhouse, you’re greeted with a mix of scents you’re not prepared for before stepping in. The space is compact, with a single corridor narrowed with garden beds on each side. Dozens of branches and leaves tickle you as you walk in, most of them belonging to different flowers that, despite the chilly weather that still lingers outside, are already blooming. It’s a blend of colors, bright reds, and ocean blues, soft purple petals kissing pink and yellow ones.

“We should look for gloves.” Harry’s voice startles you, chuckling as you jump a bit.

“Huh?”

“Gloves.” He says. “I think whatever we’re looking for has to do with the gloves, ‘cause he mentioned manicure.”

“That makes sense.” You look around. Many gardening tools are piling under the tables that hold the garden beds; watering cans and empty pots. You look between bags of fertilizer and drawers filled with shovels. There’s so much stuff to look through that, at one point, you sit back on your calves, glancing around, lost.

You hear Harry leafing through as you’re doing, feeling his legs brushing against your back as he passes by and you stop, watching him from your spot on the floor. He’s got a concentrated look on his face, bottom lip worried between his teeth as he scans through the walls before he opens another drawer. That’s when his gaze falls, catching yours. You quickly turn away, pretending to go through another pile of empty pots and blocking the sound of a chuckle coming from his spot.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the clicking of ceramics and the opening and closing of wooden drawers. That is until you hear from Harry, “A-ha!”

You look up again, seeing him move to the back where few pairs of gloves hang on the wall — so obvious yet still hidden between raincoats and summer hats. “Right under our noses.” You say, getting up.

Harry searches inside the gloves, tongue trapped between his teeth. “Bingo!” He says, pulling out two tiny bottles from inside one pair.

“What is it?”

“Liquor.” He grins, peeking at you from under his lashes before ripping a piece of paper attached to it. “It says ‘one for each, now get to clue number two.’” He holds up one bottle, offering it to you, to which you take it. “It’s chocolate flavored.”

“Of course it would be a drinking game.” You open it, feeling the artificial chocolate scent braid with the alcohol. “Christ.”

“Don’t smell it, or it’ll be worse,” Harry says, downing his with one quick tilt of his head. “‘S not that bad, actually.”

You mimic his action, letting the drink swiftly burn its way down your throat. Unlike Harry, you can’t help but scrunch your nose at the taste. “You’re a fucking liar.”

Harry only giggles in response, taking the empty bottle from you and placing it back inside the gloves, along with his own.

And then again, silence. You turn to the flowers to find some comfort.

A family of tulips glances back at you, their petals in a full red, it’s the kind of beauty you’re scared to ruin if you touch, so you just rest your hand on the wood. “They’re beautiful.” You only notice you say it out loud when Harry hums back in agreement.

“They are.” He says quietly but somehow feels loud by how close he is. “Tulips are my favorites.”

You stop, brows raising incredulously at him. “No, they’re not.”

“What?”

Cursing the universe for playing with you like this, you can’t help but laugh at the situation. “It’s just- they’re my favorites, too.” You look at him. “My nan used to plant them when I was little.”

“That’s sweet.” He says, smiling and you nod. “The red ones represent true love.” He points. “And the purple ones represent royalty.”

You blink at him. “Do you just look up tulip facts in your free time?”

Harry laughs. “Yeah, basically.” He looks down at you, and you can’t help but notice how the greenery around brings out the shade of his eyes. “I worked at a flower shop for a tick.”

“Really?”

He nods. “For eight months. My favorite part was writing on the store board every morning.” His face lights up as he recalls his experience. “I used to write silly stuff like, ‘one day I’d like to meet tulips.’ The old ladies loved it.”

You shake your head, breathing out a laugh. “You’re dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Why’s that?”

Because you’re sweet, you want to answer, because when I think I won’t get charmed by you again, you hit me with tulip puns. Your lip finds its spot between your teeth, you’d be damned to give him the satisfaction of hearing you tell him that, so, instead, you shrug. “Because.” You can tell he wants to dig more by the way his lip twitch up, teasing a smile, but you just nod towards the door before turning away from him and heading out.

