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lordprettyflackotara · 6 months ago

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hitchhiker || chapter five || the proxies

no tw for dis chapter ;)

a/n: i hope yall enjoy this calm shit while it last bc shit is about to hit the fan <3

<— previous chapter

“I’m not crazy i’m telling you someone’s been here!”

Brian stood with his hands in his pockets, watching you nervously explore your apartment. Tim and Toby walked after you as you darted around like a pinball machine. “A-are you sure?” Toby questioned. You were examining your jewelry, all of which was obviously fake. Brian watched you palm through all of it, as if you were mentally preparing for the worst. No one would steal your shitty jewelry. “Yes i’m sure. There’s no doubt about it,” You said. Rushing out of the room you turned to the bathroom. You rummaged through your bathroom closet, as well as your medicine cabinet.

“Well did they take anything?” Tim asked. The three men were observing you quietly, trying to ensure they didn’t pinch a nerve. Brian didn’t think you’d realize your panties were missing. After rummaging through your drawers he knew you had more than enough pairs. But as he watched your face turn beet red, he realized he might’ve been wrong. “Yes, they did,” You answered in a stale tone. The men exchanged glances, watching as you anxiously leaned against the bathroom sink. You were gripping it like your life depended on it. “Well, what did they take?” Brian asked. He had to fight back a mocking tone. He didn’t always agree with Hoodie’s approach, but he had to admit he wasn’t fond of you either.

You were visibly flustered, the heat visible across your cheeks. Toby placed a caring hand on your shoulder. “Hey it’s o-okay. You can t-t-tell us. We just wanna help,” Toby said. You placed your hand on top of his, your gaze staying glued to the sink. You couldn’t meet their eyes, embarrassment flooding over you.

“They took my panties.”

A pregnant pause hung through out the small bathroom, your eyes screwing shut in embarrassment. Brian’s eyebrows raised at your confession. Huh. Observant and honest, even when embarrassed. You brushed past them, darting into your bedroom. Shoving open your closet doors you grabbed onto your suitcase. “Woah woah woah what are you doing?” Toby exclaimed, hot on your heels. You began grabbing armfuls of clothes, yanking them off of the hangers. “Something is wrong, I can’t stay here,” You huffed. You admittedly, looked very scattered brained. You chose to leave out the weird shit you had been seeing. You sounded crazy enough.

Tim stepped in front of you, preventing you from shoving anymore clothes inside of your suitcase. “Don’t be ridiculous I think you’re just becoming paranoid. Why do you think your panties were stolen anyway?” Brian questioned harshly. You shot him a dirty look, Tim��s large hands gently placing themselves on your upper arms to prevent you from moving. “They’re red and lacey. It happens to be the only thong I own. I wore it to work yesterday and left it on the bathroom floor,” You spat. Toby awkwardly turned away, trying his hardest to not visibly appear flustered. Tim cleared his throat, looking down at you.

“I don’t think running away is the right thing to do. This is your home,” Tim told you. His mind spun in a circle with ideas, many of which included you going back to their temporary apartment. Which, wouldn’t have been such a bad plan if it wasn’t utterly filthy and trashed. Masky and Hoodie were not kind to the buildings they stayed in. “Why don’t we uh, stay with you?” Tim offered. Toby poked his head over Tim’s shoulder. “We will?” He asked excitedly. Brian shuffled awkwardly over to the three of you, standing behind you. “We will?” He deadpanned.

Tim shot him a warning look. “Yeah, we’ll take turns,” He said firmly. Brian took issue with this for many reasons. Putting aside his distaste for you, he needed to investigate Nova more. From the moment Toby mentioned the vanilla folder, Brian knew something was wrong. Even after he waited for the younger proxy to relay the information he obtained from observing Nova. She was on the Winston case, but Toby claimed to not see the vanilla folder anywhere after he had dropped you off. It was nipping at Brian’s mind, his annoyance growing larger when he couldn’t locate it in your apartment.

Brian needed to know something simple. Very simple. Was Nova solely investigating the homicide of Detective Winston? Or was she going beyond that and looking into the case that resulted in his death sentence? Brian suspected that she was diving deeper. Based on his observations, your stories about her, and Toby’s testimony, she had the firey personality of someone who would. For a split second he thought keeping you around was helpful. But now as Tim sentenced them to babysitting you, it felt more like a punishment for ever thinking so.

“What about our job?” Brian asked through gritted teeth. You shifted to put your clothes back in your closet, avoiding Brian’s daggers being fired your way. “We’ll take shifts,” Tim answered. Toby waltzed around the two of them, distracting you by helping you put everything back on the rack. “Shifts? I have plans tonight,” Brian muttered. Tim cocked his head to the right, signaling him to exit the room. Tim excused the both of them, shutting your bedroom door. “Shes not a kid Tim, she doesn’t need to be babysat,” Brian spat. Tim clenched his fist, his eyes narrowing at his partner.

“Look I know you and your alter are freaky fucks but how could you have been so careless? I was fine letting you snoop around to exercise your theory but that? That’s how you spent your time?” Tim hissed. The men were struggling to keep their voices down, the two of them on edge. “That was five seconds out of a multiple hour long investigation,” Brian argued. Tim leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms. “Yet that five seconds is the only notable thing to have happened right? Did you find anything about your theory?” Tim questioned. Brian admittedly did not. He stood across from Tim, leaning against the kitchen island.

“I didn’t but Tim you just need to trust me-” Brian began. Tim cut him off, taking a step towards him. “Then that’s it. The end. This happens everywhere we go. When we eliminate a target, nevertheless a chief detective, someone is going to investigate it. You know as well as I do it’s not common for them to go deeper,” Tim whispered harshly. He glanced at your bedroom door, making sure Toby was keeping you occupied. “You’re becoming paranoid, both you and Hoodie. Stop it,” He grumbled. Tim began to walk away, Brian quick to grab his arm, the one reaching to rub his throbbing temple. “I need you to listen to me, this is not as simple as it seems i’m telling you-” He started, Tim quick to cut him off again.

This time Tim wasn’t having it, his anger overriding any other words he could’ve said. He turned around, grabbing Brian by his hoodie and shoving him against the kitchen counter. “No you listen to me you fucking freak, you ever, and I mean ever pull a stunt like that again. I will break your jaw,” The brunette threatened. Brian raised his eyebrows, quick to catch on. “Masky stop-” Brian tried to argue, Masky quick to shove him harshly against the counter again. His chocolate orbs were bright with rage, the veins in his neck visible. Pain shot up Brian’s spine, a bruise promising to form tomorrow morning. “I am the fucking leader here. You listen to me. You are going to stay the fuck here with her and Toby. Stop being a fucking prick and accept the fact she makes Toby and I happy,” Masky spat. His knuckles were turning white from gripping Brian’s hoodie so hard.

Masky released him, turning around. “She could make you happy too you know. If you let her,” Masky said, glancing over his shoulder. He knocked on your bedroom door, Brian’s face going pale. He opened the door to you putting your jewelry on Toby. “I’m gonna head out to do some work. I talked to Brian and you are gonna stay here with him and Toby until i’m done,” Masky told you. Curiously you glanced over at Brian, whose eyes were glued to the floor. “Me, Toby, and Brian?” You said slowly, as if you were reprocessing the words.

Masky nodded. “I’ll be back later,” He said abruptly, walking out of the room and out of your apartment front door. Your ‘goodbye’ was hanging on your lips, the words now unspoken at Tim’s suddenness shocking you to your core. Toby tried to not notice your pained facial expression. He could recognize the subtle deepness and roughness when Masky spoke. For you, it probably sounded like Tim just needed to clear his throat. Toby put on his hand on your shoulder, giving you a reassuring smile. “We’ll make the most out of this, y-yeah?” He suggested cheerfully. Although the situation seemed gloomy to you, the man beside you was thrilled he got to spend a night with you.

As the evening turned into night, a storm had swept through your area. Its thunder rumbled your apartment building, the lightning flashing and briefly illuminating the room. Brian was sulking on your couch, his eyes glued to the window like his life depended on it. A soft tap on his shoulder made him glance up, your gaze centered on him. You held out the television remote. “Knock yourself out,” You murmured, Brian’s hand hesitantly taking the remote. He tried his hardest to tune both you and Toby out as he channel surfed. That annoyed him as well. Who the fuck didn’t have streaming services in 2024?

Lazily he rested his head on his hand, his propped up arm providing the support he was too tired to provide. His mind was on auto pilot, his thoughts swimming elsewhere as his thumb mindlessly pressed the buttons. He could faintly smell food, his eyes glazed over with a visible boredom. Toby plopping down onto the couch beside him snapped him out of his trance. "H-hey share the remote. I wanna watch s-south park," Toby said. Brian continued channel surfing, attempting to ignore the younger proxy. His jaw was clenched, his patience thinning. Toby lightly elbowed him. "Cmon when's the l-l-last time we got to watch tv," Toby whispered. Brian rolled his eyes, the televison channel switching to the news.

"In today's news Detective Nova Parker has given her statement regarding head investigator, Chief Winstons death."

Brian's eyes narrowed as he watched Nova step up to a podium on the screen. Her hair was in a tight bun, her face delicately covered in make up. If Nova knew how to do anything, it was how to look put together.

"After investigating my mentor, chiefs, and most importantly, friends death. I suspect that there is not only foul play but something more. But I know what it is in reference to," Nova paused, looking down at her previously written notes. With shaky hands she grabbed a piece of crumbled up paper, holding it to the rows of cameras. "This symbol, whatever it may mean, is very sacred to its creator. This is what Detective Winston was investigating. After indulging myself in the files, this is not the first time that this has happened our detectives," Nova continued. Flashes from photographs beamed off of her face, a large umbrella shielding her from the light rain.

"It makes me sick these terrorist have not only terrorized our community, but our country. I will not rest until those responsible are caught and Detective Winston and his family are given justice," Nova said proudly. Cheers and claps came from the crowd of onlookers, the piece of paper still held high in Nova's hand. "The last thing that I would like to say, is that if anything happens to me. The ones behind this symbol caused my death. I will not rest until our community is safe again. Thank you."

Brian sat dumbfounded, looking over at Toby for his reaction. He hadn't noticed his absence, the brunette chatting with you in the kitchen. Brian had to pick his jaw up from the floor. He was right, this entire time. He felt a wave of emotions, ones he was trying his hardest to control. On that very piece of paper, was the proxy symbol.

"Dinners r-ready!" Toby called, alerting Brian. The older proxy slowly rose from the couch, quickly switching the channel to a different one. Brian hadn't expected you to make him dinner, especially not with how distant he had been from you. He slowly approached the kitchen island, watching you hand Toby a bowl. It appeared to be chicken soup, a grilled cheese accompanying it on a white plate. Toby took his dinner to the couch, immersing himself in whatever was playing on tv. You abandoned the chicken soup, turning to a different pot on the stove. "What, am I not good enough for your chicken soup?" Brian mumbled.

You took the lid off of the unidentified pot, revealing another soup. "I made you tomato, It's your favorite right?" You asked. Brian's frustration faded, an unusual feeling of embarrassment washing over him like a violent wave. "Um yeah," Brain agreed. You poured his soup into a bowl, handing it to him. "Are you a vegan or vegetarian? I didn't make you a grilled cheese since I wasn't sure," You told him. Brian raised an eyebrow. "How did you figure out I'm vegetarian?" He questioned. Temporarily how flattered you made him feel made his worry about Nova subside. "You ordered a veggie burger at the restaurant, remember?" You asked. Brian tilted his head to the side. You remembered that? After how he treated you?

You weren't as oblivious as he thought you were.

You handed him the last grilled cheese, finally pouring yourself a bowl of chicken soup. You turned around, the small bowl the only thing in your hands. "Do you not like grilled cheese?" Brian asked. You shook your head, the two of you heading over to the living room to eat with Toby. Toby occupied one end of the couch, Brian making himself comfortable on the opposite end. You gulped, a tad nervous to be sitting beside Brian. "No I do, I just used my last slices of bread to make yours," You said simply. You crossed your legs, your gaze landing on whatever Toby put on tv. Brian tried to pay attention, his stomach churning as he looked down at the delicious meal you had selflessly made him. He swallowed as he dipped his grilled cheese into the soup, his mind wondering elsewhere.

Brian knew he should have been thinking of Nova and ways to take her down. You were a key advantage of that plan. The Operator would not be happy the proxy symbol was broadcasted the way it was. His biggest rule was that the proxies nor any creep was to make a spectacle of themselves. He would not be happy. It would only be a matter of time before he found out. Brian ate more of his soup, his eyes glazed over as he stared at the floor. He should have been thinking about Nova. But instead all he could think about was you. Were you really worth the risk Tim and Toby were willing to take?

Before he knew it your hand was on his shoulder, causing him to jump. "Sorry, I didn't want to bother Toby," You whispered. You pointed at the the younger brunette. His head was resting on your thigh, his chest inhaling deeply as he slept. "I was going to ask if you could help me with something," You whispered. Usually Brian would've argued, but now you intrigued him. You slowly got up, careful to ensure Toby didn't wake up. He nodded in agreement, the two of you setting your dishes in the kitchen. He followed you into your bedroom. Unsurely he sat on your bed, watching you close the door.

The setting felt oddly intimate, the dim fairy lights you had strung across the walls the only sources of light. The pitter pattering of the rain outside was the only sound Brian could hear. You walked over to your cluttered dresser, grabbing two packets of paper. "I was going to ask Tim or Toby but uh, you know," You say shyly. You hand Brian a packet, his eyes scanning it curiously. "What is this?" He asked you. You sat beside him on your bed, careful to not touch him. "It's an um, script for this crime sitcom coming out. I wanted to try out for the lead. I just need someone to practice with," You explained. Brian skimmed the lines. To him it seemed like the dorkiest lines ever written. "We don't have to I can ask Tim when he comes back," You say. You reached out to grab the script, Brian quick to yank it away.

“You want to be the lead in a crime show called New Yorks Masterminds?” Brian asked, raising one eyebrow. You chuckled, hiding your face with your own script. “I know the title is awful but everyone starts somewhere,” You say bashfully. Brian grabbed the top of your script, guiding it downwards. Your face was bright pink, the sight making Brian give you a small smile. “I’ll help you learn your script,” He agreed. The script to Brian meant absolutely nothing, but seeing your passion acting out the terribly written main character amused him. He was starting to understand why Tim and Toby were intrigued. It went beyond your good looks. You were smart, kind, and selfless. For a brief moment he felt bad about the way he had perceived you. You were still a risk, the Operator not wanting the proxies to interact with anyone more than they should.

But Brian felt, something. Something odd. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Oh cmon Matthew it was a good case,” You recited. Brian glanced at his script, following its directions. He leaned forward, wiping the side of your lip to clean up the smudged lip gloss the script called for. You looked down at the next bit, your eyes widening. “We um, we don’t have to continue this. We can call it a night,” You say quickly, rushing the words out. Brian felt confused, his eyes looking down at the paper.

Matthew kisses Rachel.

Brian felt himself getting flustered. “Yeah that’s fine,” He agreed quietly. You awkwardly scratched the back of your neck, tossing the script aside. “Sorry I didn’t know that was in there. I haven’t even kissed anyone in a long time and I don’t think i’d even be good at it-” You began to ramble. Brian couldn’t explain what he did next. Maybe it was desperation to feel something. To feel a woman. To feel you. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against yours. Your eyes widened, before fluttering shut and accepting the kiss. His large hands found your waist, pulling you closer. His kisses were needy, his breath hot as his tongue swiped across your lower lip. Fireworks exploded around the two of you, the hairs on the back of Brian’s neck standing up.

You accepted him with ease, his tongue exploring your mouth. You groaned softly, Brian’s large hands pulling you into his lap. You straddled his hips, wrapping your arms around his neck. It was only when you both ran out of breath that you pulled away. Both of your faces were red, from flusteredness and lack of oxygen.

“Was that enough practice or do you need more?”

“I think I need more.”

Maybe you weren’t as bad as Brian thought.

—> next chapter

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musamora · 1 year ago

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𝖓𝖎𝖈𝖐𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘 「𝔪𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔦」 ༉‧₊˚

characters. bungou stray dogs. osamu dazai, chuuya nakahara, fyodor dostoevsky, nikolai gogol, sigma.

content. f!reader. mentions of violence, mentions of suicide attempts (dazai), alcohol (chuuya), harassment (chuuya), cussing, general sappiness. not proofread.

author's note. this started as a writing exercise to get my writing inspo flowing again, and then i began working on it on and off for a week. so enjoy! this is also an attempt to nail some of their character's down, so hopefully it isn't too OOC.

would you like to see more? fill out the taglist or comment under this post.

synopsis. what nicknames do the bungo stray dogs boys call their girlfriend?

𝗢𝗦𝗔𝗠𝗨 𝗗𝗔𝗭𝗔𝗜 ⋆⁺₊ ⸺⸺⸺

𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗥 ⋆ 𝗕𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗔𝗗𝗢𝗡𝗡𝗔 ⋆ (𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘)-𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡

The darkened alleyway had become thick with the stench of gunpowder and smoke, streetlights barely illuminating your path in the hush of night. You patrolled the area with quick, swift feet, hovering your gun near your hip in case of an ambush. Each step made your heart pound, sweat mixing with humidity to drench your skin as you inched toward the corner.

However, to both your dismay and prediction, Dazai wasn't taking this mission seriously—though he rarely did. It both aggravated and appeased you, knowing that if the situation became dangerous, he'd straighten up in a heartbeat. That didn't mean that his blissed smile and the skip in his step as he went on about the euphoria of death and the many methods he could die from didn't unnerve you.

Knowing him, he wouldn't mind getting shot.

"You know, my dear," he smirked, leaning close to your shoulder to whisper into your ear. "You're very sexy when you're serious." "Dazai," you chided, face stilled into an unamused expression. He fell back dramatically, flailing his hands into the air in surrender. "Oh, belladonna! That stern stare — I hope that beautiful expression is the last sight I see in this cruel world!" he cried, but much to his disdain, you had already rounded the corner, completely done with his antics. "(Name)-channnn!~ Don't leave me hereeee!"

𝗦𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗧𝗜𝗘 ⋆ 𝗛𝗢𝗡𝗘𝗬 ⋆ 𝗪𝗜𝗙𝗘𝗬

It had been a strenuous day at the office for everyone, including you—a plethora of insane missions always followed by mountains of paperwork that never seemed to end. It was almost too much to bear. You huffed, leaning against your hand as you desperately tried to not fall asleep due to your exhaustion.

A pair of large, warm hands rested on your shoulders, massaging just the right spots in your taut muscles. You sighed, allowing yourself to lean back in your chair and enjoy the temporary reprieve. However, the owner of those hands had different plans, hot breath blowing against your ear as he bent down to rest his chin on your shoulder. Dazai chuckled to himself, enjoying your immediate reaction to straighten up, eyes pointed to the screen in an effort to avoid reacting.

You were just too cute.

He cooed out a plethora of sweet nothings in a low, hushed timbre as he tempted a flustered expression out of your face. And one thing that everyone should know about Osamu Dazai—he always gets what he wants when he puts his mind to it.

"Heyyy, sweetie. How's the paperwork going?" You continued to type. "Why won't you pay attention to me!" he wailed, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as he slumped against you. "Come onnn, honey. Don't you love me anymore?" You typed harder. He sniffled. "My little wifey doesn't love me anymore." You paused. "Whaat? Too forward?"

𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗜𝗙𝗨𝗟

Only strays wandered the streets at this time of night, but Dazai found himself itching to join them with each passing second. Sleep never easily came to the former demon prodigy. He found that each time he closed his eyes, he was only met with flashes of the past and disillusions of the future. His sharp mind would continue to turn like a machine, processing every granule of information as if he were inspecting an hourglass—a process that had become routine for him.

"Osamu..."

However, your intrusion into his nightfall rituals had soothed his instinctual aches. His eyes glazed over your drowsy figure, admiring the displacement of your hair and the heaviness of your eyes with an emotion he could only describe as awe.

Because in these moments, you didn't even have to be awake and looking at him to make him feel invigorated—feel alive. And with you, he didn't hate being alive anymore, didn't hate acknowledging his human flaws and issues. He just embraced it, even for only a second.

The rational part of his brain dissipated when he felt your warm, bare skin brush against his bandages, snuggling up to him. He knew his brain became useless in your presence, overcome with pure adulation for your mind, your body, and your very soul. So instead, he pulled you close, nuzzling his face in your neck and listening to the rhythmic pulse of your heart as it worked to soothe him to sleep.

"Good night, beautiful."

𝗖𝗛𝗨𝗨𝗬𝗔 𝗡𝗔𝗞𝗔𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔 ⋆⁺₊ ⸺⸺⸺

𝗕𝗔𝗕𝗘

The murmurs of the restaurant had been dampened by a luxurious and vast velvet curtain, enclosing the entire booth to separate you from the other patrons. Lights sparkled from a dazzling chandelier, creating ribbons of gold and white on the tablecloth. This was a special occasion since you rarely had dates outside of your apartment. Chuuya always wanted to take you out more often, to show you off and treat you to the finest, but there never was time. So even when you insisted you could stay inside for a date this evening, he had already planned on spoiling you rotten.

He watched your expression between folded hands, hiding his smirk as the waiter set down an extremely expensive bottle of red wine. You had insisted on getting the more recent and cheaper version, not wanting to splurge too much—which, of course, insulted him. How could he not provide the best for his partner whenever he got the chance?

"Stop gaping, babe," he tutted at your widened eyes, tone lighter than the biting edge it usually held. "Whaddya say we snap over the 1959 Chateau Latour, hm?"

𝗗𝗢𝗟𝗟 ⋆ 𝗕𝗔𝗕𝗬

You had been working the late shift at your office building, slaving the day away only to come out on the other side with an aching back and a small paycheck. Despite Chuuya's suggestion that you could quit your job and let him take care of you, you wanted to maintain your independence and some additional money, which he understood. So here you were, trudging home from the train station with heavy feet and tired eyes. Seeing the apartment complex in the distance made your heart soar, a pep in your step as you started to practically glide down the sidewalk.

"Heyyyy, baby. Lookin' good tonight. That outfit for me, huh?"

Grimacing, you ignored the disgusting cat-calls from the random stranger in favor of increasing your speed to reach the building. You could practically smell the woody cologne coming from Chuuya's jacket, but your blissful thoughts were interrupted by a set of hefty footsteps behind you. This would've been normal during the day, but no one else is out this late at night—except one person.

With tremoring fingers, you lifted your cell phone ever-so-slightly, finding that strange man walking at a brisk pace behind you in the reflection. It set off too many alarm bells in your head, and your walking turned into sprinting.

It just so happened that Chuuya was leaning on one of the pillars outside of your apartment complex. He never liked when you worked the late-shift, and he definitely didn't like when you walked home by yourself—however, you had insisted that you would be fine. He relented, enjoying the independent aspect of your personality, but he still had his precautions.

