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onlyhereforthestories · 1 month ago

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Tell Me Some Things Last (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

Sorry I didn't get this out yesterday! Hope you enjoy 😊

Take my mind take my pain like an empty bottle takes the rain and heal

Pain. That’s all you could feel, pain. And not even physical pain, it’s the kind of pain that consumes your mind and leaves you empty. When they said break ups could literally bring you to your knees you didn’t realise how true they were. Christen had literally just torn you to pieces without much more thought than “It’s just not what I want anymore y/n.” You wished you could say you saw it coming you really did but you didn’t. Up until the words came out of her mouth you thought you were both happy.

You didn’t have anywhere to go; the weather was damp and dark, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You sat on a bench in a park not far from your now ex’s apartment soaking in the rain as it fell. You wanted nothing more for this pain to stop, to fade into the background so you could breathe again. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop or fade it just sat there on your chest like it never wanted to leave.

You weren’t sure how long passed but you knew it was a significantly long period of time, the night had settled in, and the clouds had grown stormier. When the crack of thunder started was when you got up to leave, you were already soaked to the bone and shaking, not that you really cared. A fleeting thought that scared you to your core, that closed off mindless feeling was something you didn’t want to fall back into.

But you were, you could feel it.

Take my past and take my sins, like an empty sail takes the wind and heal

6 months passed pretty quickly after Christen broke up with you, when you go through the days on autopilot its quite easy to get swept along without a care. You woke up, ate breakfast, had training, ate lunch, had strength sessions and then went home to have dinner and sleep before repeating it again.

Game days were the hardest for you, it was the main time you had to interact with her. Goals were celebrated and team huddles were a thing that you couldn’t avoid like at training. You were pretty stoic on the field anyway, so your current wall wasn’t too different to your game face which meant that the fans didn’t really pick up on your change in mood and behaviour. You were playing each game as a means to the end now, you had put in to be transferred as soon as the breakup had happened, and you had found out that you had gotten a few offers yesterday in a meeting with your manager.

You had yet to find out who the offers were from, but you were just happy to be getting away from the current climate you were a part of. You really wanted to leave the past where it is now, you wanted to get out of here and never look back. You hoped with everything you were that leaving here, leaving all this in the past would help you move on from her. That it would help you heal.

And tell me some things last

It was your final game, no one knew it yet, but you did. It was the first time you had felt joy going into a game and you wanted to leave the fans with something to remember you by. They were always so supportive and if it weren’t for Christen and the situation with her you wouldn’t be leaving them.

Football has been all you’ve had in the last 4 month; it has been the only constant and the fans had given you the push you needed to keep going. You knew football would always be something that lasts for you.

And tell me some things last

You won the game; you had scored a goal too just to top it off. You were doing a slow lap of the pitch interacting with as many fans as you could and signing everything possible. You had lost your top and your cleats along the way not that you cared, you wouldn’t need the jersey anyway. You didn’t want to keep it; you didn’t want to remember they end of your time at this club you just wanted to move on.

You were nearing the tunnel when a young girl called your name, she had a shirt with your name on in her hands and she was bouncing on her toes as you made eye contact with her. you headed in her direction and signed her shirt, she asked for a photo so you hooked your hands under her arms and placed her on your hip so her guardians could snap the photo. You were chatting to her about the game and where she plays when she caught you off guard, “Where are you leaving to?”

You stood shocked with the girl who could only have been 7 sitting looking at you, none of your teammates had picked up on your slight change in behaviour or your hesitation to leave the field but this little girl had. They do say kids pick up on everything. “How do you know I won’t be playing here anymore?” You gave her a little tickle to let her know she wasn’t in trouble for asking.

“You have stayed out here with us for so long, that normally only happens when someone is saying goodbye without actually saying it.” you shook your head slightly with a smile and gave the girl a squeeze.

You walked her back over to where she watched the game and handed her back, just before you gave her back you whispered in her ear. “Don’t tell anyone but you will see me in Spain next season.” You pulled back with a small wink and watched as the little girl beamed at you wishing you luck and telling you hopefully, she’ll be able to see you play again soon.

You quickly got who you found out to be her aunt’s email so you could make sure that you could make that come true for the girl.

Take my heart and take my hand like an ocean takes the dirty sands and heal

Barcelona had been good for you the moment your plane landed on the tarmac, the sun shining down on you making your body feel warm for probably the first time in 6 months. You had 2 weeks to settle in and explore the city before preseason started and you would have to get used to being a teammate again.

You spent the 2 weeks being a tourist and learning some of the language, you went to all the spots you got told were tourist traps, you tried loads of different local foods and explored the coffee shops around your apartment.

Before you knew it you were putting on your training kit and getting ready to be introduced as the latest member of the Culers. You had just done all your management stuff like contracts and photos with the president which meant you were meeting the team a little into their training session.

You walked out into the sunshine and strolled up to Jona on the side lines. He shook your hand and called all the girls in to introduce you, which you did before he could. “Hola chicas, I’m y/n and I am honoured to get to play alongside you for the next hopefully few seasons. I am sorry about my lack of Spanish I am working on it but for now bear with me.”

You looked round the group of smiling women, you recognised pretty much all of them, but you made a mental note to make sure you interact with Keira, Lucy and Frida as you knew they spoke your native language. What shocked you was your reaction to locking eyes with beautiful brown ones that held such a soft look towards you. You could feel your body tingle with something you haven’t felt in a long time and that was really scary.

Alexia stepped towards you to introduce herself properly, taking her captain duties properly as well as the fact that she felt a pull towards you. She reached out and took your hand in a soft handshake as she welcomed you to her hometown club.

Take my mind take my pain like an empty bottle takes the rain and heal

You had been playing in Barcelona for 6 months now, and you could quite honestly say it had been the best 6 months of not only your life but your career too. Everything just felt right, you were playing the best you ever had, you worked well with everyone on the team, and you weren’t missing your old life.

What was holding you back was your past, more specifically the pain you still felt lingering in your heart when you saw Christen and Tobin’s relationship plastered over the internet. You weren’t jealous, you really weren’t, you had not loved Christen for a long while now. The pain was caused by the fact that you never let yourself talk about what happened, never found out what you did to make Christen not love you anymore.

You had been pretty good at keeping your mind off of it when you were with the team until today. You found yourself alone in the changing rooms after a pretty long training day or so you thought, you heard muffled voices coming from the toilets and picked up on Frida’s voice. You had no idea who she was talking too, and you were going to pick up your stuff and leave unit you heard the name you had been avoiding.

“Have you seen Christen and Tobin’s post. I really admire them for the way they have slowly introduced their relationship to the world without actually announcing it. it makes you wonder how long they have been together doesn’t it…” You stopped listening after that, the sentence piercing your heart. You grabbed your stuff and bolted to the door; you could feel the tears starting to fall before you could even get out of the changing rooms. As you pushed at the door it was pulled from the other side and you almost ran into Alexia. She managed to catch your shoulders with her hands before you could topple the both of you over, she went to speak but stopped as soon as you looked up at her.

The sight broke her heart, you looked so broken. Without saying anything she whipped the tears from your face and reached for your hand, which you let her do and followed behind her as she dragged you out of the facility and into her car.

You stared out the window as she drove, you weren’t sure where you were going but at this moment you didn’t care. You just wanted to get away from any talk of your ex and her perfect relationship.

When Alexia pulled the car up and got out you were slightly confused, you could see the beach from the car window, and you felt the weight on your chest already starting to lift. You were so caught up in your thoughts that Alexia got to your car door before you could even think about opening it.

“Come on let go walk.” She holds out her hand in front of you and you didn’t hesitate to take it. She pulled you out of the car and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go and walking towards the crashing waves.

The two of you walked side by side for about 20 minutes before you spoke up. “Christen is my ex, she wasn’t with Tobin a year ago she was with me, or so I think. She broke up with me because she just didn’t feel anything for me anymore, like you can just suddenly not love someone. I haven’t spoken about this with anyone because we never told anyone outside her family, she didn’t want to. Maybe that should have been my first warning sign. Looking back on it now, I know it wasn’t a relationship that was going to last, but I still gave her my all and I have no idea what I did wrong. What I did for her to not love me, for it not to last.”

Alexia let you speak; she waited as you paused to think about the next thing you wanted to say and then continued to listen when you carried on speaking. She sat down next to you when you took a seat after you’d said all you needed to say, and she just sat there while you processed it all. After about 10 minutes of silently listening to the waves you turned to the slightly older woman, “Thank you.”

“You have nothing to thank me for.” The reply made your lips quirk up, of course she plays down her importance in this current moment.

“I have everything to thank you for. You have listened to me spill my shit, you have taken time out of your day to take me away from the situation earlier without a thought or knowing why I wasn’t okay. And you haven’t left, you’ve stayed.” You reached out and grabbed her hand hoping to get her to really listen to how thankful you are for her right now.

She moved her hand around a littler to interlace your fingers. “I would do a lot for you and that is all I’m going to say for now. But just know that there is more to that statement and that when you are ready, I will tell you.” You could feel your cheeks heating up. You knew your attraction to the Spanish superstar was there but having that conversation right after crying over an ex probably wasn’t the best idea. No matter how over that woman you were.

You sat on the beach with the woman you were sure would be a major part of your future for a little while longer, soaking in the setting sun hand in hand until the time came for her to take you home.

And tell me some things last

The Champions League quarter final second leg was fast approaching, and you were nervous. You had played at the Camp Nou stadium a few times now but this game you felt those added nervous of such a big crowd. The first leg hadn’t quite gone as you had all hoped and that meant that there was a less confident energy going into this one.

You were also nervous because your special guests were coming today, you had managed to arrange for Lyla the little girl from your final game at your previous club to be here today. You had even managed to get her to be a mascot too which you had to thank Alexia for, she was the main one to ask the organisers. You had been in contact with her aunt all day and so you knew that she was here and ready to go being as the game was due to start any moment and you needed to walk out.

You walked out of the changing room last like always, head down and mind focused until you heard the excited squeal of your name, “Y/n, Y/n I missed you.” Before you could even think the slightly taller than the last time you saw her girl was throwing herself at you. You managed to catch her under the arms and swing her up onto your hip as you returned the sentiment.

You spoke to her for a small second whilst the rest of the team got ready and waited for the ref’s signal to walk onto the pitch. What you didn’t see was the way Alexia was looking back at you and your interaction with the girl you had flown half a world to see you.

The game had gone pretty much perfectly this time, the only annoyance being that you couldn’t keep a clean sheet. You were walking along clapping the fans with Lucy and Keira when you saw Lyla jumping and waving your way from her place with her aunt, you were quick to excuse yourself and head over.

“Hola chica.” You sent her a little wink at your use of your currents homes language which had the girl giggling “how did you enjoy the game? Pretty cool stadium, right?”

The girls toothy grin and vigorous head nod started her positive answer. “Si.” You cut her off a little with a laugh of your own at that answer. “It was so good; I have never been to a place this big! And you play amazing. You really like it here, don’t you?”

Instead of talking up to her over the barrier you signalled to her aunt to make sure it was okay to get her down on the pitch with you. When you got permission, her aunt helped you get her down and said to go have fun, you told her you’d bring her back in a little while. Grabbing her hand, you dragged her along with you as you listened to all she wanted to say about the game. “… Watching Alexia in person was super cool too. She is soooooo good.” You couldn’t help but agree with the girl, she was something else on the pitch.

“Would you like to come meet some of the girls?” The nod you got in return was again vigorous and so you tugged her in the direction of where you had left Lucy and Keira not even 5 minutes ago.

After introducing Lyla to most of the team there was one final person left. Alexia had been on media duty so you could only hope she would be done and in the changing room for you to introduce Lyla to. You quickly ran over to her aunt to make sure she knew where you were going before leading the small girl through the tunnel.

You poked your head into the training room to find the woman you were looking for in a state of dress that had your heartbeat spiking. Swallowing quickly and blinking a few times to make sure you weren’t dreaming, you averted your eyes slightly and spoke, “Hey Ale I have someone that wants to meet you is that okay?” Alexia’s head whipped round at your voice, and you saw the blush rise up her cheeks as she realised you were seeing her in her sports bra. Not that this was the first time, but it was on your (well pretty much) own and after the beach.

You stepped back into the hall when she told you she would love to, but she just needed a second and waited for her to be ready. Before you could even start a conversation with Lyla the door was swinging back open, and Alexia was dressed in her tracksuit. You were a little shocked when Lyla started hiding behind you a little bit as this was the person she was most excited to meet.

“Ale this is Lyla, she my favourite fan from back in the States. Lyla this is Alexia the best midfielder in the world.” Alexia bent down to Lyla’s height and kept a little space between them before she spoke to her. You spent a good 10 minutes listening to the two girls speak before the rest of the team filtered into the changing room cutting your time short. Lyla said goodbye to the team and you along with Alexia walked her back out into the rapidly emptying crowd, those that were left cheered your names as you entered.

You slowed your pace as you got closer to letting Lyla go, you really did hate goodbyes. Alexia could see your hesitance; she couldn’t tell why you were so reluctant to let the little one go but she could tell it was really playing on you. She reached behind you and rested her hand on the middle of your back, rubbing small slow circles there as you lifted Lyla over the barrier.

After saying goodbye and getting changed you grabbed Alexia’s hand and pulled her along behind you and out to her car. Without questioning it Alexia opened it and let you settle yourself into her passenger seat while she put the bags in the back and got behind the wheel. Deciding that taking you home right now wasn’t what you needed or what she wanted she made the decision to take you back to your spot.

You were not paying attention to where the woman you cared very much about was taking you, you were just lost in your current thoughts and feelings about saying goodbye. It was only when the vehicle stopped that you realised just what the Spanish superstar had done, you were back at the beach by your spot. She didn’t wait for you to say anything just got out and came round to open your door.

You didn’t hesitate to take the hand she offered you when the door was wide open, and you slightly shocked the woman when you held on tighter when you were stood up straight. You gave her hand a squeeze and sent her a small smile that had her grinning and tugging you from your linked hands towards the shore.

You sat yourself against a rock by the shoreline and patted the open space between your legs which Alexia happily sat in, she was a little more hesitant to lean back but didn’t resist you when you lightly tugged her shoulders. The two of you sat there for a little while before you found yourself speaking.

“Thank you for earlier, I really needed the comfort of your presence there to say goodbye.” When Alexia turned her head to you with a questioning look you knew it was a subtle way to ask but also let you know you didn’t have to explain but you wanted to. “She was the last link I had to my first home; she was the final goodbye. That place was where I had my first love, where I got my career started and where all the pain came from. Pain that I think I’m finally over and healing from. Pain that I won’t now let stop me from saying I’m ready if you still are.”

You felt Alexia relax even more into you and you were incredibly happy to feel her hands snake into yours. Neither of you needed to say anything more about it right now, this moment was for basking in the possibilities and future you were about to start.

And tell me some things last

It had been about 2 weeks since you had told Alexia that you were ready to see what could happen between the two of you. Not a lot had really gone on other than an increase in the time you spent together as well as the thoughts you were having. Whenever you were with the Spanish woman you couldn’t help where your mind ran to, the kisses you imagined and the future you could really start to see coming.

So when Alexia asked you to pick her up for training on morning you were secretly hoping that meant some more time together. You pulled up outside her flat with about 20 minutes to spare so decided to go up with the coffees you had got for her. Knocking on her door you patiently waited for the woman inside to answer and when she did you were in a state of shock and awe. Alexia was stood in her sports bra and training joggers, hair tied back and signature Nike band pulling her baby hairs back and out of her face. It took you a moment to compose yourself and drag your eyes away from her exposed torso something she could not help but notice and tease you about. “Like something you see love?”

You exaggerated the wink you sent her way which had the woman full on belly laughing as she let you in and followed behind you as you made it into the kitchen. You set both cups down onto the side and spun to face the still semi dressed beauty, you mind was going a mile a minute over the sight and all you wanted to do was wrap your arms around her waist and kiss her.

Alexia could see your mind working, she could see your thoughts spinning round your head and she was so ready to hear what they were. Deciding you both had been dancing around this for long enough she took a small step towards you and asked the question she wanted the answer too. “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

You snapped your eyes to lock with her gaze, a gaze that was soft and reassuring and all you needed to take that leap. “You and how much I want to kiss you right now but I don’t want to push if you aren’t ready yet I know…” you were cut off by the lips you have been dreaming about.

You wrapped your arms around the slightly older woman’s waist and pulled her closer to you, you brushed your hands up and down her sides as you deepened the kiss something that sent a shiver down Alexia’s spine and a sigh to leave her lips as you both briefly pulled back for air. You weren’t ready for this moment to be over and you wanted to commit more to memory so you lent back in and connected your lips with hers again for a slow kiss.

Alexia pulled back once air was once again needed but she didn’t go far, she rested her forehead against yours and rubbed her thumb over the base of your neck where she had her hands rested. You both just stood there in her kitchen soaking up the moment, committing it to memory and dreaming about what else was to come.

You broke the quiet moment by pressing a small peck to her lips and asking the question you have been wanting to ask for the last couple weeks. “Will you go on a proper date with me? I would like to take you out before I ask the next question I really want to ask you.” Alexia quirked her eyebrow at the cryptic nature of your question but decided to just answer the one she could and wanted to.

“Of course I will go out with you properly. There is nothing I want more.” She went to press a kiss to your lips or so you thought. You closed your eyes as she got close only to feel her press against you for a second before all the warmth of her was gone causing your eyes to spring open. She had grabbed her coffee and was walking towards her bedroom with an extra swing to her hips.

She was going to be the death of you and you both knew it.

And tell me some things last

The last few months had been amazing for you and your newfound love. Alexia had treated you to a fair few date nights and you had managed to get the woman to come over for some homecooked meals. It had been the perfect start to what you hoped would be your forever.

Alexia had excused herself from you now normal Thursday evening plans of dinner and a movie to spend some much-needed time with Mapi which you were more than okay with. It gave you the chance to spend some time with Lucy and Keira ahead of your birthday.

Your English teammates took you out to a fancy meal and drinks in one of your favourite spots in Barca. As the night drew on and the drinks flowed you felt yourself get lighter and lighter. You got to the point that you were so carefree you didn’t care who you were dancing with, nor did Lucy who was your main dance partner anyway.

At this point Keira decided it was probably best to call it a night and phoned your now girlfriend. Alexia was waiting for this phone call really; you had mentioned you were going out with the English pair and that never normally ended with anything less than you and Lucy drunk as and Keira and Alexia dealing with you both.

Alexia had just dropped the English duo to their place and was now sat with a very inebriated you at a red light. She turned to look at you as you dozed off in the passenger seat of her car. The streetlights bounced off your features in a way they had Alexia frozen, she knew that she was falling incredibly fast for you, but she didn’t realise quite how fast until that moment.

She picked up her phone quick and snapped a couple of pics of you before the light turned green and she got you home safe.

A few days later you would see that photo for the first time, and not directly from the woman herself. You woke up to breakfast in bed and sweet kisses for your birthday, you had been so distracted with the people in your life wishing you happy birthday that it took until the evening when you were getting ready for the dinner out with some teammates that Alexia had planned, that you would see the picture along with 3 others.

It was Alexia’s post, it started with a photo of you both in your Barca gear before a game, then it was of you and Nala out on a walk, then it was of you cooking some dinner in Alexia’s kitchen and the final one was the car photo. The caption was simple, Here’s to the first of many birthday celebrations.

And tell me some things last

Alexia was freaking out and you could tell she was. You had yet to speak to her about your upcoming contract issues with Barca. Which had become a more pressing issue with your initial 3 years rapidly coming to an end. She knew that talks had been happening as she is your girlfriend and the captain of the team but what she didn’t know was that you had been offered and accepted a new 5-year deal.

You had managed to get the club to not tell her before you did so that you could surprise her. Your apartment lease was up, and you hadn’t renewed, the reason for this was you were hoping to be able to move in with your now 2-year long girlfriend, not that she knew that plan just yet. You were nervous to ask such a question, but you were sure she was who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with if she would have you.

What you didn’t plan for was Alexia finding out about you not renewing your lease. You had promised Ingrid you would meet for coffee after the mornings training and Alexia had promised to meet you at yours as you would be cooking for tonight’s Thursday date night. Unfortunately, you were not aware that your landlord was due round to speak about the changing of keys when you moved out. A conversation that Alexia had now had with said person and not you.

Mapi had picked you and Ingrid up from your little outing so you had asked the pair to come up for a drink, thinking that Alexia would be happy to have some time with her best friend. However, as soon as you walked in and made eye contact with your lover you knew the invite up was the wrong thing to do.

It wasn’t just you that noticed, Ingrid saw it too. She was quick to grab Mapi and make up a hurried excuse that had the blonde defender opening and closing her mouth like a fish as she was dragged out of the apartment.

You waited to hear the click of the door shutting before you started to speak. “What’s wrong babe?” You tried to keep the nerves out of your voice, opting to move a bit closer to the older woman as you spoke too.

In the time it took for you to sit down on the sofa, the woman was up on her feet. “What do you mean what’s wrong. You know exactly what is wrong, you are leaving. You are leaving and you haven’t bothered to ask me what that does to me, to us. I didn’t even get to know let alone get to ask you to stay.” You were frozen in place, what was she talking about leaving. You weren’t leaving why would she think that, had you waited too long to tell her about the contract extension? You felt like an idiot for causing her to be this upset.