There’s a distinct change of temperature when you step outside, and it’s only when you do that you notice the greenhouse was heated. Thankfully, the night is not too windy as it would get a week or two ago when winter was still insisting on making itself present, but it’s still chilly so that it makes you hug your jacket closer to your body. Harry also notices the difference, as you hear him wince as he steps out from behind you — unlike you, he’s not wearing anything to protect his arms from the cold, which only makes it harder for you to not ogle the tattoos hugging his skin.

“So, what’s next?” You prompt.

Harry reaches for the card again, taking it from its spot on his pocket before reading the second clue. “‘Not feeling too creative to write this one, it’s on the third tree on oak.’”

“I mean, at least we don’t have to think too much on this one.” You say, “Oak Street is the one to the left, right?”

“Yeah.” Harry sighs. “Can’t believe he’s making us go out on the streets.”

You start to make your way back towards the house. “Too tired for a stroll?”

“‘S cold,” Harry says, scrunching his nose. “Here, there’s a side gate.”

He guides you through a gravel path to where the black gate stands, hidden between bushes and branches. Strings of fern hug the bricked fence and the surrounding grass is high enough that it tickles your calves through your tights, making you believe this path has probably been left unused for at least a couple of months now. This information brings out an extra worry for you, as you take a better look at it, noticing how the gate is closed shut to the fence.“Is it open?” You wonder out loud.

“Shit, I don’t think it is.” Harry huffs under his breath. “But, I mean, we could easily jump it.”

You stop, turning to glance at him as the suggestion leaves his lips. He stands there, hands on his hips, examining the gate, tongue poking out as he frowns. After a second, he meets your eyes. “What? It’s not that tall.”

“I suppose.” You say, looking back at the fence that ends just below your shoulder length. It would be easy enough for you to climb it with a boost, however, “I’m wearing a dress.”

“Oh,” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s just go inside-” He turns back.

“Wait,” You stop him, not sure if it’s the slight amount of alcohol in your system already making you more adventurous, you train your gaze at the gate, analyzing it again, before looking back at him. Squinting your eyes, “You have to close your eyes.”

He laughs, “Are you sure?”

“It’s not that high.” You shrug. “But I need your help.”

“Of course.” He moves next to the brick wall, kneeling before it and nodding towards you. “C’mon, step up.”

Hesitantly, you glance at his thigh stretching his trousers, a sudden wave of insecurity hitting you. “Are you sure you can lift me?”

Harry simply puts his hand out in a silent request for you to hold. “Of course.”

“No peeking.”

He shuts his eyes tightly, chin meeting his chest as he looks down. And then you take his hand, feeling his fingers lock in a firm hold as he helps you use him for support. You hesitate again before using his thigh as a step, “Wait, I’m gonna ruin your trousers.” You worry, but Harry only shakes his head, still keeping it facing the ground, the strands of his hair falling above his eyes in a makeshift blindfold. When he doesn't feel you stepping in still, he encourages you with a squeeze in your hand.

You attempt to do as quickly as possible with your dress clinging to your legs, tightening your hold to Harry’s hand to step on his thigh. Once you let it go, you can still feel it lingering behind your back as you use your arms to boost yourself up the wall, sitting on it for a moment before jumping to the other side with a huff.

“Can I open them?” You hear Harry’s voice calls from the other side, and you smile, nodding even though he can’t see it.

“Yes!”

And then his face appears as he stands up in a jump, grinning at you. “See? Easy Peasy.”

“I feel like a teen sneaking out.” You say, and you instantly give another meaning to your words as Harry boosts himself up. This time, you certainly don’t hold yourself back from staring at the way his muscles flex at the movement, the tattoos on his arms stretching, and his shirt rolling up. He makes it look so easy, so effortless, barely taking five seconds until he’s jumping in front of you.

“That was fun.” He puffs, patting his trousers lightly.

“So, how are we finding the tree?” You ask, taking a quick glance to where his hands brush on the fabric of his trousers. “Should we read the clue again?”

“I know which one he’s talking about,” Harry says, nodding to the left before beginning his stride in that direction. You follow him, trusting his words as the two of you turn the corner where Evan’s house is located.