He straightened up with a passive expression when he saw your shadowed silhouette in the distance, but his eyes narrowed, and his shoulders tensed once he spotted the man who was running after you. Using his gravity manipulation, he pulled you closer to him and had the pervert sink into the ground, sizing him up with burning eyes.

His gloved hand went to your back, easing your trembling body. "Go inside, baby. You don't need'ta be involved in this shit." He watched carefully as you rushed inside the lobby, before slamming the man onto the hard concrete, a foot digging into his spine. "Listen, shithead. You ever look at my doll again, I fucking swear to God—" He never let you walk home alone after this, not like you were complaining much. And that man would never bother you again, if he was even still capable of walking.

𝗣𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗖𝗘𝗦𝗦

It had been an absolutely draining day for Chuuya. With his position as an executive, you would assume that he wouldn't have to deal with the low-life freeloaders that the Port Mafia was bound to have, but it was exactly the opposite. He had been stuck for hours finishing a bunch of incident reports due to the destruction of properties on the southwestern side of Yokohama—incidents he was somehow not involved in.

He groaned as he entered the apartment, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it with his hat before a hearty aroma hit him. He followed his nose to the stove, finding an intricately wrapped dish with a note taped on top.

Make sure you eat before you go to bed. You need to grow big and strong. Love you! ♥

If it were from anyone else, he would've ripped the note apart when he hit the jab at his height—and he definitely scowled a bit—but there was a hint of endearance in his expression. He lifted the tin foil covering the food, feasting on the sight of penne alla vodka.

A raspy sound took him out of his ogling, his eyes scanning the darkened living room to find the one person he had been dying to see—you. And what a sight you were, drool trailed down your chin, a half-empty dish of pasta lying limply in your arms, and hair tousled as your neck bent at an awkward angle to rest against the cushions.

He couldn't help a small laugh at the sight, placing your plate on the coffee table and wiping the baby hairs out of your face, leaving a fleeting kiss on your forehead. In moments like this, with the disarray and train wreck his life had been, he found himself grateful for such simple, domestic sights. It enveloped him in a sense of peace, feeling at home for the first time.

"Hey, princess," he whispered with another peck to your temple. "I'm home."

𝗙𝗬𝗢𝗗𝗢𝗥 𝗗𝗢𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗘𝗩𝗦𝗞𝗬 ⋆⁺₊ ⸺⸺⸺

The pet names featured below are in Russian.

𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗥

Fyodor rarely, if ever, used nicknames of any kind in public. With his specific occupation, it would be detrimental to reveal any kind of attachment to anyone, regardless of whether you were capable of defending yourself. However, rarely does not mean never.

It was an unusual occasion; a completely public date at a local café—you knew that he loved his tea and suggested it in the off-chance that it would possibly sway him to join you. You assumed that he'd say no, but he always found himself having a hard time denying you when you proposed it so sweetly.

However, you knew that you needed to be efficient with your time. You enjoy each other's company in a secluded corner of the café while also multitasking on your own work. The room emitted a wonderful ambiance that made you feel productive and inspired, though it was simultaneously cozy enough to relax in—for you, that was. Most of Fyodor's work required him to be in seclusion, so instead he enjoyed the view—both of the skies outside and a couple of stray glimpses at you.

"Drink for (Name)," a barista called.

Fyodor looked toward you expectantly, but you were far too in your own little world to notice. He would've normally broken your workflow, but he found himself oddly compelled to let you continue—he was awfully fond of the way your brows narrowed as you concentrated. So instead, he retrieved your drink, settling it on the table with a small clink.

"Here you are, dear."

𝗠𝗜𝗟𝗔𝗬𝗔 (милая) ⋆ 𝗥𝗔𝗗𝗡𝗔𝗬𝗔 (радная) ⋆ 𝗟𝗨𝗕𝗜𝗠𝗔𝗬𝗔 (любимая)

It was in the privacy of your shared home that his native tongue came out, engrossing you with his rich Russian accent—he knew the effect it had on you, so sometimes he toyed around with you by slipping it into everyday interactions.

You walked into his computer room, careful to not trip on wires as you carried in a steaming thermal mug of fresh black tea. He was often far too engrossed in his work to eat or drink, so you found the least you could do was to make him some tea whenever you weren't busy.

You placed it next to him, leaning over to take a curious glance at the screen—not understanding a word of it—and you were about to silently exit when he placed a cold hand on top of yours. Your brow raised, watching the smile that appeared on his lips.

"Thank you, милая." You sputtered over your words at the praise, watching in anticipation as he took a sip. He hummed at the nectarous flavor, slouching as the tea worked to soothe his throat. The tea circled in the mug as he swirled it, watching carefully as he could feel your composure melt away. "Delicious as always, радная." You mumbled a quick thank you, turning like a gazelle on your heel to escape his predatory gaze, but his hand pulled you back. Completely captive in his hold, you looked back, a knowing smirk on his face. "Stay for a moment, любимая. I'd like to hear your thoughts on something."

𝗠𝗬𝗦𝗛𝗞𝗔 (мышка)

You honestly had no clue how you had gotten into this position.

One moment, you were cleaning around various rooms, making sure everything was dusted and organized. The next, you were sitting in Fyodor's lap—though you couldn't say you minded. An occasional hum vibrated against the top of your head as Fyodor concentrated on a book in one hand, the other fastened securely around your waist, rubbing circles into the clothed skin.

It took every ounce of self-control you had to limit your face to a neutral glance, staring at the words in his Russian novel as if you were trying to decipher them—you were; you didn't know a lick of the language. You leaned against his shoulder, listening to the faint thump of his heartbeat as it lured you into relaxation. His eyes began to drift from the page, finding your internal struggle incredibly amusing. He titled his face, holding back a smirk when you made a startled noise from a kiss to the temple.

Cute.

In these moments, he felt human again. Everywhere else in the world, he was either treated as a god or a demon—and that was the way he had orchestrated it. But here, in the home you both created, he felt that he had finally received his sanctuary. A place where he sat, welcomed and unjudged for his sins.

"You're quite warm, мышка," he teased. "Perhaps you are developing fever. Hm?"

𝗡𝗜𝗞𝗢𝗟𝗔𝗜 𝗚𝗢𝗚𝗢𝗟 ⋆⁺₊ ⸺⸺⸺

The pet names featured below are in Ukrainian.

𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗞𝗔 (ластівка)

The fluorescent lights above burned your eyes as you scoured the aisles of the store aimlessly. You were on your weekly grocery run but had decided to make something different for dinner this week. There was only one problem—you didn't know where the ingredients were. You normally would've just asked one of the staff members, but you had unfortunately come into the store at a very late hour. Every time you looked at an employee, their eyes were glazed over as if wishing for the sweet release of death. So you decided to search on your own.

You scanned the shelves for a particular dressing, not finding it in its usual spot. It was only with a quick glance to the top shelf that you found it, teetering on the edge as if tempting you. Gritting your teeth, you outstretched your arm as you braced your other one on a lower shelf, only to shriek at the feeling of two hands supporting your hips. You whipped around to find the pervert who had touched you but found nothing. And then you looked down.

Damn him.

Two familiar gloves emerged from golden portals, and a mischievous chuckle accompanied their exit from down the aisle. You looked the white-haired jester up and down, crossing your arms with a pout.

"Did you have to startle me like that?" "Ohhh, sorry, ластівка," he cooed. "I only want to say hello!~"

𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗞𝗔 𝗠𝗢𝗬𝗔 (маленька моя) ⋆ 𝗠𝗢𝗬𝗔 𝗞𝗢𝗞𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗔 (моя кохана)

How did you manage to get into this mess?

Oh yeah, Nikolai suggested it.

The classic jester, in his hobby of wreaking havoc everywhere he goes, suggested a fun date-night idea—to light bin fires around the alleys of Yokohama until the police caught on. At first, you had been chasing after him in an attempt to stop him, but it had all been in vain. He would let you grab him, only to chuckle as he teleported away with his cape. So instead, you opted to stick by his side and make sure he didn't cause too much harm.

You stood a couple of feet away from the blazing fire, your body resting in the tranquil glow of the chaotic light. Despite the oddities that came with the situation—and every situation that involved Nikolai—there was something so welcoming about the discord. Perhaps you had finally become used to Nikolai's antics. The aforementioned jester had been gaping at you for some time, an unreadable expression on his face as he watched your features through the fire.

"You look breathtaking in the glow of a flame, маленька моя."You stilled at his serious tone, fumbling over a response, but a crescendoing wail of sirens broke the silence. Nikolai smirked, grabbing your arm with one hand as the other went into his overcoat. "Oops!~ Looks like the police caught on. Come on, моя кохана! This way!"

𝗗𝗨𝗦𝗛𝗔 𝗠𝗢𝗬𝗔 (душа моя)

A refreshing breeze rushed past your face as you settled, watching the sun make its descent below the horizon of the city's harbor. Your legs dangled dangerously over the edge of a steep cliffside, yet you found no fear remaining in your heart. Perhaps you have become accustomed to a life of chaos; find beauty in the entropy and contradictions of life.

Nikolai couldn't help but stare at your face as it was outlined by the shadows of the dying sunbeams, awe-struck by your beauty. You were ethereal to him, everything he ever wanted to be and wished to have—so grounded and yet freer than ever. He knew that the relationship between you two, something neither of you had dared to label, should've made him feel constricted. It tied him down to the ground, and he should've been fighting for the skies.

But he didn't.

He felt free. And he knew that it was most likely his heart tricking him, stringing him to a relationship that would disappear with the wind—that he had truly become the fool everyone thought of him as. But he didn't care. Not anymore. Not with you by his side.

He snapped out of his philosophical contemplation as a soft hand cupped his cheek, thumbing at the performative mask that he wore. And he folded it like a deck of cards, removing it before placing a chaste kiss on your palm.

"Somehow, I feel freer than ever before. And it's all thanks to you, душа моя."

𝗦𝗜𝗚𝗠𝗔 ⋆⁺₊ ⸺⸺⸺

𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗥 ⋆ 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗧

It was a known fact that the Casino's manager had a rigid schedule, packed with meetings and event dates that he had to prepare for. Everything had to run perfectly inside his casino, and he would be damned if it didn't. However, Sigma always made it a mission to purposefully bump into you throughout the day. He had memorized your schedule easily, finding that there was only so much you could do in a finite building in the sky.

He would often find you either in the library or viewing deck, either in your own world reading a book or watching the real world from the skies. Even he had to admit that he could never get tired of the sight of the Earth from down below, contemplating the lives of those who lived on the ground.

"Good morning, dear," he greeted you at the entrance of the viewing deck, noticing a stack of books in your arms. "I see your trip to the library went well." "It was. I'm going to thumb through the newest shipment of fiction novels this afternoon," you replied, your hand already tapping on one of the hardcovers in anticipation. Sigma always made sure to buy the best books for the casino, and you knew he was often swayed by your own favorites. "I'm glad you're so interested in them." He knowingly smiled before a memory came to mind. "Could you hold off your reading for one moment, dearest? I've received a new layout for our casino's fliers and was hoping you'd take a look."

𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 ⋆ 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬 ⋆ 𝗦𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧

The anxious casino manager often forgot to eat because of his destructive work habits, often going hours without consuming anything in order to constantly maintain peace in his casino. It was a terrible habit that caused more stress for both of you, so you decided to enact a plan. Whenever you noticed his workload was becoming too much or he seemed too frazzled, you'd step in to make sure he was getting everything he needed.

A small (underlying word: large) part of him secretly reveled in this, both having the opportunity to be doted on—and be simultaneously scolded—while also relishing in a couple stress-free moments with you. And he also gets to enjoy your cooking, which he personally found better than the casino chefs'—but that's because he was biased.

On his worst days, you'd prance into his office after the casino lunch rush, carrying in tow a small bento packed with his favorite comfort foods and a cookie for dessert. He would look up from whatever paperwork he was slaving away on, a small smile on his tired face.

"Thank you, my love." "You really need to eat more, Sigma," you lectured, placing the bento on his desk to take his face into your hands, analyzing his eye-bags with a concerned expression. "You're gonna get sick." "I'm fine, lovely," he replied, cupping your hands with his own. "You don't need to worry about me." You struck him with a pointed glare, crossing your arms and tapping your foot as he began to work on paperwork again. The clock ticked by a couple of seconds, your maternal scowl deepening with each moment that passed where he didn't reach for the food. "Sweetheart," he sighed before relenting and reaching for the bento. "Fine. For you, I'll eat some. But only until C4276 finishes his blackjack game."

𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗠𝗬 𝗟𝗜𝗙𝗘

The casino had been blasting with the sounds of the band in full swing long into the night, people dancing and chatting amongst themselves as the casino reached the peak of its ability. This new gala had been an exhilarating success, drawing in new patrons as cash flowed out from dealers' hands. It had been perfect, but it was obviously a lot on Sigma.

That was the reason you insisted on co-hosting it with him. He watched in amazement as you worked the crowd tonight, acting in concert to keep the patrons happy and to maintain order. You had been his perfect match, which showed just how much you watched over the casino.

He found you later that night standing on your private balcony, pausing at the entry to fully take in how beautiful you looked in your formal ensemble. The stars seemed to drift to your body like a satellite, casting you in a distant heavenly glow. But everything was silent as if you two were the only ones left to watch over the world as the clouds wandered by.

The anxiety and fear he always felt had been pushed to the side, melting away with the utter sense of belonging that you had engrained into him. You had shown him that he wasn't a mediocre man but a capable and strong individual capable of loving and being loved. You turned as the balcony door shifted open, welcoming him into both your arms and heart.

And he fell for you even more.

"Ohh, love of my life," he mumbled, nuzzled into your shoulder. "What would I be without you?"

милая = dear/darling радная = dear любимая = beloved мышка = mouse ластівка = swallow (bird) маленька моя = my little one моя кохана = my love душа моя = my soul

TAGLIST: @imhandicapableofmath @seisitive @solandiss @ruru-kiss @sillyspookycat @kotysluny

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cinnamonest · 10 months ago

Text

Genshin x Reader - Silent Treatment

Okay so this was for an anon a while back that requested Childe + silent treatment, so 1) I got carried away and wrote the same prompt for several others, and 2) I lost the original screenshot of the ask I was going to post this with, sorry anon, but I have the content for it at least :’)

(includes: Childe, Xiao, Albedo, Heizou, Cyno, Kaveh, Kazuha, Xingqiu)

//this is mostly very lighthearted but there's still implications of yandere content. Some mild pain, Childe’s contains very mild nsfw, there might be indicators of fem reader somewhere in here, Kazuha’s and Xingqiu's are a little darker so both of those are at the bottom

Childe

“Hey.”

The second time he said it, he waved his arm to catch your attention, as if under the impression you somehow didn't hear him, despite being trapped to the confines of the same small room.

One little bedroom, far too small at that, a temporary lodging whilst on the ship’s return voyage home. Four days, which you were about halfway through at this point.

You were thoroughly convinced it was some sort of trial imposed upon you by a higher power. The sort of grueling test of perseverance so common in tales of legendary heroes, through which they'd become stronger, or reach some well-earned reward for their virtue.

Unfortunately, you had a feeling no such reward awaited you.

“Hey…”

The third time, it was more like a whine, he slouched over in the chair on the other side of the room before, after another moment of pause, setting aside whatever oh-so-important paper he was reading (those identically-masked soldiers were always handing off important things he was supposed to sign, but he never looked over them for more than a few minutes), and walked over to where you sat, needle in hand, mending his clothes after he got them torn for the umpteenth time, no doubt doing something completely unnecessary, after very specifically requesting he be more careful, and— well, it was one of many reasons why you were so very irritated.

He waved his hand directly in front of your face. “You spaced out or something?”

You clenched your jaw, exhaling a huff of frustration through your nostrils before jerking your head away, returning to your work.

He bent his knees slightly, crouching down to get at eye level with you, but you kept your gaze fixed, refusing to make eye contact.

Even though you kept your gaze to the task in your hands, he was still directly in front of you, and thus you could still see his face go through the stages of reaction. First a slack-jawed confusion, then eyes widening with realization, and then — much to your dismay — you saw the corners of his mouth turn upward into a sly, eager grin.

“Are you ignoring me?”

You gritted your teeth, eyebrows furrowed, poking the needle through one side of the cloth before reaching around to pull it through, making sure the action was harshly done and thus conveyed your frustration.

Which was, predictably, taken as a confirmation.

“Awww. That's so mean.”

His tone was obnoxiously gleeful, playful even — you were hoping for a negative response, not whatever this was. You tried to conceal any reaction yourself, knowing he'd only be satisfied if your irritation showed on your face.

“But, you picked a really bad person to try that with, you know. I'm pretty good at being annoying if I want to.”

The immediate retort that came to mind — that he could be very annoying even when he wasn't trying — took all your willpower to refrain from speaking aloud. You grinded your teeth.

“Hmm…”

You didn't like that sound. He was contemplating something, that couldn't be good for you.

His hand latched onto your wrist, forcing your work to a halt — at least he had the decency and forethought to specifically grasp the needle before yanking the whole thing away from you, setting it on the bedside table. Likely messing up your handiwork, you thought with ever increasing frustration.

Before you could move away, the mattress shifted and bounced with the sudden added weight as he moved onto it behind you, grabbing you by your arms, pulling you back against him. His arms wrapped around your body, firmly pinning your own arms to your sides. He then rested his chin on your shoulder — you could feel the smile on his face as the side of his face brushed against your neck.

Ah. So that was the tactic. The message, unspoken as it was, was clear — he had no intention of letting you move until you spoke to him.

You clenched your jaw and closed your eyes, refusing to give in.

A minute or so passed that way, likely testing your reaction, waiting to see if you'd give in so easily. The unfortunate thought occurred to you that he would probably be disappointed if that alone worked, that he probably wanted you to make it more difficult, and was likely enjoying the challenge. Perhaps you should have put a bit more thought into the plan, but it was too late now.

Your body stiffened as his hands met your bare skin — one reaching up your shirt, the other maneuvering underneath the waistband around your hips, groping at the sensitive flesh beneath. Your jaw clenched, and your hands balled into fists, the discomfort no doubt evident on your face, but you maintained your silence.

“Oh, wow. You're pretty dedicated to this, huh.”

You hated the fact that he sounded amused, more or less a confirmation that he was in fact enjoying this. Dammit.

You bit your lip, trying to focus on looking around the room — not that there was anything to really look at — and not the sensation, nor your increasing desire to give it up for the sake of strangling him. He continued the discomforting motions for another few moments, but soon gave up, slouching forward against you and returning to holding you still in his arms.

…And then, nothing. At least, for a moment. Only his arms wrapped around you, and the quiet, only dispelled by the low sounds of the ocean outside.

And then—

You squealed, lurching forward as a sharp pain shot through your shoulder. Your back arched and you jolted as you tried to squirm, only held back from doing so by the iron grip holding you in place.

You tried to turn your torso around, struggling against the grip, sputtering in near disbelief as you attempted to speak, voice quickly going shrill.

“You—you just— did you just bite me?!”

Rather than give any response, he merely pulled you to lean to your other side, bringing his mouth up to your opposite jugular, taking a dramatically deep breath, no doubt just to elicit a reaction.

And admittedly, it worked. “No no no, don’t you dare—eek!”

You squealed again as his teeth sank into your flesh once more, keeping a firm biting grip for just a second before releasing you again.

You began to squirm, trying to pull yourself away. “That— the hell? I was already talking to you, you little…!”

“Mhm. I know.” He pulled you back effortlessly despite your efforts to pull away, resting his head on your shoulder, nuzzling the side of his face to yours. “I just wanted you to make that noise again.”

A low, grumbling noise of irritation came out of your throat. You finally went limp, resigning yourself to your defeat.

“Fine!” You sighed. “What is it?”

He paused.

“…Eh?”

You could hear the confusion in his voice. You sighed.

“You were trying to get my attention, remember? What were you going to tell me?”

“Oh. Uh…”

There was another pause. A few seconds of quiet passed before he finished—

“I actually don’t remember now.”

You closed your eyes and let your head fall forward, saying a small prayer to the gods that this ship sank and took you with it.

Xiao

“I'm going to get food for you. Do you have anything particular you want?”

With those words breaking the silence, you now had your chance to carry out the intended act of spite you’d spent the last hour planning in your head. It had been quiet for some time, making it a bit difficult to exercise said plan. Your captor was perfectly content with silence itself, which meant that this was, perhaps, not the best tactical approach, but you didn’t exactly have many tools of conflict at your disposal, so this expression of resentment would have to do.

Clenching your jaw, you exhaled in a frustrated huff, turning onto your side to face away from him. After a few moments of pause, he spoke again, seeming to not understand your lack of response.

“…I was asking you a question. I need to know what to bring back.”

Still, you didn’t reply.

You heard him shuffle over to you, feet brushing against the cold stone floor, before you felt his hand grasp your shoulder through the blanket, giving you a light shake.

“What do you want? You need to tell me.”

“…”

A few more seconds of silence passed. You couldn’t see his face, but you could feel the staring on your back as he seemed to slowly piece together the significance of your current behavior.

“…You are doing this on purpose.”

He gave his conclusion as if it needed to be said aloud, apparently less immediately obvious to him than it was to you. After a few more seconds, in a similar tone, he drew another conclusion.

“You’re upset.”

If not for your current effort of silence, you would have made some snarky comment about his brilliant deduction skills.

But you said nothing. Your eyebrows furrowed. Part of you did want to lash out, to express your irritation verbally, but you forced yourself to stay silent. More seconds of silence passed by.

Taking your lack of reply itself as confirmation, his next words took on a tone of increasing frustration.

“This is pointless. What do you accomplish by ignoring me?”

“…”

“You will die without food.”

“…”

“…Stop that.”

“…”

A minute of silence passed. The adeptus was seemingly uncertain of how to proceed, perhaps confused to your whole purpose with the effort of silence.

And then, you jolted at a sudden sharp pain as the cartilage of your ear was grasped and subsequently twisted.

“Ow ow ow!!” You bolted upright, jerking your head out of his grasp, clasping a hand over the now-sore ear as the momentary pain began to ebb away.

You glared, narrowing your eyes. “Was that necessary?”

He folded his arms, an equal look of displeasure on his features, and with a deadpan voice, replied—

“Yes.”

You waited for anything further he had to say, but it seemed that was all he had to say. You sighed, slouching over.

“…I dunno. Just get me whatever’s easiest for them to make.”

He folded his arms.

“Why didn't you just say that then?”

You merely shrugged, not having the energy nor the desire to explain any concepts of human social phenomena — a process that was always frustrating and time-consuming — on this day in particular.

After a few moments of pause as he looked to the ground, he looked up at you again, eyebrows furrowing.

“…Don't do that again.”

You nodded, exasperated, and closed your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I won't.”