“Lo siento babe. I am not leaving. Let’s get that sorted first. I could never leave you.” You took a moment to wait for your words to register in the distressed woman’s mind. When they did, she looked at you, and the look she had in her eyes almost broke you. It was like she was pleading with her eyes for you to be telling the truth. “Come here, Lo siento mucho. I didn’t mean to cause you this much stress. I was just trying to surprise you. I should have done better here.”

Alexia did as you asked and came and sat next to you. She didn’t make any physical contact with you like she normally would, but you understood. You took that she was at least next to you and not out the door and a positive sign that this wasn’t a major fuck up. You gave her a few moments to process her thoughts as you did and waited for her to speak.

“You really aren’t leaving me?” That broke you a little bit, you shifted a little closer to the woman and gently took her hand, when she didn’t pull back you squeezed it in yours to try offer some comfort before your words could do the rest.

“No Ale I’m not. I’m staying right here with you for as long as you’ll have me.” You would happily commit the rest of your life to this woman and everyone around you knew it. You obviously hadn’t spent enough time making sure she knew it though and you made that silent vow in your head to rectify that.

“Forever por favor.” You couldn’t help but smile at her words. “But your contract with Barca, it’s almost up.” You let go of her hand to turn your whole body to face her, legs crossed on the sofa. You retook her hand and tugged a little to try and get her to look at you as you spoke.

When you finally got her to make eye contact with you, you told her your secret, “I renewed about 3 days ago, 5 years babe.” The way your favourite eyes lit up in front of you in that moment would be forever imprinted on your brain. There was just joy in them as you said this, and you couldn’t stop the feeling it brought up inside of you. You were about to continue speaking when her facial expression changed again, not to as sad as it was but to one of more confusion.

“But your landlord said you were giving the keys back at the end of the month.” You couldn’t help but smile at that, of course Alexia wasn’t quite following where your brain was hoping.

“I am yes. There is only one place I want to live.” The puzzled look stayed on the Spanish beauties face. A fact that had you full on laughing out loud at the cluelessness of your girlfriend. Deciding that you would put her out of her misery you told her what you hoped could happen. “How would you like to live together mi amor?”

Alexia didn’t answer verbally, no she answered with every other option but that. She pretty much tackled you to the sofa, your back hit the cushions before you could even process what was happening. You couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of your mouth as the woman stared peppering your face with kisses.

The joyous moment turned tender quickly after that. Alexia had one arm on the cushions next to your head to prop herself up and the other reached down to cup your cheek. “I want nothing more than you being the first thing I see in the morning and the last I see before I fall asleep.” You could feel the heat creeping up to your cheeks, it wasn’t often you got romantic Ale but when you did it never failed to turn you to mush.

Words would fail you in this moment and you knew it, so you did the next best thing. You reached up and tangled your fingers in the brunettes’ locks of your very soon-to-be house partner, pulling her down so that you could press your lips eagerly to hers in a kiss that could only be described as coming home.

#woso x reader #woso imagines #woso imagine #alexia putellas imagines #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine

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buckyandgeraltsupremacy · 1 year ago

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remus x shy!reader (part 2)

i'm a whore for slow burns and so this little mini series will be a slow burn

author: sj

warnings: fluff, full moon possessiveness, slow burn, reader is described as having longish hair and uses she/her prounouns

part one / part three / part four / part five

masterlist

---

this was your first full moon around remus since discovering he was a werewolf. you weren't nervous, just relieved you finally knew what was going on.

remus was terrified. everyone knew he got a little snappier when it came close to the full moon. he got wound tighter and tighter until happened and the last thing he wanted to do was snap at you.

you were 3 days away from the moon and you just finished with classes, following the boys to their common room to study with remus like normal.

you collapsed on the couch and remus fell into the cushion next to you. you both worked silently together for a while until you found remus significantly closer to you than he was before, your thigh pressed to his.

you weren't bothered by this, but remus was slowly combusting silently. he just felt this unexplained need to be touching you at all times. it started this morning when you were in class with him. your slytherin desk partner had his arm touching yours while you were both taking notes and remus thought he was going to lose. it.

at lunch he made sure he was next to you and that helped his need to be touching you. he usually started to ache before the full moons, but it seemed when you were close that he suddenly forgot about the pain and was only thinking about you. hence why he was trying to get closer to you while in the common room.

you sighed and put your books on the floor. you yawned and you slouched into the couch. remus studied you and noticed the tension you were carrying.

"lay down, bun. close your eyes for a while." remus said, patting his thigh. you nod and lay down your head on his thigh, hair cascading into his lap. remus felt his nerves start to calm and gently started running your hair through his fingers. he delicately plucked at your hair and fiddled with it.

about an hour later, sirius got restless and groaned dramatically on the floor.

"ughhhhh. i'm so bored. wake flea up so she can sneak to the kitchens with me and charm the elves." he said, rolling towards remus. remus stiffened.

"no. let her sleep. she's stressed and is actually resting right now. and if you wake her up, i will wait till you fall asleep tonight and find an insect to crawl into your ear and eat the little brains you have left." he said, it coming out a little more aggressive than remus intended, but feeling extremely protective of you.

the next day, all remus could think about was you. it was a saturday so he didn't expect to see you unless you wanted to come to the common room. and low and behold, you came through the portrait hole and came over to the boys with a small smile.

almost reflexively, remus' hands flew up to grab you as you passed, pulling you down almost on top of him as you passed. you gasped and giggled as you fell onto the couch next to remus, extending them over remus' sideways. remus sighed and pulled you into a hug and mumbled into your hair about how much he missed you.

"ew." peter mumurs.

"i had a theory that you would get possessive near the full moon and this is only proving me right." james says. your cheeks flush red and remus pulls back to look you in the eye.

"i just missed my bun is all. doesn't mean i'm some possessive alpha male." remus scoffs, looking towards the boys.

"your bun?! she's all of ours mate. not like you're dating the girl." sirius says, trying to get under remus' skin. remus' hands tighten around you, sirius' words already making remus' hypothetical hackles rise. remus, not wanting to admit sirius is right, just puts his head back to your shoulder and whispers, 'my bun'.

thus how you found out that remus gets a little possessive close to the full moon.

#remus lupin #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x reader fluff #remus x reader #remus x reader fluff #marauders x reader #marauders era #the marauders #marauders

1K notes · View notes

musings-of-miss-j · 24 days ago

Text

wings of jade, eyes of amber

a xiao x gn reader fic

notes: enough fluff to fill every mattress on earth, gn reader, strangers to lovers, is it a meet-cute or a meet-awkward? who knows

author's notes: i need everyone to know that i titled this fic 'the newly documented effects of adeptus temptation' in my files and i think im absolutely hilarious for it. again in bafflement about how to write romance. oh and im totally a fake fan i forgot his karmic debt existed and by the time i remembered i was 7k words in so uh. excuse my skill issue

word count: 10179 (everyone pretend to be shocked please)

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘

If Xiao had been asked about his plans for that day, he probably would’ve driven whoever had the gall to address him in the first place away with a stony glare. If the question had come from someone of more important status, say, Rex Lapis, he would’ve truthfully answered that his evenings often consisted of loitering on the balcony of Wangshu Inn and staring unseeingly at Liyue’s beautiful scenery, lost in thought.

He wouldn’t have imagined in any timeline or universe that an angel would topple from the sky onto the wooden floor and startle the wits out of him.

In your defence, how were you supposed to know that the wind currents would be particularly tempestuous that day? Everything else had been perfect; your glider was in top shape, as usual, being one of your prized possessions, the slowly darkening sky was free of birds that may have interfered with your path, stars just barely starting to glimmer amongst the bold streaks of the sunset…

All in all, a perfect night for gliding, and when you strapped on your wings and leaped off the edge of Wuwang Hill the familiar rush of exhilaration spread through your fingers and toes. The view never failed to amaze you. You revelled in the cool breeze and gentle ambience of the night’s sounds; rustling leaves, a distant bird’s call, and as you flew across Bishui Plains where there were more people you caught snatches of their chatter in the air. Wangshu Inn came into view, and you adjusted your angle to carry out a slow, spiral descent that you’d been working to perfect for the past few days. It seemed like you’d score another perfect landing; the radius of the circle you made was just wide enough to slow you down, you could taste success on the tip of your tongue-

The gust of wind was sudden and strong, completely throwing you off your path and sending you hurtling down, the wings of your glider snapping and the straps tugging at your arms. Weightlessness lasted only a second before you tumbled down, picking up speed and struggling to readjust the wings against the wind’s resistance, and oh Archons the ground is getting closer shit shit shit-

You landed with a crash on a wooden floor, your legs giving out and causing you to trip blindly forward and collide with something that felt significantly less hard than a wall. A muffled ‘oof’ sound came from above you, and when your ears stopped ringing you opened your eyes and saw the most beautiful golden gaze peering down at you, and registered the feeling of hands on your shoulders. You stammered out an apology, stumbling backwards and unstrapping your glider with shaking hands.

“I’m so sorry, really, I didn’t mean to crash into you like that, it- it was an accident please forgive me-”

“You fell from the sky,” the stranger interrupted, watching you fold away your slightly battered glider with his arms crossed. You laughed awkwardly, rubbing a sore spot on your neck that would no doubt develop into a bruise later along with a tapestry of bumps across your back and ribs. Not the worst accident you’d ever experienced, but not exactly the best, either.

“Y-yes, I did,” you agreed sheepishly, prodding your jaw. Last time you took a fall from this height, you’d managed to dislocate it. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case. “Sorry for bumping into you.”

The stranger huffed, frowning and staring down at you. You were clearly one reckless human, barrelling around in a glider without a single precaution and crash-landing on balconies. Still, Xiao was rather intrigued, though he couldn’t for the life of him decide why. Maybe it was your bravado, or your off-handed attitude, or your mesmerising eyes-

He shook his head to dispel the thought.

“You should be more careful.”

“You’re absolutely right, I should,” you agreed with a slight laugh, running a hand through your hair in a mostly futile attempt to tamp down the permanently windswept locks. “Is there any way I can make it up to you for disturbing you? What’s your name?” You asked as an afterthought, tugging off the leather gloves that connected to the wooden joints of your glider. You were met with a long silence and a scrutinising gaze that left you a little flustered from its intensity. You cleared your throat and glanced away. “Not that you’re obligated to introduce yourself, of course, I just-”

“My name is Xiao.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Xiao,” you replied with a brief, relieved grin, bowing your head slightly as you’d seen citizens of Liyue do when greeting one another and reciprocating with your own name. It was a nice name, he thought. He gestured vaguely towards the folded glider in your arms.

“Is it ruined?”

You glanced down at the tear in the leather and a splintered joint, hiding a wince.

“Well. Hopefully not, I’ve had worse falls than this…”

“You do this often, then?” He prompted, tilting his head curiously.

You chuckled, scratching the back of your neck. “Gliding or getting into accidents?”

“The frequency of one implies the other is also a common occurrence.”

“Right you are,” you agreed with a lopsided grin, glad that this strange young man didn’t seem too pressed by the accident you’d caused. “I do glide a lot. And get into accidents equally as often.”

“I’ve never met a human with such a penchant for flying,” he remarked, curious about you and confused at his own interest. He’d never been so willing to hold such a long, relatively useless conversation with a mortal before. You stared at him, perplexed by his wording. Clearly he wasn’t a human himself; everything from his golden eyes to his pointed teeth and unnervingly graceful movements indicated supernaturality, but his confirmation was surprising nonetheless.

“It’s a more popular sport in Mondstadt,” you conceded.

“So you’ve been there, too?” He didn’t think you lived in Liyue; years upon years of protecting the land meant he could quite distinctly recognise its people, and you didn’t elicit any familiarity whatsoever.

“Yes, I have,” you confirmed with a nod. A yell of your name from below snapped you from your thoughtful reverie, and you twisted and leaned over the railing to see who called. Xiao had to restrain himself from yanking you back from the edge; just a natural instinct born from centuries of upholding his contract to protect humans, he reasoned. You peered down below, catching sight of Aether’s golden hair, Paimon waving her tiny hands up at you frantically.

“Ah, I have to leave,” you said, turning to face Xiao again. “My travelling companions are calling for me. It was nice meeting you!”

He nodded, moving aside to let you pass through the entrance to the inn and watching you bound down the stairs with reckless abandon, leaping across the last flight. He marvelled at your energy even after falling from the sky.

“Who was that you were talking with?” Paimon demanded the moment you descended the stairs, hovering around your head. Aether took one look at the battered glider in your arms and the bruise purpling on your jaw and figured out what had happened, tugging you along with a sigh. You’d been travelling with him for some time now; since before he entered Mondstadt’s gates and saved the entire nation, and now you’d arrived in Liyue barely a few days ago. Paimon, indignant at being ignored, began to poke your cheeks and tug your hair, demanding a satisfactory answer while Aether dragged the two of you back to camp.

“His name is Xiao,” you told Paimon.

“And why were you talking to him?” She pestered.

“I, um… I crash landed into him,” you admitted sheepishly, dodging a child running across the docks. Paimon shrieked with laughter, and even Aether cracked a smile.

“That’s so embarrassing!” Paimon gasped between fits of giggling, turning somersaults in mid-air above your head.

“We got here barely a week ago and you already managed to make a scene,” Aether agreed. You huffed indignantly, swatting Paimon away.

“At least I didn’t lose six thousand mora betting on jade,” you shot playfully back. Aether dug his elbow into your ribs.

“That’s a damn low blow and you know it.”

You took to visiting Wangshu Inn every few days to chat with Verr Goldet and sort through the paperwork you tended to accumulate when accepting odd jobs around the city. That’s how you and Aether got by, for the most part; commissions from the Adventurer’s Guild and strangers in the wild, and the occasional monetary reward from winning a gliding contest or something of the sort. Usually the two of you went your separate ways throughout the day and met up in the evening to review what you’d earned and how you’d spend it, and today was no different; you’d settled on Wangshu Inn’s balcony, cross-legged on the floor with an array of letters in front of you that you were sorting into stacks so you could efficiently deliver them to various corners in Liyue and a textbook about ley lines propped open in your lap. You were an odd case of an Akademiya student; having passed the entrance exam you decided on a whim to take, you became one of the ‘far-flung fledglings’, as the faculty called you; students who learned through their travels and reported findings back to their supervisors every month, named as such to reference the rather lacklustre grades many of them got. Such a degree took several years longer to complete than a traditional one, but you didn’t mind. On the contrary, you wanted to travel as much as possible, and if you just so happened to get a certificate for it too then that was just another added benefit.

A breeze ruffled your hair and paperwork, sending several pages spiralling off the balcony and down to the ground before you could snatch them back. You stared at the fluttering sheets in dismay, resolving to never sit there again, when Xiao appeared in front of you out of thin air with some paper in his hands. He gave them to you without meeting your eyes.

“You dropped these.”

You jumped to your feet, accepting them and thanking him profusely. “Oh, Xiao! Thank you ever so much, you saved me a boatload of trouble.”

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, crossing his arms. You wondered if you’d disturbed him somehow, given his short replies, and quickly gathered up your things.

“Thanks anyway,” you repeated with a smile. “I’ll leave now to give you some peace. Verr Goldet said you like to spend some of your time up here…” you trailed off. Xiao glimpsed one of the bruises you’d sustained from your rocky landing on the balcony just above your collarbone, and realised with an odd clarity that he wasn’t particularly eager to see you leave.

“You can stay,” he said shortly. “It makes no difference to me.”

Your smile could’ve replaced the sun, he thought. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to disturb you.”

“It’s no disturbance.”

“Alright,” you replied cheerfully, resetting your things and plopping back down onto the floor. For a moment you were silent, poring over the documents in front of you until you reached the end of the proposal you’d been editing.

“You’re not a human, are you?” You asked absent-mindedly while shuffling through the paperwork. “...No,” Xiao confirmed after a pause. After a moment of intense deliberation, he sat down across from you. “I am an adeptus.”

You abandoned your pen, staring at him in surprise. “Oh. Are… are you the Conqueror of Demons, by any chance?”

He stared at your writing on the page. “I am.”

This was the part where he warned you to keep your distance from him, he dimly realised. Now was the time to push you behind the wall that separated humans from his inevitably harmful presence. His tongue felt heavier than any weapon he’d ever wielded.

You hummed thoughtfully, the sound distracting him for a moment, and rummaged through the basket at your side for a handful of berries before pushing it towards him in a silent offering. “I’ve heard the adepti have a contract with Rex Lapis that binds them to Liyue. Is that true?”

He relaxed slightly at the genuine curiosity in your voice. He’d drive you off later, he reasoned. It’d be easier if your curiosity was sated and you didn’t have any more questions to bother him with.

“What you’ve heard is correct. You don’t hail from Liyue, do you?”

“No,” you said. “It’s my first time visiting. The mountains here are lovely, perfect for gliding.”

“Did your glider recover from the less-than-subpar landing you performed the last time we met?”

“H-hey!” You laughed, caught off-guard by his casual dig. It was supposed to be a harsh rebuke, not that you noticed. “That was a rare moment of shame, okay? It was an easy fix!”

Xiao said nothing, marvelling at how differently you seemed to view the world from him. You all but exuded passion and excitement, as though you were glad to be alive, while Xiao’s every action had become a product of his sense of duty. The concept of doing anything for his own enjoyment was a long-dead one; what pleasure did a sinner like him deserve? Even then, your enthusiasm was… not quite infectious, not to him, but it was almost calming. If there were people out there who had the luxury of delighting in such frivolous activities as gliding then his endless battle to purge the land of evil must have bore fruit; for the idea of having wings being to take joy in the act of flying rather than to gain an advantage over one’s enemies had to be some sort of indication. Still, you were a strange human. A good sort of strange, he thought, unbidden.

You’d fallen almost silent, weaving a soft tune into the symphony of rustling leaves and birdsong as you hummed under your breath. He stared intently at you. Yes; a good sort of strange for sure.

The next few days brought about a similar encounters. After bidding Aether and Paimon goodbye, you headed to the inn, embarrassed at first when you realised you were hoping to see the strange yet handsome adeptus again. You’d gone around the harbour, Qingce Village and even the mountains of Jueyun Karst in search of a proper house to stay in; you resolutely refused to keep camping outside, especially considering the Rite of Descension was months away and therefore you’d be in Liyue for some time to come. After a long morning of knocking on doors and asking around, you’d accumulated a list of possible residences and their locations; some in the harbour, some in the further villages and even one or two places nestled deep within the mountains. If it were up to you, you would’ve gone to assess the latter option within a heartbeat, but you had to take your traveling companions’ wishes into consideration too. So you unrolled your trusty map on the floor of Wangshu Inn’s balcony, hunched over the aging parchment as you marked out the exact locations. Xiao soundlessly teleported behind you, crouching and leaning over until his chest nearly brushed your back. You were startled out of your skin when you heard him mumble a “what are you doing?”, whirling around to face him and letting out a surprised laugh.

“Xiao, you can’t just sneak up on me like that,” you berated, shuffling to the side to give him space to sit next to you. A perplexed expression crossed his face.

“It was not my intention to sneak up at all.”

You raised your eyebrows with a teasing smile. “Is this an adeptus thing?”

He huffed, bristling at your teasing. “Have some respect, mortal.”

His voice wasn’t quite as stern as he would’ve liked, though. He briefly pondered why he wasn’t admonishing you or giving you the cold shoulder for your overly friendly attitude; he repeatedly shunned attempts at friendship in the past and refused offerings from humans. What made you so different? He hoped you wouldn’t notice.

“Well, I’d appreciate some sort of indicator that the Vigilant Yaksha, Conqueror of Demons and adeptus of Liyue found it fit to grace this foolish mortal with his presence,” you replied, bending over the map to straighten one of the corners.

“Fine,” he conceded after a pause. You offered him a zaytun peach from the basket at your side, and he wondered how you got your hands on fresh fruit that wasn’t native to Liyue. “What are these markings?” He asked, gesturing towards your map.

“Well, you see,” you started, reclining back on your palms and giving him your full attention, tucking your pen behind your ear. “I’ve been looking for suitable lodgings for my travel companions and I. We could be here in Liyue for months, maybe even a whole year, since he’s waiting for the Rite of Descension. Usually we just camp outside, but since we’re going to be here for so long I’d rather not spend all my time in a tent, not to mention the fact that Liyue’s countryside isn’t as empty as Mondstadt’s. There’s a lot more monsters out here at night.”

Xiao nodded. Your reluctance to expose yourself to the elements day in and day out fit his knowledge of humans being rather fragile; it made sense that you’d want some shelter.

“Reasonable,” he remarked, taking a bite of the peach.

“Say, Xiao. Would you mind coming with me to a few of these places?” You asked with forced nonchalance.

“Why?” He countered, blunt as ever.

You toyed with your Vision, a sheepish smile pulling up the corners of your lips. “I’m not very familiar with the mountains yet,” you explained hesitantly, avoiding his gaze. “And I know Aether’s busy with commissions… but I’d rather not go alone, I heard there’s lots of monsters in the area,” you finished hurriedly. You already regretted asking. He definitely had better things to do than escort a tourist, for Celestia’s sake, why would you ask that-

“What time would you like to go?”