The street in question is much calmer than the one you were just in, with no cars coming or going from the residences — that stand much closer to one another, you notice, giving the whole street more of a narrow feeling to it --, which is not exactly odd, but certainly is a contrast with the main street that Evan’s home faces, that one being more lively with people either coming home or leaving it to enjoy their Friday night. The sudden lack of background noise makes the walk to your destination a tad awkward, as none of you make an effort to strike a conversation. Instead, you resort to silently observing the surrounding area as you walk alongside Harry, noticing how the trees here bend over the sidewalk, their naked branches slowly but surely growing back the leaves they lost months ago — it makes you wonder how beautiful this must look during the peak of springtime, their full branches blending together, making a ceiling of flowers.

“Here.” Harry stops abruptly, making you almost bump into his shoulder, as you were too busy with the scenery you’ve made in your own head. “‘S this one.”

“I thought it said the third one.” You frown, looking back and noticing the way you’ve passed way more than just three.

“This one is the third.” He says, motioning to a small birdhouse stuck to its trunk with a number ‘3’ painted to the front in blue. “It’s a bit of an inside joke,” Harry chuckles to himself. “Now I get why the bastard wanted me to have this card.”

You look closer at the tree, trying to see if there’s something attached to it besides the birdhouse, but there’s nothing. Before you can question it, Harry opens the front of the tiny house, retrieving two tiny bottles from inside of it, similar to the ones you found in the greenhouse. “Oh, no.” You say, laughing. “Did he just put liquor inside a stranger’s birdhouse?”

Harry shakes his head, “This is not a stranger’s birdhouse.”

“Huh?” You frown, glancing back to the house where you stand in front of, its front completely dark, showing that no one must be at home. You point to it over your shoulder. “Do you know who lives here?”

“Yeah,” He starts, offering you one bottle. “I do.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise, glancing back and forth from the house to the man standing in front of you, an amusing grin growing on his face. “You live here?” You ask, “This is your birdhouse?”

“It is, yeah. In fact, I was the one who built it.” He gives the birdhouse a small pat.

You can’t help but let your mouth hang open for a second. “That’s-” You pause, not sure which word to use. Impressive? Amazing? Hot? “That’s nice.”

Harry smiles, and the two of you stand there for a moment, admiring his work in silence. You suck your bottom lip in, keeping yourself from inquiring further.

Being presented with how little you know about Harry only peaks at your curiosity at what had happened last year in your brief experience with him. When you were with him it felt as if you’d known him for months rather than weeks, but looking back at it now, you wonder if your infatuation fooled you into thinking the two of you were close. Maybe that’s why you were so upset at the premiere after all because all that did was prove to you how much you didn’t know him at all. No matter how many sleepless nights you spent together sharing bits of your lives, it wasn’t enough for you to get to know him.

It’s only when a car turns into the street that you break away from your thoughts, looking up at him and clearing your throat. “We should take this back to Evan’s.” You say. “I’m not sure how it would look from an outsider’s point of view to see us downing these tiny bottles in the middle of the street.”

“You’re right,” Harry says. “Should we read the last clue while we’re at it?”

“Sure, yeah.”

He reaches for the card inside his pocket, presenting it to you. “You do the honors this time.”

You take the card, brushing your thumb over the words before stopping for a second to read them out loud, “You’ll find your prize behind the words of buried legends.” You snort. “That’s so corny.”

“Words of buried legends,” Harry repeats, letting out a hum. “Bet he was feeling quite poetic when he wrote this one.”

“Maybe because it has to do with poems.” You peek at him, a slight raise to your eyebrow. “‘Words of buried legends’? like dead poets and stuff?” Upon reading it again to make sure, you mumble, “He really made this card especially for you, huh?”

“Makes sense.” Harry agrees before nudging you playfully with his arm. “Look at you with your literary mind!”

“Could’ve used some better wording but I’ll let it pass.” You giggle, shrugging as you hand him back the card. As you do so, you notice there’s something written on the other side. “What’s in the back?”