You opened your eyes, turning your head to look at him, only to be met with an empty room, only the faintest trace of color, like a flickering light before it faded.

And thus, you sighed, laying back down in bed, resolving to try and conjure up a new tactic.

Albedo

“Hey, do you mind turning that light off?”

It was the first time he had spoken to you since your earlier fight. Well, perhaps ‘fight’ was not the best descriptor — it was more like you getting upset over something trivial and whining, only to get increasingly upset when he gave only his typical dry, snarky replies, ultimately ending with you turning your back to him — but nonetheless. It seemed he thought that enough time had passed that you would be over your petty anger.

He would find that assumption to be incorrect, and as childish as it was, you felt some satisfaction by remaining silent from where you sat upright in bed. You rested your head against your hand, turning your gaze out the window.

“Hey, ___,” he said your name again, trying to gain your attention. “The light, next to you.”

Still, you didn’t reply, this time closing your eyes as if to block him out, this time turning your body away from him and towards the window instead.

“…Ah. I see.”

You waited for him to continue, to press you about why you were upset so you could resume your earlier ranting.

But then, there was only silence.

You waited another moment. And another. And another.

But he didn't say anything further.

After a minute or so had passed, you slowly turned your head, confused by the lack of the reaction you had desired.

Seeing you turn in his peripheral vision, his motions of whatever he was working with paused as he turned his gaze towards you, tilting his head. “Mm?”

The bastard had the audacity to smirk at you. You glared, jerking back to turn away from him again.

…And more time passed. You waited. Minutes turned into an hour. And then another. You picked up a provided book to read after the boredom became unbearable, deciding that as long as you still gave him a cold shoulder, he'd still get the message.

…And even more time passed. A third hour. The sun fell and set and it grew dark, moonlight — and the light you'd still neglected to turn off — illuminating the room.

And then, finally, around three and a half hours after your initial interaction, after you were already lying down for the night, you heard the distinct sound you'd come to recognize as him putting the various tools away into a drawer. Then footsteps that pattered around the room, putting a few other things back into their proper places, the rustling of clothes being removed, and finally, the footsteps came close.

The mattress shifted and creaked as he climbed into bed next to you — finally turning off the lamp as he'd requested. He leaned over you, turning the blinds shut, and then, laid down in bed.

…And then there was only quiet.

The irritation swelling in your chest finally boiled over. You bolted upright.

“…Ugh! You— you…!”

“Oh, and here I was worried you were developing a throat cold.”

The dry-humored reply only served to infuriate you further.

“Why didn't you say anything?”

He didn't bother sitting upright himself. You could make out his form, but perhaps it was a good thing you couldn't see his face, as it was certain either a smug or unbothered expression that would only anger you further.

“My patience exceeds yours. It was just a matter of waiting.”

Your fists clenched so hard your hands trembled. You opened your mouth, but before you could give a spiteful reply, the sheets shifted as he sat up alongside you. His arm reached out, wrapping around your waist, and firmly pulled you back down to lie side-by-side.

He took a deep breath in, a heavy sigh out. “I'm pretty tired now, though. I understand you have some complaint to make, but I’d prefer you save it until tomorrow. Is that alright?”

Your eye twitched. You crossed your arms, turning your back to him.

“Jerk.”

“Mhm.” His arm reached over and pulled you close, your back pressed to his chest. “Goodnight.”

You huffed, pouting, but nonetheless—

“…Goodnight.”

Heizou

“Hey, so, I noticed there’s no food made or anything… it’s fine if you’re tired,” he raised his voice just enough as was appropriate for speaking to someone from the next room over. “I can go pick something up.”

The ever-upbeat tone to his voice only irked you further. Normally, you would have had food made yourself by the time he’d been home — now he’d been back for half an hour, and had finally walked into the kitchen to grab something, seeming to notice your act of protest. You’d been hoping he would immediately suspect something was wrong, but of course, he was too optimistic for that.

“But, if I’m going to do that, I need to go now,” he continued, as he made his way back into the living room, “before all the stalls close for the day.” He came to stand directly in front of where you sat on the couch, huddled with your blankets.

You said nothing, keeping your gaze turned to the floor. He tilted his head at your silence.

“…That good with you, or…?”

Several more seconds passed. You huffed, turning to the side.

Thus, it finally seemed to click with him.

“Oh dear. Cold shoulder.” Much to your irritation, though, he only sounded amused, not genuinely upset. “What might that be for?”

You gritted your teeth, pulling the blanket over your head, just leaving enough space for you to see. You could still see him from your side as he sauntered over a few steps, leaning over against the wall as he continued.

“I’m being serious, you know. I don’t know why you’re upset… although I suppose forcing me to figure it out is the intent, of course.”

Every word that came out of his mouth only made you angrier. The audacity to sound so smug, a playful sort of dramatism he always seemed to carry in his voice. It irritated you to no end, especially in moments like these.

And to make matters worse, you could see him smile in your peripheral vision.

“I know you probably intended this to make me upset or something, buuuut, you’re really just giving me a challenge to figure out.” You didn’t miss the cocky expression on his face. “And that’s kind of my thing, you know?”

…You supposed he was right about that. Dammit. You probably should have thought about that before deciding to go through with this… but it was too late now. You merely shifted around, pulling your knees up to your chest, hoping your frustration showed on your face.

“Will you talk to me if I get it right?” He only waited for a single second before seeming to realize the futility of the question. “Ah, well, I guess asking that is pointless. Hmm…” He put his hand up to his chin in a pensive pose, speaking aloud as much to himself as to you. “If you just wanted me to get you something, simply telling me would be the more logical course of action.”

Your mouth pulled into a taut line with your irritation. You waited, listening as he continued his deductions.

“You don’t have any complaints that have gone ignored or anything… and even then, you’d probably just remind me if there was something I’d forgotten to fix.” He stood back upright, beginning to pace around on the floor. “Besides, this sort of behavior generally indicates that the other party has committed a specific transgression. If you just wanted something, this would be an impractical way of going about your goal.” He nodded, as if confirming the thought to himself. “The whole silent treatment thing is generally just a means of communicating displeasure, so that the offending party is forced to acknowledge their transgression.”

You pulled the blanket fully over your head, flopping down onto your side in exasperation and frustration, listening to him go on. At this point, his analysis was starting to feel humiliating, the description of it more or less a reminder of just how petty and childish it was. You felt a burning sense of embarrassment in your chest as you curled up into a ball, hugging your knees.

“There are two major factors to narrow it down — an active or passive transgression,” he continued, “and if the former, was it something I said, or something I did? Hm…”

You heard his footsteps make their way around the room as he spoke.

“You were talking with me normally this morning, and I didn’t notice any hostility then, so it would have to be something occurring just within the half hour or so since I came home, or—”

And then, he stopped mid-sentence.

“Ah.”

The tone of voice of that single syllable was immediately recognizable as realization. You felt a surge of bitterness come up in your chest again, and although it was embarrassing, you were still determined to get your point across.

“You forgot,” you finally muttered. Your voice came out incredibly whiny and petulant, but at this point, you just dealt with the nagging sense of shame.

“I know, I know. I said we’d go take a walk and get some food when I got back, right?” You heard his footsteps draw closer, coming over to you, and the couch cushions shifted with his weight as he sat down. “Hey, I’m sorry, okay? It was just a busy day, is all.” He reached over and rested his hand on your head through the layer of blanket. “I’m not going back on what I said, I just forgot. We can still go, we have time.”

You slowly sat up, pulling the blanket back down and uncovering your face. Your face felt hot, you looked down to the ground, unable to bring yourself to look him in the eye.

“…Sorry,” you murmured. Now that it was over, you felt horribly embarrassed by the whole stunt you’d pulled. You buried your face in your hands.

“Aw, don’t be upset. It’s fine.” He stood up, smiling, extending his hand out for you to take. “Come on, the lines will get long in just a few minutes.”

Now, you were actually quite grateful for his cheeriness. Still flustered, but humbled, you grasped his hand, letting him help pull you up. “Okay.”

“Mm.” He took a few steps over to the door, turning the knob, before coming to a halt. You saw the expression on his face waver, the smile twitch. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but stopped short, closing his mouth again and taking a deep breath—

“I won’t talk to anyone.”

You gave him the assurance before he could ask, your voice quiet, as if by speaking softly, the matter itself could be more easily swept away once you were done addressing it.

He let go of the breath he’d taken, exhaling as his shoulders relaxed. For just a second, there was some discomfort in his expression, but it was gone within a moment, replaced with another playful smile.

“Ah, thanks.”

And thus, he turned the handle, pulling you out into the fresh air, and the many faces of strangers you’d learned to pretend didn’t exist.

Cyno

“I'm going to head out in just a minute. You can come with me, if you promise to behave well.”

You grinded your teeth. The choice of words was irritating enough, but you were primarily angered by the mere notion that being able to go outside — such a simple, basic right — was somehow an earned privilege.

No matter. You were already determined to ignore him anyway. You chose not to respond, returning to the book in your lap as you sat on the bed, refusing to turn to face him where he stood a short length away.

Sure enough, after a moment, you heard his footsteps on the stone floor, gradually coming around to your side, leaning over to try and look at your face.

“…Did you hear me? I was saying—”

You huffed, turning yourself away from him.

There was a pause.

“Oh.”

It didn't sound particularly bothered, only mildly surprised — perhaps that itself irritated you even more.

You saw him tilt his head out of the corner of you eye, white strands of hair brushing against his shoulder. “Isn’t this rather pointless? Communicating your emotions would be faster and easier if you just verbalize it.” After a pause, he added, “You can't keep this up forever.”

He crossed his arms, waiting for a response, but after several moments, received none.

He sighed. “Well, suit yourself, I suppose.”

You were not expecting, however, what came next — the book you were focused on was suddenly torn from your hands. You almost verbalized the ‘hey!’ that ran through your mind, only catching yourself just in time to stifle any noise, but the irritation and surprise surely still showed on your face as you looked up at him in bewilderment.

“What?” He tilted his head. “The obvious course of action here is to do things to upset you into speaking. You have to give it up at some point.” He shrugged. “I might as well expedite that process.”

You inhaled, automatically preparing to retort, but snapped your jaw shut as you caught yourself before you spoke once again. Your hands curled into fists.

He held the book under one arm, quickly reaching over and grabbing the two others sitting on the table beside the bed. “Alright… hm.” He turned his head, scanning the room. “I'll take all your reading material, and leave you alone with nothing to do while I'm gone. That's… maybe eight hours. You’ll have a good deal of time to reflect on your choice, at least.”

Your mouth pulled taut in an expression of displeasure. You didn't like the thought of such boredom.

He made his way over to the nearby desk, scooping up the remaining books into his arms before turning towards the hallway door. He turned his head back towards you.

“Unless you change your mind.”

He then began taking steps towards the door — slowly, deliberately so. It was infuriating that he responded with such calmness, and far more so that he was so easily able to completely overturn your attempt with barely any effort, without even being affected by it at all, and above all, most infuriating that he knew you'd give the exact response he anticipated.

And you did.

“Wait, wait—”

He came to a halt, but didn’t bother turning his head back to look at you. “Yes?”

Your hands balled up into fists, you were so irked by his words and demeanor, but nonetheless, you told yourself, you had no choice. You weren’t about to endure the alternative.

“…Fine…” You stood up, looking to the ground in embarrassment and frustration as you stomped over to where he stood. “I’ll go.”

He gave you a nod. “There, see, that was a much easier way of going about this.” He then took a few steps back towards the desk, depositing the books that had been used as leverage in your bartering as he added, “don’t you think?”

You rolled your eyes, displeasure scrawled on your face. “…I guess.”

You stepped out of the room before he did, waiting for him to exit before following behind him, since you didn’t know exactly where you were going. For a few moments, you merely walked in silence. You didn’t know if he intended to address the matter again — hell, you never knew what he was thinking — but after a minute or so of silence, you got your answer.

“You know, if I were as spiteful as you were being, I might have rescinded the offer entirely,” he said, voice ever so blunt and monotonous. “And forced you to stay in there with nothing to do.”

You grinded your teeth, narrowing your eyes as you looked over at him.

“…Are you trying to get me to thank you?”

He didn’t miss a beat in his reply.

“It would be appreciated.”

You crossed your arms, puffing your cheeks out in a petulant pout, which seemed to get your refusal across well enough. He shrugged.

“Well, it was worth a try.”

Another minute passed. You took a turn down a dark hall, which seemed to prompt another thought to his mind.

“And in the future, you should probably be aware that such a strategy is rather weak. It’s very easy to turn around on the one using it, as you just observed.”

You huffed in irritation. “Yeah, yeah.”

“It’s actually very similar to a common flawed strategy used by beginner card players. You see…”

You sighed in exasperation, pressing your palm to your face as you prepared to tune out the following hour.

Kaveh

After the second time calling your name with no response, you finally heard him get up, walking over to where you lay in bed. You clenched your teeth, irritation exuding off your form in waves, so you hoped, at least.

As soon as he got closer, you huffed, closing your eyes, waiting for him to speak, and he did.

“Hey…”

Which you used as your cue to turn over, rolling onto your other side so that your back faced him.

There was a few seconds of pause before he pieced your actions together.

“…Are you mad at me?”

His voice was soft and pitiful-sounding, so much so you couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt.

That momentary guilt was, however, almost immediately replaced with another surge of irritation. No. You knew exactly was he was doing, it was intentional, and you weren't going to fall for it.

He walked around to the foot of the bed, leaning over to look you in the eye.

“Hey—”

But you averted your gaze, pulling the blankets up over your face, turning over onto your stomach.

There was a moment of pause. His tone shifted.

“…Hmph. Fine.”

With that, he turned on his heel, stomping back to the desk at the other side of the room, and sat down, huffing as he resumed his work. You could hear the bitter irritation in his pencil scribbling, much heavier-handed and harsher than moments prior.

You waited for him to say something more, thinking his resolve to walk away from being ignored wouldn’t last long, but to your surprise, after some time passed, he still managed to stay quiet.

And more time passed, and then some more. You’d initially begun ignoring him around ten-thirty or so, and now, you confirmed as you peeked out from under the blankets — having almost fallen asleep — it was well past midnight.

Finally, your attention turned back to him as you heard him put the pencil down. He stood up (you did not miss the harshness with which the chair was pushed back), walked (with heavy footsteps) over to the floor lamp at the side of the room, and turned it off, leaving only the moonlight to cast light through the room.

But rather than coming over to bed, he only made his way back to the desk, dramatically slumping back down into the chair, putting his forearms on the desk before slouching forward and burying his face against them.

And then, there was only silence. You waited, but nothing happened.

It wasn't exactly difficult to figure out the intention. On one hand, your immediate thought was that it was petulant, but then again, you felt a twinge of guilt realizing you were more or less the instigator here (even if it was only in reaction to him annoying you earlier), and that your course of action wasn't exactly mature either.

Well, you supposed the right thing to do now would be to at least try and reconcile. You sighed.

“Kaveh.”

That time, you were the one who only got silence as a response. Turning your own act against you, you guessed.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and, having been a bit hesitant the first time, fully committed to resolving the situation. You tried again.

“…Kaveh.”

….

After a few more moments, your voice took on a tone of frustration, which you tried to suppress for the sake of your goal of conflict resolution.

“Kaveh. I know you can hear me. Come on.”

He didn't lift his head, so his response — thankfully giving one, at least — was not only in a bitter, pitiful-sounding voice, but also muffled by fabric.

“What.”

You sighed. “Look, I… I'm sorry, just… come to bed, okay? Let's just forget this.”

Ugh. Although you still figured it was the right thing to do, you realized with disappointment that you were giving in yet again, as you tended to be the one to do. You resolved to be a little stronger-willed next time… then again, you always did that too.

“…No.” Even in the dark, you could see him — albeit only in the form of a vaguely red-white-blonde lump — shift around as he spoke, bitterness in his voice. “You obviously don't want me over there. I'll sleep here.”

You reached up to pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation as the defeat settled in. “No, I… I do. Please?”

Once more, you only got silence, even after waiting for half a minute or so. Finally, you took a deep breath, in and out, and — after a moment of hesitation to ask yourself if you were really going to do this, to which you determined it was for the best, regardless of what it did to your pride — swung your legs over the side of the bed, feet brushing against the cold floor.

Your footsteps shuffled against the hardwood with each of the very few steps it took to get from the bed to the desk. You could see him fidget as you approached.

In what you hoped would be perceived as affectionate, you bent your knees just enough to be at the same level as where he sat, an awkward positioning, but just enough to reach out and wrap your arms around him in an embrace.

“Come on. I’m sorry, okay?”

There was a few moments of quiet, and for a second, you thought maybe you would have no success, maybe he really was that upset. But then, he lifted his head, still speaking in a blatantly upset tone of voice.

“…Only if you tell me why you were doing that in the first place,” he muttered.

You sighed. “I dunno… I was just upset about everything from yesterday, and… look, it doesn’t matter.” You smiled, although you weren’t sure if he could see it. “Let’s just go to sleep… come on, please?”

There was a moment of pause, but finally, he stood up, huffing in residual stubbornness as he walked over to bed, falling flat on his back. “…Fine.”

You were too tired to be annoyed at that point, instead walking over, taking your place next to him. You decided to try and take the high road, so to speak. “…Sorry for ignoring you.”

You reached out and put your hand on his head. He turned, pulling you close, burying his face against your chest.

“…No, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, muffled by your clothing and flesh. “You’re right… let’s just forget it.”

You hummed in agreement. You were going to leave it at that, but after a moment, you felt him shift. He propped himself up on his elbow to speak.

“Hey, wait, what time is it? I was gonna show you the thing I was working on when you wouldn’t talk to me… I can still—”

“It’s one in the morning. PLEASE go to sleep.”

You both stiffened as the muffled voice came through the wall. Several awkward seconds passed.

Ah… you forgot how little privacy this place gave you. You raised your voice just enough to ensure you were heard.

“Sorry, Alhaitham…”

You heard him sigh and turn over on his side of the wall.

“Yeah, yeah.”

More silence as the seconds ticked by.

“I’ll, uh, show you tomorrow.”

“…Yeah.”

And with that, he finally laid back down to sleep.

Kazuha

“Ah, look at how bright it is. I didn't realize it would be a full moon tonight.”

He had a soft, blissful expression. He was one of those people that always seemed to find a great deal of joy in simple pleasures of life… depending on the circumstances, it could be either endearing or annoying.

At the moment, it was very much the latter. If you weren't so mad, you'd feel bad about what you were about to do.

It would certainly work, seeing as he was talkative by nature, always making little comments as you went about your day. You'd already tried to make your displeasure very clear — ever since you'd begun setting up camp for the night (in the middle of nowhere, where you now spent the majority of your time), you'd given him curt, cold, one-word replies, and the irritation was certainly audible in your voice.

He turned his head towards where you sat cross-legged on the ground, a wide smile on his face. “We should go for a walk, since it's so bright.”

The very last thing you wanted to do was more walking after having spent the entire day doing just that. You clenched your jaw, slouching over and resting your head against your hand.

A few seconds of quiet passed. After realizing you weren't responding, he leaned over to better look at your face, eyebrows raised.

“Hey, is something wrong?”

You huffed a heavy breath, jerking your head away from him.

“…Oh.” You could see him smile in your peripheral vision, albeit now an awkward, uncomfortable sort of smile. “You’re, ah, still upset about earlier, I take it?”

You didn't respond, maintaining your silence.

“…I'll take that as a yes… haha…”

The laugh was as forced and awkward as his expression. He stood silently for a moment, as if hoping it would be a very short effort and that you'd break your silence, but you did not.

“...It seems you really know how to find my weaknesses.” He gave you an awkward, sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his head. “This is bothering me more than I would have thought it would… but that's your intention, I imagine.”

You didn't really have any particular direction to take this effort — you didn't have anything you wanted to accomplish with it or anything, it just seemed the only way you could think of to express your frustration. Now, you weren't certain what to do — your only real course of action, you supposed, was to keep it up. You kept your silence. He moved to sit beside you, just a short distance away.

Silence followed, only disrupted by the crackling of the small fire beside you and the wind weaving between the tall grass. He kept up the same cheerful-but-mellow voice as always, the one that so very much got on your nerves whenever you tried your best to exude negativity, which he always seemed to shrug off effortlessly, perpetually unbothered.

Yes, your snide, sometimes even mean comments, your cold tone, your disgusted expressions, those never seemed to bother him at all. He just laughed and smiled and carried on as he always did.

With this, on the other hand, it seemed you’d finally found a weak point. You resisted the urge to grin, quite pleased with having found a greater success than you’d even expected.

Meanwhile, his own smile continued to falter, twitching right alongside his arms.

“If there's anything I can do that will make you… not do this, I'll gladly do it. You just… you know, have to tell me.”

You saw his fingers curl, straining the fabric as they dug into his thighs with such force and strain that they began to tremble.

But for a few minutes, he did nothing. Perhaps he was just waiting, giving you time to see if you'd change you mind, or maybe he just couldn't decide how to proceed. You kept your gaze focused on the scenery, the blades of grass as they waved back and forth in the breeze, the reflection of the moon wavering in the pond off in the distance. As irritated as you were, the landscape was admittedly quite serene.

You were brought out of your focus by the rustling sound as he stood. You remained still, but your heart began to accelerate as he took a few steps towards you, his ever light-footed way of walking barely making a sound, maneuvering behind you before slowly sitting down.

He shuffled forward, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you back. Once your shoulder blades touched his chest, he tilted his head forward, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

You fought the urge to squirm. You didn't like the quiet. Something about it, in that moment, was ominous, suffocating, as if some innate instinct was telling you something was wrong.

When he finally lifted his head, he spoke directly into your ear, breath warm against the flesh.

“I don't want to hurt you.”

The sudden quiet, low voice sent a chill down your spine. You found yourself going stiff, eyes widening.

His grip tightened, squeezing your waist firmly enough that it began to hurt.

“…I don't like doing that… it makes me feel really weird, you know…?”

It grew tighter. His fingers began to dig into your sides, ten small points pressing with painful force. You stiffened, body reflexively arching forward to get away from the pain, but they only dug in harder, pulling you back.

“But,” he continued, voice low and quiet, so soft yet somehow so chilling, “I really don't like you doing this.”

Your heart felt as if it were pounding out of your chest. Your breathing grew quicker.

He tilted his head downward, resting his forehead against the back of your neck. The final words came out wavering, almost a whisper.

“So… you’ll stop this, won’t you?”

You swallowed. Your response came out instinctively, the dread you felt having easily defeated your stubbornness.

“O-okay,” you stuttered as you spoke, “I'm sorry, I didn't… I didn't mean to make you…”

The pain came to an abrupt stop, his entire body relaxed with a heavy sigh of relief.