You looked up at him, your shocked expression quickly morphing into an elated one as you beamed up at him. Xiao wondered why his face felt so hot all of a sudden.

“How about right now?” You suggested, deftly rolling up your map. “If you’re free, of course.”

He nodded, rising from the floor. “Yes, that is suitable.”

“We’ll have to stop by the camp so I can grab my glider, though”- you were abruptly cut off when Xiao lifted you up, one arm hooked around your legs and the other looped around your shoulders. A surprised yelp left your lips, immediately swallowed by the wind as Xiao teleported away from the balcony in a cloud of wispy black and turquoise smoke. You squeezed your eyes shu until you could feel the sun’s warmth again. You’d emerged between the two peaks of Mt Tianheng. After a moment of admiring the view of the harbour below, you realised you’re still very much in Xiao’s arms; with a flustered cough, you disentangled your limbs from his and stumbled into the grassy garden of the cabin.

“This place is nice,” you said, mostly to distract yourself from the situation you’d been in moments prior. “Although it does look rather old…” you added, trailing off as you made your way to the front door, gesturing vaguely for him to follow you. The door squeaked on its hinges and one of the windows was cracked, but the owner had seemed rather eager to get rid of it, hence the ridiculously cheap price he was willing to rent it for. You relayed this absent-mindedly to Xiao, who nodded, peering around the perimeter of the cabin and attempting to see it from a human’s perspective. He wondered what factors you would take into consideration. You stuck your head through the doorway, and immediately reeled back with an alarmed shout; Xiao’s head snapped in your direction, his spear already materialising as he rushed towards you.

You slammed the door shut.

“Forget this one,” you announced, turning to face a very battle-ready Xiao with his spear in hand and the Vision at his wrist glowing faintly. He marched towards the door.

“What is it?”

“A revolting number of spiders,” you replied with a shudder, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him away. He stopped dead, shooting you an incredulous look and ignoring the way you tugged him.

“You shouted loud enough for Morax himself to hear your voice because of a few insects?”

“Spiders are arachnids, not insects.”

He let out a disbelieving sigh, finally relenting and letting you drag him away.

“You are all but cowardly, (Name),” His words were sharp, but you took them in stride.

“Why, how dare you!” With an indignant laugh, you let go of his sleeve and shoved him playfully away. He didn’t even falter from your push. Not fair. “And you have the nerve to preach to me about respect!”

Xiao turned his face to hide a tiny smile.

The next house was crossed off the list because the view wasn’t nice enough for your liking. Xiao marvelled at the specificity of your requirements, and then proclaimed the cottage at the edge of Mingyun Village unfit because he could sense a demonic spirit lurking within.

“A demonic spirit?” You repeated, brows furrowed. He glared at the seemingly innocent cottage, resolving to return and deal with the issue once he finished escorting you.

“Yes. Living here is out of the question, you’ll find yourself with a slit throat before Morax can declare the end of the night.”

You blinked, then laughed. “Alright then, Mingyun Village is a miss,” you said, crossing it off your list. “Hmm… only two more options,” you remarked, folding away your list and looking back up at Xiao.

“Then let’s make haste,” he replied, moving to pick you up and no doubt teleport.

“Why don’t we walk?” You suggested. He paused mid-motion, contemplating the idea.

“Sal Terrae is close enough,” he agreed, then to your surprise, advanced towards you again and went through with scooping you into his grasp. He began walking away from the village and the haunted cottage.

“Xiao, you don’t have to carry me,” you pointed out after a moment of silent, warm-faced embarrassment.

“I thought humans were known for their deplorable stamina,” he said without pausing his stride. “Who’s to say whether you’ll be able to make the trek or collapse from exhaustion halfway through?”

“You’ve got a pretty bad impression of humans in general, don’t you?”

“It’s merely a statement of fact, not an insult.”

You poked his chest. “Hey, it’s not fair of you to be irritated because we can’t keep up with adepti.”

He gently pulled at a strand of your hair in retaliation, an act you were prone to when he was a little more dismissive than the situation called for and one he’d been copying from you as of late. “I’m merely following your pre-established example and complaining even when it’s fruitless.”

You laughed long and hard at that.

“You win this battle of wits,” you said with an exaggerated sigh, draping the back of your hand across your forehead in a gesture of dramatic surrender. “Now put me down.”

“That would significantly reduce our speed.”

“It’s not like I’m slow,” you huffed, poking his chest again to regain his attention. “Besides, it’d prevent you from tiring out too quickly.” Xiao scoffed at that, gripping you a little tighter as he hopped across a lake from one stone to another.

“You insult me by assuming my body would be as weak as a mortal’s,” he replied, wishing he could properly harden his voice and actually sound offended rather than this adopt wretchedly soft tone.

“Well you insult me by assuming I can’t walk on my own two feet!”

“And just like that, we’ve become sworn enemies,” Xiao deadpanned.

With a half-hearted grumble, you let him carry you the rest of the way. At some point, to annoy him into putting you down, you asked him to lift you a little higher so you can reach the sunsettia you glimpsed in the uppermost branches of a tree. He didn’t even bat an eye, shifting his hands to your waist and lifting you above his head so you could grab the fruit; you were left thoroughly baffled with his patience. At least you had a snack for the way.

You decided that Sal Terrae was lovely, if a little cold due to its proximity from Dragonspine. You hadn’t expected to like the little shack by the waterside as much as you did, but the cool breeze, swaying grass and rippling water made for a charming scene. You could even glimpse the glittering of a crimson agate on the ridge of the nearby mountaintop; no doubt Aether would be kept busy collecting all the ones he’d missed. You spun around in the grassy outcrop, admiring it all.

“It’s a little far from the harbour…” you lamented, planting your hands on your hips as you contemplated the matter. “Maybe I’ll take it for myself, even if Aether isn’t interested,” you remarked. “What do you think, Xiao?”

“I don’t know what circumstances mortals may have to consider when choosing a place of residence.”

You huffed amusedly. “So you have no opinion on the matter whatsoever?”

Xiao had several opinions on the matter. The place was free of monsters, for one, and he’d be able to see the shack from the top of Wangshu Inn and it was close enough for him to visit without having to explain himself.

“It is not unpleasant,” he allowed.

“That’s significant praise coming from you. Hm…” You circled the building, assessing it for any potential flaws. “I’ll talk to the owner,” you decided. “If I can strike a good bargain then I’ll take it.”

Xiao hummed in acknowledgement. “It is a safer place to live than the mountains.”

“Why would I worry about safety when the ever-diligent adeptus Xiao is guarding the lands?” You teased, skipping back to the edge of the lake. He blushed to the tips of his ears, clearing his throat and looking away as you tugged off your shoes to dip your feet into the cool water.

“Foolish mortal. You shouldn’t rely so heavily on my protection.”

You just laughed, unapologetic and unrepentant. Xiao willed himself to be annoyed by your carelessness; he couldn’t. He liked that you thought he was so reliable and strong. He wanted you to think positively of him. Utterly ridiculous.

You loitered on the plains of Sal Terrae for the day, relishing the sunlight and crisp wind from the mountains. Xiao stayed with you, ‘to make sure you didn’t encounter any trouble,’ and you shared berries and apples plucked from around the island with him, chattering absent-mindedly until stars appeared in the sky.

You ended up buying the shack after the owner hastily told you to take it for a price so cheap it was almost theft; he’d seemed nervous and jumpy the day you spoke to him, constantly looking over his shoulder and practically begging you to buy the place. You wondered what had gotten into him as you signed the contract to transfer ownership; Aether had shrugged and more or less stated it didn’t matter as long as you got a bargain, an opinion that Paimon eagerly seconded. Xiao had muttered something unintelligible, looking away and dismissing the topic. Odd.

A hesitant sort of friendship formed between the two of you; you enjoyed each other’s company and Xiao would listen to you chatter over the basket of fresh fruit you never failed to bring, occasionally contributing to the conversation and silently encouraging you to keep it afloat. You sometimes worried that you were bothering him; he sometimes worried you’d grow tired of his lacklustre responses and stop visiting the inn altogether. Even now, on the odd days you couldn’t stop at the balcony for even a moment, he felt strangely annoyed by your absence. How dare you wriggle into his daily routine and then ruin it by not showing up when you were supposed to? The audacity of humans…

Sometimes you invited him to Sal Terrae. He rarely accepted; that would be too great of an indulgence for an adeptus like him. At least when you were the one coming to see him he could chalk up his tolerance for you to a desire to uphold his contract, nothing more (never mind the fact he’d never given humans the time of day before). On the rare days you did manage to coax him out of Wangshu Inn, you taught him card games and let him win when you discovered just how terrible he was at them, and swam in the cool waters of Sal Terrae while rambling absent-mindedly about whatever happened to be the subject of your thoughts at that time. Xiao secretly liked these instances best; when you completely let your guard down and allowed him a glimpse into the intricacies of your thoughts and your routine. Aether and Paimon teased you relentlessly for spending so much time in his company, while Xiao found himself plagued by similar treatment from Madame Ping and other adepti. He consoled himself with the knowledge that Morax, his master, wouldn’t concern himself with such matters. Meanwhile, the aforementioned Morax chuckled over his interactions with you from Celestia.

You sometimes brought your glider to the inn if it was in need of repairs, other times you appeared with stacks of paperwork in your arms that he’d ridicule (“Incorrigible, mortals’ insistence of writing every damned thing down as if it’ll make a difference when all becomes ash.” You just laughed as you so often did, and the sound dispelled any ideas of cinders and fire, bringing images of an end bathed in sunlight and birdsong instead) and always with an enormous book or two about your studies tucked beneath your arm. You rambled, long-winded and with no clear link between your sentences as you carried out whatever task you’d dragged along with you that day; sorting through your commissions, writing drafts for your academic papers or polishing the wooden frame of your glider and plucking out any bent feathers. You once gifted him one of the feathers, perfectly straight and intact, and tied it to the jade ring on the sleeve of his left arm.

“A charm for good luck,” you told him with a smile. He wanted to tell you that such things were impossible for a human to procure, that true good fortune could only be in the form of a divine blessing, but he found he didn’t believe his own words enough to speak them aloud.

You wrote a lot of letters, he noticed, envelopes filled to bursting with sheets and sheets of parchment that you explained were the reports required of you by the Akademiya, which you’d send to your mentor with a feather of the latest pattern you’d taken to using. He felt an odd stab of bitterness somewhere in his chest the first time he saw you sealing a feather into an envelope with such care, even as you went on about your genius mentor whose supervision you were lucky to have, considering how they were currently at the other side of the world in Snezhnaya continuing their studies at the Fatui’s Zapolnary Palace. Xiao couldn’t care less about this mysterious teacher who was privy to so much of your praise, though the uncanny sting was easily pacified whenever you’d bring him a platter of the almond tofu he so fancied, or invited him to go on a long, meandering walk through the Liyuen countryside.

Regardless, this teacher of yours found themselves on the receiving end of his ire when you arrived at the inn well into the afternoon rather than late morning as customary for you, and looking a little less lively than usual. Like a flower drooping on a hot day, he found himself thinking as he took in your more-dishevelled-than-normal hair and the dark shadows beneath your eyes. You weren’t making an effort to fill the silence, either, instead methodically and sluggishly working through a stack of paper covered in lines of your handwriting, crossing out sentences and scribbling things in the margins before copying the whole thing onto another sheet.

“You look sickly,” he stated matter-of-factly, watching you frown at something you’d written and vehemently black it out with your pen.

“I feel sickly,” you grumbled back, sticking then pen behind your ear as you skimmed through the index of the book open by your side for a reference you needed. He frowned. Even a simple bout of tiredness could so quickly deteriorate into something life-threatening when it came to humans, and the thought of you, boundless and free, becoming the prisoner of a grave because of some measly ailment didn’t sit right with him.

“Then rest.” It came out as more of a command than a plea, and you sent him a pointed look.

“My mentor’s requesting an article on the elemental anomalies within Dunyu Ruins and how they affected the standard model of a society’s evolution.” You stifled a yawn, stretching your back. “I’ve been working on it all night, if I don’t finish it now I’ll be too worried to sleep.”

He fell silent at that, pondering how to convince you with a frown as your pen scratched away.

“But what if you get sick?”

“From what, Xiao? Studying?”

He grumbled under his breath. “From overexertion, mortal.”

You waved him off with a non-committal sound, and Xiao sat down next to you on the balcony floor, helping himself to bulle fruit from you wicker basket and continuing to deliberate on how best to make you take a break.

In the end he didn’t have to do anything at all; less than an hour into working you dozed off while leaning over a detailed diagram of some ruins. Xiao quickly caught you before your head hit the floor, tentatively holding you upright and expecting you to jolt awake at any moment. When you didn’t, he carefully set you down against the balcony railing, then grabbed you again when your body slumped to the side. At this point he was rather mystified; what did one do with a sleeping human unable to support their own weight? While mulling over the perplexing question, his eyes wandered over your face, upturned and relaxed, a far cry from the usual ear-to-ear grin you so often sported. You were pleasant to look at regardless of your expression, he decided, then shook his head as if to dispel the thought. The motion nudged you slightly off his shoulder, and he froze at your quiet murmur of protest. Maybe a bed would be a more apt resting place, he realised belatedly, and after a moment of intense deliberation lifted you from the floor and carried you awkwardly down the stairs to where Verr Goldet was manning the counter as always. Upon seeing him standing at the landing of the stairs looking so thoroughly confused, holding you so gingerly as though afraid you’d shatter or slip from his grasp, she had to stifle a laugh that would no doubt wake you and cause him to prickle with embarrassment. Still, though, she felt as though at least a little teasing was in order.

“Prince Charming has found himself a sleeping beauty, I see.”

Predictably, Xiao bristled like an irritable cat, heat crawling up the back of his neck.

“Do not mock me, human.”

“Not even a little?” She persisted, then chuckled to herself at his glare, relenting. “The upstairs bedrooms are empty.”

You woke up in an unfamiliar bed, the light of the sun well on its way to disappearing beneath the horizon and a jar of just-blooming glaze lilies on the windowsill that looked as though they’d been picked by a rather heavy hand. You blinked up at the ceiling, then rolled out of bed. A quick glance at the window revealed the view from the top of Wangshu Inn you’d come to recognise so easily; put at ease by your familiar surroundings, you made your way towards the door and upon opening it, came face to face with Xiao. His fist had been held aloft, as though about to knock on the door (you taught him that after he almost walked in on you changing) and his look of surprise morphed into one of embarrassment, which then deteriorated into a frown.

“I told you. You needed to rest after all.”

“What happened to ‘good evening’? ‘How are you?’ ‘Did you sleep well?’”

He clicked his tongue in a show of impatience at your teasing, but nonetheless he relaxed and offered you the barest hint of a smile. You swiftly beat down the butterflies taking flight in your stomach.

“Fine. Did you sleep well?”

“Like a log,” you confirmed with a grin, patting his shoulder appreciatively as you walked past him. “All thanks to you.”

He said nothing in response, turning to follow you down the stairs.

“Are my things still on the balcony?” You asked him over your shoulder as you leapt down the last flight of stairs and gave him a fraction of a heart attack in the process. He could never seem to get used to your penchant for getting into some form of danger. “No,” he replied when your safe landing calmed his nerves. “I took them back to your home while you were sleeping.”

You beamed up at him as he descended the stairs, and his heart hammered anew, though for completely different reasons than a few seconds prior.

“You didn’t have to.”

“There’s very little I’m obligated to do.”

“You can just say that you wanted to do something nice for me, you know,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes at that, then conceded: “Alright. I just wanted to.”

“Well, I offer my most sincere thanks to you, oh mighty Alatus,” you replied with a laugh, picking up your glider that he’d left on the table Verr Goldet usually manned. He took your playful jab in silence, watching you with a tiny smile. You paused in the process of tying the glider to your wrist, your face abruptly falling as you remembered the paper you hadn’t finished.

“Damn it,” you muttered to yourself, straightening a few ruffled feathers and experimentally flapping one of the wings. Xiao waited until you’d gone through your usual routine of getting the glider on before addressing the matter he knew was worrying you.

“That… article you’d been so fussed over,” he began as he followed you to the balcony. “I sent it to an acquaintance of mine who’s well-versed in Liyuen history. She was quite impressed by it, and left a few – what did she call them – ‘alternate resources’ for your perusal.”

You paused at the railing of the balcony, no doubt about to launch yourself off it, to shoot him a surprised look, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. The longer you didn’t say anything, the more self-conscious he felt under the weight of your gaze.

“You- Xiao, that’s so sweet!” Your surprise turned into elation, and you bounded over and threw your arms around him. He could withstand blows from deities and immortals, but a hug from you left him a little winded, and it was a long moment before he awkwardly patted your back in reciprocation. You pulled away, your smile now tinged with embarrassment and your cheeks tinged with pink, and cleared your throat.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” he all but choked out, avoiding your eyes. Even after you waved goodbye and dove off the edge of the balcony and headfirst into a wind current that carried you up and out of sight, Xiao stood there, red and frozen in place, struggling to get the memory of the way your hair brushed his cheek and the press of your arms around him out of his mind.

He insisted on accompanying you to domains and ruins whenever Aether was unavailable, claiming you’d ‘made yourself his responsibility’ and ‘such are the terms of his contract.’ You were unnerved by his sheer strength at first. It seemed no enemy could best him, and he cleared ruins and domains without breaking a sweat leaving you to solve mechanisms, rootle through treasure chests and search for Geoculi. The day you headed to Lingju Pass to investigate the debilitated structures without telling him, he was livid.

“You could’ve been hurt, you fool,” he snarled, kicking the remains of a mitachurl off his jade spear. You buried the point of your sword into the ground, leaning on its hilt and breathing heavily.

“I had it under control,” you snapped back, wiping the sweat off your brow with the hem of your shirt. Xiao scoffed.

“Lies,” he hissed, stalking closer until he towered over you. “Next time you decide to explore a place infested with filth, tell me.”

“Or what, oh mighty Alatus?” You bit out, shooting him a glare. It wasn’t your intention to feed the fire, but Archons, it had been a long day and the last thing you wanted to deal with was his fickle temper. These spats the two of you were so fond of having really could be emotionally laborious at times; his unwavering discipline and your carefree, adventurous outlook were bound to clash every now and then.

“Or I’ll make a point of following you everywhere from the shadows.”

His utter lack of hesitation caught you off guard. You tugged your sword out of the dirt and sheathed it with a sigh. The spike of anger had completely left your body, leaving nothing but the ashes of exhaustion.

“Let’s go back to the inn,” you grumbled, unfolding your glider. “Damn these ruins. Aether can bloody well explore them himself instead of chatting up the perfume lady.”

“No,” he interjected bluntly, grabbing your wrist before you could strap on the glider. “Walk with me. Clearly I can’t let you out of my sight for a moment, what with you barrelling into dangerous situations without a second thought.” He didn’t leave you much of a choice, slotting your hand in his and pulling you along. They fit quite nicely together, he thought. Perhaps he should do that more often.

“Why walk when we can fly?” You protested, stumbling after him.

“The complaints of a mortal unconcerned with their own safety mean nothing to me,” he snapped without any real bite. He couldn’t stay angry at you. It puzzled and infuriated him no end; theoretically speaking, everything from your carelessness to your unwaveringly beautiful eyes should get on his nerves, but it never did.

You decided to take the opportunity to tease him. It wasn’t as if you were upset at him, anyway; you took the liberty of dragging him places he had no business visiting all the time. “But you’re concerned with my safety, even if I’m not. Were you worried, Xiao?”

“Yes.”

You blinked. Stumbled.

“O-oh.”

You didn’t say much else until he stopped at a mountaintop dotted with qingxin flowers and motioned stiffly for you to sit down. A gentle breeze blew, ruffling your hair and sending the qingxin swaying back and forth. Too flighty a wind for take-off, but gliding off the mountain would be fun. Quarrel forgotten, you rummaged through the pouch at your hip and procured a lavender melon, offering it to Xiao. He stared at it for a moment before accepting.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten the idiotic stunt you pulled today.”

You chuckled, laying back on the grass to admire the sky. “Well, I haven’t forgotten your unnecessarily overbearing attitude, so we’re even.”

He huffed, staring resolutely at the cluster of qingxin to avoid your teasing smile.

“I am upholding a contract. I have reason to behave the way I do.”

“Oh, of course. I forgot about your eternally noble intentions.”

“How can you be so irresponsible?” He demanded, finally looking at you. “Humans are fragile. Breakable. You shouldn’t be so lax when it comes to your own life.”

You shifted, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Not this again,” you complained with a bemused smile. “I already told you, if I’m going to die anyway I might as well do it style.” You giggled. “Go out with a bang, y’know?”

“Your reasoning is absurd,” he grumbled, irritated by the idea of you dying at all. Incomprehensible; human mortality was hardly something that he could afford to be shocked by anymore, and yet… “I won’t let you die in some senseless way.” You’d made yourself his problem, as far as he was concerned, and the statement was more of a vow than a chastisement.