Harry’s brows meet. “Huh?”

“In the back of the card, something’s written on it.” You nod towards his hand as he’s about to pocket the card again.

Harry turns it around, reading it with a chuckle. “Ice breakers.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Your mouth drops open in amusement. “Well? Go on, then. Break the ice.”

Harry makes a show of clearing his throat before reading the question as an announcement, “What celebrity do you think you could pull on your best day?”

“Is this the actual question?” You squint your eyes at him and he turns the card to allow you to read it as well. Surely, the same question reads right on top of it and, as you take a glance at the ones below it, they’re not that much better. You shake your head, “God, I have no idea.”

“I know mine.”

“You didn’t give a single thought on that one.” You say. “This should be good.”

“Jennifer Aniston.”

“Jennifer Aniston?” You stop on your tracks, raising your brows at him. “You know she was married to Brad Pitt, right?”

“Ouch.” Harry makes the theatrics of putting a hand on his heart, head falling dramatically to the side. “Right where it hurts.”

“I’m not saying you’re bad-looking, but he’s Brad Pitt.” You emphasize with a laugh, pushing him playfully as you keep walking. “Like he is the male beauty standard. Personified.”

The front of Evan’s feels more vivid than it was when you first walked in hours ago, the lights inside seeming lighter and the curtains having been pulled back, showing people wandering around on the inside. You walk past another pair crouched in front of the bushes that line next to the front gate that creaks as you open it.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Sure, let’s hear yours, then, sweetheart.”

“Ew, don’t ever call me that again.” Your nose scrunches and your face grows hot, but you attempt to shake it off, stopping to think of the question. “Huh, on my best day? I think… I don’t know, maybe Drake?”

“Oh, no!” Harry’s hands cover his face as he shakes his head into them. “I feel like that’s the most basic answer anyone could ever give to this question.”

You gasp. “Did you just call me basic?”

Harry holds the front door open for you and, before he’s able to give you an answer, you bump right into Nia. She instantly blurts out your name, as if she’s been expecting you to appear. “I’ve been looking for you!” She says, sparing Harry a glance over your shoulder before pulling you slightly to the side. “Do you think we could talk for a second?”

“Sure.” You hold out the word, looking at Harry before focusing on your friend again. “Did something happen?”

“No, no, nothing happened. Just—” Nia starts, locking your arms as she guides you back outside, pulling you to a corner a few steps away from the front door. “How are you? How's it going?”

“I’m fine. Why?” Your brows knit together at her interference and you wonder if it has anything to do with her conversation with Nate.

“I’m talking about-” She looks over her shoulder, clearly checking if anyone is listening in. Even after making sure that there’s no one there, she still lowers her voice. “When I saw he was your pair, I wanted to rescue you right away, but fucking Taylor pulled me with him and I didn’t get the chance.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Is it too awkward?” She keeps her inquiry, holding your hand close to her chest. “We could ask them to switch so we can do the rest together, I’m sure Evan’s too plastered to notice.”

“Nia, I-” You smile as you come to realize that she pulled you aside just to check if you’re uncomfortable, having witnessed first-hand your whines and cries over Harry last year. “It’s okay, really. It’s not that bad, surprisingly.”

“Really?” Nia blinks, taken aback. “I- What happened?”

“Nothing.” You reassure her with a squeeze on her hand. “We’re just chatting, it’s not that awkward.”

“Okay.” She nods and nods, before falling serious again. “But if anything happens you just have to scream for me and I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Okay.” You say, pulling her for a brief hug. “Thanks, Ni.”

The two of you return inside just as Taylor brings up his brother’s hair sculpture collection that’s being exhibited at a local gallery — a subject you already have been the victim of hearing for about an hour during New Year’s and, by Harry’s face, he seems as helpless as you did back then. Nia doesn’t waste a second before pulling her pair away, “Let’s go, pal, those clues won’t solve themselves,” she shoots you a look over her shoulder, pushing Taylor towards the living room and you chuckle.

“He really is one of a kind, that man,” Harry says with a sigh before meeting your gaze. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just lady talk.” You brush aside. “Let’s find those poets, shall we?”