“Ah, haha,” this time, he squeezed you in his arms only enough to convey affection. “I was worried for a moment there.” His voice immediately shifted back to its usual timbre, soft and soothing. “I’m glad you weren’t too upset.”

You shook your head, eyes still wide with fear, needless to say struggling with the psychological whiplash of the rapid shift in the atmosphere.

If he noticed your stiffness, he didn’t say anything, instead opting to affectionately rest his head on your shoulder, leaning his face against yours. “Well, it’s probably too late to walk anyway… and you’re probably tired, too. Hm…” he paused for a moment, then lifted his head, tilting it up to the sky. “We can appreciate the beauty of the night while being sedentary, though. Say, are you familiar with the constellations?”

You struggled to give a verbal answer. “A-ah, well, I…” You swallowed.

“Ah, that’s alright. I know them very well. Right now, hmm… see that one directly above us?”

He started to point up, you let your gaze follow his direction as he began to ramble on about this and that star. Most of the time, you found that soft-spoken but avid enthusiasm rather endearing — although in that moment, you found it a bit difficult to appreciate.

“And a little to the right, those four that form a bit of a square shape, that’s—hey, are you cold?”

“Mm?” You gave your best attempt to smile, knowing he could at least see the side of your face. “I, uh, I guess… why…?”

“You’re just shivering pretty badly,” he replied. “You should have said something. Here…”

He leaned backwards, grabbing the blanket atop your shared makeshift sleeping bag, pulling it over and wrapping it around the both of you, covering you from the night wind that, in reality, barely even did anything to alleviate the sweltering summer heat.

“That better?”

You nodded. “…Yeah.”

“Mm, good. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

Once you nodded, he wrapped his arms around you again, pointing back up at the sky and resuming his lesson.

Xingqiu

“There’s a yearly festival going on tonight.”

You were already irritated, but the cheerfulness in Xingqiu’s voice when he came bounding into the room certainly did not help.

He quickly made his way over to where you sat, leaning over to the side to better look at your face.

“It’s one of the most exciting ones the harbor holds, in my opinion. We should go!”

Silence. You said nothing in reply, only curling your fingers into fists, clenching your jaw and looking down at the floor.

A few seconds passed as he processed your response, or rather, lack thereof. Given the dispute that had taken place a few hours ago, you were certain it wasn’t difficult for him to figure out.

“Ah… aha… surely you’re not still upset about earlier, are you?” He tilted his head, the smile on his face unwavering. “Come on, this will be fun. It’s only for a few days, so we should really make the most of it.”

More silence. Even though you didn’t speak, you didn’t try to hide the spite and irritation on your face.

He then crouched down to get face-to-face with you. His smile was still there, but his eyebrows shifted to an expression of displeasure, the top and bottom halves of his face seemingly misaligned.

“You’re not going to let some silly little disagreement ruin your whole day, are you?” He reached out, patting the top of your head. “Come on, now, you’re more mature than that.”

You almost snapped at him, but you held your tongue. You had become increasingly aware of the subtle ways he seemed to manipulate your thoughts and feelings, slipping in little choices of words to have very specific effects, like with the last thing he’d just said. It irritated you to no end — much more so how often it worked, only for you to realize it later on.

But not today. You were going to be firm, resolute, not let him influence you, so you told yourself. You huffed a heavy breath, crossing your arms and jerking your head out from under his hand.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his expression shift — his eyes narrowed, his smile fell, and you heard the soft -tch of disapproval as he stood upright — only for his face to shift back to a pleasant expression as quickly as it had fallen to an unpleasant one, a degree of composure worthy of being called a honed and trained skill.

He sighed, overdramatically so, holding his hands out palm-up at each side and shaking his head. “And here I was trying to do something to make you happy. Oh well.”

He turned on his heel away from you, facing the door.

“How unfortunate. I suppose I'll just have to go by myself.”

He began to walk towards the exit, each step deliberately slow, an unmistakable smugness to his eloquent, dramatic way of speech.

“Of course, I'm sure my father will ask where you are...” he sighed again, shrugging his shoulders. “I'll just have to tell him that the spouse he found for me is so very disagreeable.”

You clenched your teeth. You could feel it coming, knew exactly what the next words out of his mouth would be. You nearly trembled with how hard your muscles tensed.

He paused his steps right at the edge of the door, and without bothering to look over at you, in a voice just so perfectly quiet, he added—

“I'm sure that will have a positive effect on your family’s standing with mine.”

You clenched your jaw. There it was. The one card he always held, an instant defeat.

“Wait…”

The word came out of your mouth on impulse. You winced at your own failure, but it wasn’t as if you had much of a choice.

Then he decided to turn around.

“Oh?” He tilted his head, cheerfulness returned to his voice and expression. “You’ve changed your mind?”

You shuffled over to where he stood, keeping your gaze to the ground. “…Yes. I’ll go.”

“…”

There was a pause. His eyes were half-lidded, the look on his face and the heavy tension in the air making it obvious what was expected of you.

But again, choice was not a luxury you had. You swallowed your pride.

“…Sorry for… being like that.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, that? It’s no big deal, really. I’m not upset at all.” Then, he extended the same hand out to you. “You’re ready, then?” He smiled, this time seemingly back to a genuine cheer. “I already have a route planned out to get us to all the best spots in one night.”

You nodded, taking his hand in yours.

“Sounds great.”

#kaveh w the uno reverse card #genshin impact x reader #these were really fun to write #id like to eventually go back and do other chrs as well #also I need to make more xq content...#i feel like ive said that before but i need go actually do it aaaaaaaaaa #hes my baby boy

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icejjfishesz · 7 months ago

Text

𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ━━ ❛ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 ❜

chapter no. 000!

𝗈𝗈𝗈. ⠀CONTENT : angst-ish. reader is lowk insecure and paige is lowk not good at reassurance (its for the plot trussst)

𝗈𝗈𝗈. ⠀ WORD COUNT : 637

𝗈𝗈𝗈. ⠀AUTHORS NOTE : lmk if yall like this or not!

THERE WAS A TIME WHERE PAIGE KISSING YOU, having you underneath her warm lips, was the best thing that could happen to you. you loved how human it was. how natural it felt for her to be on top of you, her body heat engulfing you. whenever you were together; it was like you entered a little bubble…one where only you and her existed.

but everything is temporary, (including humanity, apparently) because one november night, she had you pinned against her bed and all you can think about is how much you hate the feeling. you’re alone together now, in the private comfort of her apartment. the blinds were drawn shut but it wouldn’t matter because by now midnight had already rolled in and everyone looking in was most likely sleeping. you had her to yourself, finally –– nothing about the setting was unusual, most of the alone time you and paige had was past 11pm. she only loved you in the dark.

but it wasn’t enough anymore.

perhaps you had gotten greedy, finding yourself wanting to hold her hand in less private spaces. you’d been with her for months, six to be exact, and yet it felt pointless. she wouldn’t tell anyone. she said she loved you but she couldn’t tell anyone. and it didn’t help that she was possibly the biggest flirt most likely ever. she pulled away, noticing your lack of usual enthusiasm.

“is something wrong?” three words that jump started the end of the relationship—if you could even call it that. it was inauspicious at best, nonexistent at worst. that was your greatest fear when it came to the two of you––that there was really nothing there. those three, almost dismissive words, completely shattered you.

you bite your tongue but it’s futile. when you open your mouth again the words escape before you even realize it, much less stop yourself from saying them. “why did you say that?”

“cause you’re being weird and i wanna know what’s up?” she says in an obvious tone, confused as to why you’d even question her motives for trying to know what’s wrong with her girlfriend.

“no, not that.” you sigh, realizing your vagueness. “earlier.”

paige’s confused expression doesn’t lift for even a moment, in fact, it seems to increase.

“to the girl at the shop. when she asked if you had a girlfriend.” you reply simply, annoyed that the situation clearly meant nothing to her when it meant everything to you. at the moment, at least. “you said you weren’t looking for a relationship.”

“well, that’s not exactly a lie.” she’s mostly joking but it’s clear that you didn’t take it that way. your hand, which was running up and down the length of her spine subconsciously, stops abruptly. her words are spoken lightheartedly but they suffocate you.

“i just mean…i’m kinda with you, y’know? so i’m not actively looking.” she doesn’t know why that’s what she chose to say in that moment and those words would prove to haunt her for long after.

“would it kill you to call me your girlfriend?”

she pauses, tensing like she always does whenever you talk labels. her silence is the worst answer. her silence is indifference. she doesn’t care, of course she doesn’t. why would you even expect her to? it was clear she only wanted a good time from you.

so you decided to make this easy for her. by saying what she never ever wanted you to say to her. you sit up, standing from the bed. “i think it’s best if we don’t keep seeing each other.”

she hates how formal you sound. she hates even more how she can’t say anything. she hates how she can’t speak even when you gather your things to leave her. she let you go, too frozen to stop you.

#anything but you ✹ꯣ #paige bueckers x reader

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naomijoestar · 18 days ago

Note

hello sweets! I have been reading your works for few weeks now and i must say they are amazing!! (you are so talented🥰) I know your request box is now closed and im sorry for putting more things on your plate.. 😨💕 BUT i hope if you could write some amazing headcanons about:

Bucci gang having a significant other who is/ has been clinging on to them because they have been missing their bucci member. 😭❤️

Maybe he’s/or she’s(trish👀) been busy because of work !! or they have just been too tired to spend some time with their significant other and just instantly going to bed after work. And after few days/or weeks.. later they finally start to show some signs of being neglected.. (for example: not letting them leave the bed for work). 😧💕

ANYWAYS SO SORRY FOR MAKING THIS SO LONG !! feel free to ignore my rambling 😅

Thank you for your time and effort love !! 🙏❤️

have a nice day or night!!

Masterlist here <3

Hello ml! This is such a cute request, now I wanted to admit that while reading your request I didn’t notice that you requested headcanons and wrote this as a scenario instead🥲 I really hope you don’t mind and if you do I will gladly re-write this for you!

Sorry for the late reply and I hope you enjoy this 💞

(Trish Una included!)

Bucci gang with their s/o clinging onto them because they miss them

Pannacotta Fugo

Fugo had been working late nights, diving headfirst into planning and strategy. It wasn’t intentional, but his sharp focus on his tasks left you feeling invisible. At first, you thought you could handle it, but after weeks of stolen moments and fleeting kisses, the weight of his absence became too much.

This morning, as he swung his legs over the bed to get ready, you reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Fugo, stay.”

He turned, startled by the tremor in your voice. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his brows knitting together in concern.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. “I just miss you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re always gone. Even when you’re here, you’re… not really here.”

Fugo froze, guilt washing over him in an instant. He’d been so absorbed in his responsibilities that he hadn’t realized how much he was neglecting you. He sat back down, pulling your hands into his. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice unusually tender. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like this.”

You looked up at him, tears brimming in your eyes. “I just… I need you right now.”

Without hesitation, Fugo climbed back into bed, wrapping his arms tightly around you. “I’ll stay,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’ve been a fool, but I’ll make it up to you. Today, I’m yours. Completely.”

You let out a soft, relieved sigh, burying your face in his chest. His heartbeat, steady and strong, was a comfort you’d been missing. For the rest of the day, Fugo didn’t touch a single work-related item, devoting every moment to showing you how deeply he cared.

Bruno Bucciarati

Bruno had always been devoted to his work, but lately, it felt like he was consumed by it. Late nights, endless meetings, and responsibilities left him coming home too exhausted to even share a proper conversation with you. He’d kiss your forehead, mumble an apology, and fall asleep almost instantly.

At first, you told yourself it was temporary, that things would calm down eventually. But as the days stretched into weeks, the loneliness began to weigh on you. This morning, when Bruno stirred to get out of bed, you instinctively reached for him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Stay,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm.

Bruno paused, his movements freezing. “Amore, I have—”

“No,” you interrupted, your face pressed against his back. “You don’t. Not today.”

The quiet in your voice struck a chord in him. He turned to look at you, his dark eyes filled with guilt as he took in the sight of your teary gaze and trembling lip. “You’ve been so busy,” you whispered, your hands clutching his shirt. “I know it’s important, but… I miss you, Bruno. I miss us.”

He exhaled deeply, guilt evident in every line of his face. Without a word, he slid back into bed, pulling you into his arms. “I’m so sorry, tesoro,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t realize how much I was neglecting you. You’re the most important thing in my life, and I’ve been taking you for granted.”

You nuzzled into his chest, your fingers clutching his shirt like he might disappear again. “Don’t leave today,” you pleaded softly. “Just… stay with me.”

Bruno kissed the crown of your head, his lips lingering there as if to seal a promise. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, cradling you close. “Today, I’m yours, completely. I’ll make this right—I swear.”

For the rest of the day, he didn’t even glance at his phone. He was fully present, holding you, listening to you, and reminding you with every kiss and tender word just how much you meant to him.

Giorno Giovanna

Giorno had always carried the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, but lately, it felt like he was drowning in it. Long hours at meetings, late nights poring over plans—it had all left him coming home too exhausted to notice the growing sadness in your eyes. You’d tried to be patient, understanding the importance of his work, but the ache of missing him only grew stronger.

This morning, as he sat on the edge of the bed, buttoning his shirt, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. Reaching out, you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, resting your head on his back. “Giorno… don’t go today,” you said softly, your voice trembling.

He stilled, his hands falling to his lap. “Amore?” he asked, his tone gentle but confused. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, your grip tightening. “I miss you,” you admitted, your voice cracking as tears began to well up. “You’re always working, and I understand, but… I feel like I haven’t had you to myself in weeks.”

Giorno turned to face you, his golden hair catching the soft morning light. His emerald eyes widened as they met yours, glistening with unshed tears. He reached out, cupping your face in his hands. “Oh, my love,” he whispered, his voice full of regret. “I didn’t realize how much I’ve been neglecting you.”

You leaned into his touch, your tears slipping free. “I just… I need you. Even if it’s just for today.”

Giorno’s heart clenched, guilt washing over him. He kissed your forehead tenderly before pulling you into his lap. “You shouldn’t have to ask for my attention,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I’ve been a fool, but I’ll make it right. I promise.”

He lay back down, holding you close as if letting you go would break him. “I’m yours today,” he murmured, his fingers gently brushing through your hair. “No meetings, no calls. Just us.”

For the rest of the day, Giorno stayed true to his word. He didn’t glance at a single document or answer a single call. Instead, he spent every moment with you—holding you, laughing with you, and reminding you just how deeply he loved you.

Leone Abbacchio

Leone had never been one to sugarcoat things. When work needed to be done, he threw himself into it with everything he had. But lately, it felt like his everything was all going to work, leaving you with scraps of his time and energy. At first, you’d tried to be understanding—it was just his way. But as the days turned into weeks of him coming home too tired to do anything but collapse into bed, the loneliness became harder to ignore.

This morning, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed to get ready, you grabbed his hand. “Don’t go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Leone stopped, his brow furrowing as he glanced back at you. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gruff but laced with concern.

You didn’t let go, your grip tightening. “I miss you,” you admitted, looking down at the sheets. “You’ve been so busy, and I feel like… like I don’t have you anymore.”

He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. “I’ve been a crap partner, haven’t I?” he muttered, more to himself than to you. He turned fully, taking in the tears brimming in your eyes. It hit him harder than he expected.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel this way,” he said, his voice softer now. “I just… I thought you understood.”

“I do,” you said quickly, your voice trembling. “But understanding doesn’t make it hurt less. I need you, Leone.”

Something in his chest cracked at the way you said his name. Without another word, he climbed back into bed, pulling you against him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his lips pressing gently to your forehead. “I’ve been too wrapped up in work, but I’ll make it right. I’ll stay.”

You blinked up at him, surprised. “You mean it?”

Leone smirked faintly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m not going anywhere today,” he promised. “You’ve been patient with me for too long. It’s my turn to give you what you need.”

For the rest of the day, he stayed true to his word. He held you close, kissed you like he hadn’t in weeks, and spent the day reminding you why he was worth missing in the first place.

Narancia Ghirga

Narancia was always full of energy, constantly running off on missions or getting caught up in one task or another. At first, you found his busy nature endearing, but as the days went by and he barely had time to sit down and talk to you, you started to feel the sting of his absence.

One morning, as he tried to slip out of bed to get ready for another mission, you reached out and grabbed his arm. “Narancia… don’t go,” you said softly, your voice cracking just enough to make him pause.

He turned to look at you, his eyes wide with surprise. “What’s wrong, babe?” he asked, kneeling back on the bed.

You sat up, clutching the sheets tightly. “I miss you,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to your lap. “You’re always running off somewhere, and I feel like I barely see you anymore.”

Narancia blinked, your words hitting him like a punch to the gut. “Oh no! no no,” he said quickly, scooting closer to you. “I didn’t realize you were feeling like this.”

You let out a shaky sigh. “I know your work is important, but… I just need you right now.”

Without hesitation, Narancia threw himself back into bed, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you down with him. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice firm. “Today, I’m all yours. Whatever you want to do, we’ll do it.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his determination. “Really?”

He grinned, pressing a kiss to your nose. “Really. I’ve been so stupid, haven’t I? I should’ve noticed you were feeling this way. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

For the rest of the day, Narancia didn’t leave your side. Whether it was lying in bed talking, cooking together in the kitchen, or dancing to music in the living room, he made sure you felt loved and cherished with every smile, laugh, and touch. By the end of the day, the ache of missing him was replaced by the warmth of knowing just how much he cared.

Guido Mista

Mista was always easygoing, but lately, his carefree nature had been replaced by exhaustion. Missions, meetings, and late nights had drained him so much that he barely had time for you. He’d stumble into bed, mutter a quick “Good night,” and be out like a light before you could even tell him how much you missed him.

This morning, as he got up to get ready, you decided enough was enough. You grabbed his hand and tugged him back onto the bed. “Guido, no,” you said firmly, wrapping your arms around his waist to keep him in place.

He blinked, caught off guard. “What’s this about, babe?” he asked with a half-laugh, though his voice softened when he saw the pout on your lips.

“You’re always leaving,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “I know you’re busy, but I barely see you anymore. I miss you, Mista. A lot.”

His playful grin faltered, replaced by a look of guilt. “Ah, damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t realize I was making you feel this way.”

You looked up at him, your eyes glossy. “I just… I need you here today. Please.”

Mista’s heart sank. Without another word, he kicked off his shoes and climbed back into bed, pulling you into his arms. “I’m sorry, babe,” he said, resting his chin on top of your head. “You’re right. I’ve been so caught up in everything else that I’ve been ignoring the most important person in my life.”

You buried your face in his chest, your fingers clutching at his shirt. “Just stay with me,” you whispered.

He tilted your chin up, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “Today’s all about you. I don’t care if the boss himself calls me—I’m staying right here.”

For the rest of the day, Mista made sure to pamper you with all the love and attention you’d been missing. Whether it was cuddling under a blanket, sharing your favorite snacks, or laughing together over silly stories, he reminded you exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place.

Trish Una

Trish had always been meticulous with her time—balancing her work, appearances, and responsibilities left little room for flexibility. Lately, though, it seemed like every spare second of hers was being devoured by her career. You understood how much she had on her plate, but the ache of her absence had begun to weigh heavily on you.

This morning, as she reached for her planner to prepare for another busy day, you grabbed her wrist gently. “Trish,” you murmured, your voice tinged with vulnerability. “Can you stay today?”

She turned to you, her perfectly lined eyes widening in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I miss you,” you admitted, lowering your gaze. “You’ve been so busy, and I know it’s important, but I feel like I haven’t had you to myself in ages.”

Her expression softened immediately, her glossy lips parting as guilt flickered across her face. “I… didn’t realize it had been that bad,” she said, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You bit your lip, shrugging slightly. “I didn’t want to make you feel bad. But… I just need you today. Just this once.”

Trish hesitated for only a moment before snapping her planner shut and tossing it onto the bedside table. “You’re right,” she said firmly. “I’ve been too wrapped up in everything else. That stops now.”

“Really?” you asked, looking up at her with wide eyes.

She cupped your face in her hands, her touch soft but certain. “Really,” she said, her voice filled with conviction. “Today is yours. Whatever you want—name it, and it’s yours. I’ll cancel everything.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as she leaned in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. The rest of the day was pure bliss: long cuddles, indulgent meals, and quiet moments where she reminded you, again and again, that no amount of work would ever mean more to her than you did.

I hope you don’t mind me forgetting to make these headcanons, that was totally my fault and if you do mind you can always text me and tell me if you’d like me to make a hc version!

If you enjoyed this make sure to check out my other posts, and if you’d like anything specific written for a jjba character/squad you can request it if my requests are open!

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ddarker-dreams · 1 year ago

Text

Nexus II.

Yandere Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Descriptions of Blade's body regeneration ability, Blade is just kinda weird idk, some spoilers for his backstory. Word count: 6k.

Nexus index.

The LOTUS-EATER’s maximum capacity tops out at 124. This number takes current fire codes and oxygen generator parameters into account. There are eight Arbiters — including yourself — and fifteen other employees who work The Club floor on rotation. Additionally, some automatons assist with carrying refreshments to clients. Lucky for you, those fellas aren’t on the payroll.

The other twenty-two are, though.

Nona swings her legs back and forth while sitting on the main bar’s countertop, humming a song from an underground band she likes. She’s sent you a link to their discography enough times that you recognize the URL immediately and know not to tap on it.

“Hey, mom, dad, we’re on the news. ‘IPC Places Eris Under Temporary Travel Ban While Investigating Claims of Fraud’. Why didn’t anyone tell me we were doing fraud? Was I not invited to the group chat?” Nona hums.

You glance up from your account book, sigh, then glance back down.

Meanwhile, Lear carries a hefty wooden crate from the back and places it on the floor. The sound of muffled glass clinking together can be heard, along with liquid sloshing.

“You shouldn’t make jokes like that,” he frowns. He shoos her off the counter with a wet rag, to which she takes refuge behind you. He rolls his eyes at her shenanigans, ties up his sandy hair, then gets to cleaning. “People could get the wrong idea. It’d tarnish [First]’s reputation.”

Snickering, she replies, “And casually referring to Our-Lord-And-Savior-The-Exalted-One by her first name wouldn’t?”

He bristles. “You…!”

On instinct, he winds up his arm, wielding the now dirty rag as his ammunition. He pauses when Nona points at you. Seeing that there’s no way to hit his target without you joining the casualties, he huffs, and returns to shining glasses, using excessive force this time.

Nona sticks her tongue out at him. After celebrating her victory, she situates herself on a nearby barstool, stretching her arms out beside your workspace like a content cat preparing to nap.

“You’ve been staring at that silly book forever,” she notes, exasperation coloring her tone. “I know you aren’t reading it, either. Your eyes give you away. So, what’s up?”

You shuffle in your seat. This line of questioning was inevitable as the four moons that hang everlasting in the sky, taking in everything as impartial observers. During instances like this, you envy the marvelous masses, how they can exist peacefully without living. No one asks the moon troubling questions. Or, if they do, they have more pressing issues at hand than their spoken query.