“I won’t,” you replied, far too cheerfully for such a morbid topic. “There’s still so much of the world to see, and it’d be a shame to miss it. I’ll be around for a good long while yet.”

“You’d better be,” he muttered under his breath, watching the slight flutter of your lashes as the sun emerged from behind a cloud and shone into your eyes, lighting them ablaze. He tore his gaze away, chest strangely tight.

The day you arrived at the balcony in a flurry of feathers and enough confidence to overflow a giant’s teacup, announcing that you were going to make it the Qingyun Peak or die trying, Xiao was less than pleased.

“Too dangerous,” he said with a shake of his head, knowing his dismissal wouldn’t be enough to discourage you.

“Aether descends into the Spiral Abyss every month and comes back non-fatal injuries every time, a bit of hiking can’t be that dangerous!” You countered with a grin, knowing that you’d get him to crack eventually and come with you.

“The Traveller isn’t human,” he replied with a pointed look in your direction.

“So I even have an advantage over him!”

Xiao sighed, already half-resigned to accompanying you to the towering mountain range. “Only you would think mortality is an advantage,” he mused, pushing himself off the balcony’s railing and walking towards you. “I don’t suppose I’ll be able to dissuade you in any case.”

Your grin only widened triumphantly. “Nope! Are you coming or not?”

“I don’t trust you not to come back with a broken leg,” he deadpanned, stopping in front of you and staring you down in a last-ditch effort to convince you to spend your day doing something a little less hazardous. When you didn’t relent, meeting his stare head-on with a victorious twinkle in your eyes, he gave in with a sharp exhale. “Yes, alright, fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll come with you.”

You headed out not a moment later, and almost immediately began bickering over the best route to take.

“The Jueyun Karst route is faster.”

“But I want to go through Tianqiu Valley and Nantianmen,” you protested, tracing the road on your map as you walked.

“And waste all that time? Don’t be absurd.”

You shot him a playful grin. “The day is young. What do we lose other than a few hours?”

He levelled you with an unimpressed look, grabbing you by the hood of your cape to steer you around a puddle you’d failed to notice. “Only our limbs, if the Geovishap that lives in the valley is feeling generous.” Recovering from the stumble that came with Xiao’s dragging, you replied with a maddeningly sunny tone, “As if some dragon could be a match for you anyway.”

“So that’s your strategy? Your ulterior motive for bringing me along?” His sternness quickly devolved into reluctant, subtle amusement. “To have me act as a glorified bodyguard?”

“No, of course not!” You cried, clutching your chest in a show of exaggerated horror and teetering to lean against him as if on the verge of fainting. “You’re so much more than that, Xiao! I need someone with an Anemo vision to activate the wind current mechanisms up in the mountains, too.”

He pushed you off him gently - more gently than you deserved - with a roll of his eyes, your laughter carrying across the plains while he grumbled about “the disrespect of mortals” and “foolish reliance on others’ strength.” It didn’t aggravate him as much as it used to, though. It was nice, being someone you relied on.

In the end, after much squabbling, you and Xiao ended up taking the long, meandering path through Jueyun Karst, on your condition of exploring the Stone Forest as well. You couldn’t even pretend to be miffed that he’d won the argument; each step you took revealed a view of the towering mountains more picturesque than the last, the grassy slopes on either side were scattered with wildflowers and every now and then you caught sight of a white crane circling the sky.

“Look, Xiao! There’s that crane again,” you said, tipping your neck back and shielding your eyes from the sun to watch it cleave through the air with slow, methodical flaps of its wings. Xiao made a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement, and with his trademark lack of subtlety attempted to drag you onwards.

“Oh my Gods it did a flip,” you declared, completely unconcerned by his strange behaviour even as you stumbled on an uneven patch in the road.

“I’ve seen even you do a flip before. It can’t possibly warrant that much amazement.”

You twisted in his grip to land a punch on his shoulder. “What do you mean, ‘can’t warrant that much amazement’? Are my talents in the flipping mid-air department not good enough for you?”

“Passable at best,” he replied, shooting a strangely apprehensive glance up at the sky. You followed his gaze to the crane still circling above you.

“What, don’t tell me you’re scared of the bird?”

Xiao bristled, looking very much like bird himself, all indignant and puffed-up. “I am not scared of the bird.”

“No?” You grinned, falling back into step beside him. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Anything could fool a mortal mind,” he huffed, still smarting from your jokes at his expense.

Slinging a placating arm around his shoulder, you resolutely ignored his immediate protests and pulled him into your side, sending you both stumbling along the road. “Don’t be all grumpy, Xiao,” you cajoled. “It’s alright, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I was afraid of dogs for most of my childhood.”

“I’m not- you-” Spluttering indignantly, he wrestled your arm off him. “For the last time, the damn bird doesn’t scare me!”

“Hey, look! It’s back!” You exclaimed, pointing upwards.

“Where?” He demanded, whipping his head around and quickly realising he’d been played at the sight of an empty, bird-less sky. You dissolved into a fit of laughter, the sound carrying across the mountains and echoing in his head for the rest of the walk.

By the time you’d reached the Statue of the Seven, the heat of the afternoon had firmly established itself, the sun hovering directly in the middle of the sky as though suspended from a thread and casting a layer of warm, golden light over the mountains like silk thrown over a table. The Stone Forest towered around you, their peaks wreathed with clouds and the river below a winding blue ribbon, glinting in the late sunshine from where it weaved throughout the landscape of the valley. Contentment settled in your veins, warm and reassuring, even as a gust of wind swayed you precariously close to the lip of the jade platform and Xiao instinctively seized your arm and dragged you back. You sent him an amused look, pulling him down to sit next to you at the edge.

“Relax,” you told him, bumping his shoulder with yours and letting your legs swing. “I can fly, remember?”

He made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, with a tone that you’d learnt to distinguish as the doubtful, ‘yeah right’ one. You ignored it, leaning your weight against him and sighing as you took in the view. He grumbled, but made space for you regardless.

“Tell me the story of these mountains,” you said, breaking the silence.

Xiao shifted to raise an eyebrow at you. “Not everything has a story.”

“The epic tales you’re always telling say otherwise,” you replied with a laugh.

“You never cease with your ridiculous demands,” he complained, failing to sound anything other than slightly bemused and just a little fond, his usual curtness softened with the warmth of the afternoon, the tranquillity of the moment. He hoped you didn’t notice. “First I’m a bodyguard, then a wind current activator, and now a storyteller. Make up your mind, you fickle human.”

“You forgot ‘personal jester’.”

That drew a rare laugh out of him, and your chest warmed with the satisfaction of it.

“Disrespectful little mortal.”

“Aloof, haughty, holier-than-thou adeptus,” you countered without missing a beat.

“The adepti of yesteryear would never tolerate such insolence.”

“Lucky for me, you tolerate it just fine,” you remarked with a grin, pushing yourself away from him. Xiao watched you stretch, silhouetted against the sun, rimmed in gold, caught in the world’s embrace as if it, too, knew how precious, how radiant you were. He’s staring, unable to tear his gaze away, unable to stop a pang of envy from twisting his stomach; did the sun’s rays know how fortunate they were to caress you so lovingly, to paint your skin aglow?

Seemingly unaware of his scrutiny, you shield your eyes with your hand, squinting up at a Waypoint just above the two of you.

“I’m going up there,” you announced, shucking your bag and preparing to jump. Resigned to your constant need for adrenaline, Xiao simply looked on as you snapped open the wings of your glider in preparation.

“And then what?” He asked instead of trying to fruitlessly convince you otherwise. He already knew you’d never stop chasing the next thrill, the next most dangerous thing. You flashed him a grin over your shoulder, devilish and laden with challenge.

“You’ll head over to Mount Aocang and catch me,” you said, as if it were a simple matter, a walk through the park. Xiao felt his heart rate spike.

“You’re going to jump from up there, towards me, and I’m supposed to catch you,” he repeated, deadpan.

“Unless it’s too difficult for you,” you replied with a raise of your eyebrows. He exhaled sharply through his nose. You were going to be the death of him.

It took you a disturbingly short amount of time to scale the enormous rock upon which the Waypoint rested, scrabbling quickly up to the top despite the lack of footholds, graceless yet undeniably efficient. Xiao could see you from his place at the peak of Mount Aocang, a you in miniature, your glider a burst of colour against the sky. He’s jittery, from the apprehension of you being in such a precarious position and the knowledge that you’re both in Cloud Retainer’s territory; the memory of seeing a snow-white crane follow you up the mountain trail only worsened the feeling. And yet, every thought was pushed from his mind as he watched you step towards the edge, waving energetically at him before leaping off with a holler of excitement and a flurry of feathers. Heart in his throat, his eyes tracked your rapid descent, arms tucked in and wings flattened against your sides as you performed what you called a nosedive; he hated it, the way he couldn’t tell whether you were falling deliberately or had simply fallen victim to something as inescapable as gravity, moments away from proving the inevitability of death. But as always, you never did fall without intention, without control; within moments of you disappearing below his line of vision, he heard the swoosh of your glider unfurling and you shot upwards with the suddenness of the air filling your wings, a flock birds taking flight as your shout of delight pierced through the silence. Xiao relaxed despite himself, your joy so unmistakable, so obvious, that he couldn’t help but be put at ease by it. You were back above him, and he could tell you were preparing to descend from the way you angled your body to the side, tucking one of the wings into your side to make wide, lazy turn in his direction, and then you were hurtling towards him, maniacal grin flashing, hair streaming out behind you. Just as quickly as the tension left his muscles, it returned, and he braced himself; when it became clear you’d overshot the landing he took off running until you were directly in front of him, eyes shining and hair wild and mouth pulled into a grin-

You tumbled into him with a whoop, and his arms immediately tightened around you, sending you both spinning with the momentum of the collision though he didn’t fall. Your cheeks stung from the wind, pulse dizzyingly fast as you laughed breathlessly into Xiao’s ear, the sound making him a little giddy and the brush of your feathers tickling his cheeks as you pulled back to look him in the face, stun him with the full force of your delight.

“Did you see that?” You panted, exhilarated, as though he could’ve done anything except watch you raptly in those few minutes.

“I did,” he confirmed instead of saying so, feeling his own lips pull into a smile entirely against his will. You were safe now, no longer subject to the whims of the sky, but his heartbeat still hadn’t calmed in the slightest; if anything, he felt even more agitated than before, finding himself suddenly hyperaware of all the places you were touching, the perfect way you fit against him, the weight of your arms around his neck, the brightness in your eyes, your parted lips as you gasped for breath… What in Teyvat is this feeling?

He murmured your name, helpless, enamoured by your joy.

You blinked up at him. “What’s wrong, Xiao?”

It was the way you said his name that tipped him over the edge; sweetly concerned and whispered like a secret only you were privy to. All of a sudden seeing you, hearing you, touching you wasn’t enough; overwhelmed by the need to find out what you tasted like, Xiao tipped your face upwards and kissed you.

You tensed, let out a little noise of surprise. He panicked, already formulating an apology, appalled at himself-

Then you slowly relaxed back into his hold, bringing one hand up to the nape of his neck, and Xiao thought that this was probably what you felt like whenever you flew; weightless and floaty, everything a blissful haze. He could feel your pulse, fluttering against his hand where it cradled your jaw, and he was painfully certain that this was the slice of heaven, the sliver of ecstasy sinners like him were allowed; more than he deserved but too wonderful to even consider letting go. He could’ve stayed there forever, until the mountains around you flattened and every stream ran dry; even then, when you resurfaced to breathe, the lingering delight and the creeping shyness you shared was just as magnificent. He would’ve slaughtered thousands for the coy little smile on your face, if only you’d asked-

“One is rather shocked by your scandalous display, Conqueror of Demons.”

The bubble shattered.

Startled, you whipped around; impossible though it seemed, the voice came from a crane, an elegant thing of white and blue and a sloping arc of a neck, beautiful and familiar.

“W- what- ”

“Fret not,” the crane continued with a startlingly human-like wave of its wing. “I shall not impart any punishment upon either of you. Despite the rather indecent nature of your offense,” it- she?- added.

You wondered if you were dreaming. Or hallucinating. But stranger yet, Xiao seemed to know her; he bowed his head in a show of deference.

“Yes, Cloud Retainer. You have my thanks.”

The bird nodded, then disappeared with a flap of her wings. You stared at the place where she’d stood, dumbfounded.

“A fellow adeptus,” Xiao told you, still fiercely mortified at being caught. “We… This is her territory. Mount Aocang.”

Understanding dawned on your face. “So that’s why you were so nervous about the bird!” You exclaimed, turning back towards him with a grin. “Because you were planning this the whole trip and you didn’t want to get caught, like a scoundrel-”

“I don’t appreciate your implication,” he interrupted in what should’ve been a warning tone but instead came off teasing and light-hearted.

Your grin sharpened. “Seems like you do appreciate some other things of mine, though.” Xiao hummed in agreement, pressing a thumb to the corner of your mouth and watching in unabashed fascination as your lips parted under his touch.

“Perhaps I should convey my appreciation once more,” he mused, leaning in closer. “With as much… enthusiasm as I can muster.”

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘

#i nearly added the nrftw taglist to this lmao #if i had a nickel for every time i wrote a genshin fic where the reader has symbolic ties to birds-#anyway this was very fun :] hope everyone likes it #genshin impact fanfics #genshin fanfic #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin x reader fluff #xiao x reader #xiao x you #genshin impact xiao #genshin xiao #genshin scenarios #genshin xiao x reader #genshin xiao x you

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anantaru · 2 years ago

Text

— their favorite form of pda (public display of affection)

including dan heng, blade, jing yuan, luocha, sampo, gepard, welt x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, crack, very sweet n cute

when it comes to dan heng, he, for one part, enjoys less than more— you can catch him quietly patting your back whenever you‘re doing something, or on any occasion you'd meet up with your boyfriend, he'd make himself visible by kissing your cheek. it's rarely your lips when people were close by, yet if it was someone he considered a friend as well, dan heng did not mind smooching your lips for a short while. by all odds, he was observant of the current setting he found himself in and he waits long enough to relocate the vibes and go with them. it's also worth to note that dan heng would never attempt to do something to make you uncomfortable, he was a patient man, marking time and pausing to identify any discomfort.

notably enough, blade thinks it‘s cute, no scrap that, doubtlessly ambrosial when he notices how you're waiting for it to happen— howbeit, you‘re sneakily inching a square near his body so he can as a matter of course swathe his broad arm around your shoulders and leave it there to be tumbling around you. all the same example was blade expecting you to do the same and encircle him back. briefly, you will remain in a flowing setting and be fond of the exchanged heaves of air when you‘re slowing yourself into his chest— because fundamentally speaking, there has been nothing that had a more tranquil stifling on you then listening to blade's heart-beats.

as one clearly might’ve made an estimate thus far, jing yuan needs you to be as sheltered as possible against his immersing cradle. your boyfriend evidently does not want to unintentionally overstep any boundaries with you and makes it his own personal responsibility to be an eager listener while also hugely monitoring when he senses it‘s okay to approach you a tad closer. as a general rule, the subdued signaling will wind up with jing yuan listlessly planting his palm on your lower back whenever you walk into, well, really anywhere; a fine scented flower shop was only one of such. greater yet— the man was a gentleman, opening the door for you and silently swaying his large hand up and down your back to voicelessly tell you that, yes indeed, he was present and there's nothing for you to worry about.

the fetching and enticing luocha who, in his immediate brilliance, had a charming practice of turning relatively flustered, cheeks swelled up whenever he thought about it— all in all, what in the eyes of his significant other was too much or too little, all your boyfriend wanted to proudly achieve was to hit that spotless middle and make you doubtlessly happy in the process. he coughs, managing to get his hand towards your lower arm before exhaling softly, it's done now, he realizes, lips twitching in the process when you're amusedly watching him fold, "this is awkward, don't you think?" you giggle, pointing towards the comical picture of luocha holding onto you— significantly resembling a child holding onto their parent in a grocery store. "lets try this instead." above you, you see a man with a blush on his handsome features, leaning into whatever you say as you effortlessly slip your fingers and tangle them into his own.

how would you, individualistically, describe your boyfriend sampo koski? by fair means, it was impossible, unthinkably out of the question. you often find yourself quite surprised and baffled on how fickle and unpredictable he appeared to be. wether it had been sampo suddenly grabbing a stern hold of your hand to twirl you around in front of everyone or him swiftly cutting you off mid speech to place a kiss on your parted lips. 'i felt like it', he says proudly, with that damned smirk caked around the sharp edges of his mouth, but 'i needs more' sampo will add on, only then he'll shut up in a satisfied bliss and let you carry on with the topic you had been rambling about to him.

you sometimes wonder if the general and your personal protector gepard could turn even cuter— the hint of a full shaded blush on his cheeks as he averts his gaze and nervously coughs into his hand. but do not get fooled, he cannot possibly help himself, it's not like he will ever get used to you agreeing to the silent, little flushed request of gepard longing to hold your hand. be it known throughout entire spaces, he certainly does not stop here, what held gepard's mind locked behind heart shaped clouds, was when you'd visit him at work sometimes— undeniably when he wasn't busy for once; the unwavering courage, as he referred to it, for you to smirkingly place a subtle kiss on his burning lips after encountering him was indescribable for the man, and this craving he went through now had become like an infinite road— forever, he hopes, you'd show him more of that flickering kindness, the one that had lifted any burdens off his soul.

upwardly subtle and efficiently sophisticated— the very two turns of phrases that would adequately describe welt‘s usual approach on you. if he had to speak out more clear to a subject such as pda, which he does more than you'd sometimes like to admit, he was personally not all too bothered nor interested on it. distinctly, it's not like he found any particular distaste in it, he simply has not spent any time going over it alone more sufficiently. in a clearer way did he not view it as something holding a significant importance in your relationship. but, from time to time, he too catches himself fall into it, especially when you‘re inviting him with open arms surrounded by precious friends and colleagues, awaiting a passion infused hug welt always did justice to.

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mellowsaturns · 2 years ago

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you’re my purpose

JOEL MILLER X READER

summary: you and joel get into a fight after he refuses to let you come with him to find his brother

warnings: angst with a happy ending, fluff, protective!joel, argument, hurt/comfort, allusion to an age gap, slight mentions of grief and loss, bad communication skills, confessions

wc: 1.2k

---

Like many days before, you’re making your way over to Joel’s unprompted.

He gets grumpy when you do that because you live on the other side of the QZ and he doesn’t like you making the journey over.

But like always, you don’t listen to him.

It’s not your fault he gave you a spare key or the fact that his place is significantly better than yours.

When you enter, you do the secret whistle to let him know it was you before locking the door from behind.

Silence greets you—then the noise of rushed shuffling. “Joel?” you say softly, and seconds later he comes out of the bedroom and stuffs a shirt into his bag that’s laying on the kitchen table.

“Are you going somewhere?” you ask in confusion.

He looks up at you with guilty eyes then clears his throat. “I’m leaving.”

You start to panic just slightly. “What do you mean you're leaving?”

“I need to go find Tommy.”

You sigh. “I’m sure he’s fine, Joel. You know how he is.”

He looks down and lets out a breath. “No… It’s… Something’s wrong. It’s been a week and no signal.”

You see the nervous look in his eyes and your heart aches for him. But leaving the QZ? That was a suicide mission—and if you remember correctly, Tommy was heading to fucking Wyoming. That was days from here.

If he wanted to put himself in danger then so be it, but you would be right behind him. You would go wherever he would. “Let me come with you, then.”

Looking away, he crosses his arms as if he already expected you to say that. “You know you can’t,” he remarks.

“Joel,” you say his name slowly. “I want to come with you.”

“No,” he gruffs, “You can’t come with me. That’s final.”

“Why? You know I’m perfectly capable of—” you start to argue, but he’s not even listening to you, now opting to dig through his bag instead.

You huff and stalk towards him, yanking the bag out of his hand and throwing it to the other side of the table. “You’re not even listening to me.”

His jaw ticks. “You’re not fucking going. I’m not going to say it again.”

“I don’t understand you. I know how to fucking defend myself so I don’t see why—”

“Because you’re going to slow me down. Don’t you see? You’re just going to be extra baggage!” he shouts.

The words come out of his mouth and into the world, unable to be taken back.

You shut your lips and your tongue goes dry.

Baggage. You were baggage to Joel. You had always thought you were a companion of sorts, a friend, a partner, perhaps even something more (not that Joel would ever admit it). But you were just extra baggage. A burden.

Has he always seen you this way? Suddenly, the walls were closing in on you.

Rubbing at his mouth, he sighs. “That’s not wh—”

You raise your hand to stop him. “No, I understand. You don’t need to explain anymore,” you say with a shaky breath.

Turning around, you blink a few tears away. However, before you could walk away he grabs your wrist and spins you back around.

He says your name with that low honeyed voice of his. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. You’re not a burden.”

You know Joel was never the best at verbally expressing his feelings—acts of service were more his forte, but you can’t keep doing this anymore.

It’s your turn to get angry now. “Then what do you mean? I’m not a psychic, I can't try and read your damn mind everytime!”