“We shall.” Harry smiles, looking around for a second before guiding you down the hallway, turning just before entering the kitchen where a staircase. This is a way that — like the greenhouse — you’ve never been to. Still, Harry navigates so casually as if it were his own home and, to some degree, you suppose it is. You follow him up the first flight of steps, stopping just before turning into the next one where a door you never really noticed before stands. Harry rests his hand on the handle, turning to you before saying, “There’s an office hidden right here.”

You watch as he opens it, motioning for you to walk in first. And, indeed, the inside of it is an office, just a bit smaller than the living room on the opposite side of the house. Two bookcases that go from the floor to the ceiling mostly covered the wall, only leaving a single space in the middle for a dark wooden cabinet. In front of it, an L-shaped desk takes up the middle of the room, most of it is filled with files and paper stacks, as well as two computers lying asleep. For a moment, you just stand by the doorway, admiring this room you’ve never known of its existence, your eyes quickly sweeping through the bookshelves completely packed with dark cover books of all sorts. “Do you think this is where it could be?”

“Probably, yeah.” Harry nods, turning on the lights. “I don’t know where else he could have any poetry hidden.”

You move towards one bookshelf, the one closest to the door, reaching to brush your finger through the spines perfectly lined. “But look at the size of these, we’ll take forever to find anything in here.”

“Those big ones are mostly law books, I think,” Harry says, opening cabinets at the other side of the room, right next to where a white couch stands. He turns to look at you, “His sister’s a lawyer, this is her office.” Harry says, “But Evan’s got a corner right here where he keeps some of his stuff— like books of sorts. It’s the only place I could think of.”

You hum, not knowing exactly what to respond to this information.

“You can go through the ones on that side, it could be there as well.” Harry nods towards a cabinet right next to the door where you came from, and you nod.

The first two cabinets are of no luck, both being mostly filled with boxes full of children’s books and old toys — some of them mixed with more stacks of paper, but those, instead of having long texts, have drawings of all kinds from what you could gather in a glance, from child-like scribbles to actual sketches. You can hear Harry going through drawers on the other side of the room and, upon closing another empty cabinet, you peek at him, watching his broad back flexing under his shirt as he moves around. Averting your eyes as swiftly as you looked, it’s still enough to bring warmth to your cheeks.

Finally, you open the cabinet at the very bottom of the shelf. On the top, there are piles of DVDs, most being different variations of Barbie movies, but, right at the bottom, you find books. You don’t stop to check their genre at first, simply moving them away until you stumble upon a small box, the top of it marked with the word ‘prize’. “Found it!” You call back, taking the box away from the pile before setting the books back in place again. “Under Rupi Kaur? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure she’s very alive.”

“Don’t tell Evan that,” Harry says as he crouches next to you, taking the box from your hands. Inside, there are, as expected, two tiny bottles like the ones you found before but, what calls both your attention, is a small bag of sweets lying in the middle. Harry takes it, “Oh, those are nice.”

He hands it to you and you open it, quickly shoving a jelly candy into your mouth before nodding. “Yeah.”

“So…” Harry starts, peeking over his shoulder, “Do you want to go back there?”

You glance at him, his eyes hovering above yours, lips twitching up just barely. “Uh… Maybe not right now.” You answer, “Unless you feel like sharing our Jellies with other people.”

Harry only laughs, shaking his head as he sits back and you do so too, right next to him. He reaches for his pocket, presenting another tiny bottle, the one you found inside his birdhouse, “We still got these.”

“Right!” You fetch your own out of the pocket of your jacket.

Harry opens his, holding it up towards you. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” You say, mimicking him.

Both of you down your drinks, the liquid tasting bitter, like medicine on your tongue, the only reminder of alcohol being the burn as it slides down your throat. You rest your head back on the cabinet behind you as the two of you fall into silence once more. A part of your mind is already beginning to swim around the space inside your head, and you decide to not take the last drink just yet, laying it next to your leg. Though you’ve only had the equivalent of two shots, you realize the long break you’ve had from drinking for the past couple of months -- which wasn’t exactly an intentional choice, but more like the result of your lack of free time -- is showing itself to have been enough to make you more of a lightweight.