“It’s nothing,” you dismiss.

She blows a tuft of hair from her face. “Hey, Lear.”

“Mm?”

“Did you hear that?”

“Well, yes, I’m only standing a few feet away.”

“Right, right. Let me ask a trickier question then, since that one was obviously way too easy for someone of your intellect. Do you believe her?”

“I…” he swallows thickly. “... Yes?”

Nona throws her arms up. “Gah! I’m surrounded by liars who can’t lie. That’s almost worse than liars who can lie— blegh, hey, did you actually throw a rag at me?”

The rag in question slides down the side of her head and hits the ground with a sad squelch.

“I’ll do it again too. You shouldn’t bother [First]—” Lear abruptly cuts himself off at the last syllable of your name, “The exalted one when she’s trying to concentrate.”

You raise your head and frown. “Lear, I told you. Call me by my name when it’s just us. It feels wrong if you don’t.”

“Seriously? That’s what gets your attention?” Nona laments.

You both elect to ignore her.

“I know, I know. It’s just… what if he comes back?”

Silence descends and clings to the three of you like the suffocating scent of smoke. It’s there again, the uncomfortable, skin-prickling sensation of eyes sticking to you. Amber and sapphire coalesce into one, unspoken plea, forming a disconcerting shade. Nona’s visage betrays nothing, whereas Lear’s concern would be obvious from galaxies away.

You square your shoulders and try to make yourself appear as decisive as you need to sound. “I’ll know when he’s back. He’ll text so I can let him in.”

The two exchange knowing looks. It’s Nona who tries her luck.

“That’s reassuring and all, but, I think the question Lear wanted to ask is why that man’s here in the first place.”

Magenta eyes, rosy iris’, words that drip like venom-coated honey.

When you asked how you should explain Blade’s presence to your staff, she told you she’d hate to abuse her authority, and that you’re free to decide those specifics yourself. You would’ve preferred some guidance or hint at her expectations in such a pivotal situation. It’s easier to avoid a landmine if you know how to best watch your step. The uncharacteristic lack of instructions goes on to birth unease.

“My answer hasn’t changed. He’s here to act as my bodyguard until some concerns are settled.”

Nona’s lips twist to the side. “You never wanted a bodyguard before.”

“I never needed one before.”

A glass shatters violently.

You and Nona snap your head toward the noise’s origin, finding Lear’s face wound tight in pain. You both jump the counter. The remains of crystal shards are strewn across the floor, catching and refracting light. Watching your step, you make your way over to Lear, who is muttering expletives under his breath.

No, that isn’t right, you realize. His lips aren’t moving.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he tries waving off Nona, who is inspecting the hand that held the glass, “Just an accident, s’all.”

The private tumult boiling in his head threatens to overflow, stating loud and clear thoughts no one other than himself should be privy to. You grimace and focus on blocking the intrusive voice out. It’s so resounding, so sharp, that snippets penetrate through and spill their scathing secrets.

‘My fault — should’ve killed — now she’s — because of me…!’

Block it out, block it out, block it out, you chant the mantra incessantly.

Lear’s psyche wishes to illuminate itself to you in its entirety. The spotlights turn on one by one, focusing intently on the visible portion of the stage that any audience member can see. The overlapping beams penetrate the stage’s back curtain, revealing the silhouettes of the backstage crew.

You don’t want to witness these delicate inner workings. It isn’t for your eyes, his thoughts aren’t for your ears. Sins committed in days past grant you a front-row seat and sew your eyes wide open. You haven’t attended this theater in some time, so it brought the show to you.

It requires great effort to struggle against the needle and thread that wants to practice its stitches on you. This pain that feels like your skull is being crushed beneath an anchor could ease away if you were a good audience member who sat still and mute. You resist subservience at the cost of yourself. Eventually, the lights dim. The stage’s back curtain turns opaque. The actors shift their shouts into a normal speaking volume, a whisper, then finally, stop orating altogether.

Your mind’s dictation is decided by you — the ink of Lear’s thoughts expunged.

You’re aware of your physical surroundings again.

Presently, you’re crouching down on the floor. You move your foot back to maintain balance, and there’s a crunch, warning you to tread carefully. You inhale and exhale shakily. At this sign of lucidity, Nona and Lear crowd over you, repeating your name on a loop. You check twice to ensure their mouths are indeed moving and you aren’t hearing what you shouldn’t. Once you dispel your fears, relief embraces you.

This paroxysm has run its course.

Nona’s shoulders slump. “It’s okay, it’s over. She fixed it.”

They both hold their breath until you nod in agreement.

Lear extends his hand to help stand you up, to which Nona swats at it.

“No touching,” she reminds. Sternness doesn’t sound right in her cadence. He considers arguing, only to decide against it. His fingers twitch, go still, then recede.

You have to stand on your own strength.

Neither of them knows what to say in the immediate aftermath — it’s been so long that they’re out of practice. While they think over the best-sounding platitudes, you spare your phone a glance. Several messages mar the screen from an unknown sender. The most recent is time-stamped at five minutes ago.

You grumble a few choice words.

“Mr. Personality is back?” Nona asks.

“Yeah, I’ll handle it,” you close your account book and fold it under your arm. “You both should head home, it’s late. Just let Loopy take care of the glass shards.”

Nona gives a mock salute. After a moment’s consideration, Lear nods.

And so the three of you part ways.

Your fingers blindly grope at the expanse beneath your desk. Finally, you come in contact with a protrusion, then press it. Electricity thrums then turns hushes. For peace of mind, you glide your hand through the air. A holographic keyboard flickers into existence and responds to your vigorous keystrokes. The monitor reads that your noise-canceling software is up to date. It prevents sound waves from escaping a perimeter you’ve set. It’s installed in every room on the second floor, which includes the private rooms in The Lounge, your office, and the bedroom attached to said office.

Ever since Kafka started slinking around, the software’s uptime has increased exponentially.

Unlike Kafka, Blade doesn’t sit across from you or relax on the couch against the silver-colored wall. He stands by the door that leads to the hallway like a statue. He hasn’t so much as uttered a word to you since you let him in, not that you put in much effort to rouse conversation. It isn’t as childish as him ignoring you, either, you swear his eyes haven’t left you for a millisecond.

The keyboard and monitor dissipate at the flick of your wrist.

“I know I said I didn’t have anything major scheduled this week, but the IPC’s new policy changes things,” you start. Still no reaction. Frowning, you continue, “I’ll have to break the house arrest you’ve imposed.”

He doesn’t so much as blink. You thought a little provocation might earn you some material to work with, but you thought wrong.

“Who will be there?” Blade asks.

Instead of experiencing relief that he’s broken his vow of silence, tension coils its barbed limbs around you. It refuses to squeeze or apply any pressure. No, it intentionally denies you that, for it knows pain precedes understanding. A motive, an intention. Any degree of emotion is better than an unknowable void. Frustration, you can soothe, doubt, you can dispel, but total apathy? That’s a nightmare crossed into reality.

“The other two leaders of the quadrants and myself.”

At long last, there's a sign he is indeed a sentient lifeform and not the latest android model. A flash passes over his eyes. Suspicion or disbelief, perhaps.

“Shouldn’t there be four leaders, if the city’s divided into quadrants?”

“That’s a fair assumption. As far back as our records date, the southwestmost quadrant, Arc, has rejected the idea of having any fixed governance. They act however they see fit. It’s where that man who attacked me a few cycles back was sent to, since we look down on involuntary confinement.”

“The prison planet without prisons,” Blade’s wry wording belies his flat tone.

It’s always been a divisive topic, earning scorn and acclaim alike. You’ve had the misfortune of listening to clients regurgitate talking points that were made digestible by popular media, who started the cycle by devouring journal articles they read one paragraph of. They repeat what’s been said thousands of times with the bravado of the original theorist. Normally, you’d consider it more agreeable to bash your head against a wall than speak on the exhausted topic.

So why is it a kindling of intrigue burns by a Stellaron Hunter’s offhand comment?

“What’s this? The wanted criminal isn’t a proponent of prison abolition?”

“Every decision comes at a price,” he says. “Sins should be punished.”

You blink. Sins? Punishment? Is this a textbook case of cognitive dissonance, or another beast entirely?

“What do you consider a sin?”

“Anything that defies the natural order.”

“Such as…?”

The maelstrom that envelops him is potent enough for you to feel it breathing down your neck. Your body prickles all over.

“Defying death.”

“Not inflicting it?”

“No,” Blade’s response is immediate, straight from the heart. “Taking life is permissible. It’s accelerating the inevitable.”

This callous sentiment should chill you — maybe it would, if you heeded the alarm bells ringing in your mind — but fascination triumphs over any deterrent. This isn’t a creed one stumbles into by happenstance, it’s a burden made to order. His preoccupation with death is personal. A necessity.

“Show me what it’s like to die.”

Is this request self-flagellation or redemption?

If you’re ever to fulfill the Synalink you promised, you’ll need to dig deeper.

“There are ‘sins’ committed with altruistic intentions, though.”

“Hah,” he barks out a bitter laugh. “Those… those are the worst kind.”

This is a personal slight he’s grappling with. The shards scattered around him like stardust condense, though the sight they create remains out of focus. It doesn’t have to be a sharp picture for you to discern its immense stature.

Each person’s psyche is distinct in its manifestation. This image is a culmination of everything that defines them. Their core values, history, relationships, culture, ambitions both met and not fully realized; these colors leave an indelible imprint. In truth, this detailed representation is but a single dot amidst an ocean of stars. The mind of a sentient being must be vast if it is capable of ascending to an Aeon’s status. Still, you need something to work with, even if it doesn’t encompass the full scope. A pianist cannot play their instrument if there are no keys.

This scale, this sheer magnitude that towers higher the more you crane your neck up, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever encountered.

“... You’re going to give me a run for my money, Mr. 8.13 billion,” you murmur. “Your head looks like a warzone.”

He leans against the wall with a hmph.

“With all your impending problems, that’s what you choose to focus on?”

“I can multitask.”

“Can you?” He challenges. Sensing your confusion, he elaborates. “You look awful.”

Blade must be irresistible across all genders with that nuanced level of word crafting.

“I appreciate your candidness,” you deadpan.

He shakes his head at your sarcasm. “Don’t act obtuse. Your complexion’s off, your eyes are bloodshot… everything was fine when I left. Must have something to do with your earlier delay, I take it?”

You underestimated his acumen. This would explain why he’s been sizing you up since you opened the door. His sword proficiency isn’t the only threat you should be wary of. You know to be mindful of your presentation when Kafka’s skulking about, you didn’t think he’d need to be treated with a similar caution.

“It’s nothing serious, just your typical mental overexertion. There’s a lot on my plate, you said so yourself.”

“Hm.”

Whether he believes you or not, the conversation is left at that.

Transportation on Eris functions differently than what’s commonly found in other worlds.

Traditional gas-based motors aren’t favored due to the frigid climate. Instead, a gemstone mined in the Nectary by vetted groups is the preferred resource. It contains special thermodynamic properties that can emit immense power under the correct conditions. The gemstones have been altered and assembled in such a way that they function as a railroad for insulated cabins to travel from one station to another. These paths were nicknamed 'nectar guides’ or ’guides’ by the first engineers to embed them in the ground. This is in reference to how the eight main paths lead to Perianth II’s center, built above the Nectary.

The design serves a dual purpose — it optimizes travel and the heat radiating from the ground produces light. The accommodations have outworlders in mind. Your species, the Nymphalians, have long undergone enough natural selection to survive the hostile conditions fine enough. Your species’ eyesight excels in the dark and your physiology resists the cold. Aside from that, your body functions identical to any other humanoid species. The lone visible difference is a thin white ring around most Nymphalians’ iris’. You and Lear display this quality, Nona does not.

The cabin you sit in has a quaint design. There are plush, brown loveseats lining the wall, glowing orange lights in the arched ceiling, and light refreshments atop wooden table stands. It’s split into a common area and a bedroom suite. More enchanting than any ornate embellishment are the expansive windows. You only get to see your quadrant in person during these trips to Perianth II’s center and back.

“You warm enough?” You call over to Blade, who is bundled in extra layers of clothes and wearing an especially dour expression.

He doesn’t dignify your quip with a verbal reply.

This brief jaunt has earned his ire. For someone who’d likely prefer to be anywhere else, he’s taking this guard assignment quite seriously. He explained that taking this straightforward travel route begs for people with nefarious intent to come slithering out. You could see his point, but the matter isn’t up for dispute. Recent cyberattacks have called electronic communication into question. What you’ll be discussing with the others — Chrysus of Ade and Caicias of Mele — is highly sensitive information. The IPC catching any sliver of it could prove disastrous.

“You shouldn’t be by the windows,” Blade eventually says.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a major buzzkill?”

Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t respond.

With some reluctance, you pry yourself away from the glass granting access to the outside world.

“... Just a bit longer?” You try plucking a sympathetic cord he distinctly lacks.

“If you like it so much, why not experience it in the safety of your room where your head is a less visible target?”

“It isn’t possible to perform a Synalink on yourself.”

“Have an underling do it.”

The presumptions air to this suggestion eliminates any grace you may have extended.

“The only other Arbiter capable of performing Synalinks on me was my mother,” you say. “Note the past tense.”

You experience a phantasmal ripple with him as the epicenter. It’s the weakest emotion you’ve inadvertently picked up from him, so you assume it’s nothing of consequence.

“Passing blurs aren’t worth risking your life over.”

You rise to your feet.

“How do you know that?” You challenge, heat rushing to your cheeks. “These homes, these buildings, these streets… they’re either data on my screen or conveyed to me through someone who acts like they’re listing parts in a machine. I have to see it. I have to commit each ‘passing blur’ to memory. Otherwise…”

What have I sacrificed my freedom for?

Blade’s eyebrows furrow.

“Otherwise…” you shake your head. “Forget it.”

During the ensuing silence, your phone buzzes.

You had set it on do not disturb for the upcoming meeting. A few contacts were granted an exception, meaning that this message must be urgent if it went through. You swallow the lump growing in your throat. An exhausted part of yourself reasons that it can wait until the meeting’s conclusion. It wouldn’t do you any good to get worked up beforehand, would it? The message will still be there when it’s finished. Then you’ll be able to commit all your bandwidth to its contents. This reasoning is a tempting mistress cooing at you to come join her in bed. The momentary relief will be as sweet as the aftertaste is bitter.

Responsibility triumphs in the end. After inputting the necessary passcodes, a message four words long scrawls across your screen.

The product is ready.

A simple code had been devised between you and the alchemist entrusted with testing Kafka’s synthetic tonic. The product isn’t ready yet would mean the sly woman bluffed, or at the very least, exaggerated her 70% comparison claim. You’d gladly take either. She’s sewn deceit before, she’d have no trouble doing it again. In case the alternative was true, you prepared another code; the code you just received.

You reread it once. Twice, then thrice. You check if the message came from the right number. It did. You check again.

This frantic fixation consumes you to such a degree, you don’t register the cabin jerking aside. The delay from your reflexes throws your equilibrium off. Squeezing your eyes shut, you brace yourself for an unceremonious rendezvous with the floor. Your right side does come into contact with a hard surface, except it’s sooner than you anticipated. Warmer, too.

This heat is different from what’s produced inside the Nectary’s gemstones. It’s personal, containing the distinct thrum of life. There’s also an aroma. Slightly floral, mostly spices you don’t recognize. Then there’s this steady sound — consistent enough to put a metronome to shame. A slow thump, thump, thump.

“How have you survived this long, clumsy as you are?”

Blade isn’t speaking any louder than he normally would, but you can hear him better.

“Hey, I’m… not… clumsy…?”

It’s only when you open your eyes that you’re able to piece together your current predicament.

Blade’s steadying you by your shoulders and your cheek is pressing against his chest. You always knew he was tall, but having him tower over you this close gives you a new perspective. As does the fact he doesn’t immediately shove you off after breaking your fall. Your body goes stiff enough to rival rigor mortis.

“Accident prone, then.”

This swipe has you desperate to reaffirm your authority. “You should’ve just… let me fall then! Maybe I wanted to, what do you know!”

(It sounded better in your head).

“Are you positive you’re over a century old?”

An equally snarky rebuttal blooms on your tongue, only to immediately wither, turning to ash that coats the ground.

There’s the sound of a dying star, a dirge announcing the end.

What one hears before their name is reduced to an epitaph or an alphabetized list neatly organizing the recently deceased. It’s loud, then it isn’t. Hideous, then hypnotizing. Yellows and oranges and reds swirling in a serpentine motion that mocks you for thinking you ever conquered it. Civilizations can temporarily subdue it, bend it to their will, but it’s not ever truly theirs. The sovereignty of flame is a dynasty everlasting. It may rise, it may fall, but it can’t ever be truly extinguished.

You’re sent flying back with enough power that the air is forced from your lungs. It’s as if an Aeon’s hand had pushed your body aside, dragging you to the edge of the universe. You’re released from the scorching maw and into an icy nothingness.

The planet itself is frozen for a time.

There’s no strength in your body. Your system has been injected with pure, raw adrenaline, causing your limbs to shake and ignore your commands. Your ears are ringing and your eyesight is blurry. Tears cleanse the pollutants from your eyes. A dark swath covers your body, its weight hindering your feeble attempts to move. Determination alone wills you to emerge from this shadowy cocoon.

The ringing fades and all is quiet, save for the crackling of fire.

Then the screaming begins.

You try identifying the source. You think you may have found it, then it starts elsewhere, a different pitch, a different soul lot in lament. Bloodcurdling shrieks rise alongside the thick smoke. You’re being a stretch of buildings that loom imposingly, obsidian spires reaching up to the night sky. The masonry required to maintain their reign basks in the flames. The unusual surplus of light unveils its secrets, from the cracks in the stone to the faded graffiti bored kids left behind.

The ground is uneven, unlike the glossy pavement found in the entertainment district. This dull, grayish-blue soil with the consistency of fine powder exhibits the true nature of Eris’ untreated exterior. It’s cool to the touch and takes pleasure at the chance to stain your fine clothes.

Your wandering mind is brought back upon hearing a sputter nearby. You’re not sure where you are, what you’re doing, or why you’re doing it; but you remember you weren’t alone.

“Blade…” The name comes out as a croak. “Where…?”

You can’t call out to him, it’s like cotton has been stuffed down your esophagus.

There’s movement in the corner of your eye.

You make the mistake of trying to stand. Your arms might’ve begun to heed your commands, but your legs do not. The worst insurrectionists are your ankles. The instant you try putting any weight on them, they collapse as if you were a newborn doe. Recognizing this strategy’s incompetence, you drag yourself over to where you saw movement instead. The coarse ground rubs at and scratches your skin.

Upon closer inspection, your heart stops.

The dark swath — that’s Blade.

He’s in a far worse state than you. His entire backside has been scorched, displaying angry red blisters and split skin just barely hanging on. His right arm is bent in an awkward position, most certainly broken. Then there’s his left arm, or lack of it. Clumps of limp sinew hang where his arm should be joined to his shoulder joint. The force of the impact must’ve blown it off or eviscerated it entirely.

He’s lying on his side, facing away from you. A pool of blood forms beneath him, mixing with the soil. The coupling results in a sickly mauve that creeps and seeps inch by inch.

The fire… it’s coming from the guides, you realize. The cabin has been torn to pieces!

This begs the question: how are you alive?

You should be covered in burns at the very least. Some of your clothes got charred, you think a rib or two might be broken, but you’re living and breathing. There’s a gap in your memory where the previous events should be. You try recalling whatever you can, no matter how seemingly insignificant. You were moved aside as the roaring got louder, and then there was the sound of glass shattering, heat to cold…

Blade must have intervened. Did he use the few seconds before the fire caught up to break the window and toss you out? That can’t be right; you’d have glass entrenched in your skin and burns on whichever side faced the explosion. Surely, with his inhuman reflexes, he could’ve come out relatively unscathed.

Unless he chose to shield you.

You don’t think, you just act. First, by tearing the hem of your long skirt, then second, pressing it against the gaping wound where his shoulder abruptly ends. Gushes of crimson spill through your first makeshift bandage. You throw it aside, rip at your garments again, repeating the process in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. A Stellaron Hunter must have a robust constitution, right? He was able to act faster than you could think. He can survive this — you just need to stop the bleeding until you can get help. Kafka has to have connections with advanced medical factions.

Tears stream down your face and you sniffle relentlessly. Your hands are caked in soot and blood, the scent of burnt skin and metal clings to your nostrils. Is he going to die? Is he already dead? You can’t bring yourself to check his pulse. How could he be willing to die for you in the short period of time you’ve known one another? He could’ve concocted any excuse for why he failed Kafka’s assignment, you’re certain he’s more indispensable to their cause than you are.

Blade stirs.

You think that it’s your imagination playing tricks on you. A cruel joke to remind you that you make your living off shaping reality for others, temporarily giving them what they want at the price of never truly having it.

Or so is your conviction until he moves again.

You’ve heard of muscles twitching after death to give the false impression of life. However, you’ve never witnessed the phenomenon yourself. Is this how it works? It isn’t sporadic, his right arm is sweeping over the ground, fingers flexing. Much to your astonishment, he pushes himself up with the arm that was contorted into a horrible shape a minute ago. The pain he’s experiencing must be excruciating and yet he merely grunts as he shifts into a sitting position.

“Stop moving,” you rasp out. With your most recent bandage in hand, you go to apply pressure to the left arm socket.

He responds to your fervent desperation in a low, gravelly voice.

“Don’t bother.”

Don’t bother? Is he in a coherent state of mind? If you don’t attend to his gushing wound, he’s at risk of bleeding out. You prepare to ignore his utterance when a strange sight freezes you in place.

A white structure emerges from his raw, mangled arm socket, descending like water pouring from a pitcher. It solidifies and takes the shape of a humerus. Once finished, it goes on to create the radius and ulna. Next are the carpals, metacarpals, then phalanges. Tendons join them together, fibrous muscles envelop the bones. Finally, in the blink of an eye, fresh layers of skin build atop one another in sheets. He clenches and unclenches his newly formed hand.

If defying death is a sin, he is laden in iniquity.

“What hurts?” Blade asks.

You’re too aghast to respond. His body just stitched itself back together without any medical treatment or esoteric healing techniques. Is it possible you’re hallucinating? Can a visual hallucination be this vivid?

He reaches out. Seconds prior to his hand coming into contact with your bare skin, you furiously shake your head, flailing backward and narrowingly avoiding him. His eyes bore down on you like molten magma. He retracts his hand after a drawn-out pause.

“If you can’t speak, point instead.”

Dazedly, you follow his instructions, focusing primarily on your ankles. They’ve swollen since you last checked. The flesh is tender and puffy.

“I’ll carry you,” he says. “Stay still.”