His jaw is tense—he’s nervous, you conclude. You give him a minute but silence still surrounds the two of you. “Were you just going to leave without saying goodbye?” you ask, voice defeated. “God—” you pause, wiping away a stray tear, “Was I suppose to come here one day and find out then? How can you expect me to live without knowing what happened to you or when you were going to return?”

Letting out a small sniffle, you choke out, “Do I mean that little to you?”

“You know that’s not true,” he says, short and direct.

“Then why won’t you let me come with you?” you grit out.

“Because if you get hurt, I will never forgive myself!” He brings your hands together and holds them with shaky hands, a rare moment of vulnerability. “I can’t… I can’t go through that again. I can’t lose you too,” he confesses, voice trembling.

When you look into his eyes, he’s looking at you as if you meant the entire world to him. But doesn’t he see that in your eyes too?

“But… but what if I lose you?” you whisper. “Have you ever thought about that?”

“It’s different,” he replies. “It’s not the same.”

“What do you mean it’s not the same. If I lost yo—”

“You have a whole life ahead of you. If something happened to me, you can still bounce back from it. But if… if I lost you—” he chokes out, “I don’t think… I wouldn’t have a purpose anymore.”

There.

Joel was always a stoic man. He never let his emotions dictate his actions and most importantly, he never let his emotions show because that was weakness. But this, his confession to you, his greatest worry is finally out.

He laid his heart out on the floor—and it was yours.

It’s a wonder Joel even has the ability to feel anymore. But he does—and you’re the reason for it. You’re consuming his heart. You who just showed up and kept appearing again and again, bringing a little normalcy and humanity back into his life. Asking him about his days, making him feel like a human again. He spent years bordering up his heart and shutting people out, but it turns out, there was a spot he missed—one where you managed to creep in and lit a hearth and made home.

So he couldn’t help but feel overprotective of you, because you’re one of the only few things left that’s worth something to him.

“Don’t you see? I can’t lose you.”

You let out a whimper, knowing too well what he was implying. “Joel,” you say, bringing your hand to cup his face. “Please don’t say that,” you plead. “Nothing’s going to happen to you and nothing’s going to happen to me, okay?”

It doesn’t matter if he never says those three little words to you because he just did, in his own way.

You pull him into your arms and he leans against you. “I understand you’re trying to protect me, but I wish you would’ve at least talked to me about it.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” he mutters against you. “I was scared and just wanted you to be safe.”

You hum, rubbing circles against his back. “I know. But you do know your aim is shit, right? You should be more concern about that.”

He chuckles at that and you feel the vibrations of his chest against your own, bringing a small smile to your face too.

“And you do know that I’m not going to listen to you, right? I’m coming.”

“I know,” he says.

You pull away and gently stroke his cheek before pressing a small chaste kiss where your thumb was just seconds ago.

“Wherever you go, I go.”

Because there would be no one else. Joel was your only reason you kept on fighting too.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fic #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller angst #pedro pascal x reader

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moon-buggg · 5 months ago

Text

SCP au drabble

set a week after YN gets taken to the facility, basic au info here

warnings: yn was kidnapped by an offbrand scp foundation after they didn't get killed by Moon and thats whats being discussed and im not sure how to tag that. Yn is a little emotionally dumb, flirty sun

no word count because I wrote this in the tumblr post maker in a frenzied haze

"You are stuck here... because of us?" Sun asks, carefully, tentatively. His, frankly, absurdly tall body hunches over so he can be at eye level. Under any other circumstances, you'd be terrified of the strange creature trying to comfort you. As is, his presence is incredibly comforting; the sole friendly face in a sea of questionable actors.

"I mean, pretty sure they expected Moon to kill me," Sun flinches just slightly, ears tilting ever so slightly back, "so I don't think I was ever meant to leave this stupid place, anyways."

You'd fallen asleep in the darkness of what you now know as Sun and Moon's room, and had awoken to several researchers and armed guards preparing you for a barrage of tests. Those first few days had been a horrible mess of exhausting tests and tedious interviews as your white-coated captors tried desperately to discover what made you different.

Why you'd survived.

They still hadn't found anything, but at least the tests seemed to be slowing down ever so slightly. After an uneventful introduction to the more passive, daytime version of the thing they expected to kill you, it was decided that you'd be allowed to visit him once every other day.

Jury seemed to still be out on if it was worth risking another encounter with Moon.

"It's not your fault," you add after a beat of silence, "or Moon's for that matter. You're both trapped here just as much as I am."

A soft, crooning sound rumbles out from Sun's chest as he slinks back into a seated position that leaves him still about a head taller than you. Gentle lights pulse across his fur, barely visible under the harsh fluorescent lights. He seems to struggle to find the right words, before giving up.

Carefully, as if approaching a startled animal, he reaches out a hand. When you don't react to the long claws coming at you, he continues. Turning over his hand to keep those sharp claws decisively away from you, he runs his knuckles over your head in a clear attempt at a comforting gesture.

It's startling how much it works.

"Oh starlight, far too kind for a place like this." His voice is soft and quiet in a way that makes your face feel warm. You choose not to think about it too hard. "You shouldn't be locked away."

"Neither should you." The words are harsh and automatic, and seem to startle Sun who draws back as if burnt. His glowing fur brightens significantly, its starting to get uncomfortable to look at, actually.

He recovers quickly.

"There you go," the words are teasingly chiding, "proving me right starlight." He reaches a long claw out again, this time using his knuckle to gently boop your nose.

He bends, using his long neck to crowd into your space. It's hard not to feel a little threatened by those big teeth so close to your face, and Sun's widening smile does little to help. Seems like you can't help but feel flustered today.

"At least you'll have me to keep you company." His voice is just a bit too hopeful, like he's desperate for you to agree. Poor guy seems utterly starved of positive affection. The urge to comfort him is hard to ignore, so you don't.

It's easy enough to thread your fingers into the long mane of fur that frames his face. The feeling is distracting, it's so warm...

Movement brings you back to the moment as Sun leans ever so slightly into your touch. Right, right, you had a reason for this.

"We're in this together," you say in what you hope is your most sturdy, comforting voice. Sun's presence has done a lot for you in the few days you've been here so far, and you want to do your best to be a comforting presence to him in return. You don't miss the way his fur seems to glow brighter and hotter at your words.

Acutely aware of where your hands are, you realize that grabbing a giant monsters face out of no where probably wasn't your best idea.

"Sorry!" you quickly release Sun's face, your own face hot with embarrassment, "Sorry! I shouldn't have just grabbed you like-"

"We didn't mind, starlight," he interrupts, pulling back out of your personal bubble. His hand ghost over where you touched, smoothing the fur back down, "no, don't mind at all."

#dca x reader #sun x reader #sun x y/n #dca x y/n #dca au #scp au #my writing

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triptuckers · 11 months ago

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wild flowers - percy jackson

Request: yes! "Can I request a platonic Percy Jackson x Child of Demeter!Reader based off the new Disney series? Where Child of Demeter!Reader is significantly older than Percy (17/18 maybe?) and is the one to welcome him to camp instead of Luke. Reader is more gentle and understanding to Percy's questions and is in general sort of a parent figure in the camp?" Pairing: percy jackson x demeter!reader (platonic) Summary: you welcome the newest kid at camp half-blood Warnings: none (omg??) Word count: 1.1K A/N: was excited when I saw the new episode will be out on Tuesday but then I looked at the time zone and it's 3 am for me so I'll still watch it on wednesday :') thanks for your request, enjoy!

you try not to look away as percy, the newest addition to camp half-blood, nearly shoots another camper. he falls to the ground due to the force of the bow.

'alright.' you say, walking over to see if percy's okay. 'so not archery.'

'I didn't mean to!' says percy, looking at the kids who had flattened themselves to the ground to avoid being shot.

'of course you didn't, they know that. can I have the bow?' you say.

percy quickly shoves the bow in your hands as well as the quiver of arrows. you hand them back to the apollo kid who was teaching him with a thanks and an apologetic smile.

'see, I suck at this.' says percy. 'I'm not good at anything.'

'hey, that's not true.' you say. 'everyone is good at something. c'mon, I'll take you to my favorite spot at camp.'

that gets his attention. 'your favorite spot?'

'yep. right this way.'

you lead him away from the archery field. you can tell he's curious. you take him to the strawberry field, where some of the satyrs and your siblings are tending to the plants.

you walk past the strawberries to a field of grass where wild flowers grow.

'it's pointless.' says percy as the two of you sit down.

you frown. 'what is?'

he gestures around. 'all of this. I'm not one of you. it's clear there's something wrong with me. none of this matters because my dad won't reveal himself, he doesn't care. my mom is gone. I suck at archery. and I can't work in the forge. I can't do anything.'

you look at him. most kids are tough on themselves when they arrive. percy isn't any different.

'at least you didn't suck as much at archery than I did.' you say. 'contrary to you, I actually did hit someone when trying out archery '

percy's eyes widen. 'you did?'

you nod. 'apollo kids had to patch them up. luckily it wasn't that bad. but still I haven't touched a bow since. and I'm also not good at sword fighting. I only carry one because it's the weapon I suck the least with.'

'what if you suck at everything?' asks percy softly.

you smile at him. 'this is all normal. we all felt like this when we came here, regardless if we could already fight or not. and look at me, I still can't fight that well. I'm a joke compared to luke and clarisse if it comes to fighting. gods, even annabeth is better than me and she's your age.'

you point ahead to the strawberry fields. 'my cabin doesn't bring forth the best fighters. and that's okay. we're good at other things.' you say.

percy looks at your siblings, sure enough, not a lot of them carry weapons. maybe you do because you're head counsellor of your cabin.

'when did you find out who your mom was?' asks percy.

you sense he's not just curious about your godly heritage. he wants to know how long it would take before his father claims him. and he already knows there are unclaimed kids.

'for me it was pretty clear. I've always loved plants. I've got an impressive garden back at home.' you say. 'demeter claimed me my second day at camp.'

'so pretty fast...'

'for some kids it's fast. for some it's slow. some kids are very certain about who their godly parent is and sometimes they're right and sometimes they're not. you can't predict it with 100% accuracy.'

'did someone guess it correctly?'

'most of the times it's the athena kids who are right about their hunches. but they're athena kids of course, very smart. also a lot of ares kids are right. and for others it's a 50/50 chance. for instance, milo. everyone was convinced he was a hephaestus kid because he really liked to blow stuff up. turns out he's an athena kid. he's just really smart about blowing stuff up.'

'I bet I'm a kid of the god or failure or something. I'm just a regular kid, I'm not special. I don't have any impressive powers. not like you.'

'you think my powers are impressive?' you chuckle. 'I'm good with plants percy. over the years I've learned how to master those. but at first all I did was accidentally make flower patches.'

percy looks at you, frowning. 'you what?'

you laugh, then point to your shoes. they look like you've worn them every day for the past five years. which you have, somehow they won't wear down.

'these were a gift from my mom. if I don't wear them, flowers grow where I walk.'

'really?'

you nod and take them off. you get up and walk a circle around percy. and indeed, flowers grow where you put your feet down on the grass. you pick one and give it to percy, then put your shoes back on.

'it's the only thing I still can't master. maybe it's not something to be mastered. I'd ask my mom but the only time I saw her was when I was out fighting for my life. wasn't really the time to ask about flowers. she didn't even give me my shoes in person, just sent them here.'

you and percy are silent as you look out over the valley. you remember your first days at camp, how scared you were. you didn't know anyone, you were told your mom was a goddess, and you could never have a moment alone because there would always be someone who could find you based on the flowers you left behind.

'everyone here has been through what you're going through now.' you say. 'maybe they didn't experience it in the same way. I mean, you did kill the minotaur. but all of them have been confused, wondered about wether they belong, if there's something wrong with them. we all found our way in the end.'

'did you feel like you didn't belong?'

'sure. but then chiron explained to me it's all because of the gods. we've got dyslexia because our brain is wired in greek. the adhd is from our need to fight. it's all in our dna. just give it time, you'll belong. any other questions?'

'what do you do when you're not at camp?'

you smile. 'try not to run into any monsters and wait for the time to go to camp again. you'll find your family here, percy, trust me. now let's see if the aphrodite can teach you anything.'

you get up and offer your hand to percy. after pulling him to his feet, you start to walk toward the aphrodite cabin.

'you know, regardless of what cabin you belong to, you can always come to me if you have any questions.' you say.

percy smiles at you. 'thanks.'

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit/Max

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darkworkcourier · 2 years ago

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Could you write Ghost x fem!reader where she finds him attractive but is too shy to actually tell him but also can't hide the way she's feeling, so Ghost notices her interest and eventually they end up in bed (*cough* you know what I mean)? Also Ghost being gentle and protective towards her, plz

Ps. I love your writing!

Word Count: 8314

i’m incapable of short prompt fills, apparently! o, but i am filled with grief!

anywho, reader’s codename is ‘ladybird’ (hc that soap gave it to her because she’s lucky) but is otherwise nameless.

contains masturbation, oral sex, lots of feelings, wee bit of slow burn, ghost being like weirdly emotional and soft, and soap’s gratuitous and unfortunate use of emojis. 💀/🐞4ever

---

The first time it really hits you, you're in a helicopter about two miles above the ground—honestly a terrible place to face your feelings. It's a velvet-dark night, strategically chosen for the new moon, the countryside below nearly invisible. You're almost in a doze, caught up in the Chinook's blades' low, thunderous pulse and the sporadic rocking as it hits little glades of turbulence. Your eyes lose focus on some of the running lights, until they turn hazy, and its only when the man across from you moves his boot do you snap back to attention.

Ghost. Right. You learned his name a few weeks ago during your orientation, but he was deployed on a recon mission only a day later. Price summoned him back for this mission, but aside from a few gruff comments at the all-hands meeting, you haven't heard him say much.

For a moment, you think he might have dozed off, too. He’s leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. And that’s fair, you think; Soap told you he didn’t think Ghost ever slept.

You silently study him, the way his head rocks a little with the turbulence, how much taller he is than everyone else in his row, the peculiar illusion that the eye sockets of his mask are empty—

And suddenly they aren’t.

He’s looking back at you, dark eyes regarding you passively, even though the mask makes every look significantly more intimidating. For moment that goes on way too long, you don’t look away, your gazes locked. Your heart takes the tracheal elevator to your throat, beating loud enough to drown out the Chinook’s roar.

You look away first, and you swear you hear him snort.

The rest of the journey to the drop-off zone, you deliberately don’t look at him; but when you close your eyes, there he is.

All you can think is ohhhh, shit.

---

Military crushes aren’t abnormal. Put enough people at the peak of physical excellence in a room, throw around some form-fitting uniforms, and mix in a few adrenaline rushes—it’s a goddamn potent mixture. You’ve had your share of mess hall dreamy-eyed gazing sessions, and a few ‘I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go’ moments in gyms and fitness centers. That’s fine; that’s normal.

What you start feeling for Ghost isn’t that.

Nevermind that he’s rarely out of tactical dress, and if he is, he usually defaults to a hoodie or something that doesn’t exactly entice the imagination. And he’s never out of some variation of his mask, so you can’t think woah, pal, do you cut glass with that jawline because as far as you can tell, he doesn’t have one. No mooning over cheekbones, admiring the curve of lips. He has nice eyes, but ever since the night in the Chinook, you haven’t been able to meet them for more than a second before your heart does that terrible little samba again.

Per your mental checklist, aside from being tall and muscular, he doesn’t check all your normal boxes. By all those counts, Gaz or Soap are way better fits. Hell, Soap likes to hang around in his silkies like they’re pajamas, showing off plenty to keep your fantasy fodder trough filled. And you’ve caught Gaz doing push-ups in the lounge, his tight shirt doing wonders for his shoulders.

But it’s Ghost who makes you feel like a hormonal teenager. It’s Ghost that gets you antsy and fidgety when he enters a room. And it’s Ghost that you think about during your rare alone time in the shower, when your hands start drifting south and the tile walls are your only support.

You’ve got it bad for him, and you have no idea what to do about it.

---

You’re doing recon in Berlin when Soap notices.

The mission details are simple: a drug lord known as Keiler using a night club as a go-between for his suppliers and dealers—all further complicated by the fact that he has plenty of friends in the arms trade, and by Laswell’s reports, he’s very generous to those friends. The club is a front, a money laundering wonderland. Through your observation, drugs and alcohol are doled out in equal volume, all to the backdrop of skull-splitting bass and sharp scalpels of strobe lights.

The biggest obstacle is that Keiler likes to use a private room overlooking the club as his perch, and your intelligence says that at any given time, he has a small army defending him. Getting to him requires an incredible degree of finesse. Naturally, Ghost is the one to do it.

You, Soap, and Gaz are scattered around the main floor of the club. Gaz is out on the dance floor, Soap’s taken up a spot near the bar, and you’re in the lounge. It’s the first time you’ve done something like this (and in an outfit with so little fabric), and you’re really not used to being ogled and pawed by a bunch of drunk, drugged, or horny Berliners.

Soap must see your discomfort from his position, as you hear a dry, amused, “Feelin’ a little tense, Ladybird?”

You swallow hard and chase it with a sip of your drink, which definitely needs to be watered down. “I’m fine,” you say.

“You look like you just drank petrol.”

“You’re the one who ordered it for me.”

Gaz cuts in with a weary, “Do we have eyes on Ghost, yet? I’m starting to get tired of people grabbing my—”

“I’m here,” Ghost’s voice scrapes over the comms, causing you to sit up straight and look around. You catch sight of Soap who has his hand curled in front of his mouth, clearly snickering like a heathen.

“Think you scared the shit out of Ladybird, LT,” he says.

He’s lucky he’s on the other side of the room, otherwise you’d pretend to be extremely clumsy and find an excuse to spill your drink on his (very, very tight) shirt. You mouth ‘shut up’ at him, and he reaches up with his pointer finger to draw an invisible halo over his head.

Ghost ignores him. “I’m near the east stairwell, headed to second deck. Got one guard at the far end. Gaz, you seein’ anything I should know about?”

A pause, then, “Negative, Ghost. I’ve got what you’ve got.”

“Copy. Going to second deck now.”

Out of habit, your eyes go to the east stairwell, peering through the haze pierced with multicolored lights to see a single dark shape ascending. He disappears behind a catwalk, then reappears to the right, mingling with the crowd near the second floor bar. Once he’s there, he seems to fade into the throng of people, most in dark clothing, some in masks. Just like that, he’s invisible.

It’s hard to focus on looking calm and happy to be there, but you keep sipping your drink, watching the dancers and feeling the bassline of yet another techno song thrumming in your chest. You’re glad you’re not out on the dance floor, or being called to give come-hither glances to bouncers and guards.

Then, “Coming back down to first deck,” Ghost says, clearly agitated. “Too many guards and too many people. We need another way up.”

Soap grins. “Violence isn’t the answer, LT?”

“Negative. Start looking for another route.”

On cue, you stand up and cross the room to the bar, sliding in beside Soap. He’s fishing for another couple Euro from his wallet, pushing it across to the bartender with two fingers. The bartender gives him a brief nod and refills his glass, while Soap turns his attention to you.

“Any bright ideas?”

You frown and adjust the straps on your top again. It’s a stupid piece of clothing, always feeling like it’s going to fall off. “Only the emergency stairs by the front doors, but I can’t imagine Keiler leaves those undefended.”

Soap looks thoughtful and scratches at his stubble. “Yeah, but probably no civilians, either. And if the door’s alarmed, Ghost can take care of that.”

As if summoned, you feel Ghost appear before you see him, a huge presence over your shoulder that makes you jump. “Jesus!” you hiss.

And Soap, the traitor, laughs to the point of wheezing as Ghost takes up the bar stool on his other side. “I think you’re giving our Ladybird here a complex,” Soap says through his laughter.

Ghost rolls his eyes. From this angle, you can see Ghost in more than just the dim light you’ve been working with most of the night. He’s not dressed too far outside his usual fashion wheelhouse—heavy boots, black trousers, and a loose black hoodie. His hood’s pulled up over a black beanie and a skull-painted gaiter, and he’s foregone his usual thick coating of greasepaint for black-ringed eyes (is that eyeliner?) and a streak of smoke-colored paint that just manages to obscure the color of his brows. The downside (for you, at least) is that the combo manages to draw his eyes into sharper contrast, making them that much more intense.

Suddenly, your heart’s doing the thing again.

Ghost doesn’t seem to notice any change in you, but you think Soap’s actually looking for it. He watches you, brows lifted, mouth curled like a flirtation of a smirk. Briefly, he glances between you and Ghost, and then the smirk appears in full force, enlightenment dawning.

Before he can insinuate a thing, you’re shoving your half-empty glass across the bar top with a too-high, “Bitte.” The bartender only gives you a brief, unamused look before taking your glass and remaking whatever godforsaken cocktail Soap ordered.

It’s not a good distraction, and the damage is already done. Soap knows, damnit. His smile is too easygoing, but he turns to Ghost and starts talking about the emergency stairwell, which is a relief. Ghost looks over his shoulder toward the stairwell in question, and as he does, Soap looks at you and makes the gesture of zipping his own mouth shut, throwing away the proverbial key with a wink.

As he does, Gaz pipes back up with, “Ghost, you copy?”

“Yeah, Gaz?”

“You, uh, know anything about a big guy with a tattoo of a boar on the back of his head?”