And even though the night so far has been strikingly surprising in terms of how comfortable you felt being around Harry again, it doesn’t mean the questions you’ve been carrying since last year have gotten any quieter. They’ve only gotten louder. More persistent, even. The curiosity you feel to know what happened is almost suffocating now. And you’d be damned if you let a drunken mind stop you from having this conversation.

You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, only watching the back of his head bobbing along with the music -- still the piano -- that comes faintly from behind the closed door. Your lips part, feeling the question form right at the tip of your tongue, but not knowing how to voice the words. Will it be awkward? You think so, but what if it ruins the night? Tonight, that’s been so oddly refreshing. A night that only served to remind you how you became so infatuated with him in the first place.

But you know you won’t be able to let go of this ich inside your head unless you bring it up. And you want to, you do, but as you take too long to think of the right way to do so, Harry decides to break the silence, murmuring next to you, “That’s a good one.”

Your brows knit together, trying to make out any trace of familiarity within the song that’s playing, but you don't find any, which only leaves you even more confused. “Do you like classical?”

“Love,” Harry says simply, his eyes closed as he moves his head with the piano keys. “Especially this one. One of the greatest works from one of the greatest contemporary composers: Billie Eilish.”

Your lips fall open, “Shut up. Is she playing this?”

Harry laughs, a full one, that brings a grin to poke at your lips. “I mean, as far as I’m aware, no. It’s a version of her song — listen in.” He points to his ear, nodding with the melody as he sings along, “So you’re a tough guy, like it really rough guy.”

You shake your head incredulously, “Of course he’s playing classical versions of pop songs!”

“Did you really think Evan had a taste for Chopin or Debussy?” Harry asks both dimples poking on his cheeks.

“I think at this point I’d believe anything you tell me about him.”

Both of you laugh, the air surrounding you light and warm, before falling quiet again. This time, however, you simply stare at each other for a beat. You watch his eyes, with their almost hypnotizing jade shade, glancing between your own. He rolls his lip between his teeth, nibbling at it. This is the closest you’ve been to him all night, and the details on his face only feel like a reminder of your doubts. Like the nostalgia you feel with a bittersweet memory.

“Should we-“ You stop, the words falling from your lips before you can think about them. “Should we talk about the elephant in the room?”

You half expect Harry to frown, to play dumb, and question you the meaning behind your words. For a second, you even expect him to shake his head, to get up and leave the room. And, for some reason, you kinda want him to do so. To finally break the mask of the nice, sweet guy he’s been putting on all night and allow himself to play the role of cold prick you put him on for the past months.

But he doesn’t do it. He only gives you a short smile. “I was thinking about how to bring it up.” Harry’s gaze falls to his lap for a beat as he scratches his nose. “We should, yeah.”

You nod, more to yourself than to him. This is it. The moment to ask what you’ve been waiting for for six months now. You decide not to think much anymore, allowing the question to roll freely, “I don’t really know how to word this better but- pardon my French- what the fuck happened?”

Harry chuckles, but not an amused one. It’s more of a dry, nervous laugh. “How cliche is it if I tell you I was really fucking stupid?”

“Pretty cliche.” You say, “But also pretty true, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry for that.” He looks up, eyes meeting yours again, his own softening upon seeing you. “I really am.”

“Thank you for apologizing.” You smile a little, “But I think I deserve an explanation.”

“You do.” He speaks quietly before clearing his throat. For a second, he doesn’t say anything else, just takes a sharp breath, focusing on his fingers that play with the hem of his trousers. “I- Uhm- I know this might come as a surprise, but I’m not very good at letting people down.”

“A bit, I guess.” You try to humor, but your tone doesn’t show it. You sound quiet, hurt.

He peeks up at you, and continues, “Jess- the girl you met at the premiere- she’s lovely and all, but- how do I say this- we were never really supposed to be together.” Harry sighs, “I didn’t like her like that.”