“Wait,” you manage to wheeze out. “This area… residential… have to help…!”

A coughing spell cuts your hoarse plea short.

“That explosion was meant for you. Whoever set it off will want to ensure their job’s success.”

Blade reaches out for you again. You duck to avoid his grasp, despite the pain throbbing in your chest cavity from the hasty movement. The adrenaline must be fading if your brain is doing inventory on the damage you’ve sustained, rather than focusing on survival. Hot waves test your resolution. You grit your teeth. If you make a show of your pain, he’s not going to change his decision.

He speaks your name in a low, warning tone.

Adamant in your refusal, you point to where the cries for help are the loudest.

“It’s not my priority,” he says.

He easily grabs you on his third try and you yelp. The sluggishness of his previous attempts must've been out of consideration for you. His right arm interlocks behind your knees while the left supports your back. You thrash to no avail, his grip remains ironclad. Your struggles amount to nothing but perspiration clinging to your skin and more aches.

The nearest medical unit to this street is at least thirty minutes away, now that the guides are out of order, you think. That isn’t fast enough…! Every second counts!

In your panic, a sacred vow made decades ago is desecrated.

You cup Blade’s face in your shaky hands and stare him straight in the eye.

The previously formed shards come into focus.

It’s monumental, this psyche you’ve barged into without permission. A violation of another’s autonomy. You know this, you condemn yourself for it, yet you press on nevertheless. The previously unknowable architecture that hulks over you is of Xianzhou design. It’s pieced together by bricks as infinite as the stars in the universe, though there is no magnificent shine, only matte stonework.

This structure… is it a garrison? You wonder. Was Blade a member of the… what’s the name of their military again… Cloud Knights?

You’ve had Cloud Knight clients before. Their psyches take the likeness of their favorite, scenic expanse on the Hexafleet, the area that they cared for enough to risk their life. The skies would be blue, clouds fluffy and prolific. A sense of duty and patriotism felt palpable. Occasionally, you’d be made privy to grief’s scent carried on a breeze, perhaps from a loved one’s passing or comrade’s untimely death in battle.

This is a riddle you need to solve swiftly. With a little tampering, you can form a link. It’s immoral, a blight to your personal code, but you’ll leverage enough influence for Blade to stay and help any survivors until help arrives. Whatever consequences arise can be dealt with later.

Even with the heightened mental sensitivity from making direct physical contact, this is proving a challenge. You can see his psyche but you can’t interact with it. It’s like running your hands through vapor. For you to successfully exert enough influence to change a decision he’s dead set on, you’ll need to go deeper. Inside this fortress sits the recesses of his mind, the bottom of an ocean you’re merely skimming the surface of. The intrusion’s necessity twists your gut as if your intenses were being kneaded.

Your incorporeal form flutters to the gates, standing solitary against a leaden backdrop.

The closer you get, you become increasingly aware of a malicious entity permeating behind the doors which strain to contain it. This is the same harrowing presence you felt when he protected you from Alister. Now that you’ve spent more time with Blade, you can discern its essence is different from his, although they’re forcibly intertwined like a rope. Blade emanates this unremittingly morose energy. It’s bleak, unconcentrated.

This substance oozes a need to satiate bottomless bloodlust. It wants to sink its teeth into flesh, lacerate muscles, and slice through bone. Mayhem and viscera are its highest raison d'être. There’s no sensibility, no reasoning with it, it acts in one way then shifts on a whim; chaos inside a splintering bottle.

How is Blade capable of functioning with this slumbering beast ready to wreak havoc at any second?

Steeling your resolve, you prepare to enter.

A seal halts your progress.

Impatience urges you to dispel it. Blade’s psyche is rejecting you, any further delays will give it ample opportunity to flush you out.

The kaleidoscopic seal thrums and wards off your efforts.

Someone put this here, you discern. It’s deliberate.

What perplexes you is that the seal prohibits entry yet does nothing to contain the miasma writhing behind it. Wouldn’t whoever created it intend to keep that salivating beast at bay? It’s well-crafted too, denying your every attempt to eliminate it. Kafka dabbles in mind-altering. Could she have left this here? You know what her aura feels like — calm, confident, cunning — this seal radiates none of her trademarks.

An invisible force hauls you back.

You took too long — Blade’s psyche is expelling the foreign invader.

You blink and you’re back in reality.

Blade is grimacing, the lines on his face highlighted by flickering flame. There’s a pallor to his complexion brought on by the aggressive expulsion his mind pulled off. An act such as that leeches off of one’s vitality. He takes a moment to recompose himself, as do you. Any subsequent attempts to form a link are going to be wrung from a desiccated source. You don’t know how many attempts you have left in you,

“A first offense, I could pardon,” Blade pants out, blood-red hues shining, “A recidivist like yourself, though… can’t go undisciplined.”

Your eyes widen. How did he know your intentions so quickly? You hadn’t so much as moved yet!

There’s a dull discomfort blooming from your nape.

Your eyelids feel heavy and your breathing slows. Black spots float around in your vision. They start small, appearing as if they were polka dots, then grow to be the size of black holes. Your muscles won’t move. The unconscious realm beckons. Its gravitational pull is irresistible, a tide you can’t swim against.

What is this? Your neck… did he strike a nerve…?

“You’ll be fine,” a distant, sonorous voice promises. “Just sleep.”

The sentence has been delivered.

You’re made prisoner to a dreamless slumber.

#blade x reader #yandere blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #yandere hsr x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #nexus #my stuff

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year ago

Note

You mentioned in a headcanon post about how Tobi would knock reader out with their voice when they did something they didnt like, could you make an example scenario 4 us ? :0

"No."

There are many things Tobi can protect you from. Ghosts and demons, spiteful commentors and people who wouldn't take no for an answer were forces they could easily handle as simply as flicking off a light switch. Ancient, decrepit houses - as hard as they may try, weren't always included in that list.

As per usual - Tobi left to explore the house you'd picked out for your next stream couple days prior to the stream to rid the place of any hostile spirits or other elements that may bring you harm. It was pretty much habitual for them scout every location, and helped relived some of their stress towards leaving you to your own devices in what was essential the unknown.

The house was far worse off inside that the pictures you had showed them conveyed. A riverside lodge annihilated by a enraged storm and the overflooding waters from the river bank. The young couple who owned the home tragically drowned after leaving the sun roof open the night prior and failing to wake up before it was too late. The walls sagged with age and decades of water weight, and the warped, rotting floors could barely handle Tobi's lanky stature and size.

Normally, they'd just install some temporary support planks and forbid you from venturing to the top floor or basement, but exploring deeper they came to the conclusion this site was far too dangerous for you to step a single foot inside.

Heading towards the stairway to the top floor, there was a large gap right between where the first step and the bottom floor met. It was narrow enough to where they could just step over - but Tobi noticed something right as they peered casually into the hole. A piece of fabric stuck to the spliters of the wood. It was in too good a condition to be something from the incident, but that's not what made Tobi pause.

The scrap of cloth matched perfectly to a jacket you had just released - the same jacket you were throwing on now.

"Aw, come on, Tobi - this could be our big break!"

Their fingers fly to fast across their phone screen for your eyes to keep up.

"Too dangerous."

Laughing, you zip up your jacket as you reach for your keys. "You always say that. If you're scared, you can wait in the car and I'll cut the stream short. I did okay on my own before you came around."

Grabbing the tail end of your jacket, Tobi's mind rushes back to the second sight they saw in that hole. The bloated corpses of one of your followers - staring straight up at him. They couldn't even remember what their face looked like. All they saw was yours. It was always yours.

Tobi grabs your wrist, squeezing the ball of your hand until you're forced to lose your grip on your keys. Stay. Don't go. Your adventurous spirit was one of the endless things they loved about you and they'd never take that away - but if you left their sight for a single second then-

"No......"

Pressure builds behind your eyes. You pres a hand to your temple, shaking off the brief wave of nausea "Ugh.. Tobi... I'll be okay, I promise. I got a little headache now, so I didn't won't be out long. "

No.... Flashes of your face in that horrible state cloud their already fogged mind- eyes glossy, skin pale and so, so cold. A far cry from the life and warmth you gave off now. It would only take one second. One second for you to get hurt. One second for them to lose you. They can't go back to life without you. They can't be that empty shell rotting away in an equally decaying home. They can't - they won't. You can't leave them.

"YOU'RE NOT GOING TO LEAVE ME!"

It all happens so fast. Your brain throbs. Without utter a single word, you place your fingers your lips - red being all you see. Shaking, you look up at your cameraman as your jaw goes slack.

"To-"

Your eyes glaze over, trembling legs unable to support the remaining weight of your body as you fall. Tobi dives to the floor, catching you in their arms before your unceremoniously landing. Your head almost hits the floor before their arms shoot out to catch you. He supports it and your neck on his shoulder, unzipping your jacket with the same tremors you had before your fall. Tobi removes their hat and places their ear to your chest.

One beat. Two-

You're still alive. Deep down they knew, but for the sake of their aching heart they had to make sure. Tobi carefully zips your jacket back up and once they do - they begin to cry. If your comatose state was good for one thing it was leaving you in the dark, unharmed by their wails and pleads.

"sorry... I'm so sorry... I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I love you. I love you. Please - please don't leave me..Don't leave me."

Tobi slowly regains their composure. They wipe the blood from your nose, and their thick tears from your face as they stand. Tobi carries you to your bedroom and places you in bed. They clear your search history of anything related to the cabin and burn the notes along it. They reserve a table at your favorite restaurant for tomorrow, praying you'll wake up before the time comes. As you rest they rehearse their lines for when you wake - thankful you'll never hear the break in their voice when they lie.

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere scenarios #yandere blurb #yandere oc #yandere #Tobi my oc #yandere angst #yandere teratophilia

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thatchickwiththecamera · 8 months ago

Note

Hi!!

Can you write something related to Matt? I'm soooo obsessed with him lately.

Not a specific request, just Matt 🥺

Thank you!!!!

Author’s Note: Someone sent in two requests in one ask for Matt and Ruffilo. Since this wonderful anon didn’t specify what they wanted their request regarding Matt to be about, I am responding to the Matt portion of that double prompt through this request!

Check out my other writings here: MASTERLIST

Warning: Contains Smut, 18+ ONLY

The Shirt

The blazing rays of the morning sun were already bearing down on Olivia’s shoulders as she unloaded the bags of fertilizer and potting soil out of the trunk of her RAV4. Even at 7am, Texas in the middle of July was scorching and that heat would take a bite out of you really quick if you weren’t careful.

As she was stacking the last bag on top of the pile she had made on the corner of her driveway, a truck drove up onto the concrete slab and parked next to her. The bed of the truck was loaded down with various gardening tools, cuts of lumber, and a number of plants nestled in their temporary plastic pots.

Matt Dierkes, one of Olivia’s oldest friends, emerged from the driver’s side, his long hair covered by one of his signature ballcaps. He wore an old Bloodline tee with the sleeves cut off and a pair of athletic shorts with the name of their high school printed on them.

Matt had the next three months off before his next set of shows with the guys and had agreed to help Olivia build her own garden and green space in her backyard. Gardening was a hobby he had picked up during the pandemic when the music industry shut down touring wise so she naturally turned to her best friend for help when deciding to start her own.

Shortly after he stepped out of the vehicle a little blonde blur of fur hopped out as well and bolted toward where Olivia stood. She stopped what she was doing and scooped Matt’s yorkie Boo up into her arms and hugged him to her chest as he licked her face in greeting.

She let out a laugh in response and lowered herself into a criss-cross sitting position on the ground to continue playing with her friend’s furry child. Matt lowered the tailgate of his truck and paused, peaking around the truck to watch his best friend play with his dog. The view made him smile. Two of his favorites in one place.

They soon moved everything, including Boo, to the fenced in backyard and quickly got to work. The plan was to get as much done in one day as they could by sundown and then finish whatever was left tomorrow. The reward at the end of the project was a pair of tomahawk steaks and a twelve pack of Dr. Pepper that sat on the top shelf inside Olivia’s refrigerator.

They finally took a break a little after noon. They had gotten the ground cleared and the three raised garden boxes built and lined with a weed barrier. Now, they laid down on the cool concrete of Olivia’s covered back porch. Olivia with a couple of pillows from one of the lounge chairs nestled under her head, Matt’s with his head propped up on the side of Olivia’s stomach, hat off, now covering his face.

The ceiling centered above them steadily pushed warm air down over their bodies. Boo lay curled up on the elevated cooling dog bed that she bought specifically for him that she placed next to the door while they worked.

The mixture of warm air and cool concrete made it tempting to drift off to sleep and take a nap right then and there. One of her Spotify playlists shuffled out various songs through the bluetooth speaker sitting on the edge of the porch. She hummed along to lyrics of an A Day To Remember song and found herself absentmindedly playing with the hair on Matt’s now uncovered head. She loved his long hair and dreaded the day he ever decided to cut it.

“Hmmm, if you keep that up I am going to end up falling asleep.” Matt commented, voice partially muffled by the hat.

He moved the hat slightly, peaking to look over at her with a smile. Her eyes were closed and a content smile adorned her face as she continued to fiddle with his light brown locks. He reached up with his right hand and poked her side with his thumb, knowing fully well how ticklish she was.

She squirmed and tried to swat it away with the hand not currently occupied with his hair. He did it again and when she tried to swat at his hand, he grabbed it and pulled it toward him, trapping it in his own against his chest. She let out a laugh.

“Matthew, if you wanted to hold my hand you could have just said so.” she said, now looking down at him with a smirk.

He rolled his eyes, jokingly flipped her the bird before throwing the hat back over his face. Her hand remained in place on his chest, his right hand draped over it. She made no effort to move it. They fell back into a comfortable silence. She continued to play with his hair and eventually felt him start drawing slow gentle circles with his thumb against the back of her other hand. They remained that way until their stomachs signaled it was time to eat lunch and get back to work.

By the end of the day, all three garden boxes were full of the proper ratios of soil, fertilizer, and mulch along with strategically placed irrigation hoses. Pre-grown sprouts had been transplanted from their plastic pots along with regular seeds into neatly organized and labeled rows in each box. In a few weeks Olivia would have tomatoes, various peppers, carrots, asparagus, sweet corn, and potatoes growing tall and green in her garden.

They both agreed that it was too late and they were too tired, sweaty, and partially sunburnt to bother cooking and decided to hold off on the celebration dinner until the next afternoon. After loading the various gardening and power tools back into the bed of his truck, Matt turned and watched Olivia walk over with Boo in her arms.

“Can’t he just stay here tonight since you’re coming back tomorrow anyway?” She asked, not wanting to part with the pint sized pup that she had come to adore almost as much as his owner over the years.

“Liv, are you trying to steal my dog from me?” He accused, stepping closer to scratch the little dog's head before looking down at his much shorter friend with a smile.

“I don’t have to try, he likes being here,” she defends.

Yeah, he’s not the only one, Matt thought

“and besides, he lives here when you’re on tour and now that you’re home I miss him.”

“Oh, so what you’re saying is you can’t wait for me to leave again.” He teases.

“No, I’m saying that now that you’re home, I miss having Boo around.”

“So you don’t miss me when I’m on tour, but you miss my dog?” He asks.

“I’m going to smack you,” she threatens, “you know what I meant asshole”

“Boo, are you going to let her talk to your dad that way?” he asks with a sarcastic gasp.

“Boo, If I didn’t know any better, I’d think your dad is a little jealous.” She states, kissing the top of the dog's head, smirking at her friend. Blue eyes glowing with a hint of mischief.

He rolls his eyes.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Lies,” She states matter of factly. “So can he stay?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” he replies with a sigh.

Everyone who knew Matt knew that he was certainly not a pushover. Quite the opposite in fact. He could be an outright ass sometimes. But there was just something about Olivia that made it hard to say no, even when they were younger. He chalked it up to her just being very persuasive and good at making a convincing argument. But as they had gotten older, he knew it was because he loved seeing the way her eyes lit up with excitement when she was happy. He liked being the one that made her happy.

When he got home, he headed straight to the shower, wanting to rinse away all the sweat and dirt that had built up over the course of the day. From the shower he lazily went through the rest of his bedtime routine before seeking refuge under the comforter.

Despite how much his body ached and longed for rest. His mind would not allow sleep to take hold. After a while he rolled over onto his back with a frustrated sigh and stared up at the ceiling fan. His bed was noticeably colder without Boo curled up next to him. His house was too quiet. It felt odd and out of place. Like something was missing aside from the obvious absence of man’s best friend.

He used to love the isolation being home provided after months of time spent on cramped tour buses and in shared hotel rooms, but now he was dreading the solitude.

Before his mind could ponder further he heard a familiar notification chime from his phone. He rolled over and grabbed the device off the nightstand, the light from the screen cutting through the darkness.

Olivia: New Text Message

He unlocked his phone and was greeted by a photo of Boo in a bathtub, hair spiked up in different directions by the shampoo lathered in his hair. The message underneath read:

Olivia: Someone knocked over the trashcan while I was taking a shower and got caught red pawed with peanut butter all over him. 🙃

The message made him smile in amusement. Boo was notorious for knocking over and digging through the garbage if you didn’t keep the trash can secured in some fashion. He had done it many times when Matt had originally moved into his own place before he finally got a heavy metal can with a push pedal lid that couldn’t be knocked over.

Before he could type out a reply another photo popped up. This one showed Boo sitting, with freshly dried fur, looking up at Olivia through the mirror on the countertop next to the sink in her bathroom. The reflection showed Olivia smiling down at her phone screen behind him as she snapped the picture, hair dryer up and ready in her opposite hand.

She was wearing an oversized t-shirt, which was practically a dress on her short frame. Not just any t-shirt. His t-shirt. His favorite Lord of the Rings t-shirt that he thought he accidentally lost.

But there is was, and fuck did she look good in it.

Olivia: Pupdate: Back to his clean handsome self! 😋

He zoomed in to see that she had gathered the pups hair up into a hair tie causing the free hair to stick up like a troll doll. His smile grew wider as he typed back a reply.

Matt: You gave my dog a ponytail? And is that my shirt? 🤨

Olivia: Yeah! You guys match now! And I don’t know what you’re talking about. Lol 🤭

Matt: 🙄

Olivia: He looks cute and you know it! 🖕

Matt: So what you're saying is you think I look cute? And stop trying to avoid the question. 🤔

Olivia: I say you match and that's all you got out of that? 🙄

Matt: You didn’t say no. 😏

Olivia: 🤐

Matt: I’m taking that as a yes until you say otherwise and I want my shirt back.

“Boo, I think your dad is flirting with me” Olivia said to the pup curled up under her arm, big brown eyes looking at her.

Albeit she was flirting back, but they were both arguably kinda bad at it.

Olivia: I plead the fifth and if you want it back you’ll have to come and take it.

Matt: That can be arranged.

Oh shit, maybe not as bad at it as she thought.

Olivia: You’d like that wouldn’t you?

Well, no turning back now. They’ve officially crossed into a territory outside of the realm of just friends.

Three little text dots popped up at the bottom and then went away.

Shit Shit Shit.

She felt doubt start to form like a weight in the pit of her stomach. Maybe she read the messages wrong. Maybe he wasn’t flirting?

Twenty minutes passed with no reply. She wanted to scream, and cry, and throw up all at the exact same time. Olivia was genuinely worried that she had just royally fucked up her friendship.

She was anxiously pacing around her room, waiting for Matt to reply, when she heard her doorbell ring from downstairs. She looked over at the clock on her nightstand. It read 11:47pm.

Boo let out a growl at the new noise. She tried to soothe the dog before leaving him secured inside her bedroom and headed downstairs to see who the hell was ringing her doorbell in the middle of the night. She was mentally chastising herself for not investing in one of those ring doorbell cameras that she always said she was going to invest in when she moved in two years prior.

She stood on her tip toes and looked through the peephole. She let out a slight gasp by who she saw on the other side before quickly unlocking and opening the door. There on the other side of the threshold was Matt with a very serious look on his face, his brown eyes looked darker than usual. They both said nothing, a noticeable tension filled the air as she pulled the door open wider, allowing him room to step inside. She quickly closed the door behind him and re-secured the locks.

“Matt, wha…” she started to ask, turning around to face him.

“Shut up.” he interjected, stepping forward and connecting their lips in a searing kiss.

They stood like this for a moment, before he took another step and the cool wood of her front door against her back caused her to part her lips in a gasp, allowing his tongue to slip inside. His hands left her face and traveled down the seam of her shirt. His shirt. Before he reached behind her thighs and lifted her up, legs wrapping around his center, as he carried them over to the couch across the room.

That tension felt before snapped as hands found skin and clothing met the floor piece by piece. She didn’t have time to feel shy. The desire of it all was dizzying and they both craved more. He rolled her off his lap to where she laid across the couch and he began to plant kisses along her throat. Over her breast. Down her stomach. Watching her react with each touch as he made his way to her core.

He looked up at her as he pressed gentle kisses against her inner thigh, silently asking permission to continue. She nodded and he didn’t hesitate. Her hand quickly found its way into his hair as his tongue worked deeper. Her head snapped back into the couch pillow as he gently introduced his fingers to her folds, falling into a steady rhythm as his mouth flicked over her clit. She tried to move her hips to match his thrusts but he firmly held her in place by snaking his free arm around her thigh.

She let out a moan as she felt herself growing closer and closer to climax. The sounds of her moans and how she breathlessly whispered his name were like music and he was desperate to hear more. She looked down at him, his eyes borderline pitch black with lust. Their gaze remained locked as she felt her body coil tighter until it snapped and she screamed out his name in pleasure. Writhing beneath him as he continued to work his fingers in and out, while kissing the overstimulated bud.

The sound of her voice as she fell apart made his dick twitch. She whimpered slightly at the absence as he made his way back up her body and attaching her lips to his in another deep kiss. He pulled back and looked into her eyes, her pupils blown with ecstasy.

“Are you sure about this?” He said, seeking consent to continue.

She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into another breathtaking kiss.

“Fuck, yes.” She breathed against his lips.

She gripped his arms, nail leaving crescent moon indentions on the skin as he pushed inside of her. Sweat began to pool at the small of his back as she rolled her hips up to meet him, their bodies falling into a steady rhythm.

He placed his forehead against hers, eyes locked as he thrusts harder, deeper. Both chasing their high together. Olivia's eyes flutter closed as the pleasure builds closer and closer.

“Look at me!” Matt demands. God the way he said that unlocked something in her.

Her eyes snap back open to meet his. He picks up his pace with a grunt, alternating between deep full hilt thrusts and shallow ones that leaves her needing more.

“Fuck, Liv, you’re doing so good for me.” He praises between his own moans.

Her hands snake deeper into his mane of hair as they push closer and closer to the breaking point. He tries to hide his moan in another deep kiss.

“Matt….” She whines, “so close..”

“That’s it, babygirl.” He praises, “cum for me, let me hear that pretty voice.”