Ghost looks toward the dance floor, brows furrowing. “Yeah, that’d be Bauer, Keiler’s right hand man.”

“Great. Glad you know him, because he’s here.”

Shit. He wasn’t supposed to be. If Bauer’s here, then either Keiler’s doing something more than his usual partying upstairs, or Keiler knows someone’s here looking for him. Either way, the mission just got significantly harder, and your night got that much longer.

With a grunt, Ghost pushes off the bar and starts making his way to the emergency stairwell. “I’ll take care of it,” he says. “Keep your eyes open. Out here.”

Once he’s gone, there’s a pause—a very heavy pause. Then, Soap looks at you with an expression that is just a hair too pleased. “Ghost, huh?”

Your face heats up, right as the bartender hands you your drink. You reach for your wallet, only for the bartender to put a hand up and shake his head. “Nein, für das schöne Mädchen,” he says.

For the pretty girl.

“Bet Ghost thinks so, too,” Soap says, and you resolve to definitely spill your free drink on his too-tight pants.

---

Weeks after Keiler’s nice and cozy in a maximum-security prison and the 141 is back at base, you have another miniature existential crisis.

It’s all an accident—just a tempest of bad timing and bad luck. Ever since you came back from Germany, you’ve had a tough time getting a full night’s sleep. It’s easy to blame the natural stress of your work, the long hours, the high-adrenaline action you see more than you ever did before this job. And, well, part of it has to come from Ghost. He’s occupied your thoughts more than ever since the night club.

Your solution is to hit the gym late at night, pushing yourself until you can’t keep your eyes open and no amount of insomnia can overcome it. The first few nights of this effort work fine—you end up in bed around one or two in the morning, and sleep until your alarm goes off. No one bothers you; no one hogs the machines. It’s kind of nice.

However, you don’t account for all the night owls that share the base with you.

You head to the gym late on a Friday night, towel around your neck, water bottle at the ready, podcasts preloaded. If you ever hit the gym during the day, you usually do so in a t-shirt and sweatpants. At night, you’ve started opting for PT shorts and a tank top, happy for the lack of eyes around the room.

Except for tonight.

You open the door into the gym, only to hear the mechanical drone of a treadmill and someone sprinting damn fast on it. For a second, you freeze, hiding behind the corner. Then, slowly, you peer around it, clutching your phone and water bottle close to your chest.

Jesus Christ. It’s Ghost.

Ghost, in a t-shirt. In sweatpants. Running on a treadmill set to the highest incline. Panting.

Ghost, with bare arms, showing a detailed tattoo on his left arm, and prominent veins running over his chiseled muscles. He looks like a fucking Greek statue, and that’s just what you can see.

“Ohhh, my God,” you whisper to yourself, immediately working on an exit strategy that doesn’t involve catching his attention.

Which obviously doesn’t come to pass. It’s something you probably should have learned on the helo ride—Ghost knows when he’s being watched. He turns his head, dark eyes fixing on you immediately. Briefly, he looks back at the treadmill, then down at his watch, and back to the treadmill’s controls. He slows it down, dropping the incline, until he finally steps off and starts walking toward you.

Abort, abort.

You think about fleeing, running back to your room or rolling under a table or hiding behind a counter like he’s a goddamn velociraptor in the kitchen. You do none of those things, because despite your training, you freeze up. No one could blame you, you think. It’s hard to do much else when a six-foot-something skull-faced wall of muscle walks up to you. And you must look stellar, holed up in a corner by the door, your water bottle and phone held up like a shield.

Ghost takes in the sight of you, eyes flicking up, down, up. Heat rises to your face, and down to—to nowhere, because it’s better not to think about it. You suddenly feel too vulnerable in your choice of outfit, naked under his gaze.

“Ladybird,” he says. Your nickname becomes a hot scratch of sound, losing its whimsy in favor of a tone you can’t define. “You need somethin’?”

There’s a patch of sweat by his collar. You stare at it, then at the floor.

“No, I just— I was, um, just about to leave, and... Yeah, I’m gonna go.”

He’s silent until you finally look up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in what what feels like an eon. He looks amused, but there’s a quirk in his brow like he can’t quite get a good read on you. “You look like you were about to use the gym.”

You look down at your bottle, phone, and towel like you’re just now noticing them. When you bring your attention back to him, you feel like you need to just kick the door open and escape, dignity be damned. “I... was,” you say slowly. Then, you rally yourself, trying to look upbeat and resolved. “Y’know what? You can keep using it. I’ll come back later.”

He shrugs, but you see it. Some secondary expression slinking around in his eyes like it’s working through the perpetually-moving cogs in his head. He gives you another one of those assessing glances, and for a second, you think he’s going to step into your space. His body language looks primed to do so, and you hold your breath in anticipation for it, unsure of what he’s going to do.

Then he takes a step back, and another.

“Suit yourself,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind it, though.”

Before you can process his words, he’s back on the treadmill, tweaking the settings and raising the incline again. The belt starts moving, and he’s back to looking like power personified, a vision in motion.

You have got it so bad.

It’s a hasty retreat to your room, and once the door’s shut behind you, you’re panting like you had run on the treadmill and lifted weights.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you hiss, discarding your things on the table beside your bed, kicking off your running shoes, then laying down and staring at the ceiling. He knows. He has to. Ghost’s whole job depends on him being observant, and he looked at you like he was reading a fucking book.

You groan and press your palms into your eyes until phosphenes appear, dancing around and shimmering like fireworks behind your eyelids. You’re going to have to leave the 141 out of pure mortification. You’ll have to go into some kind of witness protection, change your name, and move to the other side of the earth. Or if you stay, you’ll have to pretend Ghost doesn’t exist. You’ll hide behind walls, slinking through the building’s HVAC just to avoid him like you’re working on a heist. Maybe you can convince Soap or Gaz to accompany you everywhere so you can hide behind their bulk.

But then, your horrible brain reminds you of what you’ll miss out on. It runs through a greatest hits reel of your crush so far—Ghost’s eyes, his presence stretching long over you like a shadow, his massive frame, his arms. The tattoo, detailed enough to tell from a distance, and then the thought of running your fingers over it, tracing all the fine points and lines. And are those his only tattoos, or are there more?

And his voice. Jesus, you replay the few words you’ve heard him say over and over, savoring each syllable, each quirk of his accent. Even the last thing he said—

I wouldn’t mind it, though.

That makes you open your eyes again, widening them as you take in the pocks and scrapes on the ceiling. He wouldn’t mind what? Having company in the gym? Having you, specifically, as his company? You don’t know what to make of it, or what he meant by it. Honestly, you feel like you don’t know anything right now.

Except that you want him. That’s the only thing you’re sure of. You want to know how his hands feel on you, how they would run over your bare skin, what the callouses on his fingers would feel like on the most delicate and sensitive parts of your body. Your imagination leaps ahead of you, guiding your own hand down into your shorts and under the band of your panties. You tease yourself, just dipping your fingers into the wet heat, trailing them over your clit like a hint to yourself, coaxing your arousal out of your panic.

His hands would feel different. When you rub your index finger over your clit, you imagine his finger instead, pressing gently against you, building up friction slowly, making you ache. You wonder if he’d savor your reactions, watching you get worked up, grinding against his hand to seek any kind of relief.

“Easy, Ladybird,” you imagine him saying, the nickname now a tease. And he’d know your real name, the one hidden away in your file. He’d whisper it into your ear, breath hot on your neck, his whole body eclipsing yours.

Your pace quickens, fingers running urgently between your clit and opening, causing your core to tighten and your breath to come in short gasps and barely-concealed moans. Ghost would tell you to let them out, let the whole damn base hear how aroused he makes you, how badly you’ve wanted him.

You breathe his name into the small space of your room, a whisper in the still air broken only by the low hum of the forced air in the vents. When you finally plunge your fingers in, it takes every bit of self-control not to outright moan and let everyone nearby know what you’re doing. Normally, you can stay quiet when you get yourself off, but you’re damn near frantic with this, whatever it is Ghost has done to you.

His fingers in you, fucking you in long, languid strokes, drawing himself out and pushing back in—all the while, watching your reactions. When you rock your hips to the pace of your hand, you imagine his voice again, “That’s right. Fuck yourself on my hand. Let me see you.”

You’d show him. Hell, you’d soak his hand, and it would remind him that it’s his fault you’re like this.

The wet sounds of your hand on your cunt is lewd and loud. It’s almost too much, enough to make you stop at the apex of your pleasure, to hide yourself under the blankets in shame and pretend that none of this happened.

But the vision of Ghost keeps you going, keeps your fingers moving in and out, crooking them inside and forcing out a gasp as a white-hot shock of pleasure lances up your spine and settles warm in your belly. The pad of your thumb presses against your clit, and you multitask on yourself, building up that friction, bringing yourself to the precipice.

He’d take you there. He might even pull you back from the edge over and over, teasing you with the fall.

“Do you want it? How bad? Show me.”

God, you would. Any way he wanted, you would show him. You’d beg and plead if that’s what got him to finally make you come.

So you whisper, “Please,” into the night, to a man who is never going to be in your bed, never going to touch you like this, never going to see your pleasure through to the end. The Ghost in your imagination has to stay there, behind locked doors and bulkheads, secured and contained for good.

But until then, you chase your orgasm with him, hitting that divine height and going into a freefall. Blood rushes in your ears, muscles twitching, heart racing. Your head comes off the pillow, back arching, toes digging into the mattress, mouth open on a moan that you refuse to let loose. You come way harder than you ever have using your own hand, enough that when you finally lower yourself back onto the bed, you grimace at the feeling of a wet patch on the sheets.

“Fuck,” you say, very emphatically. To yourself, to Ghost, to the whole damn situation.

Groaning, you reach over and grab the towel, wiping your hand and tucking it under your ass before rolling onto your back again and wondering what the hell you’re going to do.

---

You’re going to hide from Ghost, that’s what.

Captain Price gives the team a few days off to rest up for the next mission, and you decide right then and there that you’re going to spend every second off base, as far away from the barracks as you can get. You’ll get a hotel, order a ridiculously expensive amount of room service, and marinate in your feelings for a couple days until it’s all out of your system. Maybe you’ll go to a bar or coffee shop and chat up some nice person who isn’t a tall, broad, terrifying British soldier. And maybe you’ll have a night of incredible passion and twisted sheets, and it’ll be so cathartic that when you come back to base, you’ll be a whole new person.

That plan holds until your phone goes off while you’re packing up.

It’s a text from Soap: ‘wyd?’

‘Going off radar for a couple days. Why?’

He sends a sad emoji, then two beer glasses clinking together, a soccer ball, and then a big red question mark. Apparently, Soap only knows how to speak in hieroglyphs.

You smile, and type back, ‘Sorry, need to go clear my head.’

Skull emoji. Question mark.

‘None of your beeswax,’ you send, followed by the soap emoji.

‘that sucks,’ he types back. There’s a short pause, and then he types again. ‘cause he was looking for u earlier’

Your heart damn near comes to a stop, and you very hesitantly respond, ‘Why?’

‘idk. think he wanted to ask u smth’

Nope. You’re not taking the bait. If Ghost wants to talk to you, he can come right up and—and you can walk off in the opposite direction and act like there’s something incredibly interesting that you need to see right that second.

You type a few variations of ‘Then he can come and talk to me himself,’ but none of them sound particularly nice. Ghost hasn’t done anything wrong, so there’s no reason for you to act like he has. And for that matter, you’re supposed to be hiding from Ghost, not encouraging him to find you. Instead, you send back a clipped, ‘Okay.’

Nothing.

For one hopeful second, you think Soap’s mercifully let the conversation go, allowing you to go in peace to your nice hotel and your overpriced room service food.

Instead, you get the sunglasses emoji, a wink face, and, ‘k i told him to come see u’.

‘WHAT’

The only response is the skull and the little running cloud dash emoji, suggesting that Ghost is making a beeline right to your room. Panic seizes you and you fling your phone on your bed like somehow it’s going to help. It bounces harmlessly, then lands screen up, emojis taunting you.

Quickly, you start shoving the rest of your clothes and toiletries in your bag without a care as to where everything goes, eager to book it out of there as fast as your legs can take you. Once your bag is zipped up and thrown over your shoulder, you think you might be in the clear. Mission nearly accomplished.

Nearly.

Two solid knocks on your door almost make you hit the ceiling. You hold still, using that Jurassic Park wisdom again: if you don’t move, he can’t see you.

That applies to fictional dinosaurs, not trained killers, and certainly not Ghost. He knocks again, then follows it up with, “Ladybird, it’s me.”

Yeah, you know. That’s the problem.

Briefly, you consider going out the window, shimmying out and potentially getting caught on a base security camera for someone to laugh at later. That doesn’t make the problem go away, though.

You can just tell him you’re in a hurry, that your ride is at the gate right now and you don’t want to keep them waiting. Whatever conversation he wants to have, it’ll have to wait until you get back. It’s a good response. Solid. Foolproof.

And it dissolves the second you open the door.

He’s there, not vanished in the disappearing act you were hoping for, and all that want flares up again the moment you see him. He’s in casual dress like what he wore to the club—boots, jeans, t-shirt, hoodie, balaclava. His posture’s more relaxed, one hand in his hoodie pocket, the other hanging at his side. You meet his eyes, and your regret mixes with desire welling up inside you.

It’s that intense gaze from the helo, the brief but incendiary look from Berlin, the thoughtful gaze from the gym. You’re drawn up in it immediately, and this time, there’s no possibility of looking away. Ghost has you locked in.

He takes in the sight of you, dressed in your civvies, backpack on your shoulders, and raises his brows. “Going somewhere?”

Your mouth is cotton-dry, and you’re proud of yourself for putting a little syntax together. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m headed out.”

Right now, you should say. I’m going out right this second and I cannot be stopped. Do not engage.

But you don’t say that. You leave the words as they are, hanging between the two of you. In that moment, you’re two opposing fronts of contradictions—you want him to go, stay, talk, stay silent, touch you, leave you alone.

Ghost seems to sense this, that you’re not making any move to either speak to him or push him away. He doesn’t get into your space, staying right where he is while looking at you with his head slightly tilted. “Can I come in a sec?”

No. “Yes.” Please.

You take a step back, allowing him to walk into your room. His presence seems to fill it, like there’s too much of him and too little space to contain it. He closes the door behind himself, then finds a spot against the wall (the rare section that isn’t covered by posters or mementos) and leans against it. Still, still giving you your space.

You’re all nerves, waiting for him to speak, yet feeling like you should say something—to get all your feelings out in the open, exposed and waiting for him to pick over and do with what he will. But your anxiety and silence wins out, and instead you fidget, trying to find a point in the room to fix your gaze. Ghost takes all your attention though, holding it in a firm, invisible grip that can’t be broken no matter what you do. You get now, more than ever, why people are so scared of him when they end up at the wrong end of his skill set—he immobilizes them, rendering them completely unable to do a damn thing.

He watches you for an agonizingly long moment, then sighs. “Look, I didn’t want to bother you if you were busy, but Soap said you were around,” he says. Ghost doesn’t trail off or leave a space in his words for you to fill in the blanks. It’s a good thing—no place for you to misinterpret him—but it suddenly leaves you terrified at the possibility of what he’s going to say.

“Just for a little bit,” you hear yourself say, voice subdued and small.

He nods. “Then I’ll just get it out now before you go. More or less a question.”

Fuck. You feel a strange, uncomfortably cold sensation curl up tight and tense in your stomach. The feeling of standing at the edge of a long drop, knowing you have no choice but to let go.

His eyes are locked on yours, unrelenting, pinning. And then he says, “Do you have feelings for me?”

Right. No way to misinterpret.

You suck in a breath—a gasp, jerking at the question even though you knew it was coming.

You could lie. It’d be easy to do, just a few movements of tongue, jaw, and lips. No, I don’t. Three easy words. You could say you appreciate him as a teammate, as a professional, as someone you can trust in tough situations. He has your back; you have his. Anything beyond that is too much, to far outside of the commanding officer-subordinate hierarchy.

But you can’t lie to him. He’ll know. He’s trained in looking for tells, for the slightest quirk to denote that you’re holding back the truth. That, and you don’t want to lie to him.

Instead, quietly, you say, “Yes,” and inwardly brace for impact. Any kind of dressing-down from your C.O. and reminder of responsibilities and duties; or on a personal level, that Ghost doesn’t do relationships. You’re tensed up, waiting for its inevitable blow and all the shrapnel that’s definitely going to land right in your heart.

“Oh,” he says.

Oh.

Just one syllable, said deceptively, uncharacteristically soft. It belies so many things—possibilities, dangers. This man is fucking complicated.

And then he takes a step toward you. Just one. Just enough to close the gap that many inches. You don’t back up, but you’re too afraid to walk to him, unsure of what’s coming next.

He’s looking down at you, gaze passive, calm, and strangely open. You’ve learned new and interesting ways to read his eyes since you fell for him, but this one has an unknown definition, a kinesic oddity that you can’t translate.

And for a moment, you let yourself hope.

Then, he says your name. Not Ladybird. Not your rank. Your name. The sound of it is a rush in your ears, in your whole head, through every artery, vein, and capillary. He takes another step, slower than the first, drawing in closer before he says, “Do you want this?”

You nod. There’s nothing else you can do. You take a step toward him, looking up into his eyes and trying to read everything there. “Do you?” you ask. You’re still waiting for the rejection, as though Ghost is the type of person to lure you in only to shut you down.

Rejection doesn’t come. Instead, he steps forward to close the gap, one of his hands finding your waist.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

Holy shit.

You stare at him in surprise, and the look on your face must be ridiculously easy to read. His other hand goes up under your chin, tilting your face toward him. The touch of his fingers is exactly like you imagined, the callouses on his thumb brushing over the soft skin underneath your jaw, causing you to shiver.

Ghost leans in close to your left side, skull’s grin close to your ear, and whispers, “Thought you hated me. Every time I looked at you, you’d look away.”

A near-hysterical laugh bubbles up in your throat, and comes out as a compressed, breathless giggle. All that time, you were so hopelessly in love with him, you couldn’t look at him without feeling like your heart was about to give out; and he interpreted that as dislike.

“God, no,” you say. “Total opposite.”

He laughs in your ear, and the sound chases out the remainder of that cold tension, replacing it with a newfound heat that feels good. “Wish I’d known sooner,” he says, and one of his hands goes up to push a strap of your backpack off your shoulder.

You ease out of it, dropping it to the floor, before reaching out and tentatively touching his waist in return. Through the fabric of his hoodie, you can feel how solid he is underneath, and you run your hand along his side in silent wonder.

Ghost moves back suddenly, and you only have a second to question why before the light goes out, leaving you in muted darkness permeated only by the bare sliver of sunlight filtering through your curtain. One hand finds your waist again, pulling you close, walking you toward your bed.

All you can think is no fucking way over and over, even as the back of your legs hit the side of the bed, and Ghost is lowering you down. Your back touches the mattress, head on the pillow, and Ghost is over the top of you, his hands bracketing your head. He looks down at you, mostly in shadow, only the bright white of the skull motif visible in the darkness. Then, his eyes flicker to his left, and he abruptly snorts.

You furrow your brow. “What?”

Wordlessly, his hand moves to the right of your head, and he picks up your phone.

Your phone which is still on, showing the emoji-heavy conversation with Soap. Ghost flips the phone to show you the last text he sent.

Skull emoji, kiss, black heart, red heart, ladybug, eggplant, peach, confetti ball, birthday cake.

“What the fuck, Soap?” you say under your breath, grabbing the phone from Ghost. You quickly turn it off and shove it onto your bedside table, groaning in embarrassment.

Ghost shakes his head, and unlike Soap, he doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he brings the situation right back on the rails with one hand going up under your shirt. Then, he says, “Close your eyes a second.”

You do, without question. You hear a faint rustle of fabric, and then his lips press against yours.

You gasp against his mouth, and that thrill you felt at hearing your name seems to rush back through you twofold at the thought that he took his mask off for you. He kisses you firmly, a guarantee that this is what he wants. You reach up with one hand, combing your fingers through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp and drawing out a quiet groan. He smells like standard-issue soap and laundry detergent, and the faint spice of cologne only just clinging to his skin. The feeling of kissing him is dizzying, entrancing, and the sound of it just hammers home that this is happening to you, in your room, with him.

He pulls back just a little, kissing a trail from the corner of your mouth down to your chin, then your jaw, and up to your ear. The sensation makes you shiver again, arching up into him involuntarily. You hear and feel an amused huff of breath, before he says, “What do you want?”

Good god, what don’t you want?

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Anything. Whatever you want.”

He nods against your neck, then tilts his head up to press a kiss to your temple. “Tell me if it’s too much, or if there’s something you don’t like. Communicate.”

You grin, mostly at the sotto voce version of his command voice. “Yes, sir.”

He huffs a laugh and continues kissing down your neck, down to the hemline of your shirt. Undressing comes as an easy next step, shoes off first (and they were on the bed, ugh), and then Ghost pulls your shirt up; you lift yourself enough to help him pull it over your head. In the darkness, he does the same, and you watch his silhouette remove his hoodie, then pull his shirt over his head and drop it off the side of the bed. You can’t see his face, but the faint beam of sunlight touches his hair and brings out a hint of pale gold. It feels like a secret shared between you, adding to that warmth building up inside.