You frown, “Then, why did you?”

“A couple of months before we met- before Evan even mentioned the film project to me, one of my mates kept insisting that I should meet his sister.” He pauses, “That was Jess.”

“I figured.”

Harry nods, “As I said, she’s a lovely girl, really nice, but we just- didn’t click like that, you know?” You hum in agreement, ignoring a small twist in your stomach when he repeats the endearment term. “But I guess she really wanted to try it, and, for months, I just kept pushing and pushing, cause I thought maybe with time I could bring myself to feel the same way.” And then again, another humorless laugh, “But- spoiler alert- I couldn’t and I should’ve just told her that.”

Your mouth hangs open for a beat before you decide against saying anything. It’s clear as you watch him explain that the entire situation for him felt more complicated than you’d ever considered. Not once did you think about the possibility of him being caught in a twist of his own decisions, and not once did you regard his feelings with the whole situation. In your bubble of gloominess, all you could think of was how he played you and used you for a bit before moving on to the next girl that fell for his sweet talk.

Looking at him now, however, his head low and brows set on a permanent crease, lips frowning down, you can feel the internal conflict pooling out of his pores. You’re not sure if it’s exactly a look of remorse that he gives you, but it sure seems close to it.

Harry huffs in what feels like frustration as he keeps recalling the events, “But all my mates kept taking the piss, pushing me to ask her out and then, in the middle of it, I met you.” He finally smiles a bit, and you have to look down to hide the warmth that spreads on your cheeks, “And we-uh-” He shrugs, “I mean, we clicked, didn’t we?”

“I think so.” You say, just above a whisper.

“I think so, too,” Harry says, holding your gaze with his own. “And when I was with you I let myself forget about that, forget about the pressure to be with someone else, I guess.” His lips fall again, eyes meeting his lap, “But when we came back, there wasn’t much running away from it anymore. The night we got back I met that friend of mine and, I’m not sure if he said anything to Jess, but she asked me out.”

“And you said yes.”

“I said yes.” He repeats, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t have, but I said yes.”

“So you just dated her? Even if you didn’t like her like that?” You say, trying to understand his thought process. Even if his words tug at your heartstrings -- which you try to not think about right now -- you still can’t help but feel a bit for the other girl.

“I thought I could- I don’t know, I thought with time maybe I could-” He stumbles around with his speech, before finally letting out a sigh, “I don’t know what was going through my head, to be honest. I was a prick.”

“At least you can admit to it.”

“I was a prick to both of you.”

You fall quiet, hoping he takes your silence as an agreement. When he doesn’t offer anything else, you speak up again, “Did it work, though?” He frowns, and you clarify, “Letting time force feelings into you?”

“I found very quickly how hard it is to develop feelings for someone when there’s someone else on your mind.” He says, and you bite back a smile that wants to spread on your lips.

“It’s very easy to say that now.”

“I know.” He agrees, “And I wish I could’ve realized that earlier, before even bringing you into this mess.” Harry reaches for your wrist, which lies on top of your lap, giving it a gentle squeeze. “For that I really am sorry.”

“I know you are.” You reassure, turning your hand to find his, squeezing it back. “And what happened to Jess?”

“She was rightfully upset when I told her.” His thumb brushes against your knuckles, moving the rings on your fingers around just slightly, and it’s almost enough to distract you from his voice. “We broke up a day after the premiere.”

“Ouch.”

“But it’s fine now, she’s got a boyfriend now who actually cares for her the way she deserves,” Harry says.

“That’s nice to hear, at least.”

“It is, yeah.”

You look down at your hands locked in your lap, squeezing his one more time before letting it go with a sigh. “You really made a big mess, huh?”

He chuckles, a guilty smile poking on his face, “I did.”

You nod, finally reaching for the tiny bottle left forgotten next to you, opening it. This time you only take a sip, but it’s still enough to end half of the liquid inside. You click your tongue, “I’m glad we talked, though.” You look up at Harry again, who’s already watching you, giving a small tap on his thigh. “It’s nice to have closure, you know? To give it a conclusion and wrap with a nice little bow.”