She cried out his name in pleasure, star bursts dotting in her vision as he continued to fuck her through her orgasm. She writhed with overstimulation as he chased his own climax shortly after. He collapsed on her chest, both of them trying to calm their ragged breathing.

Matt quickly got up and retrieved a wet washcloth from the half bath and cleaned both of them up before laying back down and pulling Olivia on top of him along with the decorative blanket that was draped over the back of the couch. She nestled her face into the crux of his neck, he rested his chin on top of her head.

“Matt?” Olivia asks, voice muffled by how she was laying.

“Yeah?”

“You’re still not getting the shirt back.” She says.

He lets out a laugh.

“Fair enough,” he replies, kissing her forehead, “It looks better on you anyways.”

#matt dierkes #matt dierkes smut #matt dierkes fanfic #matt dierkes x reader #bad omens #bad omens fanfic #matt dierkes x ofc #bad omens smut #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens cult #bad omens x reader #bad omens x ofc #badomens #badomenscult #matt dierkes fic #matt dierkes fanfiction #author: thatchickwiththecamera

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mariacallous · 9 months ago

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When President Biden called the emir of Qatar and the president of Egypt on Thursday, his message was direct: Get me a deal, two U.S. officials tell Axios.

Why it matters: Biden, under increasing pressure from progressive Democrats, desperately wants a temporary ceasefire in Gaza. He sees a deal for the hostages held by Hamas as the only way to get it while maintaining his unwavering support for Israel.

Biden wants the Qataris and the Egyptians — the key mediators in the hostage talks — to get the terror group to agree to a deal before the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, which starts March 10.

Driving the news: As part of the framework presented by the U.S., Egypt and Qatar in Paris on Feb. 23, Israel would release about 400 Palestinian prisoners — including 15 convicted of murdering Israelis.

In exchange, Hamas would free about 40 Israeli hostages, including women, female soldiers, men over 50 and men who are in serious medical conditions.

The framework also included a roughly six-week pause in the fighting in Gaza — one day for every living hostage released — as well as a readiness for an initial and gradual return of Palestinian citizens to the northern part of the Strip.

U.S. and Israeli officials say Hamas' response to the proposed deal didn't include a list of hostages who are alive, or how many Palestinian prisoners the group is demanding in return.

Hamas is believed to still be holding 134 people it took hostage during the attack on Israel that began Oct. 7; 32 of the hostages have been confirmed dead.

Behind the scenes: In his call with the Qatari Emir Sheikh Tamim bin Hamad Al Thani and Egyptian President Abdel Fattah el-Sisi, Biden told them how the U.S. is pressing Israel to agree to the deal, and urged them to push Hamas to do the same, two sources with direct knowledge of the calls said.

"All three leaders agreed the onus is currently on Hamas to close remaining gaps in the package," another U.S. source with direct knowledge of the calls said.

"The Egyptian and Qatari leaders described their efforts with Hamas and shared the sense of urgency to get this done."

Mossad director David Barnea, who is leading Israel's negotiations team, speaks each day with CIA director Bill Burns about the hostage talks, a senior Israeli official said.

The official put the chances of a deal at 50-50. "Biden's personal involvement and his calls with the leaders of Qatar and Egypt are very important," the official said.

The big picture: The deaths of dozens of Palestinians on Thursday amid chaos surrounding an aid convoy in Gaza increased Biden's urgency in seeking a hostage deal that would lead to a ceasefire, a U.S. official said.

The U.S. began air drops of aid to Gaza on Saturday, which will continue, but aren't a game changer in addressing the humanitarian crisis there, U.S. officials acknowledge.

Two U.S. officials said only a hostage deal and a ceasefire could dramatically improve the situation in Gaza by allowing significantly more food and medical supplies to reach people in need — and lower criminal gangs' incentive to loot the aid.

State of play: A Hamas delegation is in Cairo to meet with Egyptian intelligence officials, according to press reports there. Representatives of the CIA are also there to follow the talks.

There have been two main sticking points in the negotiations: the number of Palestinian prisoners to be released for every hostage released, and how many Palestinian civilians would be allowed to return to their homes in northern Gaza.

"The Israelis accepted the terms of the deal and if Hamas agrees, a six-week ceasefire can start immediately," a senior U.S. official said.

"We still hope we can get a deal by Ramadan. The ball is in Hamas' court."

What's next: Israeli minister Benny Gantz, a member of Israel's war cabinet, will arrive in Washington on Sunday. Gantz is pushing hard for a deal and has said the release of hostages is more important and urgent than destroying Hamas, which is Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu's goal.

Netanyahu didn't want Gantz to visit the U.S. and told him in a call on Friday that "there is only one prime minister in Israel," Netayahu's aides said.

Gantz will visit the White House on Monday and have separate meetings with Vice President Kamala Harris and National Security Adviser Jake Sullivan, a Biden administration official said.

Qatar's prime minister, Mohammed Bin Abdulrahman al-Thani — a key player in the hostage-ceasefire negotiations — will visit Washington on Tuesday to discuss strategy with U.S. officials.

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quindread · 2 years ago

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Red Robin: -and that’s that losers.

Chat: [walks in] hey batfam! what’s poppin’?

Spoiler: hey chat! red robin was just bragging about his body count.

Chat: [pauses] like partners or…?

Spoiler: murder

Chat: [oddly brightens up and addresses red robin] oh! so what’s your number?

Red Robin: [shrugs] a few hundreds

Chat: like in one go?

Red Robin: …uh yeah- why are you being so casual about this???

Chat: well with the miraculous cure and all that, almost everyone in the court has ended a life somehow.

Red Hood: well, don’t hold back on my account. spill.

Chat: i know viperion had to remove certain variables to succeed in time loops. maybe a few hundreds for him too?

Signal: it’s always the quiet ones, huh?

Chat: oh yeah! the dragon miraculous is our aoe damage dealer. i don’t think most of the victims recovered after being hit by a bolt of lightning. huh, i always wondered why she always used that one.

Signal: …well, there’s no way my dude carapace could have done damage- he’s like your tank or something, right?

Chat: …

Signal: …. right?

Chat: his shield can shrink….

Signal: ….

Chat: … people inside don’t shrink with it

Signal: jesus

Nightwing: oh, do you! do you!

Chat: [suddenly sheepish] well…

Nightwing: ?? well???

Chat: there was this deleted timeline where i became akumatized and drowned all of paris.

Nightwing: holy shit- that’s like what? millions?

Red Robin: 2 million. damn, are you okay?

Chat: mhmm! ladybug made us all go to therapy.

Robin: … what about her?

Chat: oh! oh. oh….

Red Hood: ???? don’t tell me that tiny thing did more damage than you did! isn’t she like creation and shit??

Chat: no! actually when you think about it, ladybug would be on the same estimate as viperion.

Red Hood: oh, thank fuck!

Chat: multimouse has me beat though.

Red Hood: who??? and how???

Red Robin: [pulls out computer from who knows where] marinette dupain-cheng. temporary hero. was outed in battle-

Spoiler: -oooh pretty-

Red Robin: -powers: dividing into smaller copies, retains original strength. what did she do?????

Chat: it’s not in there but each copy can merge with another miraculous. i think the story goes is that she wore all the miraculous in the mother box and destroyed 3 galaxies including ours.

Everyone: …….

Ladybug: [walks in] hello, everyone! [realizes the tension] errm, what’s wrong?

Robin: [without skipping a beat] is it wise to keep marinette dupain-cheng alive?

Ladybug: [is marinette but they don’t know that] ?????????!!!!!!!!

thought of this after reading that tim freaked out after bruce “died” and blew up a lot of people

#maribat #ml x dc #batkids

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spacelatinoluvr · 1 month ago

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blood runs thicker than water (4/?) - aemond targaryen

series masterlist, chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 5, chapter 6

summary: To dance with dragons is to play with wolves. After surviving her own assassination attempt, Alarra Stark endured a large scar across her face, slicing her face in half. For years after Alarra was now known as "Alarra The Fierce" due to her ferocity at the young age, defending herself valiantly at merely thirteen-years-old. After then, she spent years training with her older brother, Cregan Stark, so that one day she could avoid the pain and suffering of anyone in her family; including herself. But, after those years spent training with men much larger than her, she is sent away and betrothed to Joffrey Velaryon for alliance towards the rightful heir to the Iron Throne: Rhaenyra Targaryen. Accompanying the family to Kingslanding, Alarra realized maybe marrying the young Velaryon boy wasn't so awful. But that was until she met a peculiar "one-eyed" prince. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!OC word count: 4.0k tags: slow burn, forbidden love, canon Aemond, enemies to lovers, long fic, original characters, war, arranged marriage warnings: mention of sexual content rating: 18+, !MDNI!

LADY IN RED

“Rhaenyra and her family plan to visit King’s Landing.” Aegon laughed, and his hideous cackle echoed through the hall and Aemond scowled lightly at his brother’s immaturity.

“She dares show her face here-?”

“Your father insisted-“

“My father has no solid thought in his decaying brain.” Alicent stood up fast, waving her finger towards Aegon's face and he shrunk down the smile leaving his face.

“Do not talk about the king- your father.”

Silence.

“And the Stark girl will be with them-“ This time Aemond turned towards his mother, eyes wide. A Stark at the Red Keep?

“Stark?” The question had slipped from Aemond’s lips before he could think or even comprehend what his mother had said. She let out a huff before sitting back down in her chair.

“Yes, a Stark.”

A wolf from the North had wandered into the South.

Dragons were not what Alarra imagined. They were magnificent creatures, and not the terrible beasts her father had told her they were. Alarra remembered how her mother told her stories of flying flames and women with whispering hands of magic. How her mother filled her head with fairytales and myths while her father told her the truth and history. But sometimes myths can be proven true, and those are the stories Alarra wishes to create for herself.

The myth of Alarra the Fierce.

“My Alarra, my beautiful girl…“ Her mother’s eyes stared at her, blue and wide. She sat on her bed, next to her, running her fingers through Alarra’s red hair. Alarra smiled adoringly at her mother.

“Dragons are beasts of fury, of fire. They guard the sky with their scales of iron and eyes of gold. They roam the Earth for their riders, and are lost without them.

“But you my rose are a Stark. You do not need a beast of fire to proclaim your fury…” Alarra’s mother pointed at her chest.

“You have your heart. Your voice. Use it.”

Alarra’s mother died a fortnight before her fourth name day. She remembers crying for days, like she had wept for her father, but the days after her mother died were a blur. Something she didn’t quite recollect. But she does remember meeting Eyla. The woman with hair as black as a direwolf’s fur and eyes as enchanting as the movements of a great stallion.

“My lady, I have been awaiting your arrival,” Eyla was in Alarra’s temporary room at the Red Keep. Rhaenyra had taken the initiative to send all staff ahead of time on a boat, and Alarra was thankful her handmaiden would be there with her in an unfamiliar place. “I haven’t been on a ship since I was…” Eyla paused, staring at the floor before she looked up at Alarra again smiling.

Alarra smiled at Eyla, entering the large room. It was much larger than any room she’d stayed in. But Alarra was still skeptical. She was still unsure.

“How was your trip?” Alarra asked, walking towards the woman.

“I should be asking you the same!” Alarra laughed.

“The air felt nice. It was cold. But I enjoyed it. I felt like a bird.” Alarra whispered, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Have you met the king? The queen? The princes and princess?” Alarra shook her head.

“I’ve merely just arrived and was instructed to head to my room to unpack but it seems you have done so. We are meeting them tonight. Told to freshen up, smell nice and not like old meat.”

“Oh how insulting the South is!” Eyla giggled, shaking her head. “Well I have laid out two dresses.”

Alarra had chosen to wear the dark blue dress that was laid out for her. A color that always suited her best. A color that meant peace and innocence. The color of Starks.

Alarra had been wandering the halls of the Red Keep by herself, admiring. She was feeling the walls with her fingers, how differently it was built than her own castle. Quick footsteps sounded behind her and then they stopped just as fast as they started. Alarra paused, turning her head around to find the one-eyed prince staring back at her.

It was her.

Aemond froze. The rumors were true. Alarra Stark wasn’t just beautiful; she was breathtaking. The air had grown stale and Aemond was finding it hard to compose his heartbeat. No one had ever taken Aemond’s breath from his chest like Alarra Stark had done. And he hated her for it. He hated the way she made him feel the first time he saw her.

Princess Alarra of the North, the Flower of Winterfell, the Cub and Alarra the Fierce.

Alarra approached Aemond, her steps soft yet calculated. She carried herself with a certain grace, but there was a dark shadow behind her eyes. And when his eyes met hers, Aemond could see that darkness within her. Stark women could freeze a man with a single glance, and Alarra had done just that to the Targaryen prince.

As she neared, Aemond couldn’t help but notice the scar on her face. A scar so large it was hard to miss at a first glance. A scar that was long and white, done healing: but it still pained her no matter how much it healed. Alarra knew he was staring, opting to scorn him verbally.

“It’s quite rude to stare, Prince Aemond,” Alarra greeted, her voice low as it carried like the faintest chill in the northern winds. Aemond ignored what she had said, wanting to keep his manners in place. “Never seen a strikingly beautiful woman before?”

Aemond had to keep from snarling.

“I trust the hospitality of the Red Keep has been to your…liking. I imagine the Red Keep cannot compare to Castle Ward.” Alarra shifted on her feet, smiling and Aemond fought the urge to scowl once again, his anger rising to his face. Alarra noticed and picked up on the subtle way he bit the inside of his lip, his hands shuffling behind his back. Alarra noticed how his hair was pushed back just right, and his eye patch placed perfecting, shielding it from public view. Alarra noticed a lot about Aemond in those few seconds, but she still didn’t know what the prince was thinking.

“Yes, my prince. Nothing is quite like Winterfell,” Her words were polite, but Aemond could read her tone. “Although, I imagine the North is far too cold for a dragon.” A knowing smile appeared on Alarra’s face yet again but this time slowly.

“Mhm…and I assume the same for you,” Aemond’s gaze lingered on Alarra for a moment before he spoke again. “Wolves don't stray too far from the pack.”

“I am no ordinary wolf, my prince.” Alarra said, and Aemond’s eyes creased as he watched her.

“I can see,” Aemond pursed his lips slightly and Alarra tilted her head to the side, an antagonizing grin growing on her face. “I shall see you at supper.” Aemond walked right past her, not giving Alarra a second glance before he was gone from the hallway, his steps no longer echoing.

Alarra then found her way to the gardens where she stumbled upon Helaena, dipped below the ground playing with flowers and plants in the courtyard.

“Oh! Princess Helaena,” Alarra watched as the princess did not move, still picking up flowers from the ground. “I did not mean to intrude-”

“You are always welcome, lady in red.” Helaena turned, looking at Alarra and Alarra got on the ground, sitting next to her on her knees. Her dress was bound to get dirty and muddy at one point, something common in Winterfell. Yet, it felt wrong to do it in the castle.

“Lady in red?” Alarra smiled at the girl, questioning her nickname.

“You were in my dreams…wearing red.”

“I do not wear red, princess.”

“But, you will,” Alarra tilted her head to the side, with so many questions racking her brain. “Wolves bite and dragons take flight.” Helaena whispered to herself.

Alarra plucked a small flower, twirling it between her fingers as she stared at it.

Wolves bite and dragons take flight.

“Your hair looks beautiful, my lady.” Eyla combed her fingers through Alarra’s hair, as it was curled and splayed over her shoulders.

“You should be complimenting yourself.” Alarra stared at her hair adoringly, as it was beautifully set into ringlets, a silver pendant with a red jewel sat atop her head. Eyla had gifted her that pendant as a form of love and was told it would ‘keep her safe’. Alarra only wore it when Eyla insisted, and this night she had guided the girl to wear it.

Rhaenyra had instructed Alarra to sit next to Joffrey, but that would mean she would have to sit across from Aemond. Viserys and his hand were not present, only Alicent and her children. He must have been instructed with bed rest. Aegon was laughing drunkenly as he threw grapes into his mouth like a child. Helaena was next to him, playing with her food, not a single emotion present on her face. Lucerys, Joffrey, and Jacaerys were all talking lively to each other, ignoring their family members across the table. Rhaena and Baela were speaking to each other as well, bursting into hushed laughter occasionally. Daemon and Rhaenyra were speaking quietly, while Alicent glanced over at them once and awhile while she downed her own goblet of wine. Alarra was in her own bubble, chowing down on her food and keeping to herself. Until she noticed the person in front of her. Aemond was staring at Alarra, a small smirk placed upon his face. A smirk that brought Alarra pure anger. Alarra stabbed at her food, glancing up at him once and awhile. Aemond had grabbed his wine, looking at her over the top of it with that stupid, stupid smirk-

“Is something the matter, my lady.” Aemond pulled Alarra out of her trance. She hadn’t realized she had been angrily staring at his face. And his dumb smirk.

“Everything is well, my prince.” Alarra gritted the last part out of her teeth. Aemond’s smirk widened, if that was even possible.

“Enjoying your duck?”

“Very much so. And you?” Alarra stabbed a piece of the meat, bringing it to her lips slowly. Aemond watched her, his hand gripping his fork harder, his knuckles almost turning white.

“Quite delectable.” Aemond wasn’t talking about the meat, but Alarra didn’t know that.

“Your sister hasn’t touched her plate.” Alarra observed Helaena who was sitting quietly, pushing around her peas and carrots with her duck untouched, a small frown on her face.

“She feels bad for the duck.” Aemond said it as if it were an insult. But, Alarra gazed at Helaena, sympathizing with the girl. She’s just a child.

“Don’t make fun,” Alarra sniped, and Aemond tilted his head. “She is an empath. It is a wonderful thing to be.”

“Until it gets you killed.” Aemond muttered. Alarra caught the disgust in his tone, scanning his face and his features and how he looked angry. But that anger was hidden by sadness. And she could see right through it. Right through him.

Rhaenyra stood, clearing her throat as the sounds of laughter and talking died down, everyone turning their attention to the princess.

“Since my father cannot be here tonight, I trust that he is in the Gods’ hands, free from pain this evening. Hopefully he will feel well soon enough to meet his newest kin.” Rhaenyra smiled at Baela, Rhaena and Alarra.

“And to Alicent,” Rhaenyra looked at Alicent, her smile different from the one she gave the young girls. “I pray for your well being during my fathers torment.” And Rhaenyra nodded at Alicent before sitting down again. Nobody spoke for a few seconds, before Alicent smiled at Rhaenyra, nodding her head at her.

The talking ensued again, and Alarra resumed eating her food. Aemond was no longer staring at her, but staring at his brother who was next to Helaena. Alarra watched as Aemond glared at Aegon, who was mindlessly drinking wine, seemingly making a fool of himself. She knew exactly what Aemond was thinking at that moment. How much hatred he had for his older brother. The misfortune that he was older. Alarra admired her older brother, yet Aemond showed no signs of admiration for Aegon. Aegon then stood, stumbling lightly as he did, reaching for his wine, and it spilled on the table as he grabbed it roughly.

“A toast! To my nephews and their…” he snorted, laughing his head in the air. “Women. That one is quite pretty-” He pointed to Alarra and everyone looked at her. “-besides that ugly thing on her face. Maybe you won’t have to look at her when you fuck her dear nephew.” Aegon cackled again, his laughter filling the room. Alarra’s lip curled as her hands molded into tight fists under the table. She couldn’t help but open her lips. No one would speak to her like that. Even a foolish drunk prince.

“And what scars do you have to show for your skills in swordsmanship, my prince? Oh that’s right…” Aegon hummed, looking Alarra up and down, taking a big gulp from his goblet. He paused before slamming it back down on the table, the remains of red wine spilt.

“And she talks back. Most do not speak back to me. Maybe a slap across the face will do her well.”

“Likewise, my prince.” The prince’s eyes widened as he pointed an accusing finger at her across the table. He leaned over as far as he could reach.

“Excuse me-“

“Aegon, sit down.” Alicent had ordered her son, her voice loud. Aegon obeyed immediately, huffing as he fell back into his chair, glaring at Alarra. She looked away from Aegon to see Aemond with a small smile upon his face, obviously trying to hide it. This was amusing to him. Alarra raised an eyebrow at him as if to ask, is this funny to you? All Aemond did was smirk at her before he took another sip from his wine. Alarra couldn’t stand that smirk on his stupid face with his stupid blonde hair and his stupid eyepatch. But there was one thing Alarra knew for certain. She hated Aemond Targaryen.

Later that night, Alarra was bathing in warm water and lilacs speaking to Eyla about the dinner she had with the Targaryen family.

“It was an interesting family reunion…” Eyla scrubbed at Alarra’s shoulders, the water cascading down her back. “It was…tense.”

“I can imagine it wouldn’t be a joyous reunion.”

“What makes you say that?” Eyla stopped scrubbing at Alarra’s naked body, pondering on what to say next.

“The rightful heir to the iron throne is Rhaenyra Targaryen. But, Aegon Targaryen is the king’s first-born son. Who’s to say he won't overtake the throne once his father dies.”

“Aegon Targaryen is an idiot. A fool. He is not fit-” Eyla shushed the girl, her finger closing over her mouth.

“The walls have ears, my lady.” Alarra snorted, her face contorting into a blissful grin.

“The walls are walls. If anyone dares to use my words against me, I will cut their throat.” Alarra laughed at Eyla’s shocked face. A second later, a laugh emitted from Eyla’s throat and she shoved Alarra in the bath, water splashing on her dress.

“My lady! Now you are speaking like me, not yourself. I fear you have been around me too much.”

“And is that such a bad thing?” Alarra now washed herself, drenching her hair in water.

“You need to speak like a lady. Not a whore from Essos.”

“Eyla!” Alarra scoffed, pausing her cleanliness. The only sound that was heard now was the occasional splashing of water, as Eyla continued to clean her.

“The princess calls me a silly name.” Alarra smiled at the memory, a nickname she thought was cute and had no meaning.

“Does she call you a wet dog?” Alarra snickered, as Eyla’s hands moved towards her stomach area.

“She calls me lady in red.”

Eyla stopped cleaning Alarra, a concerned look crossing her features.

“Lady in red?”

“Yes, but I insisted that I do not wear red-”

“My lady, Helaena, is a dreamer. She sees things that others cannot.”

“I have heard of her odd inquiries.”

“They are not just odd, my lady. There is talk that her dreams are prophecies from God.”

God.

Eyla never spoke of what higher being she believed in. Alarra always wondered what she believed because she never brought it up until now.

“Besides, red has never suited me.” Eyla sighed, beginning to scrub Alarra's body more harshly this time.

“Every color suits you, my lady.” Alarra shook her head, her nose scrunching up in disgust.

“Except yellow.” Eyla laughed, turning around to grab more lilacs and throw them into the bath that had grown colder.

“Except yellow.” She repeated.