He leans back down, kissing down your sternum to the upper hem of your sports bra. He starts to go lower, and you decide then that you’d like to take at least a little initiative.

“Wait,” you whisper. “Come back up here.”

He does, like he’s accustomed to obeying your orders rather than the other way around. You reach up and touch his chest, eager to feel this part of him, the one he typically buries under layers of clothing and gear. He sighs at your touch, head dropping down to rest on the pillow beside you.

He’s firm and toned with well-honed muscle earned through endless missions and exercise. At the same time, the skin of his chest is surprisingly soft—even the scattered network of scars and keloids that mark his body. You feel old and new wounds, some still raised as they heal, some concave with age. They’re long, short, thick, thin, orderly, and jagged. Starbursts of bullet wounds, hard lines of cuts, spatters of shrapnel, textured lines of old stitches. His whole torso tells a long, tragic story from cover to cover, chest to back.

But he leans into this read of him, letting you feel every scar, every painful moment. His breathing is steady in your ear, giving way to the occasional sigh as your fingers trail over his skin.

In turn, he touches you. You don’t have even a fraction of his scars, but you have a few he can note. You know when he touches them, by the way his touch lingers, learning each one. It feels reverential, or communal—the two of you engaging in a silent trust exercise. He doesn’t ask about them, and neither do you. All of that is for another time.

Ghost presses a kiss to your shoulder, then pushes up until he’s over top of you again. His free hand goes down to the waistline of your jeans, finger tracing teasingly over the zipper. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” you say, breathless. As if you’d say anything else.

He undoes the button, then the zipper, slowly pulling your jeans to your hips, then removing them entirely. He sits up on the edge of the bed for a moment, removing his boots, then his jeans. You lay there, watching him move, feeling your arousal start to grow and burn like a low flame.

When he touches you again, you silently agree that you wish you’d said or done something sooner. It’s bliss. He’s gentle with you, mindful even, in a way you’ve never experienced or anticipated from someone like him. He helps you out of your bra, letting you pull it all the way off before his hands palm your breasts in slow, deliberate movements. It’s an extension of his exploratory touches, learning your body inch by inch.

Your breathing quickens, and Ghost looks up at you in what you guess is concern. “Doing alright?” he asks.

Your face grows hot, and you nod, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “I’m fine,” you reply. “I just don’t know what to do.”

It’s not like you haven’t had sex before, but sex with him feels completely different, like it doesn’t belong in the same category. You’ve never wanted someone this badly, or had someone respond to you like this. It’s almost overwhelming, but Ghost reaches up and combs some of your hair away from your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Lie back a bit,” he instructs. “And tell me if you need me to stop.”

You do as he says, leaning up against the pillows as he moves down your body, leaving a trail of kisses down your torso to your hips. He’s a shadow moving over you, long and languid, and every touch just adds to the mounting heat. When his fingers touch the hem of your underwear, you shiver in anticipation, then arch your hips to give him a little leverage in removing them. In one motion, you’re exposed to him, even in the dark. Yet after touching him, and him touching you, you don’t feel as vulnerable. If anything, this feels safe. This feels right.

His hands go to your hips, then run slowly along the outer sides of your thighs. You think he might fulfill that fantasy from earlier, fingering you until you’re a mess, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure with his skilled hands.

Which is why it surprises the hell out of you when he goes lower, until his head is between your thighs, sunlight leaving gold stripes along his back.

“Ghost,” you gasp.

He looks up at you, and now more than ever, you wish you could see his face. You only see the faint shine of his eyes, but at that moment, it’s enough.

Then he spreads you, and licks a stripe from your opening to your clit.

If you were entertaining any thoughts before, any fantasies carefully curated in those rare hours of alone time, they flee in that single movement. Even the Ghost of your imagination never did this, tasting and savoring you in long, slow laps that make your whole brain short out like a blown fuse. The sound is goddamn obscene, especially as he leans in close and starts to lap at your clit. It’s a shock of sound in the silence, louder than even your own noises when you got yourself off.

Your right hand finds his head, fingers running through his hair as he licks you. He alternates between short laps and long strokes, tongue circling around your clit, teasing you, making you shudder and moan. It’s frustrating and fucking heavenly, the sensation of ebb and flow, receding and rushing waves of heat building up then flowing back.

Right when you think you can’t take the teasing anymore, he switches tactics. The teasing abruptly ends, and Ghost gets relentless.

You moan way too loud when he sucks at your clit, tongue swirling around it, the sound of his mouth on you loud as a gunshot. You swear they have to hear it down the hallway, or anywhere on base. At this point, though, you really don’t care who hears you, because they don’t have Ghost between their legs, getting them off in ways no deity ever intended.

Then his fingers join his mouth, index tracing circles around your entrance, dipping in slowly, tauntingly.

“Fuck.” The word is sharp in the air, as you arch at the sensation.

It’s too much; it’s not enough.

He tilts his head up a little, but when he speaks, you feel his warm breath ghost over your sex. “Let me hear you,” he says, words drawn straight out of your fantasies. Every door containing that imaginary version of Ghost is unlocked, every bulkhead breached—that Ghost and this one are one in the same.

And when he pushes that first finger into you, you follow his order to the letter.

It comes out as a broken wail, cut off when he starts thrusting and licking you in alternate strokes. His pace quickens, merciless, sharp eyes watching you from the shadows as your head rolls back on the pillow, chest heaving to catch a single solid breath. Your hands drop to your sides, fisting the sheets just to have something to hang onto, any kind of anchor as Ghost guides you through a tempest.

You moan his name, last consonant catching on a sob of pleasure when he starts to add a second finger. Only then does he pause, and the absence of his mouth is stark.

Then he says your name, temporarily drawing you out of the cumulonimbus of arousal you’re flying through, briefly bringing you back to earth.

You look down at him, the silhouette of his head, small locks of hair sticking up from where your fingers combed through. You see him tilt his head to rest his cheek against your inner thigh, and his voice rolls out like a dull roar of thunder in your ears. “It’s Simon,” he says. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Somehow, hearing his real name in the midst of all this is almost too much. Like the last little vestige of a play on stage falling away and revealing the inner workings of the backstage, all the ropes and pullies holding the show together. He’s more exposed now, more raw, more human.

You reach down, trembling hand brushing over his cheek, over stubble and scar tissue, and the soft skin of a very real face.

“Simon,” you whisper. It sounds like a confession.

He doesn’t reply, but you feel him smile against your hand, briefly turning his head to press a kiss against your palm. Then he’s lowering himself down again, coaxing you out of the eye of the storm and back into the maelstrom. Two fingers thrust and curl, filling you, leaving you empty, touching places that send bolts of pleasure through you.

Your pulse becomes the thunder of the helo’s blades, your body trembling with midair turbulence. Simon fucks you on his fingers, tongue lathing over your clit, mouth fucking worshiping you. He takes you to that precipice, the long fall, the drop through cloud cover to a faintly-marked point on the earth.

The step off the edge feels like perfect, natural progression.

Your orgasm sweeps through you from toe to tip, a roll of white-out pleasure shaking you, wringing a cry out of your mouth that makes Simon fuck you harder. His fingers don’t let up, working you through the tidal wave, taking you to shore on the other side.

You’re boneless at the end, slumping back on the pillow and panting, shivering, taking stock of your limbs and extremities as they each come back online after the outage. You only vaguely register the feeling of Simon moving on the bed, coming up to lay beside you.

He murmurs your name, then kisses you, and you can smell and taste yourself on him. Your hand goes up to run along his jawline, one rogue thought telling you, yeah, you can cut glass with it.

How everything gets so gentle afterwards is beyond you. Simon’s hand is on your face, thumb brushing the soft skin under your right eye. You can feel his erection against your leg, and somewhere in the back of your mind—still tingling with pleasure, shimmering bright and brilliant—you know how you’re going to take initiative.

You break the kiss just for a moment, delighting in the soft sigh of protest you hear and feel against your cheek. Then you lean in close, pitching your voice low like his, hoping it has the same effect on him.

“Hope you don’t have any plans this weekend,” you say, brushing your hand over his shoulder.

You feel him smile against your skin, and he shakes his head.

“Thought you were heading out,” he says.

“Only if you’re going with me.”

One arm goes around your waist, pulling you close as he nuzzles against your neck. “We have some time, though, right?” his voice slides over you, suggestion clear and presented like a gift.

God, yeah you do.

---

Somewhere in between rounds, your phone goes off on your bedside stand.

Once.

Twice.

You don’t hear it, and the short buzz is drowned out by moans and the soft slap of skin on skin. When Simon makes a move like he’s going to check on it, you hook him back in place with your leg around his waist, pulling him in close, then kissing him silent. He falls into it, all too happy to oblige.

So you miss the skull and ladybug emojis, then the volume symbol.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #em dash and italics party is here to staaaay #can you believe this was going to be longer #am i super happy with it? not totally but it was p fun

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ooffmlsorry · 1 year ago

Text

Hold Me Closer

Law x reader

2.4k words, slow burn for a tumblr post i guess??

A/N: Law is such a touch-starved disaster in this god bless him. Don't worry...this is my last drunk post. I don't wanna accidentally promote alcoholism on this good Christian hellsite I just need to write my fav blorbo drunk and in love once and then I'm good.

CW: drinking, drunk behavior

"You know, for as smart as Law is you really can manipulate him into just about anything," Nami says. "He's no better than Luffy, as soon as you tell him he can't do something he has to go and try it."

"Huh?" You're drunk, and by the look of the Straw Hat's navigator significantly more so than her. (What are the Straw Hats' livers made out of? Steel?)

You follow your gaze to your captain, Trafalgar Law, and feel a giddy bubble of laughter make its way through you. "I'm just happy to see him cut loose for once," you say. From the looks of it he might actually be tipsy. Law’s cheeks are flushed a little and he’s talking animatedly about something. The shine in his eyes captivate you.

Yeah, you're definitely feeling the effects if you're openly giggling at the sight of him.

Despite your last thought you take another sip of your drink. It stopped tasting sweet and sharp a while ago and is starting to taste more and more like I should be next to him.

"He's so beautiful when he's happy," you mutter.

"What?!" Nami presses her hand flush to her chest and turns to look at you. A mischievous grin passes over her tipsy face, "beautiful, huh?" She pokes your side playfully and giggles. "What's that supposed to mean?”

"Nothing!" You flinch away from her and drain your drink to quench your suddenly dry mouth. "You like seeing Luffy happy! It's the same thing!"

She laughs so loud and so hard she nearly falls out of her chair. "Oh yeah! Sure! But have you ever heard me call Luffy beautiful?"

At that exact moment you watch Luffy snort with laughter and shoot beer out of his nose.

"Point taken.”

“He’s not my type, that’s for sure,” Nami says.

“No, your type is Alabastan princesses,” you tease back.

“Hey!” Her ears pink a little more. “It’s not…” she stammers. “You know what! You’re getting me my next drink just for that!” She pushes her empty mug towards you. “Chop! Chop, Y/N! I’m thirsty!”

You roll your eyes. It’s true all the Straw Hats are bossy in one way or another, no wonder they exhaust Law. You grab her mug and yours and head to the bar for another round.

Your eyes move back to where you last saw Law talking with someone, except he wasn’t there anymore. Where did he go? The room’s crowded with people talking and laughing, yelling and singing. Between the alcohol and another raucous round of Binx’s Sake sung across the banquet, it’s hard to focus. Did he leave already? Disappointment washed over you, but you weren’t surprised. That would be your captain, Trafalgar Law, ever restrained.

You sighed. Hopefully he didn’t go back to the ship to get more work done. You fill up yours and Nami’s cup and start to head back to your seat.

“You’re drinking poison, you know that Y/N-ya?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the hot breath against the shell of your ear. Then, you process what was said to you. Poison? Instinctively you reach for a weapon, and then remember you left it behind.

“What? Law—”

Barely have room to turn around, he’s standing so close to you. The flush in cheeks is darker than you realized and his dark eyes have lost some of their sharpness. A mischievous smirk plays upon his lips. “And you tell me I need to lighten up?” You’re not met with the level of seriousness you normally expect from your captain. “This,” he holds his mug up, only nearly sloshing its contents, “is poison. It’s the ethanol. That’s what slows you down, it’s not all that different from slowly poisoning yourself.” He puts the cup up to his lips and tips it back. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, the muscles of his neck visible to you until they disappear into his collar bones. You wish you could run your fingers down the column of his throat and watch goosebumps rise in your wake. If he would even have anyone.

It must be the drinks. That’s the only reason you can think of to explain why you want to place your hand there and feel his skin. To touch him.

“Neither of us should be drinking this, Y/N-ya,” he says. There’s no sterness in his tone like he would if he was lecturing you, in fact, you realize your captain’s likely joking with you…in his own way.

“Well, sometimes you have to die a little to live a little.” You wink at him.

Law’s lips part a little and his eyes widen. “I–You–” He looks away from you and takes another sip. “That’s your justification? Ridiculous.”

“It sure is!” You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you take a small step closer, deciding to tease him a little. After all, he started it first by sneaking up on you, “what’s yours?”

Law stares at you—speechless.

“You’re something else, you know that?” You don’t have time to hide your laughter except behind your hand. “You don’t need to justify yourself, Law. I’m just happy you’re here!”

Warmth spreads across your captain’s face. It travels up to the tips of his ears which look crimson next to his spotted white hat and down his chest to the heart tattoo that rests there. For a moment you fixate on his skin, the ink swirling across it, the blood pumping underneath, a sign that he’s alive and solid, standing in front of you. Curiosity rears its untameable head, how can you know he’s solid if you’ve never touched him? A missing piece of Law sits in front of you and you want.

“Just don’t drink too much,” he says quickly and side steps to walk around you.

You watch him go, shaking your head with a smile. “I would say, hope he does the same, but it’d be funny if he didn’t.”

“Y/N!!” Nami calls. “Where’s my drink!?”

“Coming!”

Later…

Oh yeah, you’ve done it now. Somewhere between fruitlessly trying to keep up with Nami, drowning your thoughts of Law, and enjoying the party, you’re certain you’ve overdone it…and you’ve only accomplished the latter.

“That’s enough or I’m gonna die,” you stand up and your head swims. You use the chair you were sitting in to stablize yourself.

“Boo!” Shachi says weakly. Although his head is resting on the table, barely awake.

“Yeah, Boo!” Nami repeats.“Who’s gonna watch me drain your crew of all their money?!”

You shrug,“Bepo will.”

The first mate of the Heart Pirates was laid out on the floor asleep.

“Any chance you know where Law is?”

“Last I saw him, he went outside,” Penguin says. He grins and laughs a little before slipping out of his chair with a thud.

Safe to say the Heart Pirates were a crew of light weights.

You stumble toward the door that leads out to the balcony. Outside the night air is cold enough to send a shiver through you, but Penguin didn’t send you out there for nothing. Law is sitting with his legs between the balcony bars, his head leaning on another. In the light of paper lanterns you saw his hand moving in quick small movements. Next to him sat an empty bottle of umeshu.

“Either you’re jacking off out here or you’re working. Only one of those things would be disappointing to me,” you say. In the back of your mind you know you’d never say something like that out loud but alcohol makes your lips loose.

The sound Law makes is less than controlled as he jerks a book shut and sits on it. “NEVER SAY THAT AGAIN!”

You start laughing and fall down next to him unceremoniously, nearly landing flat on your back. “I’m sorry, captain! I couldn’t–I couldn’t help myself!” you howl with laughter. “Please! I didn’t–the joke was just right there!”

You hear Law grumble-slur something, but he’s either too drunk or too tired to get up and leave you because he stays where he is.

“I mean it,” you say, catching your breath. “I am sorry. I just came out here to tell you I think the party’s dying down. You can come inside if you want to. It’s only supposed to get colder tonight.”

“I will when I’m ready,” Law slurs.

“As always,” you sigh heavily. “I’ve learned to stop expecting you to do something just because I think it’s a good idea

That wins you a brief smile from your captain, a rarity, surely brought out of him by the drink alone. “You…you can stay,” he says quietly. “If you’d like to. I don’t care either way. Really, I don’t. ”

Normally, you’d at least begin to believe him, but you know your captain…and he’s already draped half of his long blue coat around you. The scent cologne and antiseptic envelope you.

“You probably should’ve said that before you put your coat around me, Law.”

He tenses for a moment. The brim of his hat hides his eyes. “Forgive me, Y/N-ya I’m being ridiculous,” he mumbles.

So shy!

“I was going to stay anyway,” you say, before he can pull away. “And thank you, I’m probably chillier than I know.”

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while connected only by this moment and Law’s coat draped over both of you. You can feel the warmth radiating from his arm, his side, his thigh, all nearly touching you.

“Did you have a good time?”

“As long as I don’t remember any of this tomorrow, you can tell me I did.”

“Good!” You chirp. “I’ll take it!”

Law picks up the bottle and takes a long pull. “Did you?”

“Yup! It’s the first party I’ve been to in a long time. Actually, I haven’t been to any, but that’s another story from before…well, everything.”

Law snorts, but he doesn’t turn back to leaning his head on the guard bars, instead he stares at you with an expression close to contentment. “Good,” he says.

Your faces stay a few inches from each other. There’s an eyelash resting on his cheek, just out of your reach and before you can think you gently cup your captain’s face and swipe the eyelash away.

In an instant he’s solid. Smooth skin and bone rest just below your fingertips. And somehow, despite the sharp angles of Law’s face all you feel is softness and warmth against your skin. To your surprise he doesn’t move away.

“I’m sorry, you just had an eyelash…” You go to pull your hand back and Law catches your wrist in a grip that’s nearly too tight.

His eyes flutter as he rests his face in your hand. “It feels so nice,” he says. He doesn’t stop you when you slide your fingers up his sideburns into the silky spikes of his hair. You remove his hat and place it beside him.

Contact between you and Law has been minimal, even after you explained your devil fruit only works on inanimate objects. You think he’s been especially cautious around you not to touch you–even if by accident. Touch doesn’t come easy to you, unconsciously building a wall between yourself and others, with Law being the same that wall felt doubly thick. Only to come crashing down over drinks and an errant eyelash. Touching Law plugs a hole dug out of both want and curiosity that you’ve been ignoring.

Law leans into you as if being pulled down by magnetism until he’s almost on top of you. Your thumb settles behind his ear along the nape of his neck and rubs back and forth slowly.

You look down at him, his eyes shut and lips barely parted. If it weren’t for the fingers working up the back of your shirt, you’d think he was asleep. Law’s hand stops at the small of your back, resting there like a warm patch. It feels so utterly right having the captain of the Heart Pirates in your arms, as if holding Law was one of the many things they were made for.

Honesty takes over you. “I think I like being close to you, Law. It feels…warm…good,” you speak softly. If you could be like this all the time you wouldn’t complain. You receive a throaty rumble in response, not unlike a purring animal. “You must be drunk,” you chuckle.

“Extremely.”

You’re not sure if you feel like you’re spinning from all the alcohol or because of this moment with Law. Eventually you begin to hum softly, and sleep begins to take hold of you.

“Y/N-ya,” you hear Law say groggily.

You hum a sound in response to show you’re still awake to listen to him. Law’s arms tighten around you and you understand instantly what he won’t let himself say. Against both your better judgment you drift off to sleep together on the balcony.

The Next Morning…

Law awakens to dawn’s blinding sun and a pounding headache. His mouth feels cottony and his stomach roils in a way that doesn’t immediately threaten vomit but could. The second thing he takes in is that he’s outside; he never made it to his bed or any bed for that matter. And third, you.

You’re still asleep, your chin nearly touching your chest and soft snore escaping you with every exhale. You don’t stir as he pulls himself away from you. The realization that he slept on you rocks through him. The sun’s barely risen and his heart’s already racing.

What did I do?

He rubs at his eyes and scrubs a hand through his hair. Where’s my hat? He quickly finds it and pulls the brim down low enough to block the sun.

Law takes off his jacket and covers you with it, only when he’s wrapped it around your shoulders do you grumble and smack your lips sleepily. “Don’t worry, Law. All’s good, had fun,” you mumble.

He freezes. Out of everything he thought you would say, reassuring him didn’t cross his mind.

Your eyes crack open just enough to look at his stunned face. “Yesterday’s already forgotten.” Loose limbed, you make a sealed lips gesture as if to say your secret's safe with me.

Law stands and grabs his journal. He takes one more glance at you and feels butterflies flutter from his stomach up to his chest. That's the second time he's felt safe around you, he notes. It's information he chooses to ignore.

#i really loved writing this lol #it's the way he tries to flirt with you by sneaking up on you #god he's so clueless I love him #one piece #law x reader #law one piece #trafalgar law #law x y/n

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marlinspirkhall · 5 months ago

Text

The Un-Maker

To the uninformed, you are nothing more than a necromancer. You wear their sigil on your chest; the chief mage insists on it- after all, he can read magik better than most. He is the first to discern the true meaning of your gift, years before even you do.

His own magik is significantly strong- though, like him, it has withered with time. By and large, the other mages ignore you. After all, you are only a svvein.