Harry rolls his lip inside his mouth, “Is this a conclusion, then?”

You raise your brows, “Is it not?”

“I guess it could be.” He shrugs one shoulder, leaning closer to you just barely, eyes trained in yours. “But I’m hoping that, after today, maybe we could start over?”

You laugh, scrunching your nose at him as you shake your head. “Not a start over, no.” You poke his side, “You’re not getting away that easy.”

“You’re right.” He says, still not budging as he frowns his lips. “But I wish it didn’t have to be an ending as well.”

“Is that so?”

Harry nods, you can tell his eyes hold a shyness that wasn’t here a minute ago, but at the same time -- as paradoxically as it seems -- there’s a boldness as well, one you’re more familiar with. “Maybe we could chat again. This time with fewer ice breaker cards and more bags of sweets.”

You smile, rubbing your chin as you pretend to ponder about his suggestion. “That does sound very promising.”

“I really do think we clicked.” He drops his playful tone as if wanting to make sure you feel the sincerity behind his words. “Wasn’t just saying it.”

“I know.” You say, “And I think so, too.”

His smirk grows, and he doesn’t offer anything else to say, but you can tell he’s holding something back. With the silence, you suddenly become too aware of the way your arms brush together, and how his knee bumps against yours. You notice how his eyes fall a bit from yours, so quickly you could’ve imagined it, but you choose to not think so. If you lean forward, you know he will too, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. You’re not letting yourself make the first move.

Surely, you’re aware these thoughts are a direct result of the alcohol sweeping through your mind, testing how much of your pride you’re willing to ignore. There’s no questioning of the wall that you built all those months ago after walking out of this very house with this very man on your tail blurring out apologies. It still stands, tall and strong, and you're not letting sweet words mixed with a drink or two pull it down. Not that easily. But at this moment, looking at his stupidly beautiful face with his stupidly beautiful eyes so close to you, you feel like maybe you could peek through a window, or open up a door — just a creek, just to have a sample of what it would feel like if you were to pull it down.

“Do you want to go back?” Harry asks again, this time more quietly, this time his question has a different implication than it did before.

You're quick to shake your head, voice quiet, “Not yet.”

The corner of his lips quirk up and you raise your brows, silently daring him to ask what he’s been holding. You see his hand moving from the corner of your eyes, but you don’t break your gaze from his, not even when you feel his fingertips moving so gently against your cheekbone, brushing your hair away from your face. Harry leans closer, again just barely, and again, you stay still, only smiling softly in encouragement. Now, you’re stuck in your own silent conversation; both seeking the same thing but not making the move to achieve it -- either for pride or apprehension.

“I’d really like to kiss you right now,” Harry whispers finally, eyes moving down again, this time slowly, making sure that his intentions are clear.

“Do it, then.” You tease.

Harry breathes out a laugh, his hand caressing its way down to your jaw. He rubs his thumb against your cheek, a feathery touch, taking another second to look at you before pulling you in. Your eyes fall closed, as you focus on your senses, and allow yourself to peek from that window, or creek that door open just a bit, to have just this moment to remember when you first got lost in his touch.

First, it’s the warmth of his breath tickling your cupid bow, making your hold your own breath in anticipation. Then, the tip of his nose, gentle against your own, and you can’t help but lean in a bit more when you feel the ghost of his lips on yours. But he pulls back, just so slightly, hoping to have you reach for him again. Except you don’t, knowing what he’s trying to do.

“Uh-uh,” you shake your head, pulling back just a bit to look him in the eye. “You don’t get to tease me.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, “That’s fair.”

This time, there’s no teasing. Still, he goes in just as slowly as he did the first time around, curving his lips around your bottom one so softly it almost makes you lean in again. His kiss is cloud-like in a way that makes you a bit dizzy and when he presses his lips harder, you have to refrain from letting out a dreamy sigh -- still too stubborn to give him the satisfaction. It’s when you feel the tip of his tongue poking out to lick at your bottom lip in a silent request, that you pull away completely.

It’s your turn to smirk now, licking your lips before announcing, “I think we should go back now.”

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