“Aemond hates his brother. That is one thing I know. I see it in his eyes everytime he looks at him. Pure jealousy and rage.” Alarra whispered, thinking about his eyes and the way they glared at Aegon. Alarra almost felt bad for the prince. Almost. Something in her understood him. Something was telling her that maybe he wasn’t so bad- but that couldn’t be true. He was a Targaryen after all. And she was a Stark. Wolves and Dragons don’t get along.

Ser Criston Cole was a man of honor. A man’s honor is something that can corrupt him, make him manic with power. And Alarra knew that all too well. Her uncle had surged, his hunger for power devouring his mind. Ser Criston Cole reminded her of her uncle and his unending thirst. The first moment she saw the knight, she saw the monster that lay between his gaze. Awaiting any moment to strike at anyone or anything that dares threaten him. But he could never scare her. For he was only a man with a tiny blade to save him. And Alarra had much more than that.

Alarra approached Ser Criston Cole, as he stood outside the hall, not even meeting her gaze below him. He was frozen still, not even acknowledging the princess before him. Alarra was offended, but declared that it wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth her might.

“Ser Criston Cole,” She rang, and he finally glanced at her, his head still forward but eyes scanning.

“Alarra the Fierce…what a pleasure.”

“I am sure it is a pleasure, Ser.” Ser Criston straightened, clearing his throat.

“Do you need something?” He questioned, his eyes again falling forward.

“I wish to break my fast.” Ser Criston Cole glanced at her again from the corner of his eyes.

“Prince Aegon wishes to not be interrupted-“

“I wish to break my fast.” She said again, more loudly and clearly this time. Maybe he hadn’t heard her, from two feet away.

“You will have to wait.”

“My stomach is growling, do you hear?” Alarra pointed to her stomach, and the quiet was loud around them before her stomach growled.

“Break your fast elsewhere.”

A loud euphoric moan sounded from the hall, and Alarra’s eyes widened as Ser Criston Cole visibly stiffened.

Alarra chose to break her fast outside. The hall was not inviting to her. She watched the water as she ate, as the blue sea crashed in waves against the cliffs. Alarra had never seen a sea so blue before.

“Enjoying the view, my lady?” Alarra was in the middle of chewing, when she turned to find Rhaena standing behind her. Alarra almost choked on her pastry, as she turned to face the princess, who had a bright smile on her face

“Yes, very much so. I’ve never seen water so blue.”

“I forget you don’t have seas in Winterfell.”

When Alarra first arrived at Dragonstone, getting there by ship, she was in awe of the sea. She recalled never seeing something so blue. Something so vast and large, as it stretched before her. Rhaena moved to sit at the seat across from Alarra, the sunlight making her white hair look even brighter.

“I haven’t gotten the chance to speak to you yet.” Rhaena folded her hands across her lap, a hint of shyness in her demeanor.

“Likewise.” Alarra responded, swallowing the piece of food she had been chewing on with some effort.

“My brother never let me leave Winterfell,” Alarra said, shaking her head before speaking again. “That’s why I’ve never seen the sea before.” Rhaena’s eyebrows furrowed as Alarra spoke.

“Why let your brother control you?” Alarra hadn’t thought about that before. Why had she let her brother dictate her choices? Her life. She could have left. She could have never seen her brother again, adventuring away from the North. But she didn’t. Alarra shook her head, looking away from Rhaena, her gaze drifting back towards the sea, its vastness pulling her inward.

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Alarra looked at her again, the scar on her face more prominent in the sunlight. Rhaena had been the one person to not stare. Alarra remembered that act of kindness, and it had made her heart ache a little less. “I have duty there, I have a place in the realm, I am not a princess but a valiant knight.” Alarra knew she wasn’t a knight. She knew she could never be one. But she always dreamed of it. She always felt she was more than a princess at Winterfell. That she had a purpose other than producing heirs. Rhaena was silent, listening to the words that Alarra was saying. She didn’t need to respond for Alarra to know she understood. She just did.

“I admire you. And your courage. The way you stood up for them, without even truly knowing them-“

“I know what is right. That is all I need to know.” Rhaena smiled, her cheeks rising to her ears.

“Anyone would be honored to have you as their knight.”

“I am not a knight. Only a lady.”

“I know,” Rhaena smiled, beginning to stand. “Well I shall leave you to your sanctuary. And please,” Rhaena’s eyes glimmered as she looked at the girl. And Alarra knew just how well they would soon get along. “Talk to me at any time.” Before she left Alarra wanted to say one more thing.

“Rhaena?” Rhaena looked at her, awaiting her words. “My brother does not control me. Only I control myself. Don’t let any man, no matter their title, tell you what you do. How you do things. They cannot touch you. You are a princess. Use that title to its purpose. I promise it will get you far,” Rhaena knew she’d liked Alarra just by meeting her. And this had just made her assumption much more true.

“As women we don’t get much of a title. We don’t get much of anything. But what we can get, what we can earn, we must conquer. Do you see?” Rhaena could only nod, taking in the wise words of Alarra the Fierce. And then Rhaena was gone, only the wind and the sea to accompany Alarra with her meal.

Aemond could not sleep that night. He opted to wander the halls, get his mind out of everything but he assumed that would do more harm than good. Wandering only led to more thinking and more thinking led to bigger thoughts- it was turmoil. Aemond had decided to visit the library instead. The door squealed as Aemond opened it, only a candle in his hand to lead him through the dark room.

Aemond thought he was alone as he walked through the rows of books, until he saw another light flash before him. Someone else was in there with him. Aemond moved his candle all around, trying to find where the light had come from but found nothing but darkness. Somewhere in the back of Aemond’s mind he had hoped it was the Stark girl. He hoped to get one more glimpse at her face before he slept. But he knew he’d see her in his dreams again.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I truly love writing Alarra, she's such a good character. Her and Rhaena's platonic and sisterly relationship is one I look forward to writing.

Tags: @mamawiggers1980, @kritara

#a song of ice and fire #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #game of thrones #house of the dragon #aemond fic #hotd #aemond x you #aemond smut #prince aemond #hotd aemond #aemond x oc #aemond x reader

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rjzimmerman · 5 months ago

Text

Excerpt from this New York Times story:

The Supreme Court temporarily put on hold on Thursday an Environmental Protection Agency plan to curtail air pollution that drifts across state lines, dealing another blow to the Biden administration’s efforts to protect the environment.

The ruling followed recent decisions chipping away at the agency’s authority to address climate change and water pollution.

Under the proposal, known as the “good neighbor” plan, factories and power plants in Western and Midwestern states must cut ozone pollution that drifts into Eastern ones. The emissions cause smog and are linked to asthma, lung disease and premature death.

The ruling was provisional, but even the temporary loss for the administration will suspend the plan for many months and maybe longer.

The vote was 5 to 4. Writing for the majority, Justice Neil M. Gorsuch said the court’s ruling was modest, pausing the administration’s plan in light of developments in lower courts. He said the Supreme Court’s stay would remain in place while a federal appeals court in Washington considered the matter and, after that, until the Supreme Court acts on any appeal.

Justice Amy Coney Barrett, joined by the court’s three liberal members, issued a spirited dissent predicting that the majority had created a “yearslong exercise in futility.”

“Given the number of companies included and the timelines for review,” she wrote, “the court’s injunction leaves large swaths of upwind states free to keep contributing significantly to their downwind neighbors’ ozone problems for the next several years.”

She called one argument set out in the majority opinion “a feeble response.” Another, she said, “throws at the wall a cherry-picked assortment of E.P.A. statements.”

“None stick,” she added.

Vickie Patton, general counsel of the Environmental Defense Fund, criticized the majority’s approach as reckless.

#EPA #smog #good neighbor rule #US Supreme Court

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fixfoxnox · 2 years ago

Note

How about 141 boys with a S/O who used to date Makarov, but like before he started his career as a terrorist

Oooh I've always wanted to do one of these

141 With a S/O Who Used To Date Makarov

Pairings: 141 x Male Reader (btw guys this is my default but I will write fem reader if you request it!) (No use of Y/N)

Notes: You'll get a bit of background, but essentially we're using my headcanons for Makarov's backstory in this, so if you don't understand after reading you may want to take a moment to read that! Also wasn't sure if Alejandro and Farah were included in this cause I think they're 141 but also they may just be like temporary members for whenever needed so??? I left them out.

Warnings: Possessiveness, implied abuse/kidnapping

Price:

Silence hung around the room for several moments, everyone standing tense as the offending video stood paused on the last frame, clicking over itself. No one knew quite what to say or do and most of the members of the 141 were looking between their captain and one of their lieutenants. The entire team knew about their relationship.

"Everyone out," Price's voice was harsh and it only took a few moments for the room to fully clear out, Gaz and Soap practically tripping over one another in an attempt to escape the stifling tension that had filled the room. Ghost and Roach were at least a bit more subtle with their rush to leave.

There was a moment of silence when it was finally just the two of them. Price was staring hard but his boyfriend was doing his best to avoid his gaze. "So," Price started carefully, "Do you want to tell me?"

"There's nothing to tell," his boyfriend responded carefully, still avoiding his gaze. His eyes trailed back over toward the small screen, frozen on the face of a familiar figure. He looked much the same and yet so different from the boy that he'd followed into the military. It broke his heart in an odd way.

"You," Price took in a calming breath, pushing himself away from the table and turning away, "You can't lie about this. Tell me, please."

There was another moment of quiet between them. "I don't love him anymore," his boyfriend spoke quietly, "if that's what you're worried about."

Price wheeled around to face him, his eyes hard, "That's what you think I'm worried about?" He moved around the table to him in several quick strides. Despite the hard look on his face, his hands were soft as he tilted his face toward him, forcing their eyes to connect, "That isn't what this is about. I'm worried about you. I'm worried about what he might have done to you. I'm worried about what he might want to do to you."

He turned away, unable to hold Price's gaze any longer. The man was so intense with his affection and care at times. It could be overwhelming for him. It was hard for him to talk about these things. His past wasn't exactly his favorite thing to discuss. He preferred to leave his past where it was. Where it couldn't hurt him anymore.

After a moment, Price gave a deep sigh. "Listen," his voice was soft, "you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I just...I need you to know that I won't judge you. I need you to know that at the end of the day, all I want is to know that you're alright."

"Makarov," he started quietly, his eyes moving back to the image on the screen, "We were raised together." He spoke carefully trying not to wince at the memories of that cold orphanage where they spent their childhood. "We were close. He was...different then. Sweeter, not obsessed with power and revenge. When he went into Spetsnaz, I followed."

He shook his head at himself, remembering the two's secretive relationship, the shared kisses when they would see each other between work with their squads. He remembered the way that Makarov had started to change as well. The little things, little things that were probably only noticeable to him.

"When he was discharged, when I found out what he'd done, I broke things off." He looked to Price, "I swear that was it. I broke things off and I haven't seen him since. I don't know what he was talking about," he pointed at the little screen, "I promise I have no idea what he was talking about."

Price grabbed his hand tugging him closer to press them together. He leaned their foreheads together, just sharing the space between them for a moment before nodding, "I believe you." He pressed closer, wrapping his arms around his boyfriends waist. "I believe you. Just," he seemed to hesitate for a moment, his face twisting up with something akin to rage, "if he tries anything," his voice was much harsher, "I'll fucking hang him."

"He's a terrorist," he reminded Price with a low voice, "We're going to bring him in and, no matter what sort of feelings he thinks he still has for me, nothing is going to happen." He tugged Price closer to him, pressing their lips together for a moment in a sweet kiss.

With the sweet slide of their lips together, he could feel Price relaxing in his touch. His relationship with Makarov was long over and, no matter what his former lover wanted, he knew that Price never let the terrorist even get close. He knew that Price was all that he wanted.

Ghost

"Simon, this is ridiculous," he sighed, turning his head to watch his boyfriend pace across the floor of the safe house, "I will be fine."

"Makarov sent you roses," Ghost shot back lowly, still pacing around. His mask was still on, something rare for when it was just the two of them alone. It let his boyfriend know how serious he was, how on edge he was. "He knows you. He's managed to find something out about my personal life and now he's targeting you."

His boyfriend could feel guilt eating at his chest and he was quick to look away. He knew about Ghost's past, he knew what happened to his boyfriend's family. He knew how much this was stressing Ghost out. "It isn't because of you," he spoke quietly, shame tinting his words.

He'd never told Ghost, he'd never told anyone. Running away was the most he'd been able to do. When things got tough, when he realized what the man he loved had become, he'd taken the coward's way out. He'd run and hidden and changed who he was in an attempt to avoid his past. Now it was back to haunt him.

Ghost continued pacing, "We have to keep you somewhere safe. If Makarov gets his hands on you, he'll kill you."

"I don't think he wants to kill me. Simon, I need to-"

"I need to get you a gun," he muttered, "I'll show you how to use it. You shouldn't have to use it, you aren't meant to get mixed up in this." He tugged at the edge of his mask aggressively, as though he wanted to tear at the material.

"Simon," he tried again. He had to tell him, "Come sit down, there's something-"

"We'll need to move locations too. The more we move the harder it will be for Makarov to take you. We can-"

"Simon!" He didn't like to yell, but his boyfriend wouldn't listen. He was so lost in his mind, so lost in his stress that he needed something to bring him back. His sudden shout seemed to do the job.

Ghost stopped in his place, frozen with wide eyes as he looked at his boyfriend. His boyfriend gave him an apologetic smile before patting the spot on the couch next to him and slowly motioning for Ghost to join him. There was a moment of silence that passed before Ghost hesitantly moved, sitting close enough that their legs were pressed together.

He took a moment, taking in a deep calming breath before speaking, "Makarov isn't after me because he figured out who you are." He held a hand up, stopping Ghost from speaking. He took another moment, trying to work up the courage to say what he wanted to. "Makarov knows me because we were together, years ago."

There was a long pause. "When you say together?"

"We dated," he looked away from Ghost, feeling heat run through him. "Before he was a terrorist. When I found out what he'd done, that he was working with the ultranationalists, I broke things off and ran." Hesitantly, he reached out to take one of Ghost's hands in his own, "I'm sorry I never told you. But this, him sending me those flowers, coming after me, it isn't because of you." He looked away from Ghost's blank gaze, nerves and shame eating at him. He wasn't quite sure how the man would react, but he understood that this could be too much for the man that he loved. "I understand if you-"

He didn't get a chance to finish as he was tugged into his boyfriend's chest and wrapped up in his arms. He was quick to relax against Ghost's chest, burying his face in his warmth as a kiss was pressed against the top of his head. "Thank you for telling me," Ghost's voice was still serious. He pulled back and took his boyfriend's face in his hands, pulling him close. There was a hint of something new in his eyes, something low and possessive, "He won't lay a finger on you. I'll tear him apart before he can."

Gaz

"C'mon, say something," he begged, watching Gaz's face closely. His boyfriend was frozen in place, his expression frozen in shock and horror. He should have expected this. "Gaz, please."

Gaz still didn't speak, he just blinked at him, eyes wide. His boyfriend could feel anxiety clawing at his chest and creeping up his throat. He started to pace around, rubbing at his face as he waited for the verdict from the man that he loved. He should have expected this. He should have known that he couldn't just explain things and expect everything to be fine.

He had to explain though, he just had to. He couldn't tell Gaz and have it come up during a mission. He couldn't let Makarov use it against him. His team needed to know, Gaz needed to know. He'd thought it would be easiest to start with Gaz, but now he wasn't too sure. Maybe he should have started with Price instead.

"You," Gaz's voice was high, but his sudden words stopped his boyfriend in his tracks, "You used to date Makarov? The terrorist?"

"It was before he was a terrorist!" His boyfriend rushed to explain, his voice nervous. "Listen he was still Spetsnaz and he was so nice! He hadn't done anything then but I swear when he did start doing things and I found out I broke it off! I haven't seen him since!" He stepped closer to Gaz, trying to plead his case. "I promise that I'm not-"

Laughter interrupted his speech and he found himself frozen in his place. Gaz was laughing? His shoulders were shaking and one of his hands was covering his mouth, but his laughter and the amusement in his eyes was clear to see. It sent a flush over his skin. His boyfriend was laughing about this?

"I'm sorry," Gaz held a hand out to him, his laughter growing louder and louder, "I'm, oh my god, I'm sorry." He doubled over, his hands on his knees to support him as he continued laughing, "You used to date Makarov," the words seemed to only add to his amusement.

"Stop laughing!" He complained, his cheeks a bright red as Gaz nearly fell to the ground with the force of his laughter, "It isn't funny!" His words didn't stop his boyfriend's laughter and he could do nothing but stand with embarrassment running through him as Gaz continued laughing. "I expected you to be mad," he grumbled out after a few minutes as Gaz's laughter started to finally calm down.

"Would," Gaz wiped tears from his eyes, "Would you prefer me to be mad?"

"I guess not," his boyfriend looked away from him with a huff, "I would prefer it if you hadn't laughed at me though."

"Baby," Gaz had a grin on his face as he stepped forward and wrapped his boyfriend up in his arms, "I wasn't laughing at you I just," he paused for a moment, chuckling again, "You have to admit that it's funny."

"How is it funny?" He leaned his head against Gaz's chest with a grumpy pout.

"My boyfriend," Gaz started with a grin, "Who is so overly cautious about everyone that he interacts with, and he of all people ended up dating a terrorist. An ugly terrorist too, in my opinion."

"You're certainly a step up from him," his boyfriend couldn't help but grin and tuck himself closer to Gaz's chest.

"Only a step up?" Gaz complained. Still, he had a grin on his face as he pulled back to press their lips together. The kiss was sweet, as most of the kisses that he and Gaz shared were. After a moment they pulled back, just enough that Gaz could mutter, "You know we have to tell the team about this right?"

"I'm already dreading it," his boyfriend pulled him back into a kiss.

Soap

"Why didn't you tell me!" Soap followed close behind him, both of them storming into the locker room in quick strides. His boyfriend had a scowl on his face but was trying desperately to ignore the clawing guilt and anxiety in his chest.

"It wasn't important," he shot back, starting to strip himself of his gear with shakey hands. "It still isn't important."

"Not important?" Soap stopped next to him, tossing his bag on the bench next to his boyfriend's discarded tac vest. "If you don't consider that important, I hate to see what you do."

He gave a deep sigh before turning to face Soap, crossing his arms over his chest with an indignant huff. "What do you want me to say?" He met his boyfriend's eyes, wincing at the anger that was so clearly there.

"I want you to explain," Soap stepped closer to him, taking one of his hands in his own and tugging him closer. He avoided Soap's gaze, looking away from him as things grew too intense. When he was so close he could see the worry that was so clearly undercutting his boyfriend's anger. It was much easier to handle when he could only see the anger, it was so much more familiar.

Soap wasn't like his past relationships. Soap was sweeter and more excitable and he'd never let his anger or his rage paint him into something that he wasn't. It was much easier to separate himself though. To justify his desire to push away if Soap was angry.

"You already know everything," he muttered, allowing himself to be pulled even closer until he and Soap were chest to chest.

"I don't think I do," Soap spoke carefully, "All I know is that you used to be with him and that apparently that," he seemed to struggle for a moment to contain the venom he was feeling, "bastard wants you back."

His boyfriend shrugged hesitantly, shame creeping up his spine as he remembered the last time that he'd seen Makarov, when he'd realized that a man that he'd trusted all his life had been lying to him. "I was raised with him," he spoke carefully, "I trusted him, he broke that trust, so I ended things."

"Did you," Soap seemed to hesitate for a moment, "Did you know that he was..."

His boyfriend gave a humorless chuckle, "When he was discharged, he told me it was all false accusations. That they needed a fall guy and chose him. I believed him." He looked up at Soap with wide pleading eyes, "When I found out that he'd joined the ultranationalists, I knew that he'd lied to me. I swear to god that I broke things off then."

"So what Makarov said," Soap's hands began to slowly rub up and down his arms, trying to comfort him even when he was worried himself. "You're not going to-"

"I'd never join him." He spoke seriously, stepping closer to Soap to whisper softly, "I'd never betray you. I swear."

Soap gave a relieved sigh, like that was all that he needed to hear. "Thank fuck," his whisper was muffled toward the end as he pressed closer to his boyfriend, connecting their mouths in a passionate kiss. All he needed was the reassurance that his boyfriend was his.

Roach

"You are not doing this, absolutely not," Roach's voice was harsh and he was giving a hard glare to the general who'd suggested it.

"Roach-"

"No," Roach shook his head, "This is crazy. I am not letting you do this. Makarov would kill you!"

Laswell looked between Roach and his boyfriend for several moments, a knowing look on her face. "You haven't told him," she guessed, pulling a wince from him and a confused look from Roach.

"Told me what?" Roach looked between them carefully, "What's going on?"

"We'll step out," Laswell motioned for the general to follow her and, though he looked grumpy about it, he begrudgingly stood to follow her out of the room. "Take your time," she gave him a small, supporting smile before fully leaving the room.

Silence hung around them for several moments. He did his best to avoid Roach's gaze, his hands tightening in his clothes for support. "What was Laswell talking about?" Roach's voice was quiet.

The words hung in the air for a few moments, sitting between them heavily. Finally, he worked up the courage to respond, "They didn't choose me randomly."

Roach moved around the couch he'd been standing behind, taking a quick seat beside his boyfriend before taking his hands in his own. "What do I need to know," he asked quietly, his thumbs rubbing circles onto the back of his boyfriend's hands.

Even in this moment, even when he thought that his boyfriend was hiding something from him, he was trying to provide him with some form of comfort.

"Makarov and I...we were together. Years ago." He moved closer to Roach, looking up at him seriously as he continued, "When I found out that he was working with the untranationalists, I tried to break things off."

"Tried?" Roach spoke carefully, but his boyfriend could hear the deep concern in his voice.

"He'd changed too much at that point," his boyfriend looked away, avoiding his gaze, "He, uh, well, he refused to let me leave. Tried to lock me up. Soon as I got the chance I ran, came to the US Embassy for help. Laswell is the one who helped me dissappear."

Roach was silent for a long moment, just taking in the information he'd just been given. He hid his reaction well, keeping his face politely neutral. His boyfriend knew him well though, he could read all of the microexpressions that he tried to conceal. He could read the barely contained rage that Roach was trying to hide. "I'm sorry," he muttered after a moment, "I should have told you."

That seemed to bring Roach back into the moment and his hands clenched around his boyfriend's. "I'm not mad at you," he spoke quickly, already knowing where his boyfriend's mind had gone. He tugged himself closer, wrapping him up against his chest with loving strokes of his hands. "You aren't going undercover," he spoke quietly, "You aren't going near Makarov ever again. I'll never let him get anywhere close to you again."

#gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #ghost x male reader #ghost x reader #roach x reader #roach x male reader #soap x male reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #gaz x male reader #captain price x reader #captain price x male reader #price x reader #john price x reader #call of duty #x reader

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