The first time you leave the magery, he gives you a cloak. It's dark purple- the robe of a novice- which is a generous assessment at best. You can barely resurrect a magefly.

His eyes sparkle, then grow serious. “Take it,” he insists. “It will help you blend in.” Of course, you take it only to humor him- blending in comes naturally to you. It might be your only skill.

You perform small tasks in the village, basic magecraft which is little more than a conjurer's trick. You un-break a wheel. You un-graze a knee. When you pass, the best blacksmith in the village watches with baited breath.

You un-forge his sword.

•

While hiding from the smith, you crouch behind the stables. You won’t realise for many years, but the gate you closed on the way in prevented the escape of a horse. The horse- who dreams of the apples in the nearby grove- snickers sadly to herself.

There is a boy at the magery who wears red. Red, the robes of a master. He holds himself with the confidence of someone older, but both of you are five-and-ten.

One night, he lifts a heavy staff above his head, and performs a summoning spell: the most powerful of all magecraft. In an instant, the sky trembles, and rolls with dark clouds. The old masters rejoice, and sing his praises in the downpour, of a boy so powerful that even lightning obeys his command.

You shelter at the edge of the courtyard, and watch without envy.

He's the first to leave, when the war comes.

•

In the coming weeks, you wander the village. You are the only teenager left now that the others have gone, but there are still children to babysit. There are still bloody noses and scraped knees to un-attend to. By now, the villagers know your gift well- that strange, backwards magik you perform without intention. When your mere presence stops an axe falling on his head, even the blacksmith learns to forgive you.

But then, the war comes for the innocents, too.

Families flee Vale-Meg'ed with oxen, horse and handcart. The mages buy them time, and instruct you to leave with them.

“I want to help,” you say.

“Svvein-”

“Perhaps I can un-make the war!”

The chief mage smiles a grim smile. “It will not obey you.”

“But we haven't tried-”

“No.” He wheels on you, his eyes fury and fire. “Take this, and flee.”

It's his first-hewn staff: a spindly thing he carved as a mageling. It's little more than a bolt of wood, but you feel its weight when you touch it. Your hands tremble, and the old mage drives it into the ground afore you.

Sparks flicker.

“Go!”

When you stumble, the staff catches you.

You flee. You trip on your robes, drive the staff into the path, and watch dust fly where sparks ought to instead. You drive the staff down again and again, but it leaks no more magik.

In the distance, storms rage over Mages' Hill. Thunder crackles, and lightning flickers back and forth. Two dark clouds loom beside each other, fighting for dominance.

•

There's a body on the road out of Vale-Meg'ed.

You can't help but slow down. You've seen dead bodies before, of course– they used them for practice at the magery, even those that you couldn't resurrect– so you know what they look like.

For the first thirty seconds, this person is definitely deceased. Then, they gasp, and sit bolt upright.

You scream, and they do too.

Once the shock of not being dead has worn off, they cough soundly, and offer you a swig of water from their flask. Not knowing what killed them, you shake your head.

They down it, then cough some more. “Young svvein. You are but a novice?” They say, seeing your simple robes.

“I–” you say. “I didn’t–”

“Why, magikst most powerful!” They declare, as they check their wounds. “I thought I was going to lose my leg.”

You stare at them in silence as they reach for their purse. “Svvein, I know not why you've saved my life- and I have few coins to give- but accept my thanks.”

You take their silver, if only to preserve your cover, and help them to their feet. They accompany you to the end of the road, where the path splits. Then, they give thanks, and head towards Mages’ Hill.

It’s silent now, but the fires are still burning.

You turn away, and touch the embroidered sigil on your chest: the necromancer’s coil. You wonder if the chief mage knew more than he let on.

•

True necromancing is a complex task, often requiring a pack of mages. Death has compounding interest. The more injuries, the more mages are required. The longer dead, the longer the spell must prevail. Ordinarily, necromancers work long, arduous hours to resurrect a single person. Those who have an understanding of the mage’s art are shocked to see only one of you.

“Where are the others?” someone asks, as you pass them.

“They... Went to lunch,” you say.

“That's unheard of.” They stretch, and crack their back. “The first thing they do is always to collect payment.”

“This isn't your first time being resurrected, is it?” You realise, with a sinking feeling.

They grin toothily, and accept a discount, in exchange for not asking too many questions.

•

In the coming weeks, you un-kill many people along the battlefield. The bodies you pass wake up more often than not, always coughing and spluttering. That which once was jarring becomes routine. Some scream in fright, others clutch at long-healed wounds. Others jolt at the sight of a mage, and cower in your presence.

“Get away, get away!”

Beside them, a cracked mage-staff lies in the mud, snapped cleanly in two. You decide to forgo payment.

You make a living this way for a while, drifting from battle to battle like a vulture. It pays little- the soldiers that die are never the best-equipped, and you get there long after the looters do. Still, those who find themselves alive are invariably grateful to do so, and reward you as well as they can. It's enough to buy you board at the tavern most nights, if not a meal, too.

With time, the war moves on from the valley, though it rages in the distance. You are older now, broader of shoulders, and the First-Hewn staff is older, too. It grows brittle in your fingers.

Before long, it is broken.

You stare at it for a long while, for you are not in the business of breaking things. Still, breaking is a kind of un-making, you suppose. It falls to pieces with nothing more than a whisper, and you mourn it: the First-Hewn staff of an elder holds great power. That it is freed from your possession is a bittersweet relief.

For the first time since the war came, you think of the man who forged it. They say in the early days of war, Mages' Hill was razed to the ground. You haven’t returned to Vale-Meg’ed since.

That night, you rent a room at the tavern, and weep.

•

It's impossible to blend in without your staff, so you attempt to carve your own. For seven suns and seven moons, sparks fly, and lightning pummels the forest. You abandon the task.

The trees are scarred and pockmarked, and the ground will never be the same, yet not a single beam struck you.

For a week, you remain in the valley, but your purse-strings are tight, and the taverns are fit to burst. With little choice, you venture out into the marshland. You out-grew the purple robes years ago, and you’re dressed simply: in a linen shirt and trousers. For now, you are simply a traveller, and you don't intend to continue your grift. Without a staff to speak of, you hardly look the part of a necromancer anymore.

•

Battle does not suit the marshland. It makes the swamp reek worse than usual, and the reeds are soaked with blood. When you trawl for treasure, you find bodies instead.

Bodies who wake up confused, and ask you what's going on.

You sigh, and help them out of the mud.

You wade through the bog for a while, stepping on stones where you can. There's a strange smell in the air; acrid, like burning. The tips of the reeds are signed.

A soldier lies in the dirt, facedown. You roll her over so she doesn’t choke when she wakes, and begin to move on your way.

Her dark eyes open, looking up at the sky. She coughs, and you offer her your water-skin.

She refuses to take it. “I have nothing with which to pay you.”

“The water is a courtesy.”

“And the undying?”

You shift your feet. “That wasn't me.”

She leans back on her arms, and peers up at you sluggishly. “You have no staff.”

“Well-noticed.” You offer a hand.

She doesn’t take it. “There is one other mage who summons without a staff. This war is his design.”

“I am no summoner.”

“Yet you summon the dead.”

You watch her mutely.

“Have I revived you before?” You say at last.

“No, but I've heard of you. You travel alone, and revive villeins when others raise kings.”

You bristle, and take a step backwards. “Your payment is commuted,” you say, and retreat as fast as the mud will allow.

It is not fast at all.

“Wait!” She curses, and coughs furiously. There's a rending, and the slap of footsteps.

You turn. This time, when you offer herr water, she drinks.

“I'm Merra.” She hands the skin back, and wipes her mouth.

“I'm no-one,” you say, which is true enough. You fasten the skin to your belt, and, again, walk away.

Merra keeps pace with you. “I heard you were once a Svvein.”

You remain silent, heading back across the marshland to see how far she will follow. This is the path you cleared earlier– free of bodies– and you retrace your steps where you can. Merra follows all the while, and her sword creaks at her belt.

“Have you no business to attend to?” You say, at last.

“No more than you,” she says, with a smile in her voice.

“I have my living.”

“Then attend to it,” she says. “You think I haven't noticed you're avoiding the dead?”

“Necromancing is a hallowed ritual,” you say.

She scoffs. “Which is why you perform it in galoshes.”

You look down. “There's nothing wrong with my galoshes.”

“Most mage-shoes are hidden by their robes,” she muses. “But I'd imagine mage-shoes are made waterproof by enchantment.”

“That would be a waste of enchantment.”

“And what of your robes, or lack thereof?”

You grunt. “The war destroyed Mages' Hill.”

“Yes, many years ago. But I have seen robes since, and mages too.”

“And what of their magikal shoes?” You ask.

She purses her lips, and surveys the landscape. “There were bodies here, Necromancer. Did you resurrect them all?”

You say nothing.

“It's just past noon,” she reasons. “And this swamp was full of the fallen. How did you recall them all in one morning?”

You glance at her. “How can you be sure I revived you on the same day you fell?”

“As surely as I know there are no maggots in my mouth and nose.”

“Perhaps you have them on the brain.”

You spy the valley up ahead, and slow your pace. You're not eager to return to the villages, with their heroes and veterans and small opportunities; but you can't cross the marshland with Merra- there are too many bodies. Tentatively, you turn onto the village path.

“What killed you?” You enquire, as you walk along.

Merra gives you a look.

“It must have been significant,” you say. “For not all undying know they are so.”

She falls silent, and so do you.

•

You encounter a body on the way into Vale-Egar.

It's a maimed thing, old, bloated, and past its prime. Ordinarily, you wouldn't worry about it- you never seem to wake those who are too far gone- but, today, you pass it with a kind of trepidation. When nothing happens, you let out a breath.

“He looked like a noble,” Merra says, as you hurry past.

“Nothing noble is found in Vale-Egar, especially not by the side of the road.”

“Is that why you won't resurrect him?”

“No,” you say. “It's because he won't come back.”

•

The next body you stumble upon is more intact: a young man with a gaunt face who might as well be sleeping. He's hunched over and leaning against the wall, a tin clutched in his frozen hand. You don't wonder how it stays there- you know better than anyone that rigour mortis begins in the fingers.

As you pass, some colour returns to his face. You hurry Merra along.

The next person you pass is alive, and welcomes you to the village with a smile.

You have no coin with which to pay, but it's no matter. The presence of Merra's sword is payment enough, for there is a bed for all warriors in Vale-Egar.

“That explains why it's so crowded,” you say, as you untie your shoes and leave them at the foot of the bed. You offer to sleep on the floor, but Merra won't hear of it. Apparently, she's got it into her head that she owes you a life-debt. Tonight, you are too tired to argue, so you lay down beside her.

For a long while, she watches you.

The room in this upstairs tavern contains five beds, all of which are crammed with people. You lie on your back and listen to their breathing. This is the closest you've been to the living in a while, and so many, at that. You recall the last time you were around people, of the dormitories on Mages' Hill.

You can feel Merra's breath on your cheek.

“You said not all undead know they are so,” she says.

“Yes,” you murmur.

“So, that beggar outside-?”

“He was merely sleeping.” You move to roll over, but she catches you by the shoulder.

“Credit me some intellect.” She peers down at you. “It was fast; faster than any magecraft I've seen. How did you do it?”

The others in the room are all sleeping soundly.

“I know not how,” you say, in a single breath.

•

In the morning, you leave the village.

“You have no staff,” Merra says, again.

You watch her for a moment. All these years, the staff was your only companion, and now, you have another.

“I haven't the skill to make one,” you admit.

“So, you are no mage.”

“No.”

“And yet you raise the dead.”

•

Over the coming days, Merra accompanies you across the marshland, and the dead spring up in your wake. There's no coin to speak of, but the soldiers pledge fealty to you. You tell them you already have a knight, and a fine one, at that. Merra smiles, as a knight clad in well-made plate armor shakes his head and walks away.

“Have you seen her fight?” Asks another, dressed in mail.

You bristle. “No, but neither, sir, have you.”

He offers her his armor, but she won't take it.

“I travel light.”

•

As you traverse the valley, the marshland turns to grass. You encounter fewer bodies, and those you find are too degraded to wake.

The horizon alights with a flash, and Merra freezes. Thunder roils over the hills.

“You never did tell me what moved you to fight,” you say, quietly.

“I had a quest,” she says, simply. Her hair whispers in the wind, and you nod.

“Then you are bound to it.”

She looks at you with pleading eyes. “But I was dead.”

You shake your head. “It doesn't work like that.”

Thunder resounds.

After a day's travel, the once-lush grass turns to scorched earth underfoot. You stop in your tracks.

“This is Vale-Meg'ed.”

•

Amongst the rubble, there is but one field undisturbed by ash. It's the stable where you hid from the blacksmith all those years ago. Most unusually of all, the gate which you closed has since remained intact.

The horse stands alone in the field, her tail flicking back and forth. She's much older now, and has a grey streak on her nose, but you'd know her anywhere.

“You survived the war,” you comment, as you reach for her mane. She huffs, and hoofs at the dirt. You raise an eyebrow, and turn to Merra. “Could you open the gate?”

She opens it, and the horse races through the ruined grove. You follow behind.

Merra gasps. Right before your eyes, the charred treetops flourish and bear fruit. The horse gallops towards them, and you sprint to catch up.

You chuckle, softly. “Do you forgive me now, mare?”

The horse scarfs down her apples, and allows you to pet her mane.

•

You sleep in the rubble of the magery, and Merra takes first watch. The next morning, you are woken by the sun.

“You didn’t wake me,” you say.

“No,” she says, as she watches the sunrise.

You fall silent. This is her quest, not yours.

•

You spend the day on Mage’s Hill. Merra prepares barricades, and whets her blade. Somehow, you feel as if you've known her a lifetime.

You search the ruins one last time, and are not surprised when you find it, in the remains of the novice quarters.

It is a first-hewn staff. The wood crackles beneath your fingertips.

The ruins are painted orange by sunset.

•

Past nightfall, you remain alert. You sit a few paces from Merra, twisting the staff in your hands. There's a familiarity about it you cannot place, a raw power which stings you if you hold it tight.

The wind picks up suddenly. Too suddenly.

“This is magewind!” She yells.

You jump to attention. It's been many years since you've felt anything like it, but it chills you to the bone. All you can picture is that night on Mages' Hill, on the eve of war: a staff, held aloft as red robes billowed in the breeze.

Tonight, a mass moves upon you: denser than storm itself.

“Merra!” You cry, as the gale sweeps her aside. She catches hold of one of the barricades; hefty chunks of stone which buckle under the pressure.

You run for her, but the wind picks you up like a ragdoll. You fall, and scrape upon every rock as you’re dragged dowhill. You are drowning in wind itself, the breath rivened from you faster than you can draw it. Your clothes tear, then your flesh. You thrust the staff forwards, blindly, and puncture an air pocket. You push down, and pressure slaps you back. You tumble again and again, until at last you make contact with the ground.

You lie, spread-eagled on the floor.

A numbness overtakes you. You grip the staff so tight that it flares with energy.

The sky above you dances. Merra lunges at clouds, and purple lightning arcs around her. A shadow flits through the smog, impossibly light and fast.

The shape moves upon you: dark, tattered robes, deeper than blood, deeper than red, but unmistakably the same robes from all those years ago, held together by magiks. His boots- made of a fine, red leather, have similar weatherproofing, and your eyes dart to Merra.

“Face me,” says the storm.

Your head tilts back to observe him. It hurts to watch, this splicing-together of mage and fury. You try to turn away, but the wind holds you fast. You see Merra from the corner of your eye, silhouetted against the storm.

The Summoner moves upon you slowly, as if he isn't used to walking. “You’re no mage,” he says, at last.

On the hill, Merra drives her sword into the clouds, but The Summoner ignores her. He circles around you. Far too slowly, the feeling returns to your legs.

“Years ago, when the battle was won and there were less bodies on the battlefield than there should be; I heard the strangest whispers from the valley.” He speaks in a low voice, barely above a whisper, but the breeze carries every word. “They spoke of a novice, who summoned the dead.” He turns his attention back to the top of the hill, where Merra is fighting shadows. “You have resurrected one of mine.” He raises a hand. “It’s time to correct that mistake.”

Lightning connects with the tip of Merra’s sword, and the flash lights up the mountainside.

“Mer…” you twitch.

Soil cascades from the heavens, and you hold the staff aloft. “Heed me,” you say. “Heed me!”

It might as well be a twig.

The Summoner laughs. “You cannot resurrect ash.”

You roll onto your front, too weak to stand. For the first time in your life, you attempt to use your powers with intention. You draw runes in the dirt and chant long-forgotten spells, as The Summoner watches with cold amusement.

“You don't know our craft. The magik you do have is little more than a parlour trick.”

“I knew enough to thwart you,” you wheeze.

“Can you undo this, Pretender?”

He unfurls his palm, and the storm rages louder than before. It howls and howls, and lightning blasts the ground until Mage’s Hill is cratered.

Earth is loosened. Stones and rocks turn to vapor, and become part of the storm.

You crawl towards the place where Merra was standing, though you know it is useless. You might as well be crawling through mud in the swamp where you found her. There's an uphill climb past jagged rocks, and another fall would kill you. You have never had to un-make your own death. You wait, as the land continues to slide.

The hill remains un-mended. This cannot be undone– but you can still fight.

“This staff was yours,” you whisper. You haven't seen it since you were three-and-ten, but you recognise it's power.

“Yes.” He holds out a hand, and it flies to him. The staff cracks with energy, and he weighs it in his palm. “I have surpassed the need to bind my magik to the physical realm. But you… You cannot even cast an illusion.” He tosses the staff back to you, and it lands in the dirt.

You make no attempt to pick it up.

“You saw that first summoning spell on Mages' Hill, and were powerless to stop me then. What makes you think you can stand against me now?” His hand forms a fist.

For the first time in your life, lightning makes no effort to avoid you. It arches out of the sky, and bears down on you again and again. You lie in the dirt. You know there is no escape, for this is the mage who commands the four winds as he pleases.

You should be dead, like Merra.

The Summoner’s voice booms, magnified tenfold by the storm. “All that I call for comes to me but The Dead. You have hidden that power from me for too long!”

You open your eyes. A flash of silver runs down the hillside, too small to be lightning. You steady your breathing, and fix your gaze on The Summoner.

“You are no chosen one,” he bellows, as the light flashes again.

“No,” you gasp. “But she is.”

He turns, as Merra strikes true. It's a killing blow, perfectly aimed for the heart, but the storm coalesces around him, and the sword is ejected from his chest. Red blood whips around him, the same colour as his robes, as the heavens bend towards Merra. With a yell, she drives her sword into the ground, and the sky detonates. The energy flows through it once more, illuminating her skeleton, but she stands strong.

She grabs The Summoner with both hands, tearing his robes. He holds out a hand for his magestaff, and you close your fingers around it. It drags you through the dirt until you fall beside him, and you grasp his foot.

You have never needed to fight before, and you're not suited for it. Your attempts to trip him are met with a single kick to the forearm, as the wind tears at you. The lightning which rains down upon you hits all three of you indiscriminately, but The Summoner only grows stronger from each strike. He holds his arms out, bathing in it, as Merra wrenches her sword free.

The blade swings in a wide arc. It hits him at the same moment the lightning does.

For a moment, they are bound together; Knight and Summoner both. They fall as one unit, and crumple to the ground.

Merra smoulders. You struggle towards her. Your back stings; patches exposed to the open air as rainwater falls into the cuts.

Though it feels like an age, you reach her. The Summoner lies mere inches away, motionless.

You place your hands on either side of Merra’s head, and call on a power you have no control over.

With surprising strength, her hands push yours away.

“You must leave this place,” she whispers. “Leave, or he'll never die.”

You grasp her hands with your own. “But you will live.”

Her laugh is a death rattle. “He has killed so many. What's one more?”

You shake your head, and force yourself upwards. Your arms tremble with effort; your legs won't respond.

The Summoner does not stir.

“Leave,” Merra utters.

You fall at her side. “I cannot.”

•

You're not sure for how long you lie there. It could be days, it could be mere hours.

The storm passes on, though the skies remain grey.

The horse trots towards you, and, at last, you find the strength to sit up.

“Merra,” you say.

She looks up.

The two of you struggle to stand, sliding in the mud as you do.

You stroke the mare. The grey streak has disappeared from her nose, and Merra notices it too. She scratches her ears, and you let out a breath.

“A fine steed,” you say, “For an immortal knight.”

She looks at you with wonder. Neither of you know if it is true.

No one has ever died in your attendance before, and you've yet to see if it's possible. As you leave the crater which was once Mages’ Hill, ash falls upon you, followed by light rain. Merra tenses, but says nothing as she climbs onto the horse. She helps you on, and the horse moves in a direction of her choosing.

Neither of you turn to see what becomes of The Summoner’s remains, but the rain doesn't follow you for long. There begins a light sunshine, and the horse gains to a canter, as Merra hugs her mane for balance, and you cling to Merra for yours. She laughs, and spurs the horse onwards with a shout.

The three of you ride towards Vale-Egar.

#writing-prompt-s #writing prompts #writing fills #making this its own post #short story #thank you Ursula Le. Guin you are the blueprint #long post